I don’t know what it is like to lose a spouse. I don’t know what it is like to bid farewell to the person with whom I’ve built a home and had a family and shared a life. I don’t know the unique griefs, the unique sorrows, the unique traumas that come with so devastating a separation. On the one hand I can’t know without actually enduring it myself, but on the other hand, I can learn from those who have experienced it and have recorded it. I can learn so I can better serve those in my life who are enduring this trial.

Mary Echols lost her husband very suddenly and unexpectedly after he suffered a heart attack. And in the aftermath of her loss she was desperate to find out how much of her experience of loss was typical. “I began looking for something I could read that would allow me into someone else’s journey and help me to see that the little things I was stressing over were okay,” she says. “I needed to know that someone else couldn’t change the sheets, that someone else washed her spouse’s clothes with hers, that someone else would open his bathroom drawer that held hairbrush, aftershave, cologne, and breathe in his scent. I needed to have these things validated!” Because she couldn’t find anything, she decided to journal her journey and the result is And Then There Was One: An Emotionally Raw Journey Through Spousal Grief.
The book’s format is what I have found typical for a book that has been written in a time of deep grief in that it is comprised of short thoughts that are often very urgent and very poignant. Some of it is written as if to her husband, some as if to herself, and some as if to an unknown reader like you and me. She recounts returning home to find her husband slumped in his chair and tells, how though she was a seasoned RN, nothing had prepared her for the moment. She tells about the early hours in which, as if in a terrible dream, she went through the motions of calling her children, and the early days in which she cried herself to sleep in a bed that was now cold and empty.
But time passes and she finds that, though time does not heal all wounds (as some insensitively suggest) it does provide space in which healing can begin to take place. She observes that the initial stages of healing seem to proceed in six-week increments where every six weeks she realizes she has begun to see some change in herself, some new ability, some new acceptance. She begins to do those things all grieving spouses must—write thank you notes to people who have brought her a meal, box up her husband’s possessions, learn to shop for one instead of two.

What happened? We used to be together. We sat at the same table, ate the same food, watched the same TV shows, slept in the same bed, breathed the same air, and then you went away. Funny how that changes everything. I still sit at the same table, eat the same food, watch the same TV shows, sleep in the same bed, and breathe the same air, but none of it is the same.
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I am alone and I’m so afraid. I’ve lost so much with your death. It’s not just the loss of my husband and friend. I’ve lost my protector—the one who always saw to it that I was safe from the world, the one who stepped in when I couldn’t handle something and took care of it for me, the one I turned to for guidance when I didn’t know what to do or how to do it, the one who was my emotional support, the one I leaned on. You were so strong when I was weak, and now there is no one to be strong for me. Now I have to handle the world all by myself, take care of things I know nothing about, and trust people I don’t know to help me.
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My mind is gone and I’m not sure I want it back, as I don’t know where it’s been. What kind of strange journey is it on, and why didn’t it give me some notice that it was leaving? The audacity of it to just leave me without so much as a hint it was going. I would much rather my heart had left and taken the pain of your death with it—but maybe, my mind decided I should only deal with one thing at a time, and that grieving should be top priority. But doesn’t my mind understand that its leaving just made the grieving harder? How can I concentrate on grieving when I can’t concentrate? My mind is gone, and I wish I had gone with it.

There is a turning point along the way where she gains a deeper acceptance of her circumstances. The day comes when she realizes she may be tempted to turn some of her husband’s things in a shrine and resists that temptation. The day comes when she realizes she doesn’t mind making decisions for just one person instead of two and living according to the plan and schedule of only herself. The day comes when she faces some of the regrets from her marriage, when she utters one final apology and grants one final forgiveness. After all, “We were just two people who loved each other and did the best we could with who we were.”
By the end of the book she has emerged from the worst of her sorrows. She may not be healed, but she is healing. She may not be over her sorrows (as if anyone ever is) but she is once again getting on with life. She is laughing again and experiencing joy. She has come to the other side of her grief. She has begun experiencing a new normal. “I am at the end of my grieving now. I find I can think of you without tears or heartache, for those things have been replaced with sweet memories. I can talk about you without tears yet, sometimes the memories are so sweet that the tears still come, but they aren’t tears of grief any more, but of fond remembrance. You are still as much a part of me as ever, and I find myself talking to you every now and then when I need another viewpoint because you were always so wise.”
In my assessment, this book has two notable strengths. The first is related to Echols’s realness. She simply lets us into her journey as she goes through it and is honest about her joys and sorrows, her fears and doubts, her submission and her anger. The second is related to her faith. She writes as a Christian who mourns, but not without hope, and who grieves, but not without a sense of God’s will being expressed even in something as tragic as death. Her book is not a theology of death, yet teaches that God reigns over death and provides ultimate hope beyond it. This is a beautiful, hopeful little book and one I’m glad to recommend.

