Category Archives: Friendship

Beach Bums No More (…conclusion)

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When Scripture describes the Lord as “God of all comfort,” what does it mean? Isn’t it true that when we need comforting, we can get it from many sources? It can come through friends, family members, sermons, books, magazines, a tasty meal, even just a good night’s sleep.

A more accurate way to think about the God of all comfort is to recognize he’s the only One with access to ALL comfort, i.e. all kinds of comfort. His soothing touch can come in a thousand ways, but there’s never any “Whoops. I should have tried something else.”

A case in point was when I was newly crushed after losing my long-term beach buddy, sister Mary (preceding post). Unbeknownst to me, it was several years earlier that God had set up gentle comfort for me during this time.

Beach walkwayBack in 2013, our home association began building a sturdy walkway and deck leading from a small, sandy parking lot to the beach.

As Mary and I arrived one day, workmen were digging deep, round holes to establish strong pilings that would hold up the walkway. After digging the holes, they put in plump, white pipe-like forms resembling giant versions of what’s under a kitchen sink. Each was 12″ in diameter.

Next they stood hefty wooden 6” X 6” posts inside the “pipes” and poured in concrete for stability. As Mary and I left the beach that day, the crew had just finished, and she couldn’t resist the wet concrete. “Hey,” she said, “let’s leave a fingerprint.”

Walkway supportMary bent over the first post and firmly pressed in her right thumb, making a mark that only she could.

In the weeks that followed, the walkway was completed, and neither of us mentioned “her impression” again. We actually forgot about it, but of course God didn’t. Instead he filed it under “All comfort,” saving it for use three years hence.

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

Sunset buddies

 

The day finally came when Mary and I sat side-by-side at the beach for the last time. She talked about what was just ahead for her, with terminal cancer. “I hope I don’t die during the summer. That would be hard. September or October would be the best time.”

God gave her that wish. She died in September of 2016.

After that, it was difficult to think of being alone on the sand without my beach buddy, but eventually I did go back. Sitting in that peaceful place, though, where she and I had shared 70 summers, was painful.

A markThat was the moment when God dipped into his file of “All Comfort” and eased my grief with one sweet thought. He reminded me of Mary’s permanent mark on this cherished place, still there where she put it – a small thing, but it brought big comfort on that hard day.

Though God had access to all kinds of comfort-choices, he picked the one that worked.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort.” (2 Corinthians 1:3)

Beach Bums No More

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IMG_4053Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful to live near Lake Michigan. Even on days when I don’t go to the beach, I can smell the lake’s fresh water and hear the music of its waves.

And with beach rocks all over the house (around clocks, picture frames, mirrors, and on door mats), my thoughts are never far from the shore. All my neighbors feel the same.

1951Mary, Tom, and I grew up spending summers on this same shoreline (left: 1951) and raised our collective brood of 17 children here. But the most authentic beach bums in the whole family have always been Mary and me.

Neither of our husbands enjoyed baking in the sun, and both were glad they didn’t have to — since Mary and I had each other to do that. Despite too much sun exposure (and the dermatologist bills to prove it), the gains have more than outweighed the losses.

Mary and I moved through 70 summers side-by-side, but then my beach buddy got terminal cancer. God graciously gave us one last summer together, though, before he carried her to heaven.

M & M.During that time we both understood that we wouldn’t be sitting on the sand together much longer, and Mary wanted to talk about it. The soothing sound of the waves made those difficult conversations easier as we faced the reality of what was just ahead.

And then… how well I remember the moment she let me know her beach days were over. Though it came as a shock, she did it gently. It was probably just as hard for her to say, as it was for me to hear.

We’d been to the beach the day before, and on this perfect weather-day we’d agreed to go again, around 2:00 PM. I drove the few blocks to her cottage to pick her up, since riding bikes was no longer an option. But when I got there, she was seated in a chair on the lawn, dressed in regular clothes.

“You know,” she said, “I think I’m going to skip the beach today. Is that OK with you? I’ve been thinking about taking a nap instead.” Not once in all the years had Mary every turned down an invitation to go to the beach.

We locked eyes and in that instant we both knew what she had just said – our beach-buddy days were over. “Sure, that’s fine,” I said, with a heavy ache growing inside. “A nap sounds like a good idea.”

I sat down next to her in the yard, and we talked for a few more minutes. She chose the topic: her own funeral. She’d always been a realist, and her practical side was eager to sort out the details.

After 20 minutes or so, she stood up slowly and said, “Well… I’m pretty tired, so I think I’ll go lie down for a little. Greet the beach for me!”

But the beach didn’t factor into my afternoon either. It would have been no fun at all without my beach buddy. Instead I just went home and cried.

(…to be continued.)

“Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you.” (Psalm 55:22)

Missing a Sister

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TwinsiesMy sister Mary and I were unified in heart and mind from the very beginning. She wasn’t that far ahead of me in age, only a tottering toddler when I came along. Mom referred to those days as “playing house with my two little girls,” and we were blessed to be dearly loved.

From the beginning, Mom promoted a partnership between Mary and I, reinforcing it by dressing us in matching outfits. We had identical pinafores, coats, shoes, and dresses. But whether or not it was Mom’s doing, our sister-bond began early and lasted 71 years.

IMG_4252This week, a year and 5 months after Mary died, I’m feeling extra sad without her. I’ve been trying to put fresh fabric covers on my 8 dining room chairs, doing battle with a hard-to-squeeze staple gun and its frequent malfunctions. The deeper struggle, however, has been missing my sister.

The last time these chairs were covered was 7 years ago, and the two of us did them together. As always, it was fun and efficient to work as a team.

Our day of wrestling with upholstery fabric was punctuated with laughter over mistakes, lots of re-do’s, and a few staple-wounds. But there was serious talk too, as we lunched over Campbell’s tomato soup.

M and M upholsteringBy the end of that one day, we’d finished all 8 chairs. But the greater reward had been in getting to spend so many uninterrupted hours together. Doing the same job now hasn’t been satisfying at all, because of my strong longing to do it with Mary.

And that’s the most frustrating part of losing someone we love. The separation is complete and irrevocable. Though we know in our heads we can’t have even one extra minute with that person, we slip easily into fantasizing about how lovely it would be if we could. But reality always yanks us back and hits us with the words, “You can’t.”

I’ve had to work extra hard these last few days to listen to God’s advice about all this. And what he’s been whispering to me is, “I am your hope.”

He needed to tell me multiple times: “I will fill you with all kinds of joy as you look at Me. You’ll find yourself actually overflowing with hope, because of My Spirit’s power within you.” (Romans 15:13, loosely) After hearing it enough, I finally had to agree with him.

FriendsAs I’ve been hammering staples that refused to go all the way in, I’ve been thinking more than ever about life after death and the hope I have of spending not just one extra minute with Mary (and others) but of sharing unending time.

And I’ve learned that the hope God offers really does push out sadness. It also gives birth to gratitude – for a sister and for the Lord.

“The eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love.” (Psalm 33:18)