Category Archives: Remembering

I think I can. I think I can.

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Most of us remember an inspiring childrens book entitled “The Little Engine that Could.” It championed the attribute of stick-to-itiveness, even when the odds were formidable, such as having to climb over a mountain while pulling a heavy load.

Although the first published version of this story was part of a Sunday school paper in 1906, at least four authors are on record as having written it. But way back in the first part of the Old Testament, God had already authored the tale, and not just authored it but also offered to fortify our can-do effort with the strength to get a difficult job done.

In a Deuteronomy passage, Moses, the revered leader of several million people over 40 year’s time, had died just short of entering their new homeland. In these verses the people were recounting specific blessings he’d spoken to each of the 12 tribes before he passed away. He knew battles were coming and had done his best to encourage and prepare them, confident that  God’s abilities exceeded those of every enemy.

Last fall, as Nate’s health made its rapid plunge toward complete incapacitation and finally death, I was fearful I wouldn’t be able to handle the unknown “mountains” ahead in caring for him. I’d heard stories of uncontrollable pain, abusive words coming from patients, horrible bathroom messes and frightening death scenes. Would I make it?

Then I opened a letter from our friend Caroline in England. Although her words of love and kindness meant a great deal, the real power was in the few words of Scripture she’d written next to her signature. They reminded me of the little blue engine who eagerly wanted to succeed, even after others had failed, others who were better suited for the job than he was.

I felt ill-suited for my job, too, but I wanted to succeed, to be everything Nate needed me to be, no matter how distasteful, agonizing or sad it became. And most of all I wanted to remain single-minded to the very end, putting Nate ahead of everything else. But I had no idea how I would have the know-how or strength to conquer whatever might come.

But amazingly, as each day passed, the Lord supplied whatever was needed, enabling me to say, “I think I can. I think I can.” God astounded us again and again with his creative provisions, never running out of new ways to come to our aid. And there isn’t any set of crisis-circumstances God can’t handle. He is the enabler; we are the I-think-I-cans.

At the end of the story of “The Little Engine that Could,” the blue train slides with ease and joy along the track on the down-side of the mountain, having done what the other engines thought was impossible. Smiling at his accomplishment, he says, “I thought I could. I thought I could.”

And that’s where our storyline breaks from that of the blue engine. Although we, too, look back with amazement, we’re looking at God’s accomplishments, not our own. It’s “We knew God could. We knew God would.”

“As your days, so shall your strength be. The eternal God drives out the enemy before you.” (Deuteronomy 33:25b,27b)

Hankie-Help

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Rhett Butler was never without a handkerchief when Scarlett needed one, because he was a classy guy. Having a ready hankie was the mark of a true gentleman.

Nate was a gentleman, too.

I can’t count the times I needed his hankie-help when we were away from home. Coffee spills, make-up gone awry, tears at a funeral or sticky fingers. The uses were endless. His hankie was usually out of his suit pocket before I’d looked up from my sudden need, and he never gave a thought to the fact that he might want it later himself and find it soiled by his wife.

I can remember watching my mother put a handkerchief in her purse each time she went out, noticing that my father had one, too. People of that generation didn’t use Kleenex with abandon like I do. They were “thinking green” well before it was the thing to do.

I also recall shopping with Mom to buy a bridal shower gift. She selected a handkerchief made of gauzy white linen fanned out in a square flat box and wrapped in tissue. The embroidered pink roses on one corner were matched by a pink edging all around. As a young girl I knew the bride would love it and wondered if she might even carry it on her wedding day.

When we were cleaning out Mom’s drawers after she died, she had quite a collection of beautiful hankies. But short of using them in an art project, we didn’t know what to do with them. Times had changed. Although I remember every elderly auntie tucking a handkerchief in her dress sleeve  with the decorative part showing, today’s women were different. And Mom’s hankie supply went to Good Will.

