Category Archives: Saying Goodbye

Home Improvement – Part IX

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When I was growing up in a happy home, I always enjoyed talking with Dad. He was born in 1899 (really!) and had a unique perspective on life. One day we got to chatting about houses and moving. He said, “It’s best to move only three or four times in your adult life. A small, starter house, one or two larger homes, and another small one for retirement.”

“Really?” I said.

A common model for Dad’s day, it isn’t the standard today. Our world is more fluid, and we change addresses often. There’s even a box on every utility bill that says, “Moved?”

Relocating can be traumatic. I vividly remember when Mom and Dad left their “bigger” home on one side of Wilmette for the small retirement ranch on the other side. The rest of us were waiting at the new house with cake, ice cream and a big poster that said, “WELCOME HOME!” All of us were anxious for the work day to end as the clock approached midnight, but where was Mom? Supposedly she’d been coming right behind us after saying goodbye to her beloved home.

Much later, her car pulled in, but she was a wreck. She’d been crying and later told us she’d spent time in every room talking to God, even going flat on her face on the carpet as if she was trying to get her arms around the house in a final big hug. Walking out for the last time had been a heartbreaker, and she was sad from head to toe.

The morning of our closing, I was eager to spend my last few hours at 103 Creek Court. We’d raised seven children there and had loved the house, the neighbors and the neighborhood. Would it be hard to leave? Would the new owners have to drag me out by my heels?

 

As I walked from room to room snapping pictures, tiny tingles of sadness began wiggling deep inside. Standing at the kitchen sink where I’d spent so much time, I looked out the windows at that familiar scene and knew I needed to quickly ask God for help.

“What do you want me to think right now, Lord?”

Immediately he made his close presence known. Although I couldn’t see or touch him, that didn’t matter, because he spoke words I knew were his: “Margaret, unless I build the house, all your labor is in vain.” (Psalm 127:1)

“Don’t dwell on these walls, floors, windows. The real building is not a noun but a verb. It’s what I’ve been doing at 103 Creek Court for years. Do you think that’ll stop, just because you’re moving? I’m moving too. With you! As you leave your house, remember that the Builder of lives goes with you, so step away from that sink, and let’s go…”

Happiness wrapped around me like a ribbon around a package, and I started laughing. God’s message to me was effective, but even better was getting a glimpse of him when I needed him most.

And I couldn’t wait for the next one!

(…to be continued)

“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power.” (Hebrews 1:3)

Home Improvement – Part VIII

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The sunset last night was spectacular. I was heading home after running errands, trying to repeatedly check the sky while going 70 mph. Every time I glanced west, however, an obstacle flew in between me and the beautiful sunset – a stand of trees, a semi truck, a hill, a sound barrier wall. It was difficult to get a good look, but when I got one, it made me want another.

Our journey through life can be much like a drive home. Instead of looking for the sunset, though, we’re looking for God. The trouble is we can only get a quick glimpse here and there, just like my staccato looks at the sunset. Obstacles seem always to be in the way. If we do get a look, however, it’s a strong motivator to keep watching for the next God-sighting.

Nate and I hadn’t gotten a glimpse of God for quite a while as we tried to sell the house that wouldn’t. The 2008 holiday season had come and gone, and although we had a live contract, both of us expected it to unwind.

The twenty-something couple wanting to move in had low-balled us by $60,000. The rapidly spiraling real estate market had devalued the house nearly four times that amount already, but getting something was better than nothing. As the calendar marched toward our closing date, they suddenly asked for an extension. I said to Nate, “See? It’s all unraveling.”

But he said, “Extensions are common in the real estate business. It’s too soon to panic.”

On the last day of the extension, the buyers asked for a second one, several weeks hence. On the last day of that one, they asked for a third. Where were those glimpses of God’s colorful, spectacular work “between the obstacles?” I asked Nate if he could press the buyers’ lawyer for the reason behind all the extensions. It turned out his clients had been on a ski holiday and then gone to the Caribbean.

But finally we got a firm closing date. Our realtor assured us it would happen this time and urged me to start packing, which I did. With help from unnumbered family and friends, in less than two weeks the house stood empty, and it was our last day there.

While Nate was handling the closing, I was at the house doing a final cleaning. The rooms had never looked better, every wall freshly painted, the windows washed, carpets pristine, wood floors gleaming.

Walking through the rooms for the last time, I knew the new owners were on the way, keys in hand. But “our” home was tugging at my heart strings, flooding my mind with nearly 30 years of memories. How could I just walk out the front door and leave it all behind? As always when in desperate circumstances, I asked God, “What do you want me to be thinking right now?”

And right then he let me have a quick glimpse of him.

(…to be continued)

“Give me a sign of your goodness… for you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me.” (Psalm 86:17)

Remembering the Wake

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A year ago today, our family got dressed in black and assembled in a Chicago funeral home for Nate’s wake, a difficult day that began rushing toward us the moment he died. Thinking back, I remember with a shudder how I felt as we drove the old mini-van from Michigan to Chicago. Nelson was at the wheel, others were in the back, and my mind was swirling with a thousand details. Had we covered all the bases? Were we factoring in the time change from EST to CST? Did we bring the programs? Would we be able to bear what this day would bring?

But God was ready with a special something to calm my fears and bring a measure of peace. As we drove, my cell rang, and I heard the unmistakable Scottish accent of Colin Smith, our former pastor. He would be doing Nate’s service and was calling to reassure me. Reminding me Nate was  in the presence of Christ on this day, he pulled my attention toward eternal positives and brought welcome relief to my spirit.

I also remember walking into the funeral home, greeted warmly by the personnel there, on a day when my frame of mind was freezing cold. The low point of the day came as I stepped into the room where Nate’s casket was positioned at the far end, wondering if my knees would buckle.

Seeing him there was a more powerful confirmation of his death than seeing him at home in the hospital bed immediately after he died. Lying in the bed he looked exactly as we’d expected at the conclusion of terminal, stage 4, pancreatic cancer. At the funeral home, in a casket, dressed in a business suit and wearing make-up, he looked out of place and awful. It was hard to look at his face, because that wasn’t my Nate.

Today I’m remembering with gratitude the long line of sympathizers who made the effort to attend that wake, who greeted me with memories of Nate and words of reassurance. As I hugged people, without realizing it I gradually inched away from Nate’s casket toward the back of the room. Several good friends tapped me on the shoulder and said, “You ought to move back toward Nate.” But I was far more composed half-a-room away.

In thinking back to Nate’s wake, my wish is that I could watch a video replay of each attendee and listen to our conversations again. So much of it was blurred because of the strain of that day. But I do remember the warmth that flowed over me as I received people, a stark contrast to the trembling cold I felt while looking at Nate’s body.

My family and I are still in the land of the living, which makes standing next to the dead an alien experience. But by God’s design, one day all of us will again stand next to Nate, who will be very much alive and well. That joyful truth will be the grand finale of his sad earthly wake. As rough as that day was, it wasn’t God’s final word.

There will be much more to the story.

”We will not be spirits without bodies. While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sigh… We want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life.” (2 Corinthians 5:3-4)