My late husband had a childhood friend named Wendy. After he retired, they reconnected and began having regular Zoom calls. I had never met her, spoken to her, or even had her number, but my husband often shared their conversations with me.
On the day my husband suddenly died, in a whirlwind of shock and heartbreak, I knew Wendy had to know. But how could I reach her? Then, almost as if God placed it there for me, I saw a slip of paper with a phone number written on it, lying next to the chair where my husband always sat. The area code was from California. My heart whispered: This must be hers.
With trembling hands, I dialed. A woman answered.
“Are you Wendy?” my voice quivered. I sensed the hesitation, so I quickly said, “This is Leah.”
“Oh, Leah,” she said in surprise. “I almost didn’t pick up—worried it was a scam call, but I saw the Tucson area code. Is… something wrong?”
And then I broke down. I cried and poured everything out to Wendy for nearly an hour. She became the very first person I could share the truth about my husband’s death and the unbearable pain tearing through me. She listened. She wept with me. She became my lifeline.
In the days that followed, she called, checked in, and even invited me to visit her for a few days. During those tender, fragile weeks, Wendy was a gift from God—an anchor in a sea of grief.
As time went on, our conversations became less frequent. Yet whenever I hear the name Wendy, I feel an instant connection—and deep gratitude for the person I could trust with my broken heart and share my sorrow without fear.
When tragedy shatters your world, you never know who God will send to hold you up, to give you the strength to take the next breath.
For me, God sent Wendy.