Come and See What God Has Done

“My troubles are all over,

And I am at home.”

- Anna Sewell

It all began over Bahama Buck’s Italian ice. I was seven months pregnant with Elissa, and Nathan had taken me out to celebrate our fourth anniversary. His eyes danced and he was so excited he was practically bouncing in the booth as he slipped a card across the table.

“Happy anniversary!” he crowed as I opened the card and unfolded…a map of the trip I’d dreamed of taking for a lifetime. “An Adventure for Kindred Spirits” was spelled across the top. We’d land in Boston, bop around Harvard, Bar Harbor, and Bay of Fundy, and then – wonder of wonders – end up in Prince Edward Island, the land of my dreams.

A month earlier, Nate had asked me: “Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?”

“Prince Edward Island!” I responded without missing a beat. I had devoured the Anne of Green Gables movies and books countless times since I was five years old, and the landscapes studded with unbelievable color and utter serenity had made up my dreams ever since. Nate had already taken one unforgettable trip to PEI with his family. He planned this trip as a total surprise, our last hurrah before becoming a family of three. We left the next day.

The whole vacation was magical, but PEI felt like coming home. I spent that weekend in a state of perpetual ecstasy, feeling simultaneously that this couldn’t possibly be real life, and that my dreams had come true. All too soon, it was time to leave, but I carried a piece of the Island – L.M. Montgomery’s “land of ruby, emerald, and sapphire” – irrevocably in my heart forever afterwards.

Fast forward to 2016. Nate had been gone a year and a half, and I was suffocating. An abundance of family and friends had housed me and Elissa, supporting us every moment of every day while I struggled to make sense of this new reality, the nightmare that never ended. My period of numbness was finally over, and I was desperate to be alone with my grief, surrounded by the salt water that Isak Dinesen calls “the cure for anything: sweat, tears or the sea.”

I needed it all, needed it now. So I put 18-month-old Elissa and our clothes in my car, and drove 16 hours north. Physically crossing the Confederation Bridge to my beloved PEI unlocked something in me. I cried for weeks: washing dishes, walking by the sea, biking through meadows studded with wild lupins, every naptime and bedtime. I feverishly re-read our love story, recorded so meticulously in dozens of journals kept over our eight years together, with all the fervor of a new romance impossible to put down. Then I would come up for air, gasping with the gut punch of how it all ended, in disbelief over what had happened to us when we were so happy. And I wrote. Feverishly, in ever spare moment, pages and pages of my devastation, disappointment, distrust.

The end of that summer brought no magic healing or resolution, but for the first time there was peace. I readied myself to reengage with society, already dreaming of my next trip north. We repeated the drill in 2017, ’18, and ’19, each summer returning to familiar places and growing friendships with a deepening sense of home. And I began to look at properties.

All the major life decisions I was considering felt incomplete without a permanent haven in PEI. So when I stumbled across the yellow-doored white house in New London while perusing my friend Heidi’s Instagram during the early days of Covid, I knew. Close to the water. Check. Nestled in the heart of a small town, minutes from our favorite people and attractions. Check. Fully furnished, with a guest cottage. Check, check. This was It – the home I’d so long imagined; the “two-story house with a yard” of Elissa’s dreams. Hands shaking and heart pounding, I texted Heidi. The house was still for sale, and she walked me through on Skype. The whole world was at a standstill, we were locked down in France, and I bought a house in Canada – never imagining it would be two years before we could get there.

Elissa didn’t know about the house. Even last month when I packed a U-haul trailer full of furniture and pictures and books, she didn’t suspect a thing. Sweet, trusting girl that she is, she accepted my explanations: “We’ll be in PEI all summer, so we’ll need a lot of stuff.”  

We spent a week at Kindred Spirits, the inn Nathan took me to eight years ago, reuniting with our favorite places and people for the first time in three years. Then, on the first Saturday in June, we drove to The House, allegedly to meet the exquisite Island photographer, Simon, for our annual photo shoot. Simon snapped away as Elissa, blissfully unaware, picked dandelions and explored the yard of her new home. Then, while his tripod covertly filmed away in the background, I asked her a question:

“Elissa, do you believe that God loves you, and knows the desires of your heart before you even ask Him?”

