Posted in Challenge, Joy

When God Asks You To Be Silent

Posted on by Tricia T

Trusting Him in the Unknown When Everything in You Wants to Defend Yourself

There are seasons when trusting God means taking a step forward even though we cannot see where He is leading, and then there are seasons when trusting Him looks completely different. Sometimes trust means staying right where we are, resisting the urge to respond, explain, correct, or defend ourselves, and believing that God is still working even when we cannot see what He is doing.

I am learning that sometimes silence requires more faith than speaking ever could.

When someone misunderstands us, misrepresents our intentions, or says things about us that we believe are simply not true, our natural response is to want to set the record straight. We want to explain what really happened, make sure people understand our intentions, and defend our character. We think that if we can just find the right words or explain things one more time, surely, they will understand.

There is certainly a time and place for speaking up. Scripture does not teach us to stay silent in every situation, avoid setting boundaries, ignore wrongdoing, or stop advocating for what is right. But I am also learning that there are times when God asks us to release our need to control the outcome and simply trust Him.

Sometimes His invitation is simply, “Be still. Let Me handle this.”

And if I am being truthful, that can be incredibly hard.

 

Trusting God When I Don’t Know What Happens Next

I don’t particularly like the unknown. I like to know where things are headed and how they are going to turn out. When something is broken, I want to know it can be repaired. When a relationship is hurting, I want to know there will be reconciliation. When someone misunderstands me, I want to believe that eventually they will understand the truth.

But faith doesn’t always give us those answers.

Instead, faith gives us God.

Proverbs 3:5–6 tells us, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”

I have read those verses countless times, but they take on an entirely different meaning when I genuinely do not understand what God is doing. It is one thing to tell God that I trust Him when I can see where He is leading. It is another thing entirely to say it when I cannot see the next step, when I don’t know how something will be resolved, and when every instinct in me wants to step in and fix something that I simply cannot fix.

Maybe that is where trust really begins.

Trust isn’t saying, “God, I know how this is going to turn out, and I believe You will give me the ending I want.” Trust is being able to say, “God, I have no idea how this is going to turn out, but I know who You are, and I am choosing to trust You anyway.”

Not Everything Requires a Response

One of the harder lessons God has been teaching me is that not everything that is said about us requires a response.

That is difficult for me because I want people to understand. When I feel misunderstood, my instinct is to explain. I find myself thinking, If I could just tell the whole story. If they understood what happened. If they knew my heart. If I could just explain one more time.

But Jesus gives us such a different example.

Isaiah 53:7 says, “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth.” Later, when Jesus stood before Pilate and accusations were being made against Him, Matthew tells us that “Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge—to the great amazement of the governor” (Matthew 27:14).

Jesus wasn’t silent because the accusations were true, and He wasn’t silent because He was too weak to defend Himself. He knew who He was, He knew what was true, and most importantly, He trusted His Father.

There is a part of me that wants to believe that if I don’t defend myself, someone else gets to determine the truth. Yet God has been reminding me that my silence does not change what He knows to be true. I do not have to convince every person of my intentions for God to know my heart.

There comes a point when constantly defending ourselves can consume us. We become so focused on controlling what other people think about us that we miss what God may be trying to do within us.

Sometimes God isn’t asking us to win the argument. He is asking us to trust Him enough to surrender our need to win it.  And man is that challenging for me.

Silence Does Not Mean There Is Nothing to Learn

There is another side of this that I don’t want to miss, because trusting God to defend us can very easily become an excuse to assume that we are right and everyone else is wrong.

I don’t want that either.

When conflict comes, I want to have enough humility to ask God, “Is there something here that You want me to see?” Maybe my intentions were good, but my words were not. Maybe I could have responded differently. Maybe there is something I need to apologize for, a place where I need to grow, or something God is revealing in me that I would rather not see.

Trusting God with my reputation does not mean refusing to examine my own heart.

David prayed in Psalm 139:23–24, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

That is the prayer I want to pray in difficult seasons—not “God, prove that I am right,” but “God, show me what is mine to own. Give me the humility to acknowledge where I have been wrong, the wisdom to recognize what is not mine to carry, and the faith to leave the rest with You.”

There is a tremendous difference between refusing responsibility and refusing to carry responsibility that does not belong to us.

When Being Still Feels Like Doing Nothing

One of my favorite verses is Exodus 14:14: “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”

I can put that verse on pretty signs in my house (and write in on a post it in my car), but the reality is that the circumstances surrounding it were anything but peaceful. The Israelites had the Red Sea in front of them and Pharaoh’s army coming up behind them. From their perspective, there was no good option and no obvious way out.

And that was the moment God told them to be still.

I think sometimes I have imagined being still as this peaceful, serene act of faith, but I am beginning to realize that sometimes being still is incredibly uncomfortable. Being still means resisting the temptation to force an outcome because I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t. It means believing God can work in places I cannot reach and in hearts I cannot change.

Being still doesn’t mean doing nothing. Sometimes it is one of the most active expressions of trust we can offer God.

What If God Doesn’t Fix It Right Away?

This may be the hardest part for me.

Sometimes we surrender something to God while secretly expecting Him to resolve it quickly. We tell Him we trust Him, but somewhere underneath that prayer is the expectation that He will straighten everything out, reveal the truth, restore the relationship, or give us the answer we have been asking for.

But sometimes He doesn’t. At least not right away.

The misunderstanding remains. The relationship is still fractured. The answer doesn’t come. The circumstances don’t change, and we are left sitting in a place we never would have chosen.

Those are the moments when I must remind myself that God’s silence does not mean God’s absence.

So much of Scripture is filled with people who had no idea what God was doing while they were living in the middle of their stories. Joseph couldn’t see the palace from the prison. David couldn’t see the throne while he was hiding from Saul. Esther didn’t know how the king would respond when she walked into his presence. The disciples certainly couldn’t see Sunday while they were standing in the devastation of Friday.

We know how their stories end because we get to read the next chapter. They didn’t. And neither do we.

Maybe that is why trusting God in the unknown requires so much faith for us. We are living in the middle of a story and only God knows what is going to come next.

Choosing Joy When the Story Isn’t Finished

For me, choosing joy has never meant pretending that painful things aren’t painful. It doesn’t mean ignoring wrongdoing, avoiding difficult conversations, or putting a smile on something that is genuinely breaking my heart.

Choosing joy means refusing to allow my circumstances to determine what I believe about the character of God.

I can grieve something and still trust Him. I can be misunderstood and still trust Him. I can desperately want reconciliation while surrendering when and how it happens. I can wish I could change someone’s heart while recognizing that only God can do that. I can admit where I have been wrong without accepting things that aren’t true.

And perhaps most importantly, I can live in the unknown without knowing how the story ends because I know the One who is writing it.

Right now, I am learning a different kind of courage. It is the courage to stop chasing every misunderstanding, to resist the need to correct every accusation, and to trust that God does not need my help controlling the narrative. At the same time, it is the courage to let Him search my own heart and show me where I need to change.

I want to speak when He tells me to speak, apologize when I need to apologize, listen when I need to listen, establish boundaries when they are necessary, and remain silent when continuing to defend myself would only create more noise.

Maybe you find yourself in that kind of season too. Maybe there is something you desperately want to fix, someone you wish you could make understand, a relationship you want restored, or an answer you have been begging God to give you.

I wish I could tell you how your story will turn out. I can’t. And right now, I cannot see the end of some of my own stories either.

But perhaps faith isn’t found in knowing what happens next. Maybe faith is found in knowing that whatever happens next, God will already be there.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

Maybe being still isn’t giving up.

Maybe sometimes being still is simply saying, “God, I trust You enough to stop trying to write the next chapter myself.”

 

Posted in Joy

Living the Legacy Without the Spotlight

Posted on by Tricia T

Widowhood has been in the spotlight with recent news, and the question of how a widow can honor her late husband’s legacy has been the talk in many of my widow circles.

When we lose a spouse, the world seems to tilt on its axis. The life you shared, the memories, the laughter, the little traditions… it all suddenly feels fragile, like it could slip through your fingers. In our grief, a powerful question often rises in our minds early on: How do I honor their legacy? How do I live my life without them in a way that honors them and keeps their memory alive?

I remember when Ben died trying to figure out how to live my life in a way that honored his legacy, that made our kids and others know he was always remembered. In a way that showed the world that we missed him, but we were going to keep living fully, for HIM. Eight years later, that is no different. It is still forefront on our minds, even if we aren’t as openly vocal about it.

Celebrate Others, But Don’t Compare

Some widows, like Erica Kirk, have been called to use their voices publicly—sharing their stories, raising awareness, and helping others see what widowhood is truly like. Their work is beautiful and needed. And it also opens them up to both respect and ridicule from those around them.  Are they mourning too hard, are they grieving enough, are they moving forward too fast? And sadly, while their voice is heard publicly, it’s also ridiculed very publicly.

But not all honoring is done in public. Sometimes it happens quietly; around your kitchen table, in whispered prayers, or in the simple way you continue to love and serve your in-laws and your children. Hear this: your legacy work is no less valuable to God if it’s not seen in the public eye.

A Legacy Can Be Lived Quietly

Living a legacy doesn’t require a platform or applause. It might look like:

  • Teaching your children a value your spouse cherished.
  • Keeping a tradition alive that reminds others of their kindness.
  • Offering a listening ear to another widow who feels unseen.
  • Choosing faith on the days it feels hardest.
  • Traveling the world the way that they would have wanted you to.

God Sees the Unseen

Your life, lived quietly for His glory, tells a story the world may never fully see but Heaven does. Carrying your spouse’s legacy forward—even if only a few ever notice—echoes through eternity.

Scripture reminds us: “…your giving may be in secret, then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Matthew 6:4) God does not measure impact by social media shares or public recognition—He sees our love and faithfulness.

Walk in grace. Celebrate those who speak out like Erica Kirk, they are giving the world a glimpse into the strength that comes with widowhood. But don’t forget to also embrace the holiness of your own unseen faithfulness. In God’s kingdom, no act of love is too small to matter. He sees it and so do we!

Posted in Joy

When You Try to Write Your Own Story

Posted on by Tricia T

Oh, could I tell you the dangers of trying to write your own story.

It feels empowering at first—taking the pen, setting the course, deciding exactly how life should unfold. You dream, you plan, you push forward. But here’s the hard truth: you can spend years heading down a path that God never intended for you.

Sometimes it’s because you’re too afraid of the unknown. It’s safer to cling to the familiar, even if it’s not fruitful.

Other times, it’s because you’ve convinced yourself you know how the story should end—what redemption should look like, what healing should mean, and exactly how God should work in your life.

But when you insist on being the author, you limit the story to the boundaries of your own imagination. And our imagination, no matter how vivid, will never match the beauty and wisdom of God’s plans.

God Writes Better Stories

Scripture doesn’t promise that we get to control the narrative—it promises something better: that God Himself is the author. Hebrews 12:2 calls Jesus “the author and perfecter of our faith.” That means He not only begins the story, but He also knows how to bring it to completion.

When we try to take over, we’re essentially saying, “God, I think I can handle this ending better than You.” But Proverbs 16:9 tells us, “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.”

We can make plans, but only God sees the full picture—past, present, and future.

The Danger of Self-Written Redemption

When you script your own version of redemption, you risk settling for a lesser ending. You might think reconciliation with one person, or achieving a certain goal, is the pinnacle of your healing. But God often has layers of restoration you can’t yet see—healing wounds you didn’t even know you had, redeeming not just your situation but your heart.

Joseph’s story in Genesis is a perfect example. If Joseph had written his own ending, it probably wouldn’t have included betrayal by his brothers, slavery, accusations of adultery or years in prison. But those chapters—painful as they were—led to a redemption far greater than anything he could have imagined: saving nations from famine, reconciling with his family, and glorifying God in the process (Genesis 50:20).

Trusting the Author

There is so much healing and redemption in letting God write your story. Only He knows the path you truly belong on.

When I am reminded that I could have missed out on the blessings that I have now I am humbled. I would have never chosen this road for myself, but it is good, and God has redeemed so many beautiful moments for me and for my children.

Psalm 139:16 says, “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

Before you took your first breath, God already knew your story from beginning to end. And unlike us, He writes with eternal perspective, perfect justice, and unshakable love.

If you trust Him with the pen, you will see a story unfolding that is better than anything you could have scripted for yourself.

So, if you find yourself gripping the pen tightly today, maybe it’s time to lay it down. Hand it back to the Author who knows every chapter, who redeems every broken scene, and who has already written the most beautiful ending imaginable.

Praying for you as you step into an unknown future that is known by God above!

Posted in Ben, Joy

Eight Years Without You — But Still Carrying You with Us

Posted on by Tricia T

Eight years.
Ninety-six months.
Over 2,900 days and more hours than I can begin to count.

That’s how long it’s been since you left us…

Every year I wake up on this day and read the messages, reflect on the day that everything changed, and remember how we weren’t ready or prepared to say goodbye.

I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye… – Tricia Thirey

Eight years ago, I came home alone. I sat our kids down and told them their daddy was gone. I planned a funeral instead of a homecoming. And I stepped into a life I never asked for — one of solo parenting, quiet grief, and learning to live without the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.

The Loss That Keeps Changing

The list of things we’ve missed grows longer every year:

  • Our children’s milestones — sports events, graduations, first jobs, broken hearts — all without your hug or your advice.
  • Father/son talks that only you could have given.
  • Father/daughter dances that never happened.
  • Laughter around the dinner table that had your unique spark.