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It’s hard to believe, but it was just a very short time ago that nobody believed in gender identity. At least, nobody believed in what the term has come to encompass today. As with so many social phenomena, it came slowly and then all at once. Suddenly it became an accepted “fact” that sex and gender can no longer be used interchangeably but instead refer to completely different realities so that a woman can have the body of a man and a man the body of a woman. Suddenly it became an accepted “fact” that the way to approach gender dysphoria is not to provide therapy to the mind but to provide surgery for the body. Suddenly it became an act of violence to fail to use another person’s preferred pronouns and an act of hate speech to use another person’s “deadname.”

It is difficult to keep up with such a swift and irrational transformation. It can be difficult to sort through the new terminology and to think through the new distinctions. Thankfully, Christians are being well-resourced with books that can help. Now on store shelves is Does God Care About Gender Identity? by Samuel Ferguson, a short book that forms part of a new series from The Gospel Coalition called “TGC Hard Questions.”
“This booklet is written for those interested in or concerned by today’s evolving views on sex and gender,” Ferguson says in his introduction. “It’s grown out of occasions I’ve had as a pastor to walk with individuals who experience gender dysphoria and their families. Whether you’re a Christian, a parent, or just someone curious about gender, identity, and our shared longings for transformation, I’ve written this book for you. I hope you’ll find here compassion, clarity, and some guidance around this complex and sensitive topic.”
He focuses on two themes: deeper understanding and compassionate engagement. Under the banner of deeper understanding, he wants to inform his readers about today’s transgender movement—its practices and key beliefs—and he wants to compare these to the Bible. He looks at three big questions: (1) Is the body integral or incidental to gender identity? (2) What is the transformative path out of dysphoria and toward wholeness? (3) Does God assign our biological sex and gender…? If so, how can we tell, and how does this affect the way we live out our maleness and femaleness?
Under the banner of compassionate engagement, he asks what biblical compassion and leadership might look like when caring for someone who has declared themselves transgender. How can the church help parents whose children say they are trans? How can the church relate to people who have changed their gender identity? And how can Christians see gender identity not as a threat but as an opportunity for discipleship?
Because this is just a brief book, Ferguson needs to move quickly, but that doesn’t stop him from offering helpful explanations. For example, he outlines the three core beliefs of the transgender movement and explains each one: my identity is self-determined; my feelings, not my body, determine my gender; and we find wholeness through external, not internal, change. All three of these beliefs are novel and all three are opposed to Scripture. Together they lead to this: change the body to heal the mind.
But what does Scripture say? Our human identity is a gift from our Creator; human beings are embodied, so gender is never less than our biology; and God’s pathway for change is transformation, not transition. According to God, then, what we have to offer those with gender dysphoria is not medical transition but spiritual transformation that begins with the mind, culminates in the future resurrection, and is carried out in the meantime by the Spirit in the context of the local church.

The transgender movement’s agent of transition is the scalpel; Christianity’s agent of transformation is the Spirit. The transgender movement sees change as primarily cosmetic, on the surface; Christians understand change to be inner and deep—it begins in the soul, moves through our character, and culminates in a perfected, imperishable, embodied existence (1 Cor. 15:42–49). A transition takes place in a clinic or on an operating table, but transformation is lived out in the context of the church, with God’s people, the family of faith.

Those who are confused by all the talk of gender identity will appreciate this book as a helpful explainer and guide. Those who are attempting to help or lead others through struggles will appreciate it as a trusted, albeit basic, resource. It’s the kind of book churches may wish to keep on hand and distribute liberally. I expect many Christians will benefit from reading it and thus I highly recommend it.
(Does God Care About Gender Identity? is one of three volumes that are launching the new series TGC Hard Questions. I also recommend Is Christianity Good for the World? by Sharon James and Why Do We Feel Lonely at Church? by Jeremy Linneman.)
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Beware of idleness,” Thomas Watson once warned, for “Satan sows most of his seed in fallow ground.” Watson’s warning about idleness is relevant to any area of life, and most Christians quickly come to observe the intimate relationship between idleness and temptation. Charles Spurgeon, who was devoted to the writings of Watson, echoed his mentor when he said, “The most likely man to go to hell is the man who has nothing to do on earth. Idle people tempt the devil to tempt them.”
While Watson’s warning is broad enough to apply to all of life, it is also narrow enough to apply to the Christian’s relationship with God. Ground that is fallow has been left idle for a season and is producing no good crops. Lives that are fallow have been left to “go to seed,” and Satan will gladly sneak in to sow them with sin. Fallow lives reflect no great devotion to God and no great pursuit of God, but are instead devoted to ease or the pursuit of endless entertainment.
Watson warns that as we ease off in pursuing our relationship with God, we open ourselves to the temptations of the devil, for a fallow field bears weeds rather than wheat, and a fallow life bears sin rather than sanctification. Thus we always do well to ask: Am I being idle in my relationship with the Lord?