Have you ever seen the movie Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs? If so, there is a scene where the main character is stuck in a jello mold. There were many moments in the early days of my recent grief journey where this is exactly how I felt. Like life was moving around me and I was stuck, immobile, and numb to what was going on around me.

During the early days of my journey we were packing and preparing to move. The decision to move in early June was something that Jason and I had decided was necessary back in April before there were any signs of illness. Abby and I had begun packing and had moving supplies dropped on our porch during quarantine while Jason was in the hospital. Jason and I strategized what was going to the new place and what was going to our storage unit via texts. My mom, in-laws, and family were super packers once quarantine was over! We had amazing help and thanks to amazing friends we were well fed.

Fast forward to June 8, this was moving day and a day that will be etched in my memory forever. Just the day before, Jason had been put on a ventilator because he needed more assistance in supporting his breathing and oxygenation. That morning, Abby and I got up early, welcomed our moving party, and began working until the hired movers arrived. Once the hired movers arrived they began taking furniture apart and loading everything onto the truck. My in-laws were taking down curtains and curtain rods, and Abby and I were working on final box preparation and directing traffic.

Then my phone rang…it was the hospital.

I answered the phone and held my breath. On the line was the hospitalist that had been with Jason on both the COVID floor and now the ICU. He was calling to let me know that Jason had taken a turn and his kidneys and liver were shutting down and he was requiring the max out of the ventilator and blood pressure medications. The doctor was calling to let me know that Jason’s condition was serious. The doctor indicated that they had done what they could for the moment, and they were basically waiting for him to code so they could take additional life saving actions. It was this moment that I asked permission for Abby and I to be allowed in to the isolation room to see him. If he was really as bad as they said he was, I was willing to do whatever I could to get in that room, to see him in person, to pray for life and health over his body, and to just hold his hand. We were granted permission. It was at that moment that I realized this was very serious.

We stopped the moving duties and prayed as a family. I made phone calls that I never thought I would have to make and the family jumped in their cars and headed to Oklahoma! I called a few of my friends who prayed and agreed with me and then sent word out for others to agree in prayer. I do want to say that while I felt like I was in the jello mold during this time I never doubted that he would survive this day.

We were able to schedule a visit to the ICU and the movers and moving party took over so Abby and I could leave. I tried to prepare her for what we would see, but honestly I wasn’t even sure. We arrived at the hospital, signed in, and rode the elevator to the ICU floor. We spoke with a doctor, who was less than optimistic about Jason’s condition, put on our gown, gloves, and mask and headed into his room where we were given about 15 minutes of visitation. We talked to him, we talked to each other, and we prayed over him together and individually. We could tell he was still with us and fighting for his life and health. He was not ready to give up!

Once our time was up we went to our new home. A home that Jason had never stepped foot in and as it turns out he never will. This is the first home in my adult life that we won’t share. When we went inside our family was working to set up the furniture and prepare everything for our first night in our new home. It had been a long day, one that had felt surreal, again, like I was in that jello mold. The move happened around me, life that day happened around me, family dinner happened around me, setting up my home happened around me. Over the next 3 days, my family and friends rallied around Abby and I to set up, decorate, and prepare our home to be a place of peace and refreshing. They rallied around us by providing food, gift cards, and groceries. They rallied around us by providing encouragement, support, and prayer.

Within a few days Jason’s isolation ended. This meant he was now allowed one visitor at a time in his room. At this point something inside me screamed, “girl, get up and fight”. I knew that I needed to be in Jason’s room. I longed to be by his side to be an advocate, to be informed of his care, and to pray over him daily. We were blessed with amazing nursing staff. They were caring not only towards Jason, but also towards Abby, myself and any family that stepped in his room. Daily I fought to get up and fight for him. Each day brought challenges and each day brought opportunities to trust that my God was in control. Each day I found that no matter the circumstances from minute to minute my God is good and He is faithful. These truths helped me to be able to get up, to fight, and to keep going.

You may find yourself in a jello mold, or in your bed, or your favorite spot on your couch. That is fine for a time, but know this it says in James, when our faith is tested our endurance has the opportunity to grow. If you use your faith, patience, and trust God in your trial then your faith and endurance will also have the opportunity to grow. This is the part where I know that not only was my faith tested, but so was my endurance. On this side of the journey I can tell you there has been growth in my faith and endurance, but I can also tell you that I am not done growing yet.

Girl, get up. Lean in to what your Heavenly Father is saying to you and asking of you and be confident knowing that He will walk with you every step of the way!