Two of the hardest things for me to accept, after my husband, Warren, died was the title people wanted to slap on me, widow, and the fact that I was one.

I dare to say that most widows feel that way.

Why don’t we want to be called a widow? Because our brain doesn’t wrap around the term, and others view us with a stigma. It’s like they think we are contagious, and they need to be inoculated against becoming one. Or they might think we are trying to steal their husband.

Although neither are true, it doesn’t stop there.

Our society is built on couples and when we become a half, our activities in that area fall to near zero.

Widows are placed in a position of attending functions solo, which can be awkward at times, or staying home and enjoying their solitude. If I choose the latter, I find I need to mix it with getting out of the house occasionally, or I can go into the hermit mode.

It’s an acknowledged fact that it is healthier and easier to move forward in our grief journey when we interact with others.

Making new friends adds zest to our life.

Do you suppose that is what the Lord meant when He said in Proverbs 18:24, “A man that hath friends must show himself friendly”?

If you have been widowed for a while, maybe by now you have accepted the term and the fact that you are a widow.

Since God placed me in that position several years ago, I want to rejoice and be an example to the world of how He supplies and watches over widows.