Introduce yourself.  Tell us your story.  Seems easy, mundane, and simple enough. Ten years ago…no problem. Recent years…that is, as they say, a horse of a different color…

   My name is Jennifer Collins.  Deep breath.  In my former life, I was a leader, with a bold personality. (That’s PC for big and bossy.) There was not much I was afraid of, I volunteered blindly for just about anything, had six kids on a teacher’s salary while my husband (Keith) went to medical school, started a family business (unknowingly) three months before Katrina, and built a life that many would have thought perfect.  (It wasn’t perfect, smoke and mirrors, Keith used to say, but I must admit, it was pretty amazing.) Through it all, I trusted God, and thought I was fully relying on Him and His plan for my life.  After all, I was a Religion teacher by trade, I had this. (Cough, cough.) Now I know, I had no clue what truly surrendering to God meant.

   On May 15, 2015, my day started typically.  Early morning workout, got four kids off to school while the two collegiates slept in, I went to daily Mass while Keith went to see the doctor for what we were sure was a gall bladder issue. I learned a new word that day: Cholangiocarcinoma and after what can only be described as the longest and most surreal day of my life, this corner was where I spent most of the night.  After the children and Keith went to bed, I snuck out of our bedroom and curled myself into a ball in this corner of our house and cried/wailed as quietly as I could.  I didn’t want to go outside in case Keith or any of the children woke up and were looking for me so it was the farthest corner of the house where I could still see the stairs and my bedroom door yet still regain my composure should I hear them.  I was writhing in agony all night long, asking God, “Why” and “How” this could happen to us.  I bartered with God, offering my own life in exchange for Keith’s, rationalizing that so many children and families needed him so much more than I could ever be needed.  I honestly think I would have sold my soul to the devil to have been able to save Keith’s life and to give my children their father for whatever extra years I could have given them. I was desperate, so filled with despair I just knew I would never, ever have a day of joy again in my life. I was low, lower than I could ever thought I could be.  I was wrong.

   If you were a parishioner here at SCS (or anywhere in the surrounding area), you know what followed.  Three and a half months of exquisite agony.  Days wrought with literal pain and paralyzing fear but also covered with deep faith and the hope that only comes from the gift of our Savior in the form of his death and Resurrection.  We were carried by the prayers of more people than I could ever imagine, people who hadn’t prayed in years, packed Adoration chapels, prayer groups, rosaries, etc.  To this day, it is impossible to express and fathom the power of those prayers.  It was a phenomenon I can’t explain, but it was so anointed and Spirit-filled, just thinking about it brings chills to my body and tears to my eyes. As we endure this new COVID-19 world of mourning alone, I know how blessed we were, and how blessed Keith was to have been lifted to heaven on the wings of such sacred love.  A miraculous blessing, yes, but on August 29, 2015, I was left to go on without him.

   And this brings us back to the “low” and the weight of something as simple as introducing myself.  I can distinctly remember two separate instances when I burst into tears just trying to introduce myself to a group after Keith’s death.  Both were in 2016, one at my first Lord Teach Me to Pray meeting and another at an SCS Planning meeting with the Music committee.  Sweet Mrs. Joan Lococo had to introduce me to the group because when it came to my turn in the circle, I could utter no sound, I couldn’t even say my name. I could only fight back tears. (Mrs. Joan had known intense suffering in her life.  She knew exactly where I was in my grief and she carried me that day.  There are angels among us…everywhere.)

   Who was I?  While most people saw a strong, faith-filled woman, I can tell you in the days, months and years after Keith’s death, I was everything I didn’t want to be.  I was a widow. A sole parent, partnerless with six children.  I was unemployed, having been advised to swiftly sell a business that Keith and I spent our entire married lives building. I was a fun sponge, enjoying nothing, enduring everything. When I did go to events, no one could “ghost” better than me - an hour in and I was out.  Group texts sent me reeling. Nothing was funny to me and I didn’t care about anything.  I had no energy, no exuberance. There was no greater victory than getting in bed at night.  I was bitter. I heard everything from the perspective of my grief - songs, scripture, expressions, they could all send me spinning.  Social media was abhorrent to me. People complaining about getting older, griping about pithy annoyances, or even worse, celebrating their anniversaries.  My favorite - “Happy Anniversary Honey! I couldn’t do this life without you!” Me: YES AS A MATTER OF FACT YOU COULD, you just wouldn’t want to dummy. (See, I told you I was bitter.) I was weak. A shell of the confident person I was in my former life, doubting my every decision, falling to pieces when a light bulb needed to be changed. I didn’t care about anything except for my kids but it was exhausting caring for them.  I lacked passion or purpose, doing only what I was supposed to do or needed to do rather than what I wanted to do. I had no idea who the person was in the mirror every day and I certainly couldn’t introduce her to anyone.

