In the aftermath, I learned to breathe around the ache. Life didn’t stop, and neither could I. I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in History with a minor in Literature, hoping that accomplishment would help me find my footing. Instead, I still felt lost. But I had my children, and they needed me. So, even when my heart felt heavy, I kept moving forward, one day at a time.
Days blended into weeks, and weeks into months. Time marched on, indifferent to my pain. I went to church every Sunday, even though I wrestled with God. My faith had been shaken, and I wasn’t sure if I was angry with Him or simply too heartbroken to hear Him. My dad, who was also my pastor, did everything he could to help me find my way back.
Then came Easter Sunday in 2009.
Our church hosted a dinner and an Easter egg hunt after the service. The weather was beautiful, and the grounds were alive with laughter. Children raced across the grass with brightly colored baskets, their excitement filling the air. I watched my own children laughing and running, trying my best to be present in the moment.
That was when I noticed him.
A young man stood across the crowd, watching me. Not in a rude or unsettling way exactly, but with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. I tried to ignore him, but every time I looked up, his eyes seemed to find mine.
Later that afternoon, he walked over.
“Why are you so sad?” he asked.
The question caught me completely off guard.
“I’m not sad,” I answered, almost defensively. “You just saw me laughing and playing with my children.”
He shook his head gently.
“It’s in your eyes,” he said. “Your sorrow. You can talk to me.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“What? I don’t even know you. You’re a stranger.”
A small smile crossed his face.
“Hi,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Andrew, and you’re Brother Walter’s daughter, Tonya.”
Then he smiled a little wider.
“We’re not strangers anymore.”
I laughed.
From that day on, we talked every Sunday. Little by little, Andrew chipped away at the walls I had built around my heart. He never tried to fix me or tell me that everything would be okay. Instead, he simply sat with my grief and gave me permission to face it.
When I was too afraid to go alone, he drove me to visit Paul. He listened to the stories I told and the tears I couldn’t hold back. Somehow, without ever forcing the issue, he helped me understand that even though a part of me had died, I was still alive.
I was still a mother.
I was still a daughter.
I was still me.
Andrew was only in my life for a short season, but the kindness he showed me left a mark that time could never erase. Some people are meant to stay for a lifetime, and others arrive just long enough to change the direction of your life.I didn’t understand it then.
But looking back now, I know God sent him.
Ebbs & Flows 