Category Archives: Thankfulness

Church Alone

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I was tempted to do “Bedside Baptist” this morning or maybe “Naturch” outdoors. It would be my first time going to church alone, and it seemed like too much too soon. I thought about all my sermon CDs, and it was tempting to have church in my ‘jammies with coffee in hand. That sounded better than venturing out on a sub-freezing morning to an awkward situation at a relatively new church where I knew no one.

Standing with my mug in the living room trying to make up my mind, I noticed a red wooden cut-out that said, “Merry Christmas” in loopy cursive letters. The girls had opened several boxes of decorations last weekend, but nothing had come out of the boxes during the week. I wasn’t sure which decorations would fit at the cottage where we’ve never decorated before, but one thing I knew for sure: this Christmas wouldn’t be “merry”. I picked up the sign and carried it to the basement, burying it in another box.

At that point I decided church might be a good idea. Besides, I needed a positive answer if any of the kids asked, “How was church this morning?” What’s more, it’s the Christmas season, an important time to focus on Christ’s miraculous coming as our Savior.

As I was getting ready, I tried to remember the last time I’d been to church alone. The answer was, never. This would be a first. Suddenly, a great idea came to mind: take Jack. Dogs aren’t allowed in church, but he could be a car-pal and ride both directions with me.snowy Jack 2

I was a few minutes late to the service, and every aisle seat was taken. So I walked to the “gathering room” at the back of the sanctuary to listen to the service over speakers and watch everything through a plate glass window. One other lady was there, too, and we worshiped together from the comfort and safety of plush red couches.

Part of the service was communion. After an expository sermon about the birth of Jesus, it was fitting we share communion and a discussion about his death. After all, his death for all of our sins was the main reason he was born in the first place. Birth and death.

At our house we’ve been focused on birth and death, too, the birth of three new babies in the near future and the death of their grandfather. Of course our birth and death experiences are nothing like those of Jesus for quite a few reasons, paramount of which is that in his case, death couldn’t hold him. Against all odds, he came back to life three days later.

There is a link, though, between Nate and Jesus and their deaths. Because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, Nate was able to walk into heaven a month ago, a privilege unavailable to him without Christ’s atoning work. Jesus had forgiven Nate of all sin and covered him with his own perfection, which then made heaven possible.

nativity 2

These were the thoughts bouncing around in my head during today’s church service, amazing connections I would have missed, had I opted to stay home. In the car on the way back, I told Jack all about it.

“Who dares accuse us, whom God has chosen for his own? No one—for God himself has given us right standing with himself. Who then will condemn us? No one—for Christ Jesus died for us and was raised to life for us, and he is sitting in the place of honor at God’s right hand, pleading for us. If God is for us, who can ever be against us?” (Romans 8:33-34, 31b)

Remembering the good… and the bad.

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Tick tock, tick tock, time is passing. In one sense that’s good. My widow friends tell me time will be a healing instrument. Today I view it as my enemy, because it’s dragging me away from the living, breathing Nate. Many times every day I yearn to look back, because when I do, there’s a holding on to him for a bit longer.

At the moment of death one month ago, Nate and I were physically touching. I sat close as those wispy last breaths moved from his mouth into the room and then dissipated. While the kids and I looked back and forth from his face to his chest searching for any tiny movement that might indicate he was still living, I continued to stroke his arm and hold his hand. His skin slowly grew cold and his fingers became stiff in mine as death shouted, “I won! I took him!”

I stayed in literal touch with Nate’s body for a few more minutes, even though I knew it was foolish. He couldn’t feel my tender caresses. We’d all known death was close and saw it hovering at the edges of his face, ready to pounce. But until it actually did, he was still a present husband and father. He was still ours. Once he died, he belonged not to us but to eternity. And to Christ.

Nurse Gina, Sky, Nate, me

When Nate was living a human life like the rest of us still are, he belonged to Christ then, too, but we somehow shared him. After he died, we no longer had our share. He was only ours in used-to-be. This was definitely second best, but I’ve tried to remind myself today, on the one month anniversary, that second best is still high on the list.

One big blessing is our many happy memories and 196 photo albums that prove them true. My sister and I have said, “Looking at the old photos, you’d think life was nothing but parties and vacations.” Of course we know better. Neither of us took pictures of children having temper tantrums in the store or doctors sewing stitches in the emergency room. Our recollections of Nate are much like the photo albums. Gradually memories of stress, failure or disappointment, even just ordinary moments, will fade like old photographs left in the sun. Even now, during the first month, we talk only of the positives.

