God was good to us on September 27, 2003. That’s when Adam Curington became our son-in-law. We weren’t lucky enough to know him from his birth date, but we’ve known him long enough to love him like a son, and today is his birthday.

Adam and our Linnea met while serving in Youth With A Mission. Each traveled the world, both as students and then as leaders, but never worked together. Unbeknownst to them, however, God was busy arranging their lives to one day intersect in an important way. He saw to it they were on the same YWAM trip to India in 2002, and the first story we ever heard about Adam was proof of his character. When Linnea had gotten sick, he’d held her hair back while she vomited. When I heard that, I knew he was quite the man.

After India, the two of them learned they’d each applied to, and been accepted by YWAM’s School of Biblical Studies, an intense nine month focus on the Bible and only the Bible, in Kalispell, Montana. During those months, Linnea and Adam’s friendship grew into something more, and on a remote trail during a mountain snowstorm, Adam proposed.

After marrying in 2003 but then struggling with fertility issues, the two of them were surprised and delighted to receive God’s miracle baby, daughter Skylar Grace, in 2008. She has been a small but mighty addition to the family, and Adam has been a spectacular father despite days when strong-willed Skylar has challenged him beyond what the average parent could bear. But Adam is no average parent. Never have I heard him raise his voice. His extreme patience has set him apart, along with his careful listening skills and evident inner peace.

Adam enjoys being with his wife and child. Baby #2 is due any day, and he looks forward to sharing his love of mountain biking, boating, skate boarding, swimming and mastering computers with his children. He’ll teach them no task is too hard to try and will show them how to tackle challenges in bite sized pieces. They’ll always know family is his highest priority, right beneath his tight relationship with the Lord.

The wisdom he’s gained from walking in daily submission to God is there for the asking, although he forces it on no one. After all the Nymans have voiced their opinions around the dinner table with many words and much animation, we look at Adam, who has patiently waited in thought. Inevitably, in few words, he tosses out an idea that leaves the rest of us wondering why we didn’t think of that.

It isn’t easy marrying into a big, close-knit family of extraverts, but Adam has embraced that challenge with eagerness, winning the approval of Linnea’s four brothers and two sisters. He’s even willing to have his mother-in-law stay under his roof for weeks at a time and has invited my buddy Jack to come along on our next visit. That’s one exceptional son-in-law.

When Nate was sick and all 13 of us were in the cottage together, each night before dinner he would choose someone to pray. He didn’t usually remember who he’d asked the night before, but more often than not, as he looked around the room he’d say, “How about Adam tonight.” Sometimes it would be “How about Adam” three nights in a row. Father-in-law approval ran high.

I will never forget, two days before Nate died, the evening when all of us took turns saying goodbye. When Adam slipped into the chair near the head of the bed, it was natural for him to simply begin talking to God on Nate’s behalf, the most powerful help he could have offered in that moment so close to eternity. His voice didn’t falter as his love poured forth, strengthening Nate and also the rest of us who were listening in.

With all the concerns Nate had as his life narrowed to a close, worrying about his daughter Linnea was not on his list. She was in good hands, and he knew it. I know it, too, and am so thankful for Adam.

“Clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony.” (Colossians 3:12,14)

It was 1983, and Nate was about to buy a special birthday gift for me. “Would you prefer silver or gold?” he asked.

“How ‘bout gold, to match my wedding rings?”

I didn’t know what I was asking, because he bought me a gold Rolex watch that cost over $5000. Silver was priced at half. When he gave it to me, I had no idea what it was worth, although I’d heard Rolex was a “good” brand of watches. I don’t think I loved it five thousand dollars worth, but I wore it often, enjoying Nate’s thoughtfulness.

Louisa came along in 1988, a dynamite child who kept us hopping. One Sunday morning as we struggled to get six children off to church, Weezi was getting into mischief in our bathroom. I lifted her to the sink top and sat her next to my make-up bag, trying to buy the few more minutes I needed. When she tired of that, I pulled off my Rolex and handed it to her. That did the trick, and once I was ready, I lifted her down and off we went.

Two days later, I opened the dresser drawer to get my watch, and it wasn’t there. Trying to think where it might be, I remembered the last time I’d seen it was in Louisa’s pudgy hands. Did I ever get it back from her? Had I worn it since then? Did she have it in her hands when we went to the car?

Nate and I hunted high and low for that watch, both inside and outside. We offered the kids a monetary reward for finding it, and they looked with passion, but it never surfaced.

Reconstructing the events of the last day, our conclusion was that little Louisa had accidentally dropped it. Standing next to her as she sat atop the sink, I didn’t hear it land on the sink or tile floor because most likely it went into the waste basket next to the sink cabinet, cushioned by facial tissues and other papers. The next time I tied up that plastic waste can liner, the watch must been inside and gone to the big garbage can in the garage, which subsequently went to the street for pick-up. The truck had come the day before we began our search.

