{Lessons Learned} Healing the Broken Places

Posted on May 16, 2013 by Laurie Coombs

I didn’t want to go digging around my past, but I knew I needed to. I knew some residual effects of my dad’s murder had to still be there. As I walked through some of the most difficult times in the weeks, months, and years following the murder, I remember thinking I sure hope this doesn’t screw me up.

My dad wasn’t married at the time of his death which meant that my brother, sister, and I were legally responsible for picking up the pieces when he died. Our extended family helped quite a bit––as much as they could, really, which I am so thankful for––but there was only so much they could do. My mom, however, was the backbone that held us all together, and I will forever be grateful to her for that. She played an integral part in the process of helping us wade through all the mess. (Thank you, Mom!)

Still, there were some things that my brother, sister, and I needed to take care of. No one could do it for us.

We were the ones who needed to put together the funeral arrangements.

We were the ones who needed to take possession of my dad’s house (which was where the murder took place) once the investigation finished.

We were, quite literally, the ones who cleaned up the mess that was left behind.

We navigated my dad’s estate through the legal process of probate, helped finish the construction of the home my dad was building for himself, got both homes ready to be sold, and sold them to their prospective buyers.

All the while, we were meeting with the District Attorney who was readying her case against Anthony and endured two and a half years of preliminary hearings leading up to the murder trial. Then, there was the trial itself, during which time my family and I sat for a week, day in and day out, listening to testimony after testimony, trying to avoid seeing pictures that might deepen the wounds, and hearing the defense attorney’s distortion of truth for the sake of winning his case.

This was also the time in my life that I was finishing up college, getting engaged, planning a wedding, getting married, and beginning my career as a teacher.

Truly, it was a crazy time in my life!

But after about three years, things seemed to settle down and come to a close. Justice was served and the estate was settled. And that was it. I feel like I was suddenly thrown into chaos, but at the end of three years, it all abruptly ended, and my life began to resemble a “normal” life once again.

I tried to put it all behind me. I tried to move on. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of the pain, it still remained. It wasn’t until I met Jesus years later that I was led to rummage through all my junk and was finally able to allow Jesus to heal what had been broken.

But it wasn’t easy. In fact, it was one of the most painful, difficult seasons in my life. When we ask Jesus to heal us, we must understand that healing can be painful.

Healing a broken heart requires that we allow God to bring us back to our most broken places, to the darkness of our soul in order to see and understand our situation anew.

But it’s painful. It’s like opening an old wound, digging into it, removing the shrapnel that was embedded years before, and closing the wound properly for the first time.

Once we heal, the scars remain. But one thing I’ve learned is that it is God’s intention to take those scars, turn them into our strengths, and use them for our good and the good of others to His glory.

He is, after all, our Redeemer. What an amazing God we serve!

{Healing a broken heart requires that we allow God to bring us to our most broken places.}

Question: In what area do you need healing? Have you experienced healing? Was your healing painful? Share in the comments.

To read more about my process of healing, read {Lessons Learned} Healing Comes With Greater Understanding.

To read more about my journey toward forgiveness, read Freedom Through Grace or {Redemption} Your Testimony May Have Saved a Life.

{Lessons Learned} Do You Need Jesus to Forgive?

Posted on April 25, 2013 by Laurie Coombs

I had a feeling something was still there. Some residual scarring caused by my dad’s murder. In a way, I wanted to go there. Get it all out. Heal completely. But at the same time, I feared what would be found.

I sure hope I’m not really screwed up, I thought.

But I knew some soul work needed to be done. Digging would have to take place. And the root of whatever was left behind would have to be excavated and restored.

I tried to do this on my own for nine years after Dad died. I tried to “pick myself up by my bootstraps” and move on, reasoning that Dad would have wanted it this way. He wouldn’t want me to succumb to the wave of despair that threatened to swallow me whole.

So, I moved on. Each time the thought of Anthony came into my mind, I chose with precise deliberation to cast these thoughts aside.

I forgive him, I’d tell myself, knowing full well that I didn’t. I thought if I did this long enough, it would become my reality. It was the only way I knew how to move toward forgiveness, and I hoped this would allow me to shed the effects of my past.

Even the secular world tells us to forgive. “You must forgive and forget,” we’re told.

And, so we do. Or we think we do.

We will ourselves into believing that we’ve arrived at the desired destination. That we’ve forgiven.

I forgive Anthony, I told myself. I do.

Then, I became a Christian after completely falling apart. And I mean completely falling apart. I’ve written about this time before, but for our purpose here, I must tell you that I don’t think I would have gotten to this point of complete desperation and complete lack of hope had it not been for my unforgiving heart (The one I thought was forgiving, mind you).

