Isaiah 61:3 Inc.

When my husband passed away, I felt utterly broken. It was as if my heart had shattered into pieces, and the grief was an overwhelming, chaotic storm that left me lost and hollow. As a young widow with children, I carried not only my own pain but also the weight of helping my daughters navigate their loss. My grief was a tangled mess—betrayal, hurt, anger, and guilt, swirling together in no particular order. If there’s an “order” to grief, I didn’t find it. First came the betrayal: I felt God had betrayed us. I was certain my husband, my happily ever after, would be saved. We were good people, Christians who prayed fervently, had faith, and had countless others praying for him. Surely, our loving God wouldn’t take two husbands from me, two fathers from my children. Then came the hurt: God had taken my loving husband, the only man who ever truly loved me, the man who showed me and my daughters what a real family was—a husband who loved me unconditionally, a father who showed my girls what a true father should be. Losing him felt like losing the foundation of our family. Anger surged next. Why did God, my so-called loving God, do this? Scripture is filled with stories of Jesus healing—He can heal, He is able—and yet He didn’t. What purpose did that serve? Hadn’t we suffered enough? Hadn’t I suffered enough? Surely my children had. Why would the Lord God Almighty show us what a beautiful family could be, then take it all away? And it wasn’t quick. Cancer is awful; it takes and takes until there’s nothing left. We watched the man we loved become unrecognizable, his body and spirit worn down by a relentless disease. When the anger subsided, guilt crashed in. What right did I have to be angry? I’m a Christian woman—I’m not supposed to feel anger toward God. What was I thinking? But then I remembered: even David, a man after God’s own heart, expressed anger toward God in his pain. That gave me permission to wrestle, to feel. Desperate for answers, I dove into every book on grief I could find and sought out every support and grief group available. Everywhere I went, they told me my feelings were “normal.” Normal? I didn’t feel normal, nor am I. I didn’t get a lifetime with my husband. My daughters won’t be walked down the aisle by their dad. He won’t hold his first grandchild. And I’m still young—I don’t want to be a widow or be defined as one for the rest of my life! In those groups, I saw we were all stuck, lost in grief, repeating the same pain week after week with no one moving forward. It broke my heart to realize my children had already lost their dad, and they were losing their mom to grief, too. That was my turning point. I saw that my children were my strength, but they were hurting just as deeply. My youngest was just as angry, just as hurt, just as confused as I was, but she had no outlet. She wouldn’t sit in a stuffy room for counseling, though I tried many times to get her to talk to multiple pastors. I dragged her to every church function we had, hoping she’d find some comfort. After a while, she started to make friends. At Vacation Bible School, she met a girl a few years older who was kind and shared a kindred spirit, having suffered a great loss herself. That connection gave my youngest a safe space to relate, to feel understood, and it showed me the power of community for our children. Then I started spending more time with my children, taking them to the movies, then to the circus, and back again because we had so much fun. I wanted my oldest to join us, to share in those moments. Seeing my children smile filled me with so much joy, tinged with a little sadness that my husband was missing it, but so much joy that my heart began to grow stronger. The moment I heard their laughter, so pure and full of life, God showed me that we already had what we needed—we had each other. In that moment, God gave me a vision, rooted in Isaiah 61:3, to create a ministry where young widows and their children could not only share their pain but also find a path to healing, joy, and hope together. This vision gave birth to Isaiah 61:3 Ministry, a community dedicated to supporting young widows with children—not just another “normal” support group, but a place to show them they have everything they need to get through this season: God and their families. It’s my response to God’s call to comfort others as He has comforted me (2 Corinthians 1:4). We provide a safe space to connect through online support groups, where widows can share their stories, process the raw emotions of betrayal, hurt, anger, or guilt—even guilt for questioning God—and find encouragement from others who understand the messy, nonlinear nature of loss, especially after watching a loved one suffer. We also gather semi-frequently for in-person outings and mini adventures—park days, game nights, trips to local events, sports outings, zoo visits, and seasonal celebrations—where our children can be kids, connect with other kids who are experiencing similar feelings, like my youngest did at Vacation Bible School, and feel safe and, eventually, happy. I know that when mothers see that joy and happiness on their children’s faces, as I did with my daughters, they will find the strength to carry on. Through prayer and fellowship, we encourage one another to lean on God’s strength, even when faith feels shaken, and trust Him to transform our brokenness into something beautiful, as promised in Isaiah 61:3. I know how isolating widowhood can be, especially when raising grieving children, and how grief can feel like a chaotic mix of betrayal when prayers go unanswered, hurt from losing the one who defined family, anger at a God who could heal but didn’t, and guilt for questioning Him as a Christian. I know the pain of feeling broken, of watching cancer steal a loved one’s light, the frustration of being told your grief is “normal” when it feels anything but, and the ache of knowing your children will miss their father at life’s milestones. I know the fear of being defined as a widow forever and the heartbreak of seeing your children hurt without an outlet. But I also know that God is faithful, even when we wrestle with Him, just as David did. He has carried my family through our darkest moments, and the sound of my children’s laughter at the circus and the movies, and my youngest’s connection with a kindred spirit, showed me that hope is possible. Isaiah 61:3 Ministry is here to remind you that you are not alone—that you and your children have what you need in God and each other to navigate this season, and we’re here to walk alongside you, not to stay stuck in grief but to move toward healing. Whether online or on our next mini adventure to a zoo or local event, we’re a community ready to embrace you and your children, pray with you, and help you find joy again. If you’re a young widow with children, I invite you to join us. Come connect in our online groups, share in a park day or seasonal event, and let’s trust God together to turn our mourning into joy and our despair into praise. With love and hope, Lorena Camilleri