December 29, 2023: My husband Daniel and I were sitting at the beach, writing down our New Year resolutions. 

In my diary, he wrote: “Georgina to start sharing her faith with three other friends.”

I never had the courage to talk to others about Jesus. 

I could never have imagined that this would be Daniel’s last prayer for me, or that I would be talking about how he loved God at his wake just a few days later. 

Or that I would eventually be asked to share my story to encourage an even wider audience through Salt&Light. 

Just days before what would be Daniel’s final prayer for Georgina, the family had returned from a holiday in Taiwan. “It was the first time we travelled on the plane as a family of four,” writes Georgina.

“The kids (here at a night market in Taiwan) were overjoyed and described it as the best holiday that they had. Little did any of us know that this would be our first and final trip together with their dad,” said Georgina.

A chilling dawn

Just two days after our beachside moment, Daniel woke me on the morning of  December 31 with a distressed, choking expression.

Frantically, I called the paramedics. But before they could arrive, he collapsed before my eyes. 

Desperately performing CPR, my hands trembled as I fought to keep him with me. Every second felt like an eternity as I waited for help to arrive, my heart heavy with the fear of losing him.

An hour later, the doctors at the hospital pronounced him dead. 

I stood by his side, holding the hands of our two crying children, struggling to comprehend the gravity of our loss.

At 34, I became a widow with two kids, aged three and six.

A post-mortem showed that he had passed away from epiglottitis. 

A silent start to 2024

While the world revelled in the arrival of the New Year, I was left to confront a new and heart-wrenching reality without Daniel. 

Through sobs and tears, I asked God: “How will I go on without Daniel? How would the children grow up without their father?” 

In the middle of my heartbreak, I felt a gentle and reassuring nudge, an impression deep inside: “Celebrate his life.”

I wasn’t sure how to. 

But then an overwhelming number of people – family, friends, former students – came to his wake. 

They shared happy memories of how Daniel touched their lives – and remarked that his wake didn’t feel sad. It felt like a celebration.  

Those who knew him growing up recalled his journey from rebellious kid to devoted family man – and teacher and Scoutmaster who led rowdy, challenging classes with quiet kindness, rarely raising his voice.

The family celebrating the birth of their younger child.

Some said: “God took him at his best.” This brought comfort to my mother-in-law.

The strong rapport Daniel had with his former primary school students was clear. 

Many – now in their 20s – came to pay their respects. One came straight after booking out from army camp. Several brought handwritten cards of encouragement Daniel had given individually to them years ago.

It gave me some solace to know that my husband had touched many lives.

One message kept coming out: Daniel loved God.

It comforted me to know that he is now enjoying eternity with Jesus – and that we’ll see him again when our time on earth is done.

It gave me some solace to know that my husband had fought the good fight, and had touched many lives. 

I remembered Daniel’s New Year’s wish for me: that I would share Jesus with three people.

“Georgina to start sharing her faith with three other friends.” One of several prayers Daniel had written for his wife in her diary two days before he passed on.

But in sharing our story with visitors at his wake, I realised that this prayer had been answered within days. 

Through Daniel’s death, I had shared not just with three people, but with more than I could count.

I was comforted by the verse that came to mind: “Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24)

The unbearable hopelessness of grief 

Yet the grief of losing my husband was overwhelming and unbearable. The loneliness and hopelessness felt almost insurmountable. 

Seeing couples walking together on the street, or children holding their father’s hand triggered me.

“While working through my grief, I was also very anxious about being a single parent,” writes Georgina.

I cried – sometimes uncontrollably – there on the streets. 

Every day in my prayers, I lamented: “God, I didn’t sign up for the single parenting package! What did the children and I do to deserve this?”

The finances that my husband used to manage now became my responsibility. I was so anxious and worried that I would get panic attacks just looking at the expense spreadsheet.

One day, I confided in a Christian mentor who gently told me: “Georgina, you’re overstressing yourself. You need to surrender to God and let Him carry your burdens.”

Her words stunned me. 

Where did I place God? Did I pause to ask him for help?

I had thought I was relying on God for healing – but really, I was doing everything on my own strength. 

Safety and shelter 

Amid the weight of my sorrow, I was determined to avoid falling into depression. 

So I held tightly to God. Each day, I meditated on Psalm 91 – a passage about finding shelter and safety in Him. It brought me solace and strength. 

With the help of friends from church, I was connected to a counsellor who specialises in trauma therapy. 

The EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing) sessions she guided me through were particularly helpful. 

For nights on end, I couldn’t sleep, because I kept reliving the traumatic moment my husband collapsed – my frantic attempts to save him, and the look on his face before he passed on.

After three sessions, the trauma I felt lessened. 

I also joined Wicare, a widow’s support group, where I met many other women who have faced similar losses. Coming alongside one another, I began to see glimpses of hope.

Looking back, God was strengthening me through the people He placed around me.

I knew I had to begin healing before I could effectively support my children on our shared journey.

Uncorking my anger

Later, I attended a silent retreat with Ruby, my mentor from church. I thought I was there to bring my relationship back into sync with God and find clarity in what He intended for me. Little did I know that God was working something deeper in me.

During one session, I walked into a prayer room alone. A painting caught my attention. It was of a man presenting a burnt offering to the Lord. 

The painting that caught Georgina’s eye.

It hit me hard and I sensed the Lord asking me, “Georgina, do you still love Me? Are you angry with Me for what has happened?” 

The questions uncorked emotions that I had bottled up. I sank to the floor and cried. 

I was angry with God. I was angry with Him for taking away my husband. I was angry with Him for letting me go through this tough journey alone.

“During the silent retreat, God reminded me: I wasn’t meant to carry my burden all this alone,” writes Georgina. Photo courtesy of Tung Ling Bible School (TLBS).

I cried out all this pent-up anger and bitterness.

Finally, when I composed myself, I felt tired, but I also felt lighter – as if a stone had been lifted off my chest

Then the Lord gave me a verse: “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11: 28-29). 

I realised that my Abba Father wanted to carry my burden/cross for me and that He wanted me to find rest. 

In that moment, I felt deeply loved and touched by Him.

Deep healing

A few months after my husband passed away, the Vicar from my church gently encouraged me to sign up for a three-month course at Tung Ling Bible School (TLBS).

I wasn’t sure if I was ready. But after much internal struggle and prayer, I took a step of faith and enrolled for the July 2024 term. 

Looking back, I can clearly see how God was guiding me toward a place of restoration and renewal. 

To my surprise, two familiar faces – my mentors, Philip and Ruby – were there too. Their presence reminded me that I wasn’t alone on this journey, and that it was part of God’s much bigger plan unfolding.

Georgina with mentors, Philip and Ruby (left), and her Vicar, Rev Daniel Tong from their church. Photo courtesy of TLBS.

I initially thought that the course was purely theological. But it turned out to be much more – with ministry and reflection sessions woven into the lessons and worship. It became a season of deep healing for me.

In my first week, I had two profound experiences.

One was a vision: I saw my husband surrounded by angels as he departed. It was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen, and I wept.

The second came through a prophetic prayer from a pastor. He said that everything happening in my life wasn’t random, but was already known by God, written in the Book of Life.

I thought I was going through the toughest journey anyone could go on. But as I listened to stories of my school mates, I realised I wasn’t alone. 

Many were walking through dark valleys – some with struggles deeper than mine. Yet in every story there were glimpses of hope and strength in God.

One verse in the Bible came alive for me. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4)

I no longer had to be afraid. And I felt accompanied – by God and by a community who understood pain.

These experiences brought the closure I needed after my husband’s passing. I felt ready to move forward – to live with purpose, support others, and to share the hope and comfort I’ve found in the midst of loss.

Light shining through a broken vase

After the vision of my husband, I realised I needed to make a change in how I was living. 

Instead of staying stuck in self-pity, I chose to reconnect with God and trust that He would bring healing in His time.

I came to see myself like a broken vase – imperfect and fragile – but still able to let light shine through the cracks. 

I believe that light is God’s love working through my pain.

“The grief may never fade fully – it becomes part of our life that we learn to embrace. But it is possible to discover new meaning and joy,” writes Georgina. Photo courtesy of TLBS.

As I let go and gave everything to God, I began to experience a surprising peace – even joy — which I hadn’t expected to feel again.

One passage from the Bible expresses this so clearly: “You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise you forever.” (Psalm 30:11-12)

Losing my husband was one of the most painful experiences of my life. But through that loss, my faith deepened, and I felt God drawing me closer to Him.

The grief may never fade fully – it becomes part of our life that we learn to embrace. But it is possible to discover new meaning and joy. 

With God, nothing is impossible.

Part of this story first appeared in Polished Shaft, the publication of Tung Ling Bible School (TLBS). It has been adapted with permission. 

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