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As a widow, I have learned that we all change. And much of the change is good. We become faith-filled because we cannot face the day any other way. We become strong because we have no other choice. We are compassionate because our heart has been broken. As I listen to other widows' stories, I am awestruck by what they have learned and accomplished.

One of my own turning points occurred in Africa. Following in Bob's footsteps, I traveled to a place I had previously been unable to visit. I was connecting with believers whom Bob had assisted in broadcasting. Prior to my trip, I received an e-mail asking me to speak to widows' groups there. Of course I would. This would be a way for me to give as Bob had.

The result: I spoke to seven groups of widows, ranging from 20 to 200 listeners each. At one church service, the men were the predominant note-takers. I spoke to one assembly of five churches, and I delivered my message with five pastors sitting behind me in large, impressive chairs. After listening intently to my teaching, one pastor issued a pronouncement: "It is good."

I can only say, simply, that I was changed. I remembered Bob encouraging me to accept my first speaking engagement after my first book was published. I was hesitant. He said, "Honey, they want to hear the person behind the book." So I reluctantly went. This was different. A different woman emerged in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. With my Bible open before hungry learners, I was energized and embraced the opportunity.

A second turning point came in the Dominican Republic. I was treasuring a week of rest and relaxation after four of the hardest years of my life. It was my first trip alone. While I had expected to rest and read, I found myself signing up for any and all activities: snorkeling, horseback riding, and learning to sail a catamaran. Being the only single woman to sign up for solo sailing lessons, my instructor eyed me with little enthusiasm and told me where to plant myself on the canvas. My eager attitude was soon deflated. "You can't learn this. I'll take you for a ride, and we'll go back."

Wrong, I thought.

On my fourth lesson (and after my requested change of instructors), my new instructor said those delightful words: "You can dump me now." I was on my own.

There are no words to describe being alone on that canvas, gripping the rudder, feeling the wind at my back, and racing out into the Atlantic. "Honey, can you see me?" I shouted to the sky. It was as if he answered, "You'll do this and more, Sweetheart, and I'm not surprised."

Back home, after I described my adventure to my family, my grandson asked, "Nana, weren't you afraid?"

"No," was my definite answer. "If I failed and drowned, I'd see God and Grandpa. If I succeeded, I'd have sailed a catamaran—solo. Nana has nothing to lose."

Yes, we have changed. Widows believe with a new tenacity. We have new and relevant gifts to offer, not in spite of, but rather because of our loss. We are bold because we have already faced death in a part of ourselves. We laugh at things many people fear and count blessings among the mundane events of an ordinary day. Invisible? Let's change that. Welcoming widows reflects the heart of God.

Miriam Neff is the author of several books and the founder of Widowconnection.com.

Copyright © 2008 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Miriam Neff also wrote about what to say and what not to say to widows.

Rob Moll wrote about taking care of widows in Liveblog.

Other articles on dealing with death are in our special section.

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January 2008, Vol. 52, No. 1