In the midst of Dale’s loss, her soul was full. You can catch up with her on her blog and follow her on Twitter. (Remember you can submit your Thin Place story here.)

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I look in the rear view mirror of my journey.

I see blessings, pain, comfort, anguish, mercy, fear…. they seem to go hand in hand when it comes to this journey I walk. Like sisters, hands tightly intertwined, they run through the dark forest searching for the light of the meadow.

How can it be that my most painful memory, ripping at my heart can also be my mountain top experience with the God of all creation? The God who goes before me and prepares the way, even when the way looks tragic, without a fairy-tale ending in sight. The God, who I know loves me and yet I cry out to Him,”No, you can’t let this happen God! No, please stop it, fix it, heal him!”

I am begging. Begging for life.

Three months pregnant with our first child. “You gave us this child,” I remind Him. “Why would you take her daddy, before she will ever know him?” A child we longed for and already adored. Yet quickly set aside with the diagnosis of terminal cancer in my 28 yr old husband, the man of my dreams. The man I cherish, love, worship, adore, would do anything for. He is my hero, my go to guy, my everything.

See a problem? Isn’t that how we are called to love our husbands?

I am his cheerleader and protector for the next ten months. The roles are reversed. I try to be who he was to me. I quickly learn that I cannot do this alone. I have feet of clay.

I call out to God and seek His face. I need wisdom and discernment. No, I do not understand this and I hate it but I love Him and I trust Him and I will follow Him… all of my days, no matter where He takes me. I am His and I learn to love, cherish, worship, adore, do anything for Him, make Him my go to guy. My everything.

Now, I understand my role and how to love my husband and my God. I had confused the two. How unfair to both of them and how gracious of my God to take me in His arms and carry me through my darkest days. Wiping my tears with the hands of His people and comforting me through His promises shared on the lips of His saints.

I can say, “Not my will, but thy will” on that cold February morning that Jesus called His beloved home. Free of pain and suffering and alive with Christ.

My heart is full. Full of thanksgiving, full of joy, full of life. A life that will be lived for Him and only Him. A heart that, though it trembles at its loss, knows it will be satisfied by her lover. The lover of her soul. Her great physician, her father, her rock and her redeemer. Yes, it is well with my soul.