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KAN-DO, Aftermath

Posted on December 27, 2010 by Margaret

Every mission trip is a risk. Whether or not it qualifies as “successful” depends on each individual’s expectations.Our family mission trip to Greensburg, Kansas included 31 people and 31 different expectations, some high, some low.

When the initial idea for a Christmas service project began circulating among us via email, several responded resoundingly in the negative: “I’m flying home to spend Christmas… at home. My vote is not to go.”

Others were enthusiastic: “Great idea! Count me in!“

My personal prayers were for each of us to step closer to the Lord from wherever we currently stood as a result of the trip. In reality, we landed somewhere short of that but did, I believe, accomplish some valuable results.

Much of our construction work was done on a home being built to replace one lost in the storm. The new house, paid for by homeowner’s insurance, was going to be gorgeous with a room-sized entryway, a stone fireplace wall, an exposed staircase and a sizeable kitchen. Although this family wasn’t financially needy, emotionally they were starving.

The first day we worked at drywalling, taping and spackling, but several of our workers had sour attitudes. “These people don’t need us,” they said. “What are we doing here?”

But when the owners came to greet us and thank us for coming, the wife described their four minutes of terror as the monster tornado roared through town. She broke down and wept as she told of their fear for family members when they couldn’t bring everyone together. One of their children still hasn’t returned to Greensburg because she can’t shake nightmares about the tornado. Another was making plans to move away permanently.

Before we left at the end of the week, this same woman asked if we would all put our signatures on the concrete walls of her new basement storm shelter. During the next tornado (and there are many in Kansas), she knew they’d all be edgy, even protected by walls two feet thick. But, she said, “I’ll gain courage by rereading your names, remembering the love that prompted you to help us.”

Was it really love? For some it was, “I don’t want to go, but know I should, so I will.” Was there a positive result even for these?

Those of our children who’ve been on many mission trips say there’s always a mixed bag of results. One important benefit is being required to live in community with others around the clock. This includes a willingness to eat simply and occasionally not at all. It means sleeping on the floor, waiting for the bathroom and being patient to teach others how to do the work. All of this happened with excellence on our mission trip.

I also remember watching unusual conversational groups pop up as we worked on four teams. Mild competition injected laughter into the tasks, and evening get-togethers saw high school kids partnering with oldsters, and babies in the arms of non-baby people. Cousins with a decade of years between them talked and came to appreciate each other in new ways. Extended time with family and without access to cell phones or computers was unique in our history, a tremendous blessing. All of these unexpected benefits are treasured still.

Would we ever do it again?

In a minute.

”Serve the Lord with gladness. Be thankful unto him, and bless his name.” (Psalm 100:2,4)

Smiling through a Funeral

Posted on December 21, 2010 by Margaret

Tears and crying are part and parcel of most wakes and funerals. That’s logical. But I’m learning that the funerals of people who have lived their lives well include hearty laughter and many smiles, too.

Today John Welch had such a funeral. Although his grandchildren, most in their twenties, had difficulty talking about their grandpa without crying, they also found themselves joking through their tears. Grandpa’s death caused sadness only because he was such a powerful presence in their lives, which was a good reason to smile.

The pastor turned to these “kids”, nearly twenty of them, and said, “I hope you realize how fortunate you all are, to have had a grandfather like yours, a man who prayed for you every day and told you he loved you every time he talked with you.” When the magnitude of blessing is that great, a funeral brings joy to its mourners along with their tears.

Those of us who attend such a funeral as secondary mourners, i. e. not part of the deceased’s family, find ourselves taking our cue from the primary mourners. We gain courage from their smiles and enjoy conversation with them and other dear friends we’ve not seen in years. Funerals are important events, and caring people gain courage from grieving together.

Something else positive happens at the funeral of a person who finished strong. We in the audience leave the event with a fresh resolve to live better ourselves, because the one being celebrated did so well. John Welch’s relatives described this man as one who prayed volumes, found good in everyone and steadily grew in his faith. After hearing this, I want to do the same.

Several speakers mentioned John’s attitude of humble servanthood and his gift of helps saying, “No job was beneath him.” As I listened, I asked myself if that was true of me. Was I willing to step into any set of circumstances where there was need? All I could see was massive room for improvement.

Joy and sorrow are closely linked. The old expression, “I might as well laugh or I’ll cry,” has a world of truth in it. Although John Welch had reasons to cry during his life such as having to bury both of his beloved wives, he practiced his hearty laugh on a daily basis and encouraged others to focus on the good in their lives.

He consistently testified that the only reliable source of true joy was his relationship with Christ. And because of this, he could laugh with gusto at his own troubles, and we could smile throughout his funeral.

“Even in laughter the heart may ache.” (Proverbs 14:13a)

One Year Ago: The Last 24 Hours

Posted on November 2, 2010 by Margaret

I look back at last year’s calendar with its description of our final day with Nate and shake my head. It was a dreadful yet holy day, a family time set apart like no other. What stands out in my memory?

First and foremost, Nate, struggling with pain but then responding well to the morphine drops, liquid relief from the agony of failing organs.

Hospice nurses, three in particular: Margarita teaching us how to use atropine to lessen the fluids in Nate’s system; Sonia showing us how to swab his mouth, moisten his lips, cool him with wet cloths and speak soothingly; Dee, spending the night on a stool near Nate, then tenderly bathing him on his last morning.

Singing, praying, reading Scripture.

Nate finally resting without pain, no knitted brow, no agitation, a relaxed hand as I held it.

Family love and gratitude expressed through tearful goodbyes.

The Holy Spirit’s presence with us in our dimly lit sanctuary, with Nate in his hospital bed as the centerpiece.

Nurse Dee’s comment, “During the night, he looked like he was getting younger and younger.”

Nate’s passion to hang on as long as he could, not leaving us until there was no other choice.

God and Nate deciding his life had reached its finish line and Nate’s walking into eternity with the Lord.

Our aching hearts struggling to believe what had happened, crying, praying, loving.

Watching a new nurse officially declare he was gone, released from his earthly body-bondage; listening to her words of comfort as she shared her Christian faith with me.

Disposing of Nate’s many drugs with Hospice, grateful he had no further need for them.

Watching the funeral home director and his assistant carry Nate out our front door, but being sure the real Nate had left two hours before that.

Realizing God had dramatically healed Nate of a very bad back and pancreatic cancer!

Although I’ve thought about these same details a million times during the last 12 months, tonight, for a change, I’m not crying. And I can’t explain it.

Tomorrow might be a different story, but for now, I can walk among the memories and be drawn to the blessings. During this year, God the Father has taught me so much about leaning on him that I’m continually aware of his nearness and can honestly say he’s my most precious Friend.

Today Louisa shared her thoughts about missing her papa, and we agreed there would be many future days when we’ll wish he was with us. Nothing, however, can spoil the unending togetherness we’ll have in eternity. The disconnect is only temporary.

Most likely we’ll never get the answer to her important question, “Why did he have to die when he did?” Instead, through his death, we’ve been given an opportunity to deepen our relationship with God. He had a reason for taking Nate when he did, a good one, and we can choose to trust him on that. Then, as trust increases, we’ll wonder “why” less and less.