So, there I was, a baby Christian, one year after surrendering my life to Christ when the call to forgive came. Quite frankly, I was surprised.

But I’ve already forgiven Anthony, came my rebuttal to God.

Soon, I learned that forgiveness––real forgiveness, that is––can only be accomplished through Jesus, the one who died to make forgiveness possible.

It’s the same with all things.

We cannot love, in the full sense of the term, without first receiving God’s love.

We cannot extend true mercy or grace without first receiving God’s mercy and grace.

So to, we cannot forgive, completely and unconditionally, without first receiving God’s forgiveness. [Tweet that]

It is Jesus who made forgiveness possible, and it is He who guides us onto our own path toward forgiveness. [Tweet that]

I’ve mentioned this before, but I don’t think I can emphasize it enough. Forgiveness is a process. It is not something that occurs instantly. And it requires a decision to pray for Jesus to guide you toward that end.

So, I encourage each of you to take another look at your life. Take another look at you relationships. And prayerfully assess whether or not you hold unforgiveness in your heart. And if you do, I implore you to seek God and forgive.

Forgiveness will set you free. [Tweet that]

Remember, forgiveness begins with prayer. [Tweet that] Pray for God to lead you toward freedom today.

{Forgiveness is only possible through Jesus.}

Question: Has God been showing you unforgiveness in your heart? Who do you need to forgive? How have you tried to forgive apart from God? Share in the comments.

To read more about my journey toward forgiveness, read Freedom Through Grace or {Redemption} Your Testimony May Have Saved a Life.

{Lessons Learned} Jesus Accomplishes the Impossible

Posted on January 31, 2013 by Laurie Coombs

But he said, “What is impossible with man is possible with God.” – Luke 18:27

When we follow Jesus, He accomplishes the impossible. [Tweet that]

Lord, I pray for Anthony. Help him. Have your will be done in his life, and please, Lord, if he is truly a Christian let him be used by you in prison to turn lives around for your glory. Let him gather your people to you in prison! Lord, help him truly submit to you and your will and help him to be a true strong believer who turns from evil to your light.

- My prayer journal, May 2010

I prayed this prayer often as I began correspondence with Anthony, the man who murdered my dad. I prayed for Anthony to come to true repentance. For him to be brought to his knees and to transform him into a strong man of God who gained influence within his prison walls for Christ.

I knew Jesus could do it, but I have to be honest, I didn’t anticipate the power these prayers would have on both my destiny and that of Anthony’s. (If you have yet to read about what God did through our correspondence, read here or here, among many other posts.)

Jesus does the impossible in our lives.

You may find yourself to be surrounded by one of life’s storms right now.

Maybe you are late on your mortgage, and you don’t know where you’ll come up with your next payment.

Maybe you were laid off, and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t find another job.

Maybe your marriage is in shambles, on the verge of divorce, and you don’t know how to get back to that place you once were.

Maybe you’re struggling with addiction or another stronghold, and you can’t seem to escape from the shackles that weigh so heavy upon your soul.

Maybe you’ve experienced loss––a loss that threatens to crush your soul––and you cannot imagine ever feeling whole again.

Maybe you have lost hope and find yourself to be in the dark place of depression, and you don’t know how to climb out of the pit, back to where the sun will shine upon your soul once again.

Maybe you’ve received a bad report from your doctor, and you are in a place of utter despair, anxious about the uncertainty of your future.

Whatever your situation may be, know this:

Jesus is your answer. He’s calling to you, beckoning your soul to draw near. He tells us, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). As Luke 18:26 states, all things are possible with God. So no matter how bleek your situation my seem, know that we serve the God of impossibilities.

(For those of you who find yourselves to be in a relatively calm season of life, be sure to store this truth. The storms of life are sure to come. Ready yourself with truth.)

{Jesus accomplishes the impossible.}

Have you experienced Jesus accomplish the impossible in your life?

Join the discussion! Leave a comment.

To read more about my journey toward forgiveness, read Freedom Through Grace or {Redemption} Your Testimony May Have Saved a Life.

Connecticut Shooting: How Do We Respond?

Posted on December 17, 2012 by Laurie Coombs

The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. – Psalm 34:18

What do we do when 20 little children and 7 adults are slaughtered before our eyes? How do we respond?

No words of mine will ever do justice to this tragedy. To say it was a heinous act is an understatement.

Terrible. Wicked. Evil. Horrific.

None encapsulate the gravity of what has happened.

