On November 10, 2015, a violent home invasion took the lives of my wife Amanda and our unborn child.

Amanda and I had followed God’s call to plant a church in Indianapolis, Resonate Church, exactly four years before – yet national news outlets were now broadcasting our family‘s tragedy. As shock morphed into overwhelming grief, I stepped with my toddler son Weston into an uncertain future without Amanda.

Over the past nine years, God’s mercies have been new every morning. And one of the greatest mercies goes by the name of Kristi.

It was late 2016, almost a full year since Amanda had passed away, and I had just started writing a book – a memoir. I had asked God to help me see his hand of redemption in my story, and the process of putting emotions and memories to paper was bringing me a lot of healing. I even found myself wondering if I was healthy enough for God to bring love my way again. The odds were not in my favor – my current life would require a truly unique woman, one who loved God, loved my son Weston, loved me, loved our church, and even loved Amanda. I left the idea in God’s hands.

That evening, after a twelve-hour day of writing, I headed to the gym to decompress. The owner of the gym had kindly given me a key so I could break a little sweat at odd hours when I wasn’t writing. That night I arrived just as the last class of the evening was finishing up. As providence would have it, Kristi was in that class.

I had noticed Kristi at the gym and around church over the last few months, but we hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words. She had caught my attention from day one, but she seemed to be avoiding me like the plague. I decided this was the moment, so I worked up the courage to engage in conversation.

“Hey!” I said, trying (to no avail) to play it cool. “You’ve been coming to Resonate church for like four months now, and I know almost nothing about you.” And, to keep it pastoral, I added, “What’s your story? How did you come to know the Lord?”

For the next thirty minutes, we stood there as she regaled me on her upbringing and past. Out of all that she shared,

I homed in on the four years she spent studying abroad and on the mission fields in Mexico, Cambodia, and Brazil. “So that’s why you’ve been serving in Resonate’s inner-city project,” I commented. “You have a heart for missions.”

“Yeah,” she said with some hesitation, “but also my family lives in that area.”

“Wait, by choice?” I blurted out, thinking of the crime rate in that part of the city.

“Yeah.” She kept her poise. “My stepdad and mom feel called to that area as their life’s ministry. That was one reason I chose to attend Resonate. The church’s ForIndy initiative in the inner city? It’s the kind of work our family has prayed to see for years.”

“Wow. That’s amazing!” I said. “Amanda and I used to pray for that neighborhood when we ran by while training for half marathons. Ever since Amanda passed, I’ve felt this huge burden for that area of the city. Much of what we do as a church has come out of our story and the burden it’s placed on me.”

“I’m connected  to your story in some other ways,” Kristi said, “but I don’t think you’ll want me to tell you that.” She shuffled her feet a little and looked around the room.

“What is it?” I was intrigued and a little apprehensive, especially at how awkward she had suddenly become.

“Well. Um. Davey, my stepdad is a chaplain for the Marion County prison system.” She paused to let what she said set in for a second. “And he has regular conversations with the men that killed Amanda.”

I felt all the blood rush out of my face and the room began to spin. “What?!” I was dumbfounded. What are you doing, God? The girl I’ve been interested in already has a close connection with my story? I was at the gym to decompress after a long day – the same day I had asked the Lord to show me the redemption in my story. And Kristi tells me this?

Fast forward through several months of dating, and we were ready to see how our families felt about this: hers, mine, and Amanda’s. We spent a week with Amanda’s family in Elkhart, Indiana, followed by a week with my family in North Carolina. Kristi’s family was in Indy, so we’d already had some time to talk with them. We knew those two weeks were make-or-break for us. We returned to Indy reassured and started talking about a future together.

On November 8, 2017, almost exactly two years after Amanda’s death, I got down on one knee and asked Kristi to be my wife.

It was important to Kristi that we have a small, private, and quiet wedding. You see, although she had a very loving an

d involved stepdad, her biological father hadn’t been in her life for years. Because he struggled with

serious mental illness, Kristi had often feared for her safety. She hadn’t seen her birthfather since he walked out on the family years ago, but the thought of being walked down a wedding aisle touched more than a few childhood wounds.

Meanwhile, I was aware that dozens of people had been personally involved in my journey, both with Amanda and sinc

e her passing. I couldn’t imagine not having those people present as we celebrated this new chapter of life together. Suddenly a message I had received earlier from the Lord came to mind: My redemption story would usher in Kristi’s as well. I convinced her to go through with a bigger wedding and asked her to trust me with the “walking down the aisle” part.

On a chilly, rainy, magical December day in 2017, we gathered friends and family in a castle – well, a local venue that looked like a castle. Although almost nothing in our stories looked like a fairy tale up to the point, we felt like we were living one that day.

I stood at the front with Brad Cooper, who was officiating the wedding, and waited for the doors to open, knowing that what was about to ensue would have us all in tears. I shifted nervously, hoping that everything would go as planned.

“Claire de Lune” began playing softly. The doors swung open, and everyone stood to their feet. There she was, standing alone, a magnificent beauty, delicately resplendent in a fashionable white gown with lace sleeves, clutching a bouquet of snowy flowers.

I could see the hesitation on Kristi’s face as she began to step forward. Her beloved stepfather, Lee, immediately eased out of the back row to meet her. She smiled and accepted his arm as she walked toward me. About one-third of the way down the aisle, Lee stopped walking and Kristi froze with him. He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered in her ear, “This is where I leave you.” Stunned and unsure what to do next, she looked up at me.

At the same moment, Amanda’s father, Phil, stood up and gently took Kristi’s arm. You could almost feel the entire room gasp as people held back tears. Phil walked Kristi the next third of the way until, right on cue, my own father got up from his seat.

My dad escorted Kristi the last few steps until she stood directly in front of me, in all her radiance, and Brad asked, “Who gives this bride to be with this groom?”

“We do,” the three declared in unison from behind Kristi.

It was a storybook moment, and it wasn’t lost on either of us. Tears filled both of our eyes as we looked at each other, two broken puzzle pieces about to fit and stitch our crazy lives together to display to the world a picture of God’s redemption—an unordinary family.

Davey Blackburn is the founder of Nothing is Wasted Ministries which creates resources for those facing trauma, tragedy, and loss. He is the author of Nothing is Wasted: A True Story of Hope, Forgiveness, and Finding Purpose in Pain (July 2024). Davey and Kristi live in Indianapolis with their three kids, Natalia, Weston, and Cohen. Find resources at www.NothingIsWasted.com.

Friend, we hope this encourages you that God is not done writing your story. He can bring redemption and healing into any part of your life!

You can read more of Davey’s inspiring story in his book- Nothing is Wasted: A True Story of Hope, Forgiveness, and Finding Purpose in Pain.