Brazen Bravery: Recovering Joy When Hope Collides with Loss

By Charlene Adams

At the age of twenty-one, Charlene’s sister, Andrea, along with two other college students were tragically killed in a terrible highway accident that made national news. Working through her grief beside her bereaved parents, tragedy struck again when her mother received a devastating cancer diagnosis.
In Brazen Bravery, Charlene tells the story of how she discovered the strength of her family’s rich heritage and deeply rooted Christian faith as she braved the tumultuous waters of grief.
Charlene, a natural and captivating storyteller, invites us into her journey, “telling it like it is” with humor, compassion, and an unflappable and inspiring faith. Through journal pages from her sister and mother, along with song lyrics, Bible verses and poignant quotes from favorite authors, her words will remind you that there is always a way through. The truths she holds onto fiercely helped her transcend the pain and made it possible to “believe that life was not just worth living, but worth living well.”
Brazen Bravery will not only beckon you to embrace the lessons of loss and ignite your overcomer spirit, but it unwraps biblical truth showing us that the sovereignty of God transcends all brokenness and doubt. And reminds us, once again, that love always wins and life never ends.

I have discovered that as the embers of disappointment, pain, and suffocating grief simmer, beauty and love is revealed just underneath. When the flames subside and the ash and soot settle, we start sweeping up the mess and somehow begin recognizing the beauty of the wood at our feet. The intricate design of the grain and the timeless etching of the stress marks. Many people justify spending more money on finely distressed furniture because they see the beauty in its story. And we, who are created through the Master Artist’s hands also show the depths of scarring, beautiful flaws, grief engravings that make us unique and priceless.
As hard as it is to adjust and spin the perspective dial, there is purpose beyond the pain. God’s eyes are focused directly on each of us, and His grip is locked. His promise?
“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5, NIV)
We are overcomers when our response glows with HOPE. A lowlight of peace that sneaks in just under the door. It washes over the sometimes-sad space, softens the scars, and creates something lovely. Something beautiful. A masterpiece!

Take all sorrow out of life and you take away all richness, and depth, and tenderness. The capacity of sorrow belongs to our grandeur. It is the furnace that melts hearts together in love. —A.L. Alexander

“Charlene Adams communicates powerfully in her book, Brazen Bravery. A dynamic message we all can embrace. ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’”
Babbie Mason
Author
Dove Award Winner
Christian Singer-Songwriter
TV Talk Show Host

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664242821

Charlene Adams

Charlene Adams is a Christian singer, songwriter, and recording artist. Together with her family, as the group Adams Voice, they perform and minister across the country and abroad. Their country home is nestled in between cornfields, creating a peaceful perimeter for happy homeschooling. Her life verse is Psalm 46, believing that “the river” will always lead to joy. Charlene lives in Indiana with her husband, David, and their four children: Emma, twins Johnny and Anna, and Luke. Please visit brazenbravery.com or adamsvoice.net and enjoy more writings from Charlene published in her blog, “Come Sit On the Porch.” Connect: Charlene Adams P.O. Box 594 New Castle, IN 47362 Email: [e-mail] Facebook: adamsvoice

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Charlene Adams.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and

in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

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of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®

Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations marked VOICE are taken from The Voice™. Copyright ©

2008 by Ecclesia Bible Society. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NEB are taken from the New English Bible, copyright ©

Cambridge University Press and Oxford University Press 1961, 1970. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked ESV taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®),

Copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation,

Copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-4281-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-4280-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-4282-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021916783

WestBow Press rev. date: 1/22/2022

Pain and suffering has always been a part of life on planet earth.

It most always takes us by surprise even though Jesus told us we would have difficulties and tribulation in this world.

Charlene has been transparent about her own struggles on this subject and as you read her story you will be inspired. You will see the truth of how to face the pain and disappointments you may encounter.

Brazen Bravery will captivate you, encourage you, and comfort you.

Charlene takes biblical principles and helps you apply them to your own life.

This book is an excellent read about how to face your giants.

It is raw and real.

You will read about how to overcome and experience redemption in your own journey.

