Shrill Screams

Last night at about 3:30 am, I was woken up by ear-splitting screeching coming from the woods behind our cottage. In my stupor I couldn’t decide if it was human or not, but as it continued for nearly a minute, I could tell it was an animal. I found myself thinking, “Hurry up! Finish it off!” Whatever it was, it was in agony.

Today I’ve tried not to envision what might have been going on out there in the dark. Was it an owl having dinner at the expense of a rabbit?

Before sin existed, every person and animal got along. One day that’ll be true again. In the mean time, much of what happens in our fallen world is unpleasant. Some of it is downright gruesome, like last night’s attack. God could have protected that poor animal and provided food for its foe another way, but he didn’t.

Even though humans aren’t attacked as food, we sometimes, like the animal being attacked, come to a place of shrill screaming. Our lives ebb and flow, dipping in and out of negatives and positives. Some of it has to do with the laws of nature just as the attack in the woods did: hurricane Katrina, diseases like Alzheimer’s or meningitis, the BP oil spill, the ash cloud in Ireland, drug addictions. And Nate’s cancer. The labels are different for each of us, but none of us is exempt from the events that make us want to scream.

Although we often do rail against circumstances, what’s rumbling beneath our shrieking is probably anger against God. Wise counselors say, “Go ahead and yell at him. He can take it.”

But should he have to? If we’re trying to lead godly lives, our response to the negatives ought to be, “Yes, I hate this, but because of God, I know good stuff will come from it.”

Our family has seen the truth of that repeated again and again as a result of Nate’s death from pancreatic cancer. For one thing, all of us are less likely to take the others for granted or to assume, “It’ll always be this way.” We’ve seen our father and husband get snatched from us, and we’re aware, in a poignant way, that everyone’s hold on life is fragile. Another positive is that we’re appreciating Nate in a thousand ways, thankful daily for his part in our lives in former years. As a result of living in a world that includes cancer, these two good things are now ours. And they’re only the tip of the blessings-iceberg.

None of us would appreciate happy times if there were no bad ones. So we learn to endure, experiencing agony and uttering a shrill scream now and then but bearing up under the misery because at the end of it, encouragement that can’t be gained in any other way will be waiting for us.

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.” (Romans 5:3)

Back to the Hospital

Today I met with one of my friends in the Chicago area, Dr. Ross Abrams. Although Nate has been gone nearly eight months, my occasional conversations with his doctor have continued to be a blessing to me.

Dr. Abrams is a very busy guy, the number one man in radiation oncology at Rush University Medical Center, yet he graciously gave me a chunk of his day in an unhurried manner. This was a valuable gift.

We talked about how Nate fought with cancer but not against it, how he accepted his terminal diagnosis with remarkable calm. Dr. Abrams has watched every one of his pancreatic cancer patients die of this fatal disease, noting how some accept their “fate” early-on while others never do. We wondered aloud what happens within a person to make them ready to die, to be so sure of it they confidently refuse further treatment. He’s observed that a personal faith in God is usually present when someone peacefully accepts death’s imminence, saying, “I believe Nate was a man of strong faith.”

We also talked about our marriages and their great worth, mentioning the importance of this institution. We agreed that one of the keys to a long marriage is to determine up front that neither will look for an escape hatch when rough patches come but will work to resolve the problem. Sweet rewards await those who remain committed.

As Dr. Abrams put it, “Once we make any commitment, obligations quickly follow, but we learn there is great satisfaction in fulfilling our obligations to each other.” Amen to that.

He asked about our children, wondering how they were coping with losing their father, which led to a discussion of the differences between suffering and sadness. We decided suffering involved coping with continual pain or damage, enduring ongoing loss. Sadness, although just as real, is more about mood and is prone to improvement as emotional healing takes place. Dr. Abrams is an expert on both, having witnessed much of it in his patients and their families.