A curious, tentative “yess…”

“Do you believe that He LOVES to give you good gifts?”

“Yes?!”

“What if I told you that He had a two-story house, with a yard, on PEI? For you!”

She gasped and stared with disbelief. I produced the keys and gestured grandly.

“THIS is your house! Welcome home!!”

I will never forget the next few moments. Elissa flew into my arms and stayed there, motionless, tears of joy and disbelief glistening on her lashes. “Thank you,” she finally whispered, and we set off to explore our house – the Island summer home of our dreams, where we will rest and discover and create and continue to build a beautiful life together. This house is a gift from our Father. It is a gift from Nate, who first brought our little family here eight years ago. One day, I dream of sharing this gift with others in need of the same peace and respite that I’ve found here.

As I type this, we’ve been in our summer home for one month. Rain is pattering on the windows; a cool breeze stirs the maple trees and whips the waves of the ocean on the horizon. I am overwhelmed by God’s faithfulness. “Weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Here, on Prince Edward Island, is peace…is home.

Seven Years

“Out of these ashes, beauty will rise…” | Stephen Curtis Chapman

Seven October 5ths have passed since our lives changed forever. Every year this day has brought heavy sorrow; crippling memories of the beautiful life that was shattered in the instant that our beloved Nathan was taken from us. October 5 has been a sacred day of pain and memory. Today, seven years later, feels different somehow. The pain is ever-present and will be part of my life forever. Each new friendship and circumstance carries with it the stamp of longing: If they only knew him, they’d understand. And they’d know me, too. Yet on this day, my predominant emotion isn’t pain, but thankfulness. My heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for all that God has done and been to us these past seven years. Psalm 66:5 says: come and see what He has done for us…

            Seven is the biblical number of completion, of fruitfulness and future-orientation. It is overwhelming to think back over the past seven years of brokenness and fragmented existence with the realization that I am healed. I am whole. I live a beautiful life and I lack nothing. My life brims with friendships, purpose, fulfilment, and meaning. I am very aware that this is a rare testimony, and all I can do is point to Him. He has crafted beauty from ashes, and supplied abundant hope, joy, and peace that I thought were lost forever.

            Elissa is now seven; her birthday almost simultaneous with the loss of Nathan. It is inexplicable how she manifests Nathan without remembering him. All I can say is she carries his DNA: his winsomeness, strategic thinking, love for people, passion, energy, humor, far-sightedness, and beautiful tan. To know Elissa is to know her daddy. She lives with a forever longing that will not be fulfilled this side of heaven, and yet she is healthy. She is incandescently happy; she is free. She lives and loves wide-open; she is a tidal wave of joy and adventure. From the outside, her life makes no sense. She should be wounded, and lacking the things that only a father can give. And yet the void has been filled to overflowing. Another man hasn’t stepped in to father her; dozens of them have. Grandfathers and biological uncles and adopted ones and friends, who have known her for one year or seven, have given her a part of their hearts and invested untold amounts in her. Many of them never even met Nathan, and yet my girl is loved on more than most. All this earthly love cannot compare to the hand of her heavenly Father, who has shepherded and guided her since before she knew of His existence. Our story is a testimony to the continuous fulfillment of God’s promises: He satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with good things (Ps. 107:9). He sets the lonely in families (Ps. 68:6). He carries His lambs in His arms, holding them close to His heart (Is. 40:11).

            Nate…my beautiful boy. In four short years of marriage you set our family on a trajectory that will carry us through until the day that we’re eternally reunited. Each day of my life for the past seven years has been a love song to you: all that you are and all that you lavished on me. You gave all that you had, your myriad gifts and all your love and devotion, to your girls. We will never be able to thank you enough for embodying excellence in all things. There is no one like you, and the short years that we had together have forever filled my cup to overflowing. Knowing you was to know that God is good, all the time, and that He gives the best gifts. Your absence today doesn’t change the fact that you are the absolute greatest thing that ever happened to me. I will love you and anticipate our reunion for the rest of my life.

