Category Archives: Thankfulness

The Funeral Guest Book

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No one really likes to attend wakes and funerals. It’s difficult to know what to say to the family, and its awkward walking up to a casket to look at a once living, vibrant person whose soul is now long gone. Often guests will say, “Oh, she looks wonderful,” or “He looks just like he’s sleeping.” Attempting to negate the presence of death is futile, but we all hate it enough to try.

As I’ve approached a funeral parlor in the past, I’ve dreaded stepping into the room where the dead body is present. I feel better once I see the lighted podium with a guest book and pen on it. Somehow signing the book is a moment of normalcy in an otherwise tense event, and I’ve taken my time there.

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At Nate’s funeral two weeks ago today, I watched as people approached the guest book with its pretty pen and white floral arrangement nearby. I knew how everyone felt as they entered and gratefully bent over the book before moving further into the room, and I looked forward to reading each signature.

This week I finally got my chance. Every night as I crawled into bed, I sat with the book on my lap reading a few pages before turning out the light. What pleasure it brought to see the names of people who came to pay their respects to Nate. He would have been astounded at the crowd, filling the largest room the funeral home had to offer, both on the wake day and again during the funeral the day after that. As I studied page after page, I couldn’t get over it. My heart was bursting with thankfulness for so many people willing to put forth so much effort on our behalf.

Because those two days were a whirlwind of activity with many consecutive hours of conversational overload, I knew I wouldn’t remember everyone who attended. The guest book was a valuable tool that reminded me. Looking at someone’s signature revived the memory of chatting with that person at the funeral home. His or her words of love came back to me, as well as sweet memories of smiles and hugs.

Although I had several teary moments during those two days spent greeting people and hearing stories about Nate, both days evolved from early morning sadness into joy and blessing. Beforehand, I would never have imagined describing my own husband’s wake, funeral and burial in such positive terms, but the support and uplift of each guest was what made them so.

During the three days between Nate’s death and the wake/funeral, I spent quite a bit of time praying for those who would attend, asking God to open each of their hearts to receive whatever message he had for them. I prayed the same for my family and myself.

As I read through the list of names and addresses in the guest book, it dawned on me that some people had come from distant suburbs to be at the Chicago funeral home. Others had driven much farther to come from out of state. Quite a few had bought plane tickets and rented hotel rooms to be on hand to honor Nate. I was stunned. And I was very grateful I had the guest book, with  addresses as well as names, to remind me of the sacrifices people had made.

I’m ashamed to say that in my past I’ve often come up with reasons why I couldn’t attend funerals. The time commitment, the distance and the uncomfortable situation kept me away. But on the days of Nate’s wake and funeral, God answered the prayer I’d prayed asking him to open my heart to whatever message he had for me. His message, delivered through the guest book, was “I want you to show up at funerals.” And so from now on, I will.

“The day you die is better than the day you are born. Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us. A wise person thinks a lot about death, while a fool thinks only about having a good time.” (Ecclesiastes 7:1b-4)

Questions without Answers

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Katy's sunsetMy sister and I took our dogs to the beach this afternoon to walk the wave line and enjoy the 5:20 sunset. While the dogs romped in the dunes, we watched the sky turn colors from the comfy perch of two abandoned chairs nestled in the beach grasses.

“Do you think Nate can see this sunset from the other side?” Mary asked.

Her question precipitated a lively discussion about where Nate is now and what he’s experiencing. We wondered if he had any remaining interest in earthly things. As the sun moved closer to the watery horizon and the temperature began to drop, we zipped up our coats, scrunched down in our chairs and talked about galaxies.

“Heaven must be waaay out there,” Mary said.

“But there aren’t clocks in heaven, and it’s outside of time and space,” I said. “Maybe heaven isn’t beyond the very last of millions of galaxies. It could be anywhere.”

Then Mary added more questions. “What about the new heaven and the new earth? Where will those be? So is Nate in the old heaven? Or is he in the place Jesus referred to as ‘paradise’ when he was on the cross? Maybe the first heaven isn’t even being used yet.”

As we talked, we ended up with more questions than answers, concluding that we’ll only have the answers when our time comes to join Nate.

People talk about being reunited with loved ones who’ve gone ahead of them to heaven. Is Nate having coffee with his folks and others who have gone before? More than likely heaven is nothing like we’re thinking. After all, Scripture says humans can’t even imagine the wonders God has prepared for those who love him. (1 Corinthians 2:9)

Why would Nate participate in an earth-style coffee break when he could be enjoying an unimaginable wonder? For that matter, if he can walk and talk with Jesus and see the throne of God, why would he waste time gazing at an earthly sunset?

As the dogs darted in and out of the waves for mouthfuls of water, Mary and I talked about our own journeys to heaven. “I’m not ready yet,” I said, “because once we die, we have no more chances to pass any of God’s earthly tests. There’ll be no more opportunities to win out over temptation or tell someone else what God’s done for us or pray for people. It’ll just be ‘time’s up’.”

“I know,” she added. “And I feel like it’s taken most of our lives to finally catch on to all that.”