We talked of our grandchildren, his seven and my five, acknowledging the pleasure of this season, and he showed me a new family photo in which all 17 wore black and white. I called it “a treasure” because they were all there with no one missing. The last Nyman family photo didn’t include Micah, Thomas or Evelyn, yet unborn. Our next picture will include them but not Nate. Dr. Abrams nodded knowingly.

We continued our conversation, talking about trusting a God who sees our lives from beginning to end, all at once, desiring to bring good to each person. Because we as humans see only the past and the present, it’s difficult to trust there will be good in the future when “bad” (as in cancer) dominates the now. Dr. Abrams referenced an Old Testament verse and I quoted from the New Testament, but we agreed that this one God has said the same thing to both of us.

When it was time for the doctor to move back into his medical day, we left the office with a handshake and a promise to share another conversation down the road. Here’s a quote from the blog post he wrote for this site on April 19, 2010: “My internal definition of ‘being a doctor’ require(s) being regularly involved in caring for other human beings” (as opposed to lab work).

Today I was the recipient of some of that care and as a result have moved forward one more step in the healing process. Thank you, Dr. Abrams.

“Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.” (James 1:27)

Not as it seems… (Part II)

Our Chicago house finally sold, after four years of trying, in early 2009. This dictated the delightful reality that we would be moving to Michigan! Nate planned to continue working if he could, riding the commuter train that traveled daily around the south end of Lake Michigan and dropped him two blocks from his office in the Loop. I would transform the run-down cottage into our year-round home. Over the years we had both craved more time in the restful atmosphere surrounding this place, and suddenly we found ourselves based there full time. Today is the one year anniversary of that move.

God arranged things as he did, when he did, for good reasons that were prompted by love and orchestrated through wisdom. Last spring he saw down the road to the pancreatic cancer that would arrive in the fall. He also saw Nate’s death, our children’s grief  and my struggle with widowhood. So he prepared a plan and began unfolding it by facilitating the Chicago house sale. With that first step, he plucked us from the bustling suburban life where we’d lived most of our together-years and set us down in the stillness of our Michigan cottage.

Step two was three months spent squeezing two houses of stuff into one, unpacking a million boxes. Just after Labor Day 2009, the summer residents left the area for their fall and winter lives “back home” (like Nate and I had done all those years), and we got rid of the last empty box. As the leaves turned gold, an extraordinary peace settled over us at our new address. Unbeknownst to us, we were being strengthened for step three, pancreatic cancer.

When it hit at the end of September,  the Lord’s step four brought our family together in miraculous ways. Although it  was difficult then to be 110 miles from life-long friends and our beloved church on the other side of the lake, this isolation made family relationships even more precious. And as individuals, each of us became more dependent on the heavenly Father. When God’s step five whisked Nate to heaven, we all understood the victory of that for him and wouldn’t have wanted him to linger as he was, ravaged by disease and suffering terrible pain.

After Nate’s funeral in November, countless friends asked if I’d be moving “back home” to resume life in the Chicago area. But I knew without doubt God had settled me in Michigan for important reasons, so decided not to make any changes on my own but to embrace his choices for me instead.

As Jack and I walked the snowy lanes of our Michigan neighborhood throughout the winter, usually without seeing another human being, the Lord became my new partner. We began a phase of our relationship that might not have been as meaningful, had I been surrounded by friends and enveloped in activity. There was unlimited quiet time to think, cry, sleep and talk to God. He had deliberately relocated us to Michigan, and part of his plan was that I stay put.

Now, after a very significant year, my little cottage has truly become my home.

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Back in 1916, four year old Evelyn offered water to guests in good faith, knowing they’d enjoy a cool drink on a hot day. I, too, am being refreshed here in Michigan, not by toilet water, tap water or even Perrier but by a living water that flows from the inside out, springing from a God who will never let it run dry. I’d be a fool not to continue following him.

”My feet have closely followed [the Lord’s] steps. I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my daily bread.” (Job 23:11a,12a)