Category Archives: Life’s disappointments

A Fresh Look

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This afternoon the slanted sunshine of winter spilled through our windows. While the rest of the country gathered chips and dips in preparation for the Bears-Packers game, I decided to do something different: paint a couple of stools in the bright sunlight. They’d been primed for six months awaiting their finishing coat, and today was as good a day as any.

Though I don’t have TV, I could have listened to the game on the radio but chose worship music instead. Following football might have been a better idea, however, because when Nate’s favorite hymn, “Blessed Assurance,” came on, I got weepy. Even bright sunlight doesn’t help watery eyes see brush strokes very well.

Bagging the brush and picking up a hymnal, I decided to follow the words as the familiar song played. “Visions of rapture now burst on my sight. I in my Savior am happy and blest. Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine!”

Although these words had run through Nate’s mind hundreds of times, their meaning for him now is completely different, more authentic, tangible. Something about that struck me. He was far away experiencing a life radically different than mine. We had much in common until 15 months ago, but now we share very little. Today I’m painting stools. What is he doing?

Sitting in front of me on the coffee table was the book my kids gave me in September, the story of Nate’s life in pictures and words. As precious old hymns played, I read through the book again, feeling intense sadness that Nate was gone. It’s been quite a while since I cried hard, but as I carefully studied his face, especially in the most recent pictures, holding back sobs was impossible.  

Oh to go back! I really miss him. Did I love him enough? Had I put him first? Could I have done more?

I… I… I.

It was self-pity for sure, which doesn’t do much for healing. If anything, it produces inertia. My crying was a good reason to ask God, “What would you like me to think right now?”

He answered with something he’d already told me. “Rejoice always. Pray continually. Give thanks in all circumstances.” (1 Thessalonians 5) I was thankful he brought that up again and gave me something positive to do immediately. Focusing back on the book, I continued weeping but this time found myself rejoicing in the picture-memories and being thankful for all Nate did as a husband and father.

When I came to the photo of Nate sitting in a wheelchair with severe pain on his face, I cried hard remembering his suffering but was enormously thankful for how courageously he bore his pain, a great accomplishment.

As the Bears and the Packers battled it out on the other side of Lake Michigan, the Lord and I sat together for two hours, listening to hymns, rejoicing, talking in prayer and remembering Nate with thankfulness.

Tomorrow, as the Bears nurse their wounds, I’ll finish painting the stools.

“My heart rejoices in the Lord! The Lord has made me strong. There is no Rock like our God.” (1 Samuel 2:1a,2b)

Skipping Christmas but not Skipping Tears

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Every December my sister and I spend an evening with the Kranks, a family we met in 2001 by reading John Grisham’s book, Skipping Christmas. It’s about a middle-aged couple hoping to duck the expense and demands of a traditional Christmas season by taking a cruise.

When the movie came out in 2004, Mary and I rushed to see it. One of her daughters came along but was so embarrassed by our raucous guffawing she nearly walked out. Ever since then, we’ve revisited the Kranks and their illogical antics each Christmas season, looking forward to laughing together at the same places we always laugh.

This year, due to the combination of illness and family commitments, Mary and I failed to fit in our tradition but never lost the desire. Last night, several weeks late, we finally got our opportunity.

We ordered Chinese food, settled with our tea and beef with broccoli on Mary’s upstairs beds and hit the DVD “play” button. Watching Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis make a mess of things was just as hilarious as we remembered, and we took pleasure in every scene.

But then we came to the cancer part. Because we’d seen it before, I knew it was coming but was surprised by my sad reaction. The storyline has a sixty-something couple living across the street from the Kranks, and toward the end of the movie, the wife discovers her cancer has recurred. Conversation hints this will probably be her last Christmas.

As the camera looked across the snowy street into their picture window, we saw them dining alone on Christmas Eve, and suddenly my eyes brimmed with tears. Although these were actors in a fantasy, my heart believed what it saw and thought, “Your immediate future is going to be awful. Enjoy your ‘normal’ dinner together, because it’s not going to last. Misery is on its way.”

I haven’t cried about Nate’s cancer or about losing him for many days in a row. My kids and I talked often about him during the holiday weeks, which was a deep satisfaction to me. Tears were not part of it, and I felt I was doing well.

Then there was the movie and my tears, a reminder of what widow friends have said. “The triggers are there, just beneath the surface, and you’ll be taken by surprise at the oddest times.”

Tears about cancer during a comedy movie would qualify as odd but also as oddly normal. Although it’s difficult to explain, as the tears came, they were soothing, an oxymoron of mourning. Although I don’t cry every day, I’m still grieving the death of my husband. And until earthly life ends, I always will be.

Thankfully, I had my snowman napkin to dab at my eyes, and as the movie concluded, its ending was optimistic. I’m conscious of God’s careful monitoring of my emotions and know he’ll encourage tears whenever it’s right.

I’ve abandoned myself to his flawless care and his consoling promises.

“Your widows… can depend on me.” (Jeremiah 49:11)

Hanging On

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Nate wanted to go to Harvard University. He made his decision while still in junior high and worked diligently throughout high school, always reaching for his dream.

As a senior he applied early to Harvard, wanting to be in the first wave of acceptance letters, but had failed to consider one important factor. While he was the managing editor of the school newspaper, he’d written a series of harsh articles about two of the school’s teachers. In his opinion, they were more interested in coaching sports than teaching history, and he expounded on this in the newspaper.

Of course the teachers were insulted and let Nate know it. What he’d forgotten was his need for university recommendations from these same teachers, since he would be a history major. One of them had bluntly told Nate, “I’ll see to it you never get into Harvard.”

That might have been a frustrated high school student’s inflated opinion of the conversation, but the bottom line was a rejection letter from Harvard. Nate’s hopes were dashed, and receiving acceptances from several other excellent universities didn’t ease his pain.

Dotted throughout our 40 years together were a handful of references to the Harvard rejection story and especially the teacher who threatened him. It was difficult for Nate to let go, because of the hateful way this person had acted, although his overblown response to Nate’s articles seemed to actually vindicate what had been written about him.

None of us completely get our way as we go through life. After a crushing disappointment, it’s what we do next that determines whether or not we’ll be able to distