Leftover Love

Not quite six months ago, I lost my husband of almost twenty-six years, although we had been soulmates for the better part of thirty years.

Every day I hear, in the recesses of my mind, snippets of Jim’s wise, caring counsel: “Always keep the top half of the gas tank full.” “Use all three of your mirrors so you don’t back into my truck again.” Jim Sutton was a big man with a big heart who lived life to the fullest and was happiest when sharing Jesus. On top of that, he always made me feel like the planet’s most beautiful and cherished wife. And then he was gone. During a phone call with my grief counselor, she suggested I would eventually have to redirect—repurpose, if you please—the love I still had for Jim but could not bestow until resurrection morning. Frankly, I did not care for this thought, yet I began praying that God would show me what to do with the “leftover love” weighing painfully on my broken heart. I wanted to heal. Then, in my Bible reading one morning, God gave me the solution to this conundrum, couched in Paul’s words to the Philippians: “So this is my prayer: that your love will flourish [Really? That can happen even after Jim’s death?] and that you will not only love much but well. . . . Live a lover’s life, circumspect and exemplary, a life Jesus will be proud of: bountiful in fruits from the soul, making Jesus Christ attractive to all” (Philippians 1:9–11, The Message). Soon after, I took myself on a Sabbath retreat to my back deck, where I spent the day in prayerful study. I wanted to discover what a widow living “a lover’s life” looks like and what that had to do with healing. During my retreat, God led me to some thoughts that provided clarification: The thrilling secret beyond all suffering is that even—especially—in that place of suffering, we can become God’s gift to others. [. . .] [. . .] Our hearts may be busted and bruised . . . but I just keep repeating the healing secret of what to do with your own broken heart: give it away, because this is how you begin to heal. [. . .] [. . .] In being the gift of healing for someone’s brokenness, we receive a gift of healing for our own brokenness. [. . .] So here’s to being the gift. [. . .] Here’s to the beginning of a new journey.* And I wished myself a bon voyage.

Carolyn Rathbun Sutton