All posts by tarabarlow

I love and follow Jesus Christ. I am a new widow. I am a mom.

Making Friends

Feeling lonely, sad and slightly overwhelmed makes me want to shop.  Put everything in my cart.  If I’m buying food, then fill up my cart so I can go home and fill up my face.  I am feeling a huge void now that nothing can replace.

It’s not just that I’m lonely. I feel abandoned by love.  For example, I loved my husband.  He was there for five short years of marriage. Then he left for heaven.  Gone. Which feels so very much like my father.  My father loved me like crazy for five years. His love was far too crazy and toxic for anyone’s sensibilities, so then he was gone. Gone for years which felt like forever.  And today he is still checked out.

I’m here again: Alone.  There have been times in my life when I felt gloriously freed by my singleness. But not now. Now it still hurts.  I want it to stop.

The alternative is worse. I cannot imagine the quality of romantic relationship I would end up in were I to pursue one now.  Not a good option at all.

I just don’t see it or feel it. I just don’t know how to get from here to there, but somehow I am doing it.  I am doing it.

I am meeting my loneliness, greeting the sorrow. Maybe one day we’ll be friends.

Hello. I feel like I know you.

A is for Anger

I feel so irritated.

The day started wonderfully with my son.  Then, after a few pleasant morning tasks, I opened up FB to read the latest act of violence against a family with children committed in my sister’s hometown of Houston.  She will be visiting there within a few days with her family.  This heinous event reinforced my conviction that my young son must not ever open the front door, answer the phone or no matter how old he is, ever be left alone.  Two hundred points for paranoia.

Next I listened to a voicemail left by my dear friend who suggested to me that I misunderstood a small detail stated between us. Now I am angry.  I wish that she would not point out what she considers to be my wrong. I would like to argue with her my position which I see as justified.

I recall the verse that says “The anger of man does not accomplish the righteousness of God.”

When I picture the face of Jesus, I feel peace.  I feel acceptance.  I feel compassion.  I feel safe.

He covers me within His arms where no one can reach me. I am covered. I am safe.

I yield to the heart of Jesus. I lay down my pride, my defenses, my self-righteousness.

I see myself kneeling before the cross, opening my hands and looking up at the greatest measure of Love there is.

Thank you for loving me, Jesus. I am yours.



cropped-10255836_492736960855703_4325733260724890687_o1.jpgLosing my husband and the father of my four-year-old son eleven months ago has brought me  to new places.  My emotional meter bounces all over.  I’m grieved then I’m furious.   I’m confused and I can’t remember many details.  I feel lost. I ache for my son.  I want my former home.  I long for a fresh start. I cannot surrender my former family.

Over there is the amazing resource in the person of God.  My Hope, My Redeemer, My Restorer, My Love, the One who gave me Jared, the One who took him away.

This doesn’t make sense.  I am so uncomfortable with this confusion I feel inside.   How do I rationalize the goodness of a God who is okay with the suffering my son is enduring at this time?  How do I accept what God accepts: brokenness, pain, loss.  Hitting lows I haven’t known before.

In my heart and mind I am aware of the death before resurrection principle that Christ modeled.  I have lived this principle in my pre-Jared years.  I know down to my core that resurrection is coming.

But I want resurrection now.  I don’t agree with this.  At all.  It feels so wrong and so bad.  I want it over and done with.  Immediately.

Many comforters have said to me “I cannot imagine what you are going through.”  What a kind, gentle statement.

Early in my grief, before I became aware of my silent, pervasive disillusionment with Jesus Christ, I boldly responded to these compassionate statements with a proclamation.  I said this was not the worst I had seen in my life.   I will get through this, I said, because it didn’t compare to the pain of my childhood.  Of course it didn’t.  That thought made sense to me at the time.

It hurts more now than I ever expected.

I had hope in my husband that was stronger and deeper than the hope I had for anyone else in my life.  This hope died the day he collapsed in front of my son on the playground.

Eleven months ago everything changed and here I am still sorting.