Nate was not a naturally peaceful person. He was a firstborn, a Type A, high strung, always planning, making lists and setting new goals. Despite his efforts, his last few years were especially difficult. As he approached 65 without having met some of his business and financial goals, he worried more and slept less. Then the arrival of severe back pain in early 2009 seemed to squeeze out the last of his energy. Although there was an operation that would remedy his pain, just when it was within reach, pancreatic cancer came between him and his surgeon.

Nate was always a hard worker. His goal was to continue full-steam-ahead into his seventies, but debilitating back problems and deadly cancer forced him to the sidelines of life, a place he’d never been and didn’t like. As the six weeks went by, he became uncharacteristically introspective, keeping many of his thoughts to himself. I believe God had him doing difficult work during those days. Life as Nate had known it had come to a screeching halt, and suddenly there was time to think, not just about business, money and goals but about life, death and eternity.

Recently I found a journal Nate had written in 2005. Since he didn’t usually write anything longer than a Post-it note could hold, I was surprised to find it. I remembered the dates on its pages, though, having journaled my own thoughts about him during those days. He’d gone through a distressful period of restlessness, and I’d encouraged him to step out of his routine and get recharged by seeking God’s direction.

He went away for three days to think, read and pray. Later he told me he’d fasted during those days, too, allowing himself only coffee and water. His goal had been to answer this question: Am I worthy to be a Christian?

As I prayed for him at home while he was gone, not knowing what was on his mind, God brought Matthew 11:28 to my attention: “Come to me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” So I prayed for his rest, both physically and spiritually.

Nate was agitated, edgy and without contentment during those days, probably in a crisis of personal faith. He needed to learn how to rest in the love of the Lord, separate and apart from performance, but such resting doesn’t come easily to a Type A. He wrote in his journal, “Ingratitude undermines the goodness of life by always feeling entitled to more and better.”

From the sound of things, there was a battle raging within him. Then last year, when his back pain escalated to unmanageable levels, I believe it was God asking him to stop laboring and accept his rest, but Nate couldn’t. He pushed himself harder than ever, determined to function at the same pace he always had, despite the pain.

Eventually God said, “Nate, I’m not giving up on you. Instead I’m going to let cancer come, because you’ve struggled long enough and need your rest.” But even with cancer, Nate did more questing than resting.

God is love, though, and so he put Nate in bed. I believe it was during those final days that Nate saw things God’s way. At long last he became willing to accept outward rest and inner peace. With all his back pain and then cancer, he’d finally given in.

Charles Spurgeon said, “Jesus gives a rest which develops into heaven.” That’s exactly what happened to Nate. God imposed his rest on him, and as Nate surrendered, he was ushered into heaven.

“God’s rest is there for people to enter, but those who first heard this good news failed to enter because they disobeyed God. So God set another time for entering his rest, and that time is today. For all who have entered into God’s rest have rested from their labors, just as God did after creating the world. So let us do our best to enter that rest. But if we disobey God… we will fall.” (Hebrews 4:6-7, 10-11)

I love living in Michigan, but there were some big losses when we moved from our old stomping grounds in Illinois. We grieved over leaving the church we’d attended for 21 years, The Orchard in Arlington Heights. Precious friendships were left behind, as well as a talented pastoral staff.

The head pastor, Colin Smith, had gone above and beyond in taking care of Nate and me. I remember back to one of his early sermons as our new pastor over a decade ago. When he preached that day, his words challenged me by raising new questions in my mind, so I jotted them down on the church bulletin, hoping to ponder them later.

Eventually I transferred my questions to the computer, all 57 of them, many with two or three parts. The problem came in figuring out how to get the answers. Feeling frustrated, I decided to send the list to Pastor Colin. If nothing else, it would prove to him he’d preached a great sermon that had his congregation thinking.

The next day I told Nate what I’d done. “Remember all those questions I scribbled down during the service yesterday?” He did. “I typed them up and sent the list to Colin.”

“How many questions?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Fifty-seven.”

“Fifty-seven questions? Were you expecting he would answer them all?”

“Not really.” I said. “Was it bad I sent them?”

Wanting to be kind, he said, “Well, I’m sure he’ll respond to you.” (Lawyers would call that a “non-answer.”)

Four days before Nate died, all of us sensed him barreling toward death at lightning speed. Wanting to make him comfortable, we continually questioned him, easily topping 57. “Can I get you anything? Would you like a drink of water? Are you cold? Can I warm up your coffee?”

Even the Hospice nurses came with an arsenal of queries. “How is your pain today? Where does it hurt most? Are your meds working?”

That evening I bent down in front of his lazy-boy hoping to make the end of his stressful day better. “Can I get you some juice? Would you like another ice pack for your back? Should I take your shoes off?”

