Like most of life’s changes, new widowhood brings many mini-adjustments. Nate’s mother and my mom were both widows for well over a decade, so I got to look at that up close. But finding myself in the same category now, I’m realizing most of their day-to-day rethinking took place behind closed doors or deep in their hearts, changes that were invisible to the rest of the world.

I have several close friends who faced widowhood in their fifties, women who shared candidly with me. But the truth is, we can’t understand what it’s really like to undergo a major life-shift unless it’s us.

Hundreds of my adjustments to being a widow have taken place inside my head. Tonight my sister and brother-in-law invited us over for dinner. There were 11 of us around the dinner table, including two little ones, and the chatter was happy and animated as we ate Mary’s delicious pork chops, rice, corn-on-the-cob and fruit salad.

But I missed Nate, who had loved getting together as we did tonight to share a meal and interesting conversation. While I ate, I tried to imagine Nate’s presence at the table. The first thing that came to mind was his back pain. Absent the cancer, if he’d have been with us, he would have been suffering.

His back issues had been steadily escalating, so in reality, he probably wouldn’t have been at the dinner at all. He would have been home, lying in bed on ice packs, trying to get away from the pain. I probably wouldn’t have been at the meal, either. Although I wouldn’t have been a widow, other negative life adjustments would have been ongoing.

Nate had a multitude of back maladies: stenosis of the spine, five bulging disks, arthritis and bone spurs. He’d lost three inches in height in the last few years because of a compressed spine, and although surgery might have given him temporary relief, over the long haul the developments would have all been downhill.

Tonight as I walked out the front door by myself after our dinner together, I felt teary and frustrated. Neither scenario was any good: Nate still present but with a hurting back, or Nate out of the picture and me a widow.

I know I’m not alone in this type of dilemma, though, where the only options are unpleasant. All of us get there sooner or later, many people again and again. Fighting what we can’t control is useless, but acceptance takes work and determination.

There is an up-side to all this, though.  Whether Nate would remain with us in great pain or die of cancer, both extremely negative, it hadn’t been me who was bearing the burden of choice. I’d had no say in the matter. The burden was God’s. And he made the decision in an interesting way. Included in it was the directive that I become a widow, yes, but the other part of his choice was that Nate be released from chronic pain.

Of the two scenarios, God chose the best one.

“Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time… No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die.” (Isaiah 57:1-2)

Most TV game shows are a study in psychology. No doubt a group of psych majors create competitions to outfox contestants by side-stepping their probable responses. I recall one game, however, that was straight forward and simple. The host walked through the audience waving a hundred dollar bill, looking for a willing participant.

Once he chose a woman to play, he might say, “Do you have a wooden match in your purse?” (…or a picture of a baby or a deck of cards?) If she produced the item he asked for, he’d hand her the $100. Occasionally someone would empty her purse right there on camera, flinging lipstick and keys in the laps of those nearby, frantic to find the winning item.

People say a woman’s biography can be written by the contents of her purse: pictures, pills, a wallet, money, make-up, pens, a phone, a key ring, glasses, receipts, a camera, gum, candy, credit cards, a comb. Each item has been carefully selected to be in the purse, and therein lies the biography.

This morning I needed some Post-it notes and opened Nate’s dresser drawer to get them. Although I’ve given away many of his things, the three top drawers in his high boy are exactly as he left them. And just like a woman’s purse, they say a great deal about who he was.

If you’re curious, read on: a lint roller, a hunting knife (in a leather case), a knife for filleting fish (also in a case), business cards (his own and others), three shoe horns, four pairs of black shoe laces, shirt collar stays, current contact info for our children, his watch (still ticking), one of my watches (not ticking, needing repair), 3×5 and 4×6 cards (for his Sunday notes to the kids), prescription glasses and their cases, a commuter train schedule, three pocket knives (small, medium and large), a tiny eyeglass fix-it kit, a gold tie clip with NIXON on it, pens galore, pencil lead in several sizes, refills for ball points and fountain pens, and a Wordless Book Gospel bracelet with a printed explanation of each colored bead.

As I fingered the items, everything inside of me nodded in recognition of my husband. The bottom line of his biography? Nate kept no secrets.

What if I’d found a bit of pornography hidden in the back? Or maybe an envelope of secret cash? There might have been mysterious phone numbers or names or web addresses.

Instead, every item made complete sense. Although Nate couldn’t have predicted that the contents of his drawers would be listed on the World Wide Web, he had nothing to hide. The list is clean.

Sometimes we operate as if we can hide things from God. In addition to stuff in our purses and drawers, we try to conceal the contents of our minds, a ridiculous sham. God can’t be deceived, tricked or conned. He sees it all.

I’ve asked myself, “Would I be happy with the contents of my drawers being listed on the web?” And more importantly, “Am I satisfied God is observing the thoughts in my head?” He says that one day everything hidden will be spotlighted, so this surely is food for thought.

Tonight I put everything back into Nate’s drawers, glad to know he was exactly who I thought he was: a man of upright character. And this fact offers sweet widow-comfort to me.

“There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.” (Luke 12:12)

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved babies. My dolls were as good as human to me, and by the time I was five, I asked Jesus every night to make my doll Becky a real baby. Although I checked her each morning with hope in my heart, when God didn’t come through, eventually I gave up on him.

During that time, though, he did send a living, breathing baby to our home. My parents told me he was “my” baby brother, which wasn’t quite as good as Becky coming to life but was a close second. Although I wasn’t allowed to name him (they picked Tommy; I wanted Bobby) or to bed him down next to me, they did let me hold him.

Sometimes Mom let me feed him or put on his booties, but she never let him out of her sight. It didn’t take long to figure out he wasn’t really “mine”, and gradually I got the feeling he had become more important than I was. The camera clicked only in his direction, and when company came, it was all about the new baby.

Feeling set aside, I got jealous. All the good parts of having a baby (like letting me own him) were eliminated, and the bad parts (like everyone ignoring me) were a constant. Surely God had made a misstep by sending Tommy rather than bringing Becky to life.

Jealousy is hideous. It produces intolerance, suspicion and distrust, but worst of all, it grows. As little Tommy grew, so did my jealousy. By the time he was a pre-schooler, I teased him continually, which required steady reprimanding from both parents and filled our home with friction.

But by the time I was 12 or so, my friends became more important than pestering a little brother, which then extinguished the fire of jealousy. I took an honest look at Tom and saw he actually had a few good points. By the time I went off to college, I missed him a great deal. And when he eventually approached me with questions about dating, I felt honored.

In recent years I’ve studied what God thinks of jealousy, and it’s not good. Although he has the right to be jealous over people because we all belong to him, the rest of us put ourselves on several very condemning lists when we’re jealous.

For starters, God includes jealousy with drunkenness, sexual immorality, wickedness and corruption. Later he adds idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, rage and discord as jealousy’s bedfellows. Another list cites slander, anger, quarreling and arrogance. None of that is company I want to keep.

Today Tom is absolutely dear to me, a champion brother for whom I have nothing but respect and gratitude. When I see how close I came to letting jealousy destroy this priceless relationship, I’m overwhelmed with God’s grace (and Tom’s) in letting me off the hook. And, no thanks to me, the Lord protected and preserved our sibling bond through that ugly storm.

Amazingly Tom has never retaliated for my jealous misbehavior… unless of course he’s got that scheduled for next week.

“Don’t participate in the darkness of wild parties or drunkenness, or in sexual promiscuity and immoral living, or in quarreling and… jealousy.” (Romans 13:13)