Amy Welborn, one of the most gifted religion bloggers on the internet, lost her husband, Michael Dubruiel last week. He died on the treadmill at the gym. Two little boys. They’d just moved to Alabama for his new job. The tragedy of it is beyond comprehension for me.
Brilliant essayist that she is, Amy has been writing a bit about the experience. I don’t know whether writing these thoughts down is helping her but I think her words will help, and move, others. It’s worth reading her entire post about her drive to the funeral:

There is a void, my best friend in the world is just – gone. But in this moment I am confronted with the question, most brutally asked, of whether I really do believe all that I say I believe. Into this time of strange, awful loss, Jesus stepped in. He wasted no time. He came immediately. His presence was real and vivid and in him the present and future, bound in love, moved close.
The gratitude I felt for life now and forever and what had prepared us for this surged, I was tempted to push it away for the sake of propriety, for what is expected, for what was supposed to be normal – I was tempted to say, “Leave me” instead of accepting the Hand extended to me an to immediately allow him to define my life.
But I did not give into that temptation, and a few hours later I was able to do what I dreaded, what I thought was undoable, to be in a mystery that was both presence and absence and to not be afraid. To not be afraid for him, and for the first time ever in my entire life – to not be afraid for myself , either.
At last.
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