Anne Beiler

Founder of Auntie Anne’s Pretzels

Author and Speaker

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To Dad.

This book is dedicated to you.

Your quiet strength holds the weight of many what-ifs?

But on this day, we know that it is to be as it is to be. Your

relentless quest to live well and carry on crucifies all doubt

and proves that life IS worth living. You are MY hero.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1     Knowing-The Call

Chapter 2     Living Simply-Sisterhood

Chapter 3     Patient Hope-Prognosis

Chapter 4     Used Up-God’s Will

Chapter 5     Becoming-Non-Conformity

Chapter 6     Waiting-Contentment in all Things

Chapter 7     Letting Go-The Last Duet

Chapter 8     Scars-The Accident

Chapter 9     Holy Moment #1-Gift

Chapter 10   Ruler of My Heart-She’s Gone

Chapter 11   Language of Tears-Life on Cemetery Lane

Chapter 12   Women I Come From-Jane Brown

Chapter 13   Grief Engravings-Refined to Shine

Chapter 14   Time-Living Among the Living

Chapter 15   Commanding Light-Mysterious and Miraculous

Chapter 16   Pressing Into Life-Death Doesn’t Win

Chapter 17   Dark Night-Sifting for Gold

Chapter 18   Embossing-Friends Who Stay

Chapter 19   Resilience-The Awakening

Chapter 20   Steps-Every Story Has a Song

Chapter 21   Something Beautiful-Rain in Season

Chapter 22   Jump-Bravery Has Wings

Chapter 23   Perseverance-Family Foundation

Chapter 24   Something More-Fortified Faith

Chapter 25   Do Something-The Power of Presence

Chapter 26   Holy Moment #2-Mothers Set the Mood

Chapter 27   Pain Paves the Way-Faith

Chapter 28   The Final Nod-Will It Hurt to Die?

Chapter 29   Treasures-Measure of a Life

Chapter 30   Sitting at the Feet of Jesus-Letting God…

Chapter 31   Serendipity-Angel in Purple

Chapter 32   Things-Permission to Live

Chapter 33   Interlude-Getting Your House in Order

Chapter 34   Port-of-Call-Dying Into Life

Finale

Acknowledgments

Endnotes

About the Author

Prologue

One phone call changed me. At age nineteen I learned how loss can seize your sanity and leave you begging God for one more day to say all the important words you always meant to say. Surely, she’ll wake up. This is only a test. God wouldn’t rip my twenty-one-year-old sister away just to make a point. Or would He? If everything passes through His hands, why didn’t He keep the van on the road? Instead, it hurtled through the air tossing bodies out like rag dolls. Where was God then?

…all things work together for good. (Romans 8:28, NKJV)

These words are like a vice on my heart, yet I must confess, when the fog clears, I see, recognize, and embrace the goodness of God. Life isn’t fair and good things are often disguised in the unthinkable. That is so hard to write. Still, I wrestle with this reality. We breathe through the bad, protect our head, and wait. And I’ve learned that waiting is the hardest part of obedience. This might explain why so many I know have jumped ship.

The day before Mom left me, (that’s how I must frame it so I’m not mad at God), she was lying in her bed trying to stay awake and greet those who had paused from their orbit for one final conversation with a friend. I overheard her speaking to my Aunt Cathy. Oh, Charlene has taken such good care of me. The words seized my heart. These final days were the hardest of my life. Helpless, incapable of doing anything compatible with keeping her here with us. Feeling compelled and convinced to be strong for her so she wouldn’t be afraid, I couldn’t cry in her presence. I dragged an old 1970’s nylon-laced lawn chair out of the garage, unfolded it, and sat outside her bedroom window and wept like a willow.

There was nothing any of us could do to save Mom. After hearing her comment, Aunt Cathy qualified her praise with a soft, I know she is. She sure is good at that. Then, with deep conviction and a soft, drawn-out tone, Mom said, Well, she can do anything she sets her mind to.

Those were the last words my mother said about me.

Fueled by this vote of confidence by the one person whose approval always mattered most, I’ve set my mind on glorifying her life by sharing her story along with my sister’s. I write for them, for I am the one left. I write for the sake of their high calling to live for Christ and inspire those around them to seek His will. For Mom, I write to inspire others to learn from her example of teaching her children and grandchildren to always cling to faith and never let go.

Our training from toddler to teen set the stage when the brutality of loss challenged our perspective. Hope was sometimes shoved backstage as we stumbled out empty and alone with an audience watching, waiting, wondering, while our world was turned upside down.

How long will they dangle, how long will they hold onto hope?

When our spirit is tuned and calibrated to His, it gives breath to our being and we are rescued. And because God is sovereign and good, we are able to claim Romans 8:28 with confidence and boldness and declare, in ALL things God is good, and, yes, He does all things well!

My sister journaled consistently during the last three years of her life. In one, she writes these words: Everyone has a religion, but not everyone has a faith. Our grandparents and parents raised and equipped us with a strong understanding of the Christian faith. We are deeply rooted and established in our beliefs because God’s presence has consumed our lives and tweaks the focus of the lens we use to measure all things. His spirit saturates our moments, and we are defined through Him.

It is in this same spirit that He empowers us to run the race with Brazen Bravery.

1

Knowing

THE CALL

There are things of which I may not speak; there are dreams that

cannot die; there are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

and bring a pallor into the cheek and a mist before the eye.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I n slow motion, the elevator doors slid open. My heart paused to align with the moment. Like weighted curtains glide open to command the attention of each eager eye in the room, for me, this scene, this knowing, changed everything.

Two hours earlier. One phone call. Ten seconds filled with words nobody wants to hear.

My mother’s voice: Your sister’s been in an accident. They found her lying in the grass. She was struggling to breathe. You need to get to the hospital as fast as you can. I love you. Bye!

The season was fall. The crisp, spicy air wrapped around every store smartly selling shoppers on the word, thankful. Autumn’s term of endearment was stretched across every mug, sign, and cross-stitched whatever-wear boasting thankful, thankful, thankful! And I was.

Until this moment.

The scene and setting: a sleepy, rural Indiana hospital. The lead-in: a horrific accident. A van loaded with college students hurtling through the air. One deceased. His body, on the highway. Two more, in the prime of their lives, hanging in the balance.

During our two-hour trip to the hospital, my husband, David, and I knew we would pass the accident scene. Not sure what we would see, our eyes, fixed and ready at every mile marker.

There it was. Although the van had been towed and the mess swept away, the deep grooves and mangled sod in the median told the story.

We arrived at the hospital. Puppets on a string with no control of our own footing. The reception desk became our focal point. It was a strange shade of orange, made to look like oak veneer and curved in like a fallen rainbow. Shoulder to shoulder we waited. Shaky and unstable. Suspended in the unknown.

Can I help you? she said just as casually and chipper as if we were about ready to ask which way to find the pot of gold.

My voice squeaked out, Umm, yes. We’re here to see Andrea Green. She was just in an accident and they told us to come here. She’s my sister.

Her face fell flat. No expression. Totally business. You’re the sister? she asked. One minute please.

She picked up the phone, turned her chair around and muttered something into the receiver. Turning around toward us, she said, Someone is coming down to get you. About twenty feet behind her desk the elevator doors slid open.

This elevator moment burned into my psyche like a hot branding iron melting the protective top layer of my being and all that was good.

I wanted to know and yet I didn’t want to know!

A wave of numbness washed over my skin. I was sedated in the moment.

A fight or flight urge flickered then waned. An agreeable result because there was nowhere to run, and my legs lumbered beneath me with the weight of what might be. The steel doors closed behind the person who came crashing onto center stage of my life.

A nurse? A counselor? Hard to read, but the look on her face was clear. Rather, the absence of a look. Blank. Impassive. Vacant of pretense or emotion. An intersection of relief and grief perfectly aligned.

Her eyes peered up; head bowed. She wanted to see me yet didn’t want to see me. Our eyes met and she quickly fixed her gaze toward the shiny floor ahead of her, walking full throttle toward me, straight line, with flawless gait.