Having been on the receiving end of tragic news, I still have no words of comfort for those affected by this tragedy. To tell them I know what they’re going through can oftentimes be a slap in the face.

I remember many––with good intentions––tried to comfort and console me after my dad’s murder with their own stories of loss. I hate to admit this, but those who attempted to comfort me in this way only made me angry.

They don’t know what I’m going through, I thought.

They didn’t know my pain. They didn’t know what I was dealing with. They didn’t know my siblings and I would have to arrange for my dad’s cremation and funeral. They didn’t know we would have to take care of and clean up the crime scene after the investigation was complete. They didn’t know we would have to endure two years of preliminary hearings prior to the trial and would spend a week in the audience of my dad’s murder trial, and that I would speak to the jury during the sentencing phase.

Yet, even though I’ve been there. Even though my dad was murdered, I don’t know what the families in Connecticut are going through. This is their reality, not mine. We may know pain. But we don’t know their pain or their circumstance.

Still, to remain silent, I’ve learned, is hurtful as well. These families need support. They need to know they are loved. Coming to them. Entering into their pain and saying with honest sincerity, “I don’t know what to say, but I am here,” is the comfort they need.

When tragedy strikes, some victims prefer not to speak out, and this we must respect. But don’t mistake their lack of words for their lack of need. To sit in silence alongside someone who is suffering may be what’s in order.

Still, others need to talk. They need a listening ear. Not one that offers all the solutions or much guidance, but one that simply encourages them to talk. To process.

Regardless of how one grieves, we all need comfort in our time of need. We were created as relational beings. We need each other. Here are some other ways you can comfort those dealing with loss:

Bring lunch to them. Sit with them. Eat. Listen.
Drop off dinner (not only for one or two weeks after the tragedy but for longer).
Write a note of encouragement that doesn’t offer explanations or solutions but simply shows them you care.
Don’t forget the parents, grandparents, or siblings (little as they may be) in your efforts as well.

I don’t know how to do this from all the way over here in Nevada, but I pray Jesus allows each of us to be used. And I will certainly keep my heart open to whatever I am led to do.

I know now is not the time to attempt to find purpose in all of this, but I do know one thing. God will redeem this. Just as He does all things, He will bring good out of this evil.

This I’m sure of.

{Allow Jesus to use you to comfort the brokenhearted.}

Are there any other ways you can think of to care for, comfort, or minister to the families of those lost?

Share in the comments.

To read more about my journey toward forgiveness, read Freedom Through Grace or {Redemption} Your Testimony May Have Saved a Life.

Memories

Posted on November 15, 2012 by Laurie Coombs

I was a daddy’s girl at heart. When I was a little girl, I thought my family was perfect and my dad hung the moon, himself. There are so many memories.

I remember when I was little, my brother, sister, and I would each vie for our turn to be lifted into the air by Dad. “My turn! My turn!” we’d yell.

Dad would lay on his back, arms bent and hands flat on the ground. “Hop on!” He’d say with a smile. When it was my turn, there was always a feeling of nervous excitement as I stepped on his hands. “Strong belly,” he’d say, “balance!” as he slowly hoisted me up in the air. He’d take me as high as he could, before I’d lose my balance and fall the short distance to the ground.

I remember learning to snow ski in the Sierra Nevadas. My skies in the shape of a triangle between those of Dad’s as we slid down the mountain. My dad wasn’t one to go slow, yet I always felt safe, in his loving arms.

I remember hiking, stopping along the way to pick some of the most beautiful wild flowers you have ever seen. Dad, wielding his camera, snapping photos of the beauty that surrounded us. When my sister or I tired, we would be hoisted upon my dad’s shoulders and would be gladly taken to the end of the trail which would always be one of the most beautiful secluded mountain lakes you could imagine.

I remember deer hunting, our family camping for a week each year in the sage, building forts, coloring in my strawberry shortcake coloring book, hiking, and scouting out deer. Standing next to Dad, I would watch him skin the deer, as it hung from a tree in camp. When I got old enough, I finally asked, “Can I try?” and Dad smiled, handed me his buck knife and showed me where to cut as he pulled back the skin.

I got older, graduated from high school, and began college. I’d call Dad periodically and say, “Hey, wanna come take me out to dinner?” And he would. One night, however, I asked if he would be interested in coming over to dinner at my house. It was a college house, and I wasn’t much of a cook, but that didn’t deter me. He agreed, and we had dinner––just the two of us. I can’t remember what I made for the main course, but I do remember the salad. Dad loved salad, and I wanted to make it just right. I tried, really, I did, but it turned out to be a soppy watery mess of a dressing. But still, Dad looked me in the eye and told me he loved it.