He wasn’t talking much by that time, and none of us left enough space between questions to give him room to think, much less respond. Finally, he let us know about it. He raised his hand in front of me like a stop-sign and with great effort, slowly and deliberately said, “No… more… questions,” and then let his hand fall into his lap.

I was stunned. It hadn’t occurred to me every sentence I’d spoken to him that day had been a question. In my efforts to ease his misery, I’d only added to it.

From then on, all of us tried to catch ourselves when we started ticking off another list of inquiries. By the next day, not knowing he had only three days left, Nate struggled valiantly against pain. Along with increased meds came decreased speech. From his vantage point, that might have been a relief, because once he couldn’t answer, we stopped asking.

Generally it’s good to ask questions, but like all good things taken to an extreme, it can become damaging. I suppose a good question to ask ourselves would be, “Is my question necessary?” (Most of what we wanted to do for Nate could have been done without asking.)

After Pastor Colin received my 57 questions, he did respond, just as Nate said he would. “I read through all of them,” he said over the phone, unable to see my red face. “I believe asking sincere questions of God, as you have, can be an act of worship.”

Within that encouraging comment was the key: to whom are we bringing our questions? They ought to be taken to the person most qualified to answer. And if we’re asking questions only God can answer, the good news is he’s always eager to be asked. No question about it.

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” (Matthew 7:7-8)

I was born to a wise father. He was “seasoned” when he married at 42 and up to that point had lived a life of integrity while overcoming obstacles. Age plus integrity plus overcoming equals wisdom.

Dad told us he never thought he’d live long enough to see his children graduate from high school, much less college. Children-in-law and grandchildren were off his radar, yet God blessed him with 92 years of near-perfect health and sound thinking. He saw his kids graduate from college, marry and deliver 15 of 17 grandchildren. Not bad for a late bloomer born in 1899.

Dad loved learning, and no subject was off limits. Coupled with a sharp memory, his accumulated knowledge was formidable. An architect and structural engineer by day, he became my high school math tutor by night. I struggled with algebra to the point of tears, which is when I’d look for Dad, knowing he’d never refuse to help me.

His tutoring, however, was torture. Approaching him for one quick answer, my heart would sink as I watched him thumb backwards through the textbook to “see where you’ve been.” He’d get so enamored with the numbers it took 20 minutes just to get back to the current assignment. And as with all wise people, he wouldn’t give out answers. Instead he tried to increase my understanding, and beyond that, to drag me into a happy relationship with math. (Negative on both counts.)

But oh, how I admired Dad. He wasn’t emotional like I was and didn’t burst into tears when life became overwhelming. He tackled problems methodically, demonstrating a skill that was foreign to me. When I needed wise guidelines for choosing a husband, Dad was ready and actually had a list: 1) Christian beliefs, 2) a sense of humor, 3) good health, 4) respect of family, 5) love of children. In the end, I married a man who passed muster on all five points. As a matter of fact, the man I chose was much like Dad.

Although I never had to solve another algebra problem after marrying, I often went to Nate for his opinion on other matters. He was endlessly patient and, just like Dad, would never turn me away. He often thought about our discussions long after they were over, coming up with additional possibilities days later. With all he had to worry about in the business world, I considered that to be true love.

When Nate died, death muzzled him. Although I have his past counsel and can guess how he might advise me about new dilemmas, the absence of his opinion is one of my greatest losses. As with most couples, we were opposites, and contemplating his flip side to my viewpoint always tempered what I would do next. His words coaxed me to think out of my box and gave me a level head.

Sometimes when I asked Nate for counsel, his advice was so far from my opinion, I struggled to believe that following it would be wise. But I’d remember that in the Lord’s couple-economy, the man was given headship and would, as a result of this God-established order, be given God’s wisdom, which he would then pass on to me.

If I followed Nate’s recommendation even when it seemed contrary to my own, things often turned out well. Knowing God protects and nurtures what he’s established, this shouldn’t have surprised me.

When Nate got cancer, I stopped asking for his opinion four weeks into the six he had left. The disease had begun superimposing its influence over his ideas, and I never knew which voice was talking. Thankfully I’m surrounded by other wise guides who’ve stepped willingly into the counselor role for me, again and again.

And at the top of them all is the Lord himself, our “wonderful Counselor.” (Isaiah 9:6) He’s already been my caring Father and heavenly Husband, so I have every reason to believe he’ll come through as my proficient Advisor in days to come. And just like Dad and Nate, I know he will never turn me away.

^“All that the Father gives me will come to me, and the one who comes to me I will certainly not cast out. For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me.” (John 6: 37-38)