Resetting My Soul - Over and Over by Patty Fouts (Short)

As with every human, I have encountered grief throughout my life - some times expected, other times not; yet all begging for a soul reset. My earliest memorable years were spent in a little farming community in northeast Georgia, an idyllic place for a child. It was there that my early memories of Sunday School and church were formed at Center Hill Baptist Church. I can clearly envision my primary classroom where the picture of Jesus, with little children gathered at his feet, hung upon the wall. There we gathered to learn about Him, to learn that we are God’s children and that yes, Jesus loves us. It was there that in fourth grade I walked to the altar and accepted Jesus as my Savior, later being baptized at a neighboring church, as our little church did not yet have a baptismal pool. What gifts I received there - gifts I am reminded of every day! When I was not quite ten, a devastating fire on our farm led to my family’s move to Lakeland. Though most of my mother’s family were here, and there was some excitement about living near my grandparents and cousins, the sadness of leaving a place that still resonates as the happiest time of my childhood was great. As I look back, I realize this was my first encounter with grief. Soon after, my illusion of our perfect family was shattered, when at the age of twelve I learned my parents were divorcing. The world as I knew it had ended. It was devastating. I was sad, I was scared, I was even embarrassed.

In times of despair, I often think of the allegorical poem, “Footprints in the Sand.” I particularly lean on the words spoken by the Lord, “The times when you have seen only one set of footprints is when I carried you.” I know that in my grief as a child, Jesus carried me. In my grief as an adolescent, Jesus carried me. And in my adulthood, Jesus has carried me through grief over and over.

As a young mother, Jesus carried me when my mother suffered a stroke at the age of fifty-seven, two weeks before the birth of my second child, her first granddaughter. He was still carrying me when she passed away ten months later. The woman who had adopted me at birth and loved me so unconditionally had died. My heart was broken. But Jesus heals hearts that are broken.

Ironically, thirty-two years later, I would lose my husband, George, at the age of fifty-eight, as well. Retiring in June of 2009 after teaching thirty-six years at Lime Street/Philip O’Brien Elementary School, I never imagined that five months later my husband would die. How does one move forward from ending a life-long career to widowhood in such a short time? Through God’s provisions. He provided family, caring friends, a grief support group who understood my pain, and motivation to get up every day to tend a business I’d inherited. I couldn’t do it on my own - but I could do it with Him. On days that were especially hard, he sent reminders of his love that I could not ignore. One afternoon, after a particularly hard day, Paul Dickinson, a visiting minister from First United Methodist, showed up at my front door. He didn’t know me and I didn’t know him; in fact, he was actually looking for my neighbor’s home. He had mistakenly come to the wrong house, but there was no doubt he was really at the right house, sent to me by God - not a coincidence, but a small miracle.

As life moved forward and God provided so many blessings in my life, it suddenly came to a standstill in March of 2020. Just before COVID changed the world, my world was changed by the death of my son, Jason. Matthew 5:14 says: “Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.” It doesn’t say we won’t cry ceaselessly or have overwhelming despair. It doesn’t say that there will be no more days of sorrow. But it does say we will be comforted. There is a quote that resonates with me: “God can take your pain, but you have to let it go.” I know this to be true. Jesus heals broken hearts. If you let Him, He can reset your soul.