In 2013, Lea’s life fractured beyond recognition. She found her husband lifeless, and in that instant, nothing—faith, family, identity, or future—looked the same again.

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This memoir is not polished grief. It is raw, unflinching, and unwilling to hide the chaos that follows death. Lea writes about the screams that broke her voice, the silence of nights that never ended, the weight of a folded flag she couldn’t bear to touch. She tells the truth about how grief steals memory, distorts time, and leaves you walking hollow through a world that expects you to function.

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But the collapse of her husband’s life also brought down the scaffolding of the faith she had been taught. The God who was supposed to comfort her disappeared into silence. The church offered answers that fell flat. The identity she had been carrying—wife, believer, good Christian woman—no longer fit.

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When God Went Silent is the story of what comes after everything falls apart. It is about how grief can take everything and still leave a strange kind of gift. Lea does not find the God she was taught to serve; she discovers a Divine who was always waiting inside the silence, beyond religion, beyond fear, beyond shame.

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The second half of the book traces this unexpected journey. From the rubble of her marriage, her faith, and her sense of self, Lea slowly learns how to live again—not by rebuilding the old structures, but by stepping into a rawer, truer relationship with the Sacred. She begins to see God not as a distant figure to appease, but as a presence that breathes within her.

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This book is not about answers. It is not about theology. It is about the courage it takes to let grief undo you, the honesty of admitting faith has failed, and the beauty of finding a Divine who meets you, not in the pew or the pulpit, but in the silence that follows loss.

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For anyone who has ever lost a loved one, lost their faith, or lost themselves, When God Went Silent is not a sermon or a guidebook. It is a witness. A hand reaching through the dark saying:

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You are not alone. You never were.
And even here—especially here—there is a way forward.