Widow for One Week

Posted on November 10, 2009 by Margaret

It’s been seven days since Nate died. All day I’ve been mentally replaying the hours of that significant day, dwelling on them, savoring them (although that sounds strange) and sharing them somehow with Nate. Those sharing times are all but over, though, and the distance between us will feel greater and greater as the days pass.

My heart craves quietness. As is true of anyone who’s lost someone precious, I want to spend time thinking about Nate. Talking about him is satisfying, too, but that isn’t always possible. It seems important to go over the last weeks in mental detail. I don’t know if I’m looking for negatives or positives, but I want to look back for a while. People tell me I should have a future focus, and I’m sure I will eventually, but right now I’m all about remembering.

Today I went on my first outing alone in weeks. It was strange to be running errands by myself, and it occurred to me I didn’t have to watch the clock, since Nate wouldn’t be waiting for me at home, a bittersweet discovery. As I mingled with busy crowds of strangers, it made me lonely to realize not one of them knew about my husband’s death. I wondered if anyone would look at my worn out face with the smudged mascara and care that I was sad.

On the drive home at 5:30, which I decided to take at a speed below the limit, the overcast sky had one thin band of blue just above the horizon. Although we hadn’t seen the sun all day, as I headed south, suddenly it broke through with brilliance, turning the clouds to gold. During those fifteen miles the sky became iridescent with color, and I absolutely had to find a place to get a better view.

Pulling off at an exit with a “State Park” sign, I ended up in a deserted beachfront parking lot facing the lake and the sunset. “Great is Thy Faithfulness” came on the radio, and it seemed natural to talk out loud to God.

“What do you want me to be thinking about right now?” I asked him.

“The heavens declare the glory of God,” he answered with a quote from Scripture, “and the firmament shows his handiwork.” (Psalm 19:1)

“Yes,” I responded. “You do spectacular work. The sky is magnificent. You are magnificent. I love you.”

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to talk to the Lord right there in my minivan. Yet it was a conversation with someone I couldn’t see, touch or hear audibly. Was I crazy?

I’ve been sure of God’s closeness as we’ve walked through the last seven weeks of disease and death. He’s shown himself in the details all along the way, not literally like a hiding person might peek around the corner but like the wind might move something, proving its reality. And if he is really near, why not talk to him?

I am a widow. Even though my week-long status is settling over me with a mixture of sorrow and heartache, that’s what I am. But it’s not all bad. The Bible is full of passages making mention of women in this category. God promises special protection for us and deals harshly with anyone who harms us. We’re to be relieved of burdens too heavy to carry, and we’re to look to others to plead our case as needed.

Looking at these verses stunned me. I knew widows were close to God’s heart, but I never “owned” the Scriptures like I do now. My favorite passage (below) makes me realize it was perfectly fine to talk out loud to the Lord in my car this afternoon. He says he is stepping into Nate’s position in my life, and I completely believe him.

^“Your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name, and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called.” (Isaiah 54:5)

The Funeral

Posted on November 8, 2009 by Margaret

What makes a perfect funeral? Strong attendance, beautiful weather, meaningful music, a powerful program, an abundance of flowers and good food. Yesterday we had every bit of that.

As with any pre-planned event, there were moments of quiet drama leading up to it. For example, Louisa struggled to find something of her dad’s she could wear or display throughout the day as a testimony of her love for him. We didn’t accomplish that, much to her frustration.

As people entered the room at the funeral home, they could track Nate’s life on 14 poster boards full of photographs, arranged in chronological order. There were also enlargements scattered here and there, along with our wedding album. All of us were greeted with the scent of many flowers, and sunshine streamed through the windows. Crowds began arriving well before the start of the service, and at the stroke of noon, music filled the air.

Family members sat in the first several rows of seats, and I took one last look toward the back of the room just before we sat down. It was standing room only with extra chairs in the hallway, and as we began the service, folks were still arriving.

Planning the program had been easy, once we learned our former pastor, Colin Smith, was available and willing to deliver the meditation. A second pastor, Ted Olsen, agreed to MC the meeting, and our favorite accompanist was at the keyboard, assisted by a beautiful alto singer.

All seven children plus our two children-in-law stood side-by-side facing the audience as the service started. Adam prayed, and the four girls welcomed everyone with thank you’s for the unending loving care so many had shown us during the last whirlwind weeks. Then the four boys read the eulogy, written by Linnea. Several had difficulty but all pushed through their readings with courage. Nate would have loved it.

As I scanned the line-up of our kids, ages 19 through 36, my heart ached with deep love for each one. They were gaining in maturity by leaps and bounds as a result of these difficult weeks and the death of their father and father-in-law, because it’s during life’s crises that we grow.

Nate’s and my brother-in-law read parts of Psalm 103 from the Old Testament, and my brother read from 2 Corinthians 4 and 5, interspersed with Nate’s two favorite hymns: “Blessed Assurance” and “Beautiful Savior.” Pastor Colin delivered an effective message from Revelation 7 with five points highlighting what Nate was doing right now, four days after his death, in heaven. His powerful invitation for others to be sure they would one day join Nate there was an answer to my prayers.