Nate just shook his head. His disappointment made me feel badly about my irresponsible decision to hand it to a baby, but even then I didn’t know how much it was worth, so I didn’t feel five thousand dollars worth of bad.

We kept our eyes open for months, and finally Nate said, “Well, I think it’s really gone. I’m going to make a claim on our householders insurance.”

“For a watch?” I asked, thinking householders was for bigger items like roof leaks or basement floods.

“I took out an insurance rider,” Nate said, “just in case.”

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“No. That watch was worth $5000.”

Suddenly I felt five thousand dollars worth of ashamed. Maybe ten thousand. After interviews, statements and signatures, the insurance company made good on the rider and sent us a check for $5000. By this time it was 1990, and the seven years following his Rolex purchase had been tough ones at the office. Because of steadily declining business income, the insurance check meant a great deal to both of us. It provided family groceries for quite a while.

So, every cloud has a silver lining, or, in this case, a gold one. Although I lost my beautiful watch, we gained a boat load of food supplies and a valuable lesson: God moves down the road ahead of us and readies our provision before we get there. I felt at least five thousand dollars worth of gratitude.

”Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them. He has caused his wonders to be remembered; the Lord is gracious and compassionate. He provides food for those who fear him; he remembers his covenant forever.” (Psalm 111:2,4-5)

For several days now I haven’t had a Nate-Nonreality and hoped I was over the hump. I hadn’t “heard” his voice or thought he was driving in the driveway. I hadn’t planned to ask him “about that” when I saw him next and hadn’t dialed his office number to see how his day was going.

Then I drove past Walgreens.

It wasn’t just any Walgreens. It was “our” Walgreens, the one we passed driving home from every appointment, treatment and test during Nate’s weeks of cancer. We had to stop there often with our fistful of prescriptions, and our last visit was on Thursday, October 15. It had been an especially trying day for both of us, and Nate was at his limit. We needed to stop, though, to renew a prescription for pain meds, or he wouldn’t have made it through the night.

As we approached the drive-through pharmacy window, there was no one ahead of us, and the parking lot was nearly empty. The clock read 5:50 PM, and people were probably at dinner. Although Nate had lost his appetite, he was anxious to get home. His back was killing him, the cancer had delivered a raw belly ache and the day’s radiation had drained his last ounce of energy.

I handed our prescription to the pharmacist who said, “You can’t wait in this lane. Pull up into the lot.”

“Can’t I wait here?” I asked, hoping the visual of our car outside the window would make them hurry. “If someone drives up behind me, I’ll go around.”

“No,” she repeated. “You can’t wait here. Pull up.”

Nate sat with his passenger seat pushed all the way back in an effort to take weight off his spine, his face pulled into a pained expression. I drove forward, made four slow left turns around the building and arrived back at the pharmacy window.

“We’re calling your insurance company,” she said. “Pull away from the window.”

We went around a second time and were greeted with the news that our insurance company wouldn’t approve any more pain pills.

“Call the doctor,” I said, trying to keep my frustration from bubbling over. “He said if there was trouble, you should call him.”

“Pull forward,” she said again. “You can’t wait here.”

Our ordeal turned into a battle of two hours and twenty minutes, accompanied by unnumbered left turns around the building and repeated commands to “Pull forward.” By this time Nate was groaning in pain, not a shred of medication left in him. Since the only two pain pills we owned were 27 miles away at home, it became urgent to secure the new prescription. In the end, three pharmacists and an insurance phoner were all on the project. Eventaully we had the meds in hand, but not before I’d written a check for over $700.00 for pain pills that would last just one week.

As the pharmacist handed me the bag she said, “This is the last. They said absolutely no more, even if you pay full price again.”

Thankfully, Hospice arrived the next afternoon, medical angels with sign-up forms and a hospital bed. Nate never even used all the Walgreens pills, because our at-home nurses initiated a parade of daily FedEx drug deliveries without us even lifting a finger.

Today as I passed that Walgreens, I felt a chill. If I ponder how much pain Nate felt, I cry hard, anytime, anywhere. So today I asked the Lord to replace sadness with gratitude. Before the Walgreens had disappeared in the rear view mirror, he gave me five reasons to be thankful:

1. I’m glad Hospice removed the need to fight any more pill battles.
2. I’m glad there actually are medicines that can overwhelm severe pain.
3. I’m glad that all pain is ancient history for Nate.
4. I’m glad we don’t need a pharmacy for any reason today.
5. I’m glad Nate accepted his incurable cancer and finished well.

I still like Walgreens, but I sure hate cancer.

“I know, O Lord, that a man’s life is not his own. It is not for man to direct his steps. Woe to me because of my injury! My wound is incurable! Yet I said to myself, ‘This is my sickness, and I must endure it’.” (Jeremiah 10:23,19)