The absence is not just in the big moments — it’s in the small, ordinary days too. In the empty chair, the unshared joke, the “Dad, guess what?” that will never be directed at you.

Lessons in the Ashes

These years have been a teacher I never wanted. I’ve learned that:

  • Grief doesn’t leave; it just changes shape.
  • Sadness can sneak up on you in the middle of joy.
  • Life is unfair, but it’s still a gift.
  • Forgiveness matters more than we realize.
  • Every small moment is worth treasuring.

I’ve also learned that love doesn’t run out. Somehow, God has expanded my heart in ways I didn’t think possible. Earlier this year, I remarried. Not a replacement for you, because I love you both so uniquely — but I am grateful that God has given us a chance to embrace joy again, even with that little ache still here. And I think you would love the way Max loves us and treats our kids just like his own. He has been such a gift. God truly has allowed me to strike gold twice.

Choosing to Live

Every day, I face the same decision I’ve faced since the day you died:
Will I live fully today?

Not in spite of the pain, but with it.
Not ignoring the loss but letting it teach me to cherish and embrace what I still have.

So we keep going — loving each other, making new memories, and keeping you a part of our story.

Eight years gone but never forgotten. We share stories of your antics and fun almost every single day. You’re in the fabric of who we are, woven into every laugh, every tear, every act of courage. And I know you would be so proud of us!

We love you. We mean it.

— Trish & the kids

 

Posted in Joy, parenting

When Father’s Day Finds You in the In Between

Posted on by Tricia T

Father’s Day arrives each June like clockwork. Cards, advertisements, neckties, hats, and mugs about dads seem to be everywhere we look. But what happens when a clock stopped over seven years ago—when the children who once colored cards for their dad suddenly lost the chance to hand them over?

For those of us who still grieve what was lost, Father’s Day became something to avoid, a Hallmark holiday we pretend doesn’t exist.

That was our reality.  We spent each June honoring my dad and other great dads in our kids’ lives. And at the same time, we avoided the commercials, steered clear of church photo booths, and spent the second Sunday in June far from people celebrating something my kids had lost.

Yet this year felt different.

God has woven a new chapter: a wise and gentle “bonus dad” has stepped into our story. The kids want to celebrate with him, to shout their gratitude. They have spent weeks asking when Father’s Day is and what they can make and do to celebrate him.

And yet, I found myself unsure of how to proceed.

We’ve avoided this day for so long, and amid the happy tears, a little sadness still lingers. Sitting at the same table are their bonus dad’s children, carrying their own memories and loyalties. Joy and tenderness now share the same plate, and everyone walks softly.

So in these past few weeks, I’ve wrestled with how to honor both grief and gratitude in a blended family on Father’s Day. I asked for advice. I turned to Scripture. Here’s what I realized:

  1. God Draws Near to Broken Hearts

Grief does not have an expiration date. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Our heavenly Father acknowledges loss without rushing us past it. We can still honor and remember Ben even amid thanking God for the gift of Max.

  1. Scripture Tells Us About Fathers Who Stand in as Earthly Fathers

The Bible presents God as a Father who welcomes, adopts, and accepts us into His family (Romans 8:15). In Matthew 1, we see Joseph step into the role of earthly father for Jesus, raising and protecting Him with love and courage. A bonus dad’s role isn’t second place—it reflects God’s adoptive embrace. That is something to recognize and deeply appreciate.

(Bonus fact: Did you know Max’s first name is actually Joseph? How cool is that?)

  1. We Rejoice and Weep—Sometimes in the Same Breath

Blended families carry mixed emotions. One child may be bursting with excitement to bake muffins for a bonus dad, while another feels unsure of how to proceed. Biological children may wrestle with the idea of others sharing a day that once belonged solely to their father.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15). There’s room for both. Yesterday we rejoiced—and deep down, I believe Ben is rejoicing too, watching the love being poured into his children. That thought warms my heart even as it aches. I am so deeply grateful they get to feel a father’s love again.

Blended families navigating different kinds of loss rarely look the same. Trusting God means acknowledging that we don’t need a perfect template. We place the fragile, beautiful mix of grief and gratitude in His hands.

This Father’s Day, I tread lightly.

We celebrated my amazing dad, who has shown up for me and my kids in countless ways. We remembered Ben, who prayed for and gave life to each of our children—and loved them more than anything in the world. And we celebrated Max, an incredible man who has stepped in with compassion, strength, and love.

Our family looks different now. And I’m learning that’s okay.

Mourning and dancing can intertwine, and we can rejoice as we press forward.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Happy Father’s Day in heaven, Ben.
Happy Father’s Day here on earth, Max.

You are all so deeply loved and appreciated.