Doors and Windows

One of my mother's favorite sayings was "When God closes one door, He opens up a window."  I grew up understanding this because she always explained that as she was losing her own mother to cancer, she was blessed (at age 35 after being told she could not have children) with ME!

The other day one of my facebook friends posted something about this old saying, and it got me to thinking.  (You know how dangerous that can be!)  I've seen God's work throughout my life, but never so clearly looking back as the day He decided Jeff would be in my life in such a big way.

I met Jeff in the fall of 1983 during my sophomore year @ Lipscomb University.  We dated a few times, but we just did not click.  I actually did not like him, nor was he really fond of me.  I thought he was a little too cocky, and he thought I was a stuck-up snob.  In looking back, we were both pretty much on target with those opinions!

I moved on dating another guy, and he moved on with another girl.  College was fun!  I was having the time of my life!  Little did I know that my life was about to change--forever. 

My father was probably the best man I've ever known, aside from my husband.  While growing up, no little girl could have asked for a better daddy.  He was a hard worker, a good Christian man, and he loved my mother and me unbelievably.  During my early life, I knew Daddy got down sometimes.  I remember times when he just went to bed, or he was overly emotional.  As a child, your perception of life is your reality.  (I guess that goes for adults, too!)  Looking back now, I know that was depression.  In the 1980's, there was not a lot of talk about dealing with depression or other mental illnesses.  There was not nearly as much known about an illness called bipolar disorder or manic depressive disorder, as it was called at that time.  But that is what my father had, but he did not get the help he so desperately needed.  As his family, we could not get him that help either.  I know my mother tried, but he would not hear of it.  He always insisted he was fine. 

On a cold January morning in 1984, I called home between classes.  We had all been worried about my father.  He was in a deep depression--one worse than the numerous others we had seen through the years.  I had actually been in the office of one of my professors, who was one of Daddy's closest friends.  I felt better after talking with him because he promised me that things would be okay.  He would take Daddy to lunch the next day and convince him he needed to see a doctor.  I was excited to tell my mom this news.  Little did I know, things were racing out of control at home.  The news I got on the other end of the line, set my mind to spinning and my suite mates to running.  As I staggered  down on the bed, I was screaming.  As my roommates ran into the room, the phone dropped to the floor.  The next two or three minutes were a blur.  My mother's words kept replaying in my head.  "Darlene, get home.  Your daddy shot himself." 

My best friend instinctively suggested that my current boyfriend drive us home.  (Home was only about thirty minutes from campus.)  I calmly said I didn't want him.  I wanted someone to go and get Jeff Sweet.  I remember the strange looks.  Why would I want Jeff Sweet?  Would Jeff Sweet even come drive us home?  I don't really know why I made that decision, except that I think God knew I needed Jeff.  Jeff was always a very "take charge," strong young man.  I think I knew I was going into a really bad situation that day, and I was going to need that strength.  In looking back, I don't think this was coincidence.  I believe God led me to what I needed that day. 

I remember Jeff coming into the dorm, and leading my best friend and me to his car.  I remember the drive home.  I continually asked questions, and Jeff calmly answered them.  I remember pulling into the driveway and seeing the ambulance still there.  I remember knowing that meant Daddy was not alive.  I remember seeing scores of people in my back yard--family members, friends from the neighborhood, friends from church.  I remember asking a dear family friend if Daddy was okay.  I remember him shaking his head.  I remember asking him if Daddy was gone, and I remember the nod.  I remember going into the den, and seeing my mother in shock.  I remember my aged grandfather sitting on the couch with our minister, grieving the loss of his son.  I remember all eyes on me as I walked into my worst nightmare. 

And I remember Jeff.  I remember him never leaving my side, even though I never asked him.  I remember him holding me up when my legs buckled.  I remember him holding me and shielding my face when my daddy left our house for the last time on a stretcher.  I remember Jeff staying with me all day while over a hundred people came and went.  I remember Jeff backing away when my boyfriend came.  But I remember he did not leave.

For whatever reason, my Daddy saw no other way out that cold January day.  Did God close that window?  Not directly.  But it did close.  But God opened a window that same day by putting Jeff in my life.  Life has taught me that we are not defined by our circumstances.  There are lessons to be learned in any situation of life.  So many times, we get so caught up in grieving the closed doors in life that we fail to embrace the cool wind coming from a newly opened window.  Grief is necessary, and it is a process.  I grieved the loss of my father.  I probably still do to some degree every day.  But God had a plan for my life, and it was Jeff.  It has not been a perfect life by any means.  But it has been a good life.

Our story unfolded in a remarkable way.  I will continue our journey next time!