Twilight settled over the wide expanse of empty beach, and we talked about not knowing how long it would be before time would end for both of us. Nate’s death certificate says he lived 64 years, 2 months and 16 days. What will ours say? It was one more question without an answer.

Then Mary said, “I think Nate has the answers to the questions we’re still asking. The minute he got to wherever he is, he knew it all.” What a stunning realization. With that, we whistled for our dogs and headed home.

I think often of Nate and his life in paradise, wondering about the details by asking more questions. Although we spent the better part of our lives in a partnership, that relationship has now been split. “Til death do us part” was what we promised each other when we married, and death has done its evil work by parting us. We now live in separate worlds.

But one day God will banish death completely, and all those who love him will be together for all eternity. Nate and I will be in that crowd. And when that day comes, all our questions will have answers.

“Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Back to the Cemetery

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I’ve helped plan three funerals… so far… and at each one I’ve been surprised at how fast that day unfolds. Once the service begins, there is no time to talk to friends or even family. As the service ends, guests file past the casket, are ushered outdoors and are gone. Family members gather briefly for a last look, the casket is closed, and everyone fans out to the cars.

Once at the cemetery, protocol separates family members from others. At Nate’s graveside, we were able to focus briefly on the pastor’s words, but then the casket was quickly lowered from view and the event was over. There wasn’t time to think, much less process what had just occurred. On that day, November 7th, as I sat in the center chair facing Nate’s casket, I knew I’d want to return to the cemetery soon, to collect my thoughts.

Today was the day.

After driving Hans, Katy and baby Nicholas from Michigan to O’Hare Airport in Chicago to begin their journey back to England, I drove across the city to Rose Hill Cemetery. Despite the curvy lanes between grave yard sections, finding Nate’s burial site was easy. Our family has come to this spot every Memorial Day for decades, sharing memories about the six people already buried in the family plot: my mom and dad, my grandfather and grandmother, my great uncle, and dad’s baby brother. After the cemetery visit, we always share a picnic and a baseball game.

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Although most people shy away from trips to the cemetery, our family counts them among our most important traditions. Since toddlerhood, our kids have been taught that death is part of life and is not to be feared. I have a picture of Dad standing with his hand on the grave marker as he told us, “My father told me, as we buried my mother, that one day we would also bury him there. And we did. I can say the same about me. One day you’ll bury me here, too.” A few years later, we did.

Mom used to say, as she helped our pre-schoolers plant flowers around the big headstone, “Every day, we’re all one step closer to the grave, and I can’t wait, because that’ll mean I’ll be with Jesus.”

The day we buried Mom, her 15 grandkids cried hard, but they’d been prepped for that moment by Grandma herself. They were told ahead of time about her departure and all knew she had happily taken up residence in heaven. They’d heard it from her own mouth.

But what about Nate? Today, as I stood at the foot of his grave in a chilly wind, I couldn’t help having another moment of this-can’t-possibly-be-real. At my feet was a section of fresh sod four feet wide and nine feet long. Three urns of funeral flowers were lying on their sides next to the sod. Was it possible my husband was buried beneath my feet, lying there in his new grey suit? Hadn’t I just told him how good he looked in it, the first time he wore it to work? Hadn’t he been to court wearing it the day we learned of his cancer? How could he now be dead and buried in it?

I thought back to Memorial Day of this year when our family gathered again at that exact spot, 24 of us. In one of the pictures taken that day, Nate is sharing a memory while standing exactly over the spot where his body would soon be buried. Although none of us were thinking about the possibility of a 2009 death for him or anybody else as we stood at the cemetery that day, God had specific funeral plans for my husband, five months later. We can’t explain the Lord’s timing, and Nate’s burial was an agonizing family milestone, but to a certain extent, we’d been prepared. As we drove in behind the hearse that carried his casket, it was not creepy or scary. All of us were arriving at a familiar place of warm family memories. Besides, we knew the whole truth.

Cemeteries are all about death, and death is appalling. But one of the reasons we got through Nate’s burial fairly well was because of the years of stories about our relatives whose bodies are beneath the cemetery grass on which we’ve stood each Memorial Day. As we’ve remembered them each year, we’ve been sure their souls were not dead but were experiencing “joy unspeakable” (1 Peter 1:8) in heaven. Our rich Christian heritage has covered the horror of death with the scriptural promise of eternal life.

Today, as I shivered from the cold and the emotion of the moment, I got back into the car and started the engine to get some heat. A CD came to life playing my favorite hymn, “To God Be the Glory”:

“Great things He has taught us. Great things He has done,

And great our rejoicing through Jesus the Son,

But purer and higher and greater will be

Our wonder, our transport, when Jesus we see.”

The whole truth of Nate’s presence in the cemetery is that he isn’t really under that sod. His body-shell is there, inside his grey suit. But the real him has taken up residence elsewhere. The ugly reality of death has been gobbled up by victory through Jesus and his all-inclusive death on the cross.

“Just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies. cemetery sod smallWhen our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 15:44, 54-55, 57)