After folks had filed past Nate’s casket giving us the chance to see each one who had attended, we got one last opportunity to look at the body of the man we loved. Standing there crying, there was only one thing to do: pray. My kids put their arms around me and each other as we thanked God for Nate’s life, for our family, for each person who came to celebrate his life and most of all for God himself, the one who’d been with us all the way through and who we knew would not leave us now.

As the casket was being carried out by our four sons, our son-in-law, Nate’s brother and a young man who was like a son to us, the funeral director handed me a small green velvet pouch. “His wedding ring,” he said.

I turned to Louisa standing nearby and said, “Here’s Papa’s ring. Would you keep it safe for me?” Finally she was “wearing” something extremely representative of her father, just as she’d hoped, and I saw the Lord’s tender touch in how and when this had occurred.

Since the cemetery was adjacent to the funeral home, our train of cars, though long, traveled only a matter of blocks. The unusually warm November day helped the cemetery service go well as Nate’s body was committed back to the earth. We each put a red rose on the casket, along with the seven pairs of white gloves worn by the pall bearers.

After the benediction, people hung around the grave site enjoying the sunshine and summery breezes. Although most leaves had already fallen, color was still evident in the mighty oaks nearby, and we all appreciated the beauty of the day. We waited to watch the casket being lowered into the ground until it hit bottom. In my mind, that was the moment when it was finished.

Driving to a local church for a lunch put together by dear friends, we feasted on fruit and salads, sandwiches and cake. Precious moments of conversation with those who stuck with us to this end were especially valuable.

The only thing missing was… Nate.

Isaiah wrote, “The Lord has anointed me to… bind up the brokenhearted… to comfort all that mourn… to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness… that the Lord might be glorified.” (Isaiah 61:1-3)

flowers

Out of sight

Posted on October 30, 2009 by Margaret

Last night had me battling worry over our immediate future. Each day seems to bring a new problem for which I don’t have the answer. For example, today Nate’s hand began having blips of weakness when it would go limp for an instant and then recoup. Because of this, he spilled (onto himself) one glass of water, a whole cup of coffee (lukewarm) and his dinner plate. Hospice is wonderful in their knowledge, experience and willingness to teach me what to do, and our kids are eager to help. But during the night, as I lie alone in bed, the heavy-handed truth is that I’m the one running the show.

In the daylight I don’t doubt God will point to answers for every new issue that arises and that this will continue unendingly. During the night, however, I worry, hanging onto this truth by my fingernails.

This afternoon I needed something special from God, because tears seemed to continually wiggle just behind my eyes. Walking Jack the five blocks to the beach would help, I was sure, since getting a look at that wide horizon and meandering along the wave line has always been calming. I checked to be sure the boys would watch over Nate while I was gone, then leashed the dog and headed out.

All summer we walked to the beach in flip-flops, kicking them off at the base of a small dune on the way to the water. Today it was socks and shoes. I missed the feel of sand between my toes, and as I climbed the dune, shoes on, I thought of my favorite sandals, a gift from a good friend. They came from J. Crew, a place I never shopped, and were navy blue with “straps” of white and blue seersucker. The part between the toes was hot pink, and they were oh-so-comfy.

In a lifetime of coming to this same beach, I’d never lost a sandal. But last summer I’d returned to the base of the dune one day on my way home, and my beloved J. Crew sandals had been missing. I looked everywhere that day, but they weren’t to be found. It was a disappointment, and I credited some creative middle school kid with tossing them into the woods or the nearby creek as a prank.

Today, as I battled worry about what was ahead, my eye caught something bright in the sand. It was a dot of pink, not a natural color at the beach. I bent over to get a better look and got a shock. Peeking out from under the sand was the between-the-toe piece of a flip-flop. Could it be?

J.Crew flip-flop pink

I dug around it and lifted out a navy sandal from J. Crew with seersucker straps, twisted and bent, but definitely mine. Those wiggly tears spilled over, and I talked out loud to God, stunned by this unusual token of his kindness. “You did it, God! I can hardly believe it! Thank you, thank you!” God had given me a “good gift from above” (a really unusual one) on the exact day I needed it.

Digging in that same area with the hope of finding the other flip-flop, I bumped into it several feet away under eight inches of sand. My favorite sandals had come back to me after being lost for nine weeks. There was no explainable reason except that God saw my need and decided to do something special to take care of it. It was as if he said, “Quit worrying, and quit hanging on by your fingernails, because I’m hanging on to you.”

On my frequent trips to the beach during the last nine weeks, I’d unknowingly been stepping over my flip-flops again and again, buried in the sand beneath my footsteps. They’d been there all along; I just didn’t know it, because I couldn’t see them. J.Crew flip-flop pair

God had used an object lesson to make a point with me, just like Jesus often used objects to teach those following him. When I’d been feeling alone and burdened with worry during the night, he’d been hidden from sight (just like the sandals). But in reality, he was telling me, “I’ve been there all along.”

“I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden wealth of secret places so that you may know that it is I. I am the Lord, and there is no other. Besides Me there is no God, the One forming light and creating darkness, causing well-being and creating calamity. I am the Lord who does all these. I will go before you and make the rough places smooth.” (Isaiah 45:3,5,7,2)