I arrived at the Christmas party a nervous wreck.
It had been snowing as my husband drove us, and the roads had felt treacherous. I’d kept my hands clenched the entire time and begged God to keep my family safe.
“We made it!” I said, hugging a friend at the party. “Weren’t the roads just terrible?”
My friend looked at me quizzically, then glanced out the window. I had to admit the snowfall did not appear to be all that heavy. In fact, it was quite gentle. “The roads didn’t seem that bad to me,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re here!”
My husband, Matt, hadn’t seemed fazed either. No one at the party was talking about the weather or the driving conditions.
I was the only one freaking out.
Why did this keep happening?
Actually, I knew the answer to that question.
A decade earlier, my first husband, Drew, had died in an accident while training to become a Navy SEAL. He was getting himself in shape at our fitness club before a physical
