Category Archives: Dying

Jesus in an Apron (Conclusion)

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Yesterday we heard from Mary’s friend Donna as she wrote about Mary’s terminal diagnosis and the sudden return of her cancer. Several days after receiving Donna’s email, Mary responded with some reflective thoughts of her own:

From: Mary Peterson

Date: Mon, Dec 15, 2014 at 4:17 PM.  Subject: Re: My love. To: Donna Baer

donna-bThank you Donna, for your beautiful email. I have read it over and over and so appreciate your clear, honest perspectives about death and dying.

When Nate was dying, I was privileged to be a witness to much of it, my main desire being to help and comfort Margaret. Her children were magnificent with their encouragement of their parents, but God allowed me to be the one with whom she was able to share her deepest concerns and grief… probably a combination of wanting to protect her children as well as have someone of the same generation to talk to.

One of the things we talked about was how similar death and childbirth are.  Nate moved steadily toward heaven, just as labor moves a woman toward delivery. We marveled at the process, as he slowly but surely moved through death to life.   I don’t know about you, but ever since I witnessed my first birth in nurses training, I’ve always considered it a sacred moment when a baby is finally born.

I was recently reminded of that again, as I had the happy privilege of being in the delivery room as our Johanna gave birth to her fourth child.  (“Weeping may endure for the night, but joy cometh in the morning.”) And like birth, death seems a sacred moment as well. As Pastor Lutzer says, God is powerfully present at that moment, when we need Him most, according to His promise to never leave or forsake us. I’m trusting Him for that.

Now, as far as your kind words about being Jesus in an apron…  Margaret thinks that would be a great book title, but I’m sure I would not be a good model for it.  I do agree the small things we do, just in the process of day to day living, can affect others, and especially those coming behind us. Through this cancer journey, I’ve been reminded of that over and over as people tell of something that impacted and encouraged them. The funny thing is, what they relate, I have no recollection of!  Perhaps the little things really are the big things?

Anyway, thank you Donna, for your sweet words.  God used you to bless this old heart!  And yes, I do look forward to serving with you once again, in the Kingdom.  God is good!

With love and gratitude, Mary

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“May we be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith, both yours and mine.” (Romans 1:12)

God’s Sneak-Peeks

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Those of us who follow Christ believe him when he says he’s always with us. He also says he’ll never abandon us or fail us and that he surrounds us with his presence. We believe all of it.

The problem comes in trusting this One we can’t see or feel. In our recent days of missing Mary, people have lovingly said, “Hold tight to Jesus’ hand.” Or, “I’m praying you’ll feel God’s everlasting arms around you.”

Both of these word pictures are sanctioned in Scripture, and we want to trust them as real, but there’s no visible proof – and sometimes it’s hard.

hand-of-god

(Michelangelo tried to visualize the invisible, above.)

God knows of our human limitations and the difficulty of relating to an unseen God. After all, Jesus was human, too, and experienced these same limits. Even during his torturous hours on the cross, his cries were to his invisible Father. So how do we bridge this gap? How do we believe he is truly with us?

The answer? It’s by way of the sneak-peeks he gives.

I believe God sometimes demonstrates that he’s close to us in real-time…. in touchable, visible ways. Our part is to notice and ponder what he shows us, deciding for ourselves whether or not to attribute these things to him.

During Mary’s sudden, short decline, he gave us several of these powerful sneak-peeks that we believe indicated his closeness. For example – Julia had given her mom a gardenia plant for Mother’s Day in May.

flower-potMary had put it in a stone-covered pot, writing a Scripture verse around the rim: “Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord Himself, is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:4)

Through the summer it had bloomed beautifully under Mary’s watchful care. But then her illness escalated, and tending to the gardenia fell by the wayside.

When Julia arrived to care for her mom, she saw that her gardenia-gift was needy. Taking a moment to pluck off the many dead blossoms, she noticed it didn’t have even one promising bud. But then Mary’s illness drew her attention away.

And then Mary went to heaven.

In the painful first hour that followed her death, after Hospice and funeral home personnel had come and gone, none of us knew what to do. Then, as we stood around in the kitchen without a plan, someone said, “Hey! Look at that plant!”

the-gardeniaWe were dumbfounded to see a fully opened, perfectly formed gardenia blossom on Mary’s now-healthy plant.

Some would call that a coincidence or a freak of nature. We’d rather give the credit to our unseen God who uplifted us in a low moment with the assurance that he was close by. And against all logic, we had a sweet-smelling gardenia blossom to prove it.

“Be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)

Advice from Mary

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A few days before Mary died, I was in my kitchen peeling apples to make two pies for her family. As I thought of my sister and the hundreds of apple pies she’d made over the years, I couldn’t help but smile.  She would “throw them together” while carrying on a complete conversation with her guests…. all of whom would stand around the kitchen counter, fascinated by what she was doing. She never measured anything, just operated on instinct. And her pies always turned out perfectly.

Then suddenly, while remembering Mary and her pies, I started to cry – not over the memories but over a baking question.

bits-of-butterI couldn’t remember whether or not I should put bits of butter atop the apples before adding the top crust, and I desperately wanted to ask my sister, the pie expert. But she was a few blocks away, lying quietly in her bed, in a deep sleep. And she couldn’t give me any advice.

After putting my pie in the oven, I went to spend time with Mary. She “let” me hold her relaxed hand, and I leaned close to her sleeping face so she could hear me. “This morning I couldn’t remember if I should add butter to my apple pie or not. What do you do?”

Of course she didn’t answer, but I continued. “Would bits of butter make it soupy or not? I really want my pie to turn out like yours.”

apple-pieAs she slept, I kept talking, reminding her of a camp auction years ago and a comical bidding war over an apple pie Mary had contributed. The winner had gladly paid $25 for it, testifying that he’d tasted Mary’s pies before and knew it would be worth the money.

Hoping Mary was silently giggling in her heart at that memory, I tried to make a soft giggle for both of us — but it wouldn’t come out. My vision was blurring again, and the process going on in front of me wasn’t the least bit funny. That’s when talking about apple pie suddenly seemed out of place.

So I just sat there, studying Mary’s pretty face, listening to her regular breathing. And flooding my mind were a hundred ways I was going to need my sister’s advice after she was gone.

granny-smithsThat evening my apple pie did get eaten, but the second pie never got made. That pile of Granny Smith apples is still sitting on my kitchen counter as they had been that day before Mary died. Without her advice about the bits of butter, I don’t even want to make it. And now that she’s gone, heavy on my mind is something else: How many other questions did I fail to ask?

And now it’s too late.

“The righteous and the wise and their deeds are in the hand of God.” (Ecclesiastes 9:1)