Today, I noticed something beautiful. There, among hundreds of fallen leaves covering the forest floor, were tiny purple flowers still blooming. They weren’t large or particularly showy. In fact, someone passing by might not even notice them. But I did. Finding joy after loss has taught me to notice beauty I might once have overlooked.
And their delicate beauty, surrounded by all those dead leaves, made me stop and think about my own life.
Those flowers didn’t seem bothered by the dead leaves surrounding them. They weren’t waiting for everything around them to become beautiful again before they bloomed. They were simply doing what God created them to do.
And suddenly, I realized how much I had in common with those flowers.
I’ve experienced more loss than I ever imagined I could survive. I lost my first husband, Tony, in a fiery car crash, leaving me a widow and a single mother to our one-year-old son. Then, eighteen years later, someone murdered my only child, Luke.
There are no words to adequately describe what losing Luke did to me. My world shattered. The life I knew was gone. And for a time, I didn’t want to live anymore.
Grief, depression, and darkness surrounded me so overwhelmingly that I couldn’t imagine ever feeling truly happy again.
I was alive. But I wasn’t really living. And yet, here I am.
Not because I am extraordinarily strong. Not because I’ve forgotten what happened. And certainly not because losing my son somehow became easier.
I’m here because Jesus never stopped loving me, even when I struggled to find a reason to face another day. He didn’t erase my past. He didn’t bring Luke back. But he began restoring something I thought I’d lost forever.
My desire to live. And not just to exist.
To live abundantly.
In John 10:10, Jesus said, “…I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
For years, I thought an abundant life meant having everything I wanted: a loving family. Good health. Happiness. Security. A future filled with wonderful possibilities.
But I’ve learned that abundance isn’t measured by how much we have or how little we’ve suffered.
It’s found in what Jesus gives us even when life has taken so much away.
Today, I laugh. I love. I travel and explore the incredible world God created. I ride my bicycle and marvel at beautiful flowers growing among dead leaves. I enjoy precious moments with Mike. I write books, share my story, and look for opportunities to tell others about Jesus.
And perhaps one of the most unexpected blessings of all is that God has filled my heart with love for the man who murdered my son.
Tyrone.
I never imagined that my life would include visiting prisons, sitting across from my son’s killer, and genuinely caring about his life and his eternity. But it does. And I wouldn’t trade the love God has placed in my heart for anything.
Does that mean I no longer grieve?
Of course not. I still miss Luke. I always will. There will never be a day when I stop loving him or wishing I could see his beautiful smile again. But I’ve learned something I desperately wish every hurting person could understand.
Grief and joy can exist in the same heart.
I can miss my son and still love my life. I can remember the darkest days I’ve ever experienced and still look forward to tomorrow. I can carry the pain of what I’ve lost while embracing the blessings God continues to give me. And I can love the man who took Luke’s life without loving Luke one bit less.
That’s what an abundant life looks like to me. Not a life without sorrow. But a life in which sorrow doesn’t get the final word.
As I looked at those flowers today, I thought about how easy it would have been to focus on the dead leaves. After all, they were everywhere.
But my eyes were drawn to the flowers. To their beauty. To their life. And I wondered how often we do the opposite in our own lives.
How often do we become so focused on everything we’ve lost that we overlook what God has placed right in front of us?
I know how difficult that can be. I’ve lived through days when I couldn’t see anything beautiful.
But Jesus patiently helped me see again. And now I want to spend the rest of my life sharing his love, finding joy in his creation, and living the life he has given me as fully as I possibly can. Those flowers reminded me of something wonderful.
Just because death has touched my life doesn’t mean it gets to define my life.
I am still here. I am still growing. And by God’s grace, I am still blooming. Even among the fallen leaves.
What beauty or blessings might God be placing in your life that you’ve overlooked because you’ve been focusing on everything you’ve lost?