           To our precious family and friends scattered around the globe: in my darkest moments of loneliness and grief, I never could have imagined that we would be enveloped and carried by a literal multitude. Your love has held us up when we could not stand. We are here today, healthy, happy, and whole, because you did not give up. You did not forget. I long for the day that Nate and I are together in heaven, our family reunited for eternity, and I get to introduce him to each of you who never met him in this life. I can see him giving you a handshake - no, a bear hug - as his gratitude overflows in that million-dollar smile to you who were the hands and feet of Jesus to his girls when he couldn’t be. I hope that someday we get to thank each of you in person for carrying us in prayer and support over the past seven years. And I hope that when you see us, you see Jesus. My heart cry is that He will shine through us in every smile, every conversation, every laugh and adventure and shared memory. All that we are and accomplish in life is for Him and through Him and because of Him.

With all our love and gratitude,

Jen & Elissa

A New Normal

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the wildflower-dotted fields of southern France are begging to be explored…and we are entering Week Three of French lock-down. The government announced an extension until April 15, which means no movement outside the home for a full month, except for taking approved short exercise or a solo trip to the grocery store for essentials. We managed to make it to an apartment we’d rented in the south, where we’ll stay indefinitely until all this blows over. We are beyond thankful to be near old friends and new, practicing French with our host and reuniting with my dear friend Chelsea’s parents at the local grocery store (a 1-meter distance was carefully observed!).

Our sunrise journey through the mountains to the south.

At the home of our host, Marie-Pierre.

Learning French with Marie-Pierre in her jardin.

Living through a tumultuous, historical time while traveling abroad is complicated, unnerving, and sometimes downright uncomfortable. The language barrier takes social distancing to another level. I miss being able to put our dishes in the dishwasher and our clothes in the dryer. I miss luxuriating in a long, hot shower after a hard day. I miss the faces of dear ones back home, our cozy condo, walks around our neighborhood and favorite staples at Trader Joe’s. But I’m learning so much from watching Elissa embrace each new day’s trials and triumphs with boundless enthusiasm. Her joie de vivre is contagious; she is thriving in this new unencumbered life.

Every familiar luxury that we’re now living without reminds me of exactly why I wanted to take this trip in the first place. Sure, I wanted to learn French and buy daily fresh baguettes and visit vineyards and chateaux. But more than that, I wanted to learn a different way of living. I wanted to practice doing without so many American “essentials,” slow the hectic pace of life, and show Elissa that the way we do things is just one of a million different ways of living. Little did I imagine that this trip would take place right in the middle of a global pandemic. Whether we planned to or not, millions of us are now being forced to learn a different way of life. No one knows how long the tests and quarantines and social distancing will last, but I’m convinced that we will emerge from this crisis with new eyes, living a New Normal. And I am hopeful that this Normal will be more substantial, more authentic, more intentional and gratitude-infused than ever before.

Almost overnight, life became quieter and more simple than anything I can remember before. All the extras have been stripped away. There is no schedule to keep, no commitments to rush to, no need to put on makeup, no tasks pulling me in a hundred directions at once. I want to take full advantage of this season of simplicity. Even when most of our normal life choices have been temporarily denied us, we can still choose between drowning out reality in the noise of media, or silencing the clamor of news and entertainment to be fully present with our loved ones. For once in my life I can take some deep breaths and just BE. I can revel in the pure, unbridled joy on the face of my daughter when I play tag with her, help dress her doll, read her a story or color with her. It brings me to tears when I realize that, while much of the world is riddled with fear and anxiety, these are some of the best days of Elissa’s life…because she’s with me. Me! Who cares whether the dishes are done or if I don’t take a single Instagram-worthy photo because I’m too busy playing hide-and-seek? May these historic moments of isolation be opportunities for meditation…on what is meaningful in life, and what new habits we can form now that will redefine us when we all re-emerge one day into a New Normal.

Only in France does “essential shopping” include a walk to the boulangerie for the day’s fresh baguette!

Elissa’s invention: Carrot Soup (she does not recommend it).

The breakfast she made for me: baguette (bread is obviously the highlight of our days), veggies, apricots, pretzels, and a vitamin.