Settling into my seat, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the pain within my chest. Somewhere over the Atlantic on the flight from Munich to Raleigh, North Carolina, it had hit my heart afresh that my late husband would not be waiting at the airport when my flight arrived in Saint Louis. Yes, it had been one hundred and fifty sixdays since he drew his last breath, but grief triggers are unpredictable – and this one was a doozy.
Then came Yvonne. Boarding at the last minute on the Raleigh to Saint Louis flight, she took the last empty seat on the plane – left side, back row window, next to me.
“Are you from Raleigh?” Her voice broke through the invisible storm within me.
“No. Saint Louis.” My answer was short. It’s difficult to be warm and welcoming when holding back the floodgates of triggered grief. Her soft, gentle attempts at conversation continued until it seemed only appropriate to explain my short, monotone responses.
“I’m so sorry and do not mean to be rude. I’m a new widow and struggling at the moment.”
“Ooooooh,” the word flowed out of her petite frame like a big sigh of relief. “You’re why I missed my flight yesterday.”
God’s presence settled in around us as Yvonne shared a detailed account of the past 24 hours leading up to taking the seat next to me. And as the window view changed from buildings and concrete to billowy clouds, this fellow widow of seven years after 40+ years of marriage, shared wisdom from her own journey. Tears escaped my shuttered eyelids as I sat silently listening, arms folded across my chest as if to cradle my aching heart. Yvonne understood this road like few of my close friends could. It was as if she knew my thoughts without me uttering word. She felt it, wasn’t intimidated by it. She had stared it in the face herself – and had survived. By the time the plane touched down in Saint Louis, that widow of a denominational minister had shared words of encouragement and Bible verses to back up every declaration.
I would love to say my grief journey took a huge step forward that day never to recess into pain again. But wheeling my luggage out of the terminal and toward the awaiting car, the reality of my husband’s absence hit afresh and I wept uncontrollably. Did this negate the uplifting narrative Yvonne had spoken? Emphatically, no. It was simply another “first” on the journey of widowhood. However, I can only imagine how much more difficult that day would have been without Yvonne’s voice of experience. Her words and Bible references echoed in my thoughts that evening as I emptied the suitcases:
• “You won’t cry always.” (See Psalm 147:3.)
• “You may be weak, but God is strong.” (See 2 Corinthians 12:10.)
• “The anointing is on you even though you don’t see it or feel it right now.” (See Acts 1:8.)
• “God is so close to you.” (See Psalm 34:18.)
The encounter with Yvonne motivated me to reevaluate my own journey. How different our meeting could have been if she had not chosen to heal in a healthy fashion seven years earlier when she became widowed. But because she had healed properly, she could effectively minister to a stranger even after her own travel plans had been interrupted the previous day.
My goal with UPCI Widows Ministry is to encourage and empower others to become an Yvonne. While the road of widowhood is difficult, it should not render us ineffective in God’s kingdom. Peter reminds us that everyone has received a gift and we are to use that gift in servitude of others. (See 1 Peter 4:10.) So what gift rests in your hands today? Does it feel insignificant or broken? That’s okay. If God can create a human body from dust, just imagine what He can do with your submitted gift. And besides, there just may be a wounded soul at the coffeeshop or in the produce section that needs what you have to offer. Be an Yvonne to that wounded soul, because Yvonne seemed a whole lot like Jesus to me.
KELLY MIDDLETON
United Pentecostal Foundation Administrator | The Stewardship Group | UPCI
UPCI Widows Ministry Director | Ladies Ministries | UPCI
Published in Pentecostal Life June 2023
