In an instant, everything changed...
Robyn Dykstra spent years as a Playboy Bunny, oblivious to God’s master plan for her life. But she escaped a life of drugs, alcohol, and promiscuity for a fresh start with Jesus. Cleaned up and happy, with a handsome husband, a nice house, and two wonderful children, her life seemed perfect. Then, the unthinkable: In an instant, everything changed. That one moment triggered a chain reaction of unwanted challenges, and her life would never be the same.
Can you relate? In an instant…
- The marriage is over,
- The job ends,
- The car’s wrecked,
- The money’s gone,
- The diagnosis is pronounced …
… and your dreams are crushed. All you can do is cry, “Why?” You long for
the lost to be found, for the broken to be fixed, for the stolen to be returned. You want your life back!
In The Widow Wore Pink, you’ll discover that the God who was faithful to Robyn will also be faithful to you. Learn to face the unwelcome changes in your life by knowing and trusting the promises of God for yourself.
Robyn Dykstra is an author, speaker, and Bible teacher who loves Jesus. For decades, Robyn has been presenting life-changing messages to help thousands energize their faith in God and find the strength to face life’s challenges.
Have you been in a tough spot for such a long time, that you believe nothing will ever change? Have you lost your hope for your circumstances to improve? Robyn Dykstra understands the cry of your heart, having been where you are, and having walked in your shoes. A women who lost two husbands in only four years- had a lot of questions for God that required an answer. Her discoveries are your solutions, and her life-changing messages will leave you encouraged, uplifted and energized for the new life God has planned. She shares her insights with hilarity and perfect comedic timing to ensure a fun-filled event, with the unusual coupling of spiritual depth. She is a MUST-HAVE speaker for any Christian Women’s event, and her new book, The Widow Wore Pink, is available on amazon.com Sept. 6 2015
I stood in front of my husband Jay, who was sleeping on the couch. He looked rested. The television was on behind me, an innocuous sing-song show; four year old Eli lay on the carpet near me, mesmerized by the magic of television. I could hear his seven year old brother Jake and my mom chattering in the kitchen, excitedly developing a villainous character to vanquish. Jake’s arsenal of wooden swords and rubber-band guns would play some part in the impending destruction of despots in my front yard. “Eli, go see what Grandma G and Jake are planning, will you, please?” I said. “I think we’re going for a walk before her plane leaves. You can ride your bike.” He was off and away to the kitchen. Jay had taken a shower late the night before; his hair was clean and shiny, his clothes were clean, he looked like a little boy. God, I thought as I looked at my peacefully sleeping husband, I sure do love this man. Leaning closer, I caught the smell of soap and Old Spice. I whispered his name. No response. Wow, he’s pale; he needs some sun. Like a character on a TV drama, I put two fingers against his neck to check for a pulse. Since I can’t even find my own heartbeat unless I’ve just finished an aerobic workout, I wasn’t alarmed when I didn’t find his. A resting pulse would be tricky to locate. I put my whole hand on his forehead to check for a fever. He was cold. I screamed his name and pounded his chest with both my fists. There was no give; his body was hard. I yelled for both kids and shouted for my mom to call
9-1-1. No sooner had the children rushed in than I decided they shouldn’t see him, so I sent them to their rooms—then I decided I didn’t want them to be alone and didn’t want them out of my sight, so I yelled for them to come back. By this time Mom had the 9-1-1 dispatcher on the phone. She handed it to me and ushered the kids into another part of the house. The dispatcher calmly instructed me to put Jay on the floor so I could administer CPR until the police arrived. I tried to move him, but he outweighed me by a hundred pounds. “I can’t move him! He weighs too much!” I cried frantically, but she insisted that I try to at least move him into a proper position for CPR. As I tried to pull him onto his back, his shirt twisted open, exposing his torso. There was what looked like a huge bruise on his left side. Gravity had drawn the uncirculating blood down into the side of his body that had been lying against the couch. Fire trucks arrived; firemen in full firefighting regalia poured into our home. An ambulance appeared, and men in starched white shirts dotted with embroidered patches examined Jay. “He’s cold and his body is hard and there’s a pool of blood in his belly!” I cried. I didn’t need to ask if there was anything they could do. An EMT examined Jay’s body thoroughly and gently told me what I already knew. Jay was dead. The EMT straightened Jay’s clothes and positioned his body on the couch in a not-quite-sitting position. “The coroner will be here soon to pronounce time of death,” the EMT said. “If you want to spend any time with him or say good-bye, you could do that now.” I wanted to crawl into Jay’s lap and stay there. Let them bury both of us. How could I live without him? He looked just as strong and powerful dead as he had the night before. He looked peaceful. There was no death in the air. His hands were my favorite part of him. I held them and sobbed. For the first time in the twenty-one years I’d known him, they were cold.