I can see how hankies are wonderful for mopping up moisture — from eyes, noses, clothes, children’s faces and unnumbered other places. And life is fraught with messes that need this kind of attention. Although I’ve never owned my own hankie, I was delighted to be married to a handkerchief-carrying gentleman. I needed him, and I needed his hankies. Both helped me clean up many a mess.

Sometimes I think about the Lord and his expertise at cleaning up after us.   Throughout the Bible he mopped up a variety of disasters, and he’s in the same business today, offering his services to those of us who keep messing up. And the best part about his cleaning is that it isn’t just surface work. What he offers goes deep into the heart and fixes up what cannot be touched with a hankie but is far more difficult to clean. It’s the buried soil of sin.

But the beauty of God’s mess-mopping is that once things have been cleaned up, he’s willing to let the past stay in the past. Although I don’t think God actually forgets anything, he does promise not to keep bringing up the messes we’ve made. They’re as good as forgotten.

I still remember quite a few of the wet clean-ups Nate’s hankies helped me with, and many of the handkerchiefs show stains to testify of their histories. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, Nate never brought these things up to me again either. Like Rhett Butler, he was just happy he could help.

” ‘Come now, let’s settle this,’ says the Lord. ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them as white as snow.’ “ (Isaiah 1:18a)

Doggy Dress-up

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We might live in a dog-eat-dog world, but plenty of people still love dogs, and Nate was one of them. When he’d arrive home from work, Jack would trot over to receive the head-pats he loved. Nate ascribed personalities to each pet and considered an animal’s point of view. He also loved the soft feel of their ears.

There was one oddity, however, about Nate’s involvement. He liked to dress them up. When I’d ask why, he’d just shrug. “They’re so cute that way.”

When our girls used to play with dolls, he’d borrow an extra dress, hat, whatever they would loan. If an outfit was too small for a dog, he’d dress one of the cats. If no clothes were available, he’d use his hankie as a babushka, tied under a furry chin. “Get the camera!” he’d say.

In an effort to figure out Nate’s fascination with animal dress-up, I’d ask, “Is this about the miniature clothes? Or maybe a wish that our pets were human? An idea for a new business? An underlying desire to have more children?”

But in 40 years, I never figured it out. Our kids would watch their father in amusement, enjoying his laughter but chalking it up to the foibles of an older generation.

We’ve all seen TV spots featuring animals doing human things: the horse that counts with his hoof, the chimp that obeys sign language, the dog that alerts his family to a fire. We love them all. Maybe Nate’s fascination with dressing our pets was an effort to elevate them a notch, as these shows tried to do.

My best guess was that a dog wearing a sweater and glasses, sitting patiently with a serious expression, was a visual oxymoron Nate relished. His business world forced rationality and logic, and at home he needed to be the voice of reason in every discussion. A cat in a bonnet was jolly comic relief.

Today at the beach a couple dragged two yellow kayaks through the sand to the shoreline. Sitting proudly in one of them was a small white poodle. As they passed me, his owner said, “He loves a good ride.”

I saw what she meant after she snapped on her own life jacket and then produced one for the dog. Although the lake had white caps today, this poodle stood at the bow, leaning into breaking waves like the ornamental figurehead on an ancient ship. Even while taking water in the face, he never flinched.

When they returned an hour later, the dog still hadn’t had enough. Although they set him on the sand, his choice was to sit back in the kayak wearing his life jacket, gazing at the waves. Nate would have been all over this scenario, asking questions of the couple, patting the dog and loving the outfit. I wish he could have been there.

I believe the following “outlandish statements” are true:

Animals matter to God, because they’re a part of his “good” creation, and he’s pleased when we delight in them. In heaven, animals will be there as part of creation’s restoration, and when we’re in conversation with them, we can ask Nate’s pets exactly what they thought of their earthly outfits.

On second thought, they may be dressed in heavenly outfits at the time we ask. If that’s true, Nate’s joy will know no bounds.

”As I watched, I heard an eagle that was flying in midair [in heaven] call out in a loud voice… to the inhabitants of the earth…” (Revelation 8:13)