I miss my dad. I miss him more than I can even begin to express. But I know one thing––he’s in paradise. He’s before the throne worshipping Jesus. He’s free from sin and the trials this life holds, and for that I am thankful.

{There are blessings even in our losses.}

To read more about my journey toward forgiveness, read Freedom Through Grace or {Redemption} Your Testimony May Have Saved a Life.

Bounty Through Obedience

Posted on August 8, 2012 by Laurie Coombs

I knew something happened. Shaking my head, I adamantly whispered, “No. no. no. no…” But with tear-filled eyes they told me. “Laurie, your dad was murdered last night. He’s dead.”

Startled, my eyes began to dart around the room, not knowing what to do with what I had been told. As my new reality began closing in around me, I felt the shackles of a heavy burden weighing me down, but there was no escape. I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit something, throw something. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening, I thought.

But it did happen. And in that moment, my life was forever changed.

About a month before my dad died, he took me out to dinner. It was a welcomed treat for a poor college student. I sat across a small table from him. And after a bit of small talk, he asked me, “So, whatch ya going to do after you graduate?”

“I don’t know,” I said, putting my fork down. I was a year away from getting my bachelors degree, and the thought of getting into “real life” excited me. “I’d like to see what kind of a job I can get first, but maybe I’ll go on to law school. Or maybe I could get my teaching credentials and become a history teacher,” I added with enthusiasm. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s up to you,” he responded with a grin and a look that made my heart smile.

Soon, our conversation turned, and with a spark that I hadn’t seen in quite some time, my dad told me about a woman he’d been dating. I asked some questions about her, and my dad did his best to answer them. “She’s a good Christian woman,” he told me. And he went on to tell me that he started going to church again.

“Oh, good,” I said. But then tried to change the subject. I wasn’t a Christian at the time. In fact, I was far from it.

But then my dad said this, “Laurie, when I die, I want people to remember me for who I am. I don’t want anyone turning me into something I’m not.”

“Okay,” I responded slowly, thinking it was a bit of an odd remark.

“It’s just that, when someone dies,” he continued, “people only want to talk about the good parts of that person. But that’s not who they really are. There are good parts and bad parts to everyone.”

He has a point, I thought. Yet, I had no way of knowing the significance of what he was saying.

A month later, my dad died. And the conversation that we had over dinner became engraved upon my heart. I tried to honor my dad’s request to be known as he was. It weighed heavy on my heart as I wrote his eulogy a few short days after his death. And each time I spoke or wrote about his life and death, it was on my mind. Still, the significance of his words alluded me––that is, until I began to write more about my past and, more importantly, about the beauty and redemption that God has created out of it. It was then that I knew without a doubt that the Holy Spirit encouraged my dad to speak those words to me, over a decade before I needed them, to give me the freedom to write with the transparency needed to help others.

I have no desire to write about myself. But I cannot keep quiet about what God has done in and through my life. I have learned a lot about the heart of Jesus. He truly is our Redeemer. And it is Jesus’ desire to lift us out of our despair and our pain and bring us to a new place. A place that is rich in beauty and blessing.

Yet, God has shown me that in order to get there, we must choose, through the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, to say yes. To say yes, my Lord, I will follow You. Yes, my Lord, I will obey Your commands. For, it is when we lay down our fear, our pride, and our resistance that we are able to experience life as He intended. The life that Jesus died for us to have. [Tweet that]

This is where redemption happens.

It is only through the grace of God that I chose to say yes. I chose to follow Jesus when He told me that it was time to love and forgive the man who murdered my dad. What happened after this, was nothing less than a work of God. He brought good out of evil, love out of hate, and peace out of despair.

Still, this story began with a tragedy. With the loss of my dad. And I have to be honest––there is a part of me doesn’t want this to be my story. I don’t want to be a murder victim’s daughter. But I am. What I want is to have my dad back. I want to be able to feel him pull me abruptly toward him to receive one of his great big bear hugs as he often liked to do.

But that’s not the story God intended to tell. And I know in my heart that the stories God creates are far richer than anything we can conceive of in our finite minds.

The story God has created is a story of the grace, mercy, healing, forgiveness, and redemption that can only be given through Jesus. But ultimately, it’s a story that displays the glory of our amazing God. And I pray that it encourages you to say yes to whatever Jesus calls you to and to embark on your own Jesus-led story.

{The fruit of obedience is bountiful if we will simply obey.}

How has God blessed you when you were obedient to His word or His call?

Leave a comment.

To read more about my journey toward forgiveness, read Freedom Through Grace or {Redemption} Your Testimony May Have Saved a Life.