Read Online I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love by Emily Maynard Johnson - Free Book Online

that blared a bold heading, “How to Deal with Death.” My eyes skimmed through a paragraph about heaven, about our souls belonging to God, about the Holy Spirit being available to us as a comforter, about how near to the brokenhearted God is. And then I read the words of Jesus: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going” (John 14:1–4 NIV ).
    I can’t tell you that reading those words immediately made me feel better. I can’t tell you the tears stopped. And I can’t tell you that the heavy weight of loss was lifted. What I did feel was confirmation of God’s presence. He was with me. Silent, perhaps. Maybe even somewhat distant. But as I stumbled through the shifting emotions of numbing shock, insufferable sadness, and seething anger, a part of me was assured that God hadn’t abandoned me.
    The days before the funeral were a blur. I retreated into the shadows as Ricky’s immediate family members spun in a flurry of phone calls. Of making arrangements. Of blocking out schedules. You know, logistics. When something traumatic happens, the world doesn’t stop. You can’t just bury your head in the sand without doing what needs to be done. Eulogies and obituaries need to be written. Programs created. Ministers called. Service details relayed. I can’t even begin to imagine what Ricky’s parents were going through, needing to finalize the last pieces of his life while their hearts were exploding.
    I camped out in the Hendricks’ guest room most of the time, aware that though Ricky and I were going to get married, I wasn’t officially family. I didn’t feel like I fit in or even deserved to be there. I never felt so alone in my life. Maybe I was overly insecure or so consumed with losing the love of my life, but I felt out of place, wearing the insignificant, temporary label of “girlfriend.” Though deep down I knew it wasn’t true, it felt almost parallel to a fling. This feeling would come and go during the course of the next few months, sometimes even making me question whether or not our relationship was real. It’s mind-boggling how grief can doctor, even contaminate, your thoughts.
    The night before the funeral, in a rare moment of intimate quiet, Mrs. Hendrick and I sat on her living room couch. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I stared out the windows that surrounded the room. The view was empty, pitch-black, void of even a hint of moonlight. I looked at her with a sadness only she could understand and asked, not really expecting an answer, “When will I stop hurting?”
    Mrs. Hendrick looked at me with eyes of compassion, understanding the fullness of loss, of pain, of emptiness. As she cupped my hands in hers, she began to pray. I had always admired the strength and grace she drew from her faith. As she prayed over me, I felt the Holy Spirit moving in my own spirit. His presence was unmistakable, covering me with a feeling of settling warmth. Mrs. Hendrick prayed that I would know God, that I would experience His peace, His hope.
    I’d been prayed over before, and though I’m not thrilled to admit this, most times I’d zoned out, thinking about things other than God. But when Mrs. Hendrick prayed, I devoured her words. I wanted so badly what she was praying over me. And in that moment, I knew God wanted me to have it, too, to have a deeper connection, a relationship with Him other than showing up at church services or praying occasional glib sentences. I didn’t know it, but this moment was another drawing me toward God, another step in the long journey of finally coming home.
    During the funeral services, which celebrated the lives of all ten people aboard the plane, I