Grace in Wilderness

“Mom, you’re a queen dancing alone because you’re a widow.”

My almost 7-year-old daughter said this to me after we heard the song lyric, “to all of the queens who are fighting alone…you’re not dancin’ on your own” and I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Part of me laughed because it was such a grown up observation coming from such a tiny human. But another part of me felt that familiar ache that comes when I hear my reality reflected back to me through someone else’s eyes.

Because she’s right—I am a widow.

That word still sounds so foreign to me. I never thought of myself as the kind of person who would be a widow, much less a young one. I thought I would be much older or that it wouldn’t happen to me at all. Widow feels like a title that belongs to someone else, not a name I should be burdened with.

What struck me the most with her words was how casually and matter-of-factly she called me a queen. There was no hesitation in her voice, no sympathy or pity. There was no apology in her statement. It was just pure, simple truth. Yes, I’m a queen. Yes, I’m dancing alone. Yes, I’m a widow. And to her, those truths don’t seem contradictory.

My daughter’s words have been running through my head for the last few days, and I am reminded that she doesn’t see all the things I am unsure about. She doesn’t see the prayers that I’m constantly whispering under my breath. She doesn’t see me crying myself to sleep after she has gone to bed. She doesn’t see if I am grieving correctly or healing too fast or too slowly.

My daughter does not see all of the second-guessing, prayers, and tears. She does see someone who makes her favorite foods, reads the same books over and over, and knows where her favorite stuffed animal is when it has gone missing. She sees the love I have for her and the presence I am in. She just sees her mom.

“Sing to God, sing in praise of His name,
    extol Him who rides on the clouds;
    rejoice before Him—His name is the Lord.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
    is God in His holy dwelling.” | Psalm 68:4-5

I always appreciated this passage, even if it didn’t mean that much to me until recently. Since my husband passed away, I have experienced this verse in so many ways as God has provided for us, comforted us, sustained us, and surrounded us with people willing to carry us when we can’t.

This awareness of my reality can be both beautiful and difficult to accept. There are moments when I am alone with the absence of my husband and the pain is so strong that I feel like drowning. But even when I am dancing by myself, I am not alone, not really.

I have the Lord my God with me every step of the way.

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