   But I kept seeking God.

   The only thing I knew was God was not getting rid of me. I did everything, listening and searching for anything, any piece of wisdom or truth that could help me understand why this happened to me and my family and how I could go on living as God wanted me to live. I did this by attending daily Mass, Lord Teach Me to Pray, praying faithfully with my Tuesday Rosary group (a group started by friends when Keith was sick that still meets faithfully every Tuesday morning.) I made myself go back to my Thursday prayer meeting after taking off a whole semester. I attended parish missions, and followed speakers like Matthew Kelly, Lisa Brennickmeyer,, and Jeff Cavins. I cried in the Adoration chapel. I took more notes and filled more journals with inspiration from sermons, songs, and readings at Mass than the early disciples of Christ (maybe.) I surrounded myself in my home with images, statues, and verbiage that brought me peace and comfort and left little room for questioning the faith of the household, or at least the head of household.  (Often to the angst and rolling eyes of my children. Sorry, not sorry. Ha!)

   And slowly, so very slowly, I began to rise.  While there were so many saving graces that brought me back to life, how I came back to singing might be the easiest way to illustrate my resurrection.

   At about the two and a half year mark, (and yes, it takes that long and longer) I started to feel more like a person rather than a shell.  I started to look up in church rather than down.  Mrs. Joan who sang at every morning Mass for 40 years was moving across the lake to be closer to her family and Fr. Tim asked me to help Michelle Alley with the singing sometimes.  I resisted at first, but then said yes, to one day a week.  One day a week became two and then soon I stopped saying no to Lorraine (Hess) who had been asking me to sing with her at 5:30 Mass.  I looked forward to those Masses and found purpose in giving back to God and SCS. And then in the summer of 2019, our music director, Stephanie, asked for volunteers to help cantor the weekend Masses throughout the summer.  Fr. Tim actually picked up the phone and called me to “ask”  me to please at least respond to her email. So (after a good two weeks of hemming and hawing) I did. I told her I thought i would be available on June 16th, 23rd, and July 28th totally thinking she would use me for ONE of those dates. You guessed it...she  put me down for all three days. I had to sing, by myself, in front of a packed church at 11:00 three times. And on Sunday June 16th, Danny Douglass walked into church, saw me waiting at the podium and looked at me like I had two heads.  Yep, I had volunteered to sing for Father’s Day.  Just typing those words, fills me up.  I didn’t even realize what I had done until three days before (while in Tennessee recording See the Miracle) and while the panic started to set in, and Lorraine offered to take the Mass for me, I prayed and begged God to rid me of all anxiety and to give me the peace and strength that only He can give, and the ability to serve Him as He wanted me to serve. 

  Pope Benedict said, “The world promises you comfort but you were not made for comfort, you were made for greatness.” I am not by any means suggesting that I was great that day, but I know that God put me there.  He pulled me out of my comfort zone and called me to witness to HIS greatness.  Made me stand at that podium alone and show everyone in our precious church the power of His great love, His mercy, and His salvation.  On Father’s Day, a day we dreaded every year since 2015, I sang every note with joy and no tears. I was His instrument, his vessel, used for only His glory, not mine. God is so good.

   And so here I am.  I am still a widow and a sole parent.  I will always grieve the loss of my husband and the beautiful life we shared together.  But I have lifted my eyes to the heavens (Sound of Music) and am discovering daily, who God intended me to be. I know His plans for me are only for good (Jeremiah 29:11). My journey to this place was wrought with intense suffering, unbearable humility, with more moments on my knees than I can even remember. I lost my husband, my business, my identity and life as I knew it, and then still found myself struggling with curveballs and landmines that come at us all as we try to live in this chaotic world. It took mourning those losses, it took running to God, cursing God, surrendering to God, weeping with God, questioning God, persevering with God and finally, embracing God and every trial and suffering that came my way, to finally find true joy.  

   “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” - Nehemiah 8:10

   God’s joy has allowed me to find victory in that corner of my house, in the choir microphone, in my family and our new life, in myself, and most importantly in God, my faith, and whatever is to come. I know that many more trials lay ahead of me, but with God, I have come through the fire, I have “moved mountains,” I have and am still “seeing the miracles”and with God as my strength, through it all, I will keep rising.