In one sense, wicked death did have its way and “took him” on that November evening. But the full truth is that death was merely the gateway into a different (and much better) life. Does a resident of heaven make new memories? If he does, then we’re not part of them. Maybe, because heavenly living is out of time and space, we’ll be able to fit into those memories when we get there, as if we’d always been there, too.

In the mean time, our selective memory of Nate’s past is protective and caring, and we’ll try to keep him from moving from humanity to near-divinity. Could memories of our regular husband and father morph into something akin to perfection? I hope not. I long to remember the real man, not a fictional version. Of course it’s good to be positive, but we also know God uses the hard stuff of life, the stuff not in the photo albums, the stuff we shy away from remembering, to produce what’s best and most valuable in every life. So if we find ourselves remembering any bad days, that’s good, too!

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)

14,584 Days

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How do you celebrate a wedding anniversary with only half of a couple? Today, November 29, Nate and I would have been married 40 years, but we were short 26 days.

wedding rings small

We met on a blind date back in 1966. Although it was winter in Chicago, I was wearing only underwear beneath my coat – risky attire for a good first impression. My girlfriend had promised to set me up with a good-looking college senior she knew (at a different school than mine). She called late one night, after I’d stuffed most of my wardrobe into the washer and was sitting in my flannels, reading on the bed. “We ran into Nate at the ice cream parlor,” she said, “and he wants to meet you…now!”

I complained about her poor timing but pulled on my navy “dress coat” and buttoned it up to the chin. As I met the man of my dreams, his first words were, “May I take your coat?” He asked three more times during the evening, but I resisted as we ate our chocolate sundaes.

My friend later told me I’d been unfriendly and cold. “You wouldn’t even let him take your coat.”

“Actually,” I said while unbuttoning, “here’s the reason.” She looked at my underwear and burst out laughing.

Forty years and seven children later, Nate had also learned the truth about our blind date. He never forgot it and always got nervous when he asked me, “May I take your coat?”

That funny beginning set the tone for our marriage. Even on serious days, there was always something to smile about. Today was no different. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a note slipped under our bedroom door. Louisa had penned encouragement around a picture of the two of us. “I want to re-state what you always encouraged me with: ‘The Lord heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.’ (Psalm 147:3) Like you said, Mom, ‘It’s a promise!’ I miss Papa like crazy, too…” Smiling through tears, I felt a twinge of healing.

Just to be safe, though, I tucked several Kleenex between the pages of my Bible for tears during church and got ready for another difficult “first” without Nate. Much to my surprise, though, I never needed the Kleenex. Instead I sat in the service thinking of the great blessing of our 40 year marriage. Nate and I had only six weeks of warning before our earthly partnership ended, but what a tragedy it would be to dwell on the sadness of those 42 days rather than the fullness of the other 14,584.

Nate’s desire was to be with me today to celebrate our anniversary together, and if he’d had a choice, he wouldn’t have “left”. I remember him telling the Hospice aide, Lori, that our anniversary was coming. She asked how we usually celebrated, and he told her, “Dinner at a fancy restaurant for a big slab of prime rib.” She must have known by his condition he wouldn’t make it to November 29, so, unbeknownst to us, she went to work that day planning an anniversary surprise. But Nate surprised us first and went to heaven less than a week later.

wedding cake kiss, small

The day after he died, Lori stopped by our house to pick up some Hospice things and give me a hug. She told me then that after she’d left us the week before, she’d contacted Nate’s favorite local restaurant telling them our story and asking if they would deliver two prime rib dinners with all the trimmings to our house the next week. The restaurant, never having delivered a meal anywhere but to their own dining room, agreed to do it, also volunteering to absorb the cost. The surprise was scheduled for that Friday, but Nate died on Tuesday. Just the thought of such kindness (Lori’s) and generosity (the restaurant’s) has been a blessing.

My best anniversary gift, however, came directly from God, in two parts. The first was his complete healing of Nate by taking him to heaven and releasing him from all his pain. The second was the promise he made to me during this morning’s worship service:

“I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness. I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you.” (Isaiah 42:6a)