Chapter 1: Our Story—Faith, Family, and Love

Every great love story begins with a moment—ours began in church. Wendy and I met at Metropolitan Bible Church in Dallas, Texas. We were both walking into a new season, each bringing a child from a previous marriage, and each praying for something more lasting, more centered in Christ. A few months after meeting, we began dating. By month three, I knew. I proposed, and she said yes. Five months later, on November 29, 1991, we were married.

I was a native Texan. Wendy was from Farmers Valley, Pennsylvania—a place I couldn’t even point to on a map at the time. But God knew what He was doing. From the beginning, He was blending not only two lives but two families. Before we even exchanged vows, my son had begun calling Wendy “Mom,” and her daughter had started calling me “Daddy.” It was a holy blending, something only God could orchestrate.

Wendy was a Christian school teacher—later a principal. Teaching was her calling and her gift. Whether speaking to a classroom of teenagers or leading a women’s Bible study, she had the rare ability to hold attention and touch hearts. Every lesson was bathed in prayer and backed by preparation. Women flocked to her Sunday School classes because her teaching wasn’t surface-level—it was soul-deep.

But it wasn’t just teaching. Wendy had the gift of hospitality. Every house we ever lived in became a home—filled with Scripture in every room, warmth in every corner, and always an open door. Our home was a refuge for family, friends, church members, and even the occasional stranger. Wendy made sure of it.

Our life together was centered on four things: faith, family, friends, and work. I spent 44 years in the Information Technology industry, serving in various roles in church as well—youth director, teacher, AWANA commander, deacon, treasurer, and men’s ministry leader. We ministered together, prayed together, struggled together, and dreamed together.

One of the greatest tests of our marriage came during the last years of Wendy’s mother’s life. She was in a nursing home in Smethport, Pennsylvania—1,500 miles from our home in Forney, Texas. Wendy felt called to be near her, so she resigned from her job and moved back to care for her mom. I stayed in Texas to work. It was a year of long-distance sacrifice. That year, we were physically apart for over 75% of the time—but emotionally and spiritually, we were closer than ever. God used even that separation to strengthen our bond.

We were opposites in many ways—she was structured, disciplined, always moving. I was more laid back, unhurried. But we brought out the best in each other. Our differences weren’t friction points; they were complementary forces that created a stronger whole.

Through the years, we faced grief, parenting challenges, ministry hardships, and job stress. But the one thing we never struggled with was our love for each other. It was unconditional, unshakeable.

The last four months of Wendy’s life were a testament to that love. She began feeling ill around Thanksgiving 2023. By December 28—my birthday—we received the diagnosis: pancreatic cancer. She battled bravely. There were hospital stays, difficult days, and constant caregiving. Through it all, I watched the woman I loved face unimaginable pain with unimaginable grace.

On April 2, 2024, at 9:30 PM, Wendy went to be with the Lord. That’s when my grief journey truly began. But even in the darkness, I could see the light of what God had given me: thirty-three years with a woman whose love transformed me.

Wendy didn’t just impact me—she left a legacy. She influenced hundreds of students and parents through her godly approach to education. Her desire wasn’t just to teach subjects; it was to lead souls to Christ. Her prayer journals were filled with names—family, friends, students, parents—many of whom never knew they were being lifted to the throne of grace. Even those who caused her difficulty at school became subjects of her most fervent prayers.

She also left a lasting impression on our children. Our daughter Amanda, or Mandy as we call her, witnessed how Wendy ministered to her mother and later mirrored that same devotion when she came to Pennsylvania to care for Wendy during her battle with cancer. I could never repay Mandy for the compassion and strength she showed.

Our story wasn’t perfect, but it was purposeful. God wrote it. And now, as I write these pages, I do so to honor Wendy, our journey, and the Savior who held us together.

This is where the story begins—not at Wendy’s passing, but in the love that continues to shape my days and guide my steps. The greater the love, the deeper the grief. And through that grief, I’ve discovered something even deeper: the unshakeable hope we have in Christ and that there is hope beyond the tears.