The air was so thick that it took great effort just to turn my head. I looked toward my husband. My eyes connected to his heart, imploring him to try and make sense of this unknown. Our first experience of real-time trauma, real-life pain.

Why won’t she look at me? Do you see? She won’t even look at me! I pleaded for an answer.

Stolidly, she approached the reception desk.

Are you the sister of Andrea Green? she asked in a suspended tone.

Yes, I answered, hoping this wasn’t happening.

2

Living Simply

SISTERHOOD

Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments

in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the

graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The

real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of

memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around

a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these.

—Susan B. Anthony

M y earliest memory with my sister is of us standing side by side on the standard-issue red church carpet of First Church of the Nazarene on the corner of 18 th and Grand Avenue. We were singing a duet. Two auburn-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed little girls with dresses pressed and ready and positioned center stage. Her voice was higher than mine and people tell me that as a three-year-old, I would sometimes sing a tad under her pitch. As luck would have it, I would somehow slide up or down to land on a few harmony notes, pure luck for sure, but consistent enough to earn a few gold plastic treble-clef-topped trophies at local church talent contests.

Mom would decorate her girls with the finest dresses JCPenney, L.S. Ayers, or Lazarus had to offer—off the sale rack, of course. Our hair was arranged in a total of four very snug pigtails. She would repeatedly remind us to keep our hands firmly clasped behind our backs and smile. Smile at the judges, she said. Always smile at the judges! We performed and competed throughout high school and I shared many a duet; Andrea singing lead and me harmonizing, mostly on the correct notes. One particular song that I remember well was Jesus, Lord to Me. She would sit at the piano, play and sing all the pretty notes, and I would stand beside her and sing and smile.

Jesus, Jesus, Lord to me, Master, Savior, Prince of Peace, Ruler of my heart today, Jesus, Lord to me. (G. Nelson/G. McSpadden)

We performed together throughout our formative years. Andrea was a purebred soprano and gifted pianist. And we had the real-deal type of piano teacher, Miss Bethel. Bethel Cable was serious about her work. If you were lazy with the timing, you wouldn’t be for long. She would count out the measures while thumping the side of our Kimball upright like the world depended on a perfect match. We would play a measure around the barn and back again until we mastered the meter. Our reward, a tiny foil-star sticker. We made it through the rain!

Miss Bethel was of an organized nature and very, very tidy. About ten minutes before she would arrive for our in-home lessons, Mom became a maniac with the dusting cloth.

Girls, dust the piano before Miss Bethel gets here. She’ll check—make sure it’s clean! Mom would say as if she were anticipating, and desperate to receive, high marks from the judge.

Even if the rest of the house was sprinkled with dust, our piano was shiny and showroom ready. Because, you see, Miss Bethel would indeed slide her petite, manicured (no polish, thank you) but meticulously trimmed pointer finger over the top of the piano, rub it against Mr. Thumbkin, and either raise her eyebrows a bit or remain, well … business-like.

She taught us to respect the art of practice as well as performance. Miss Bethel was a class act. I miss her.

Andrea was enamored with piano keys, and as I have thought about it over the years, I realize somewhere along the way I became interested in typewriter keys. I love words. Reading words, playing with words, dissecting the meaning and form and learning to type as fast as my mind could think. As a teenager, for Christmas one year my best gift was a Brother typewriter. It was top-of-the-line in the eighties. Built-in corrector tab. Fancy, new-fangled, three-inch digital screen across the middle so you could double check for mistakes before you hit Return. I was surely the envy of someone!

I played piano as well but my piano skills would never match the caliber of my sister’s and she could never type like me.

I quickly learned that if you become a typist, then you become the typist of the family, which made my sister very lucky! She would click out piano notes for me, and I would click out characters for her. It wasn’t until we were in college together at Olivet Nazarene University that I discovered students would pay one dollar per typed page. I don’t recall if money changed hands between my sister and me, but most likely the answer would be I doubt it! However, there were frequent late-night visits coupled with pleading, lots and lots of pleading for me to rescue her last-minute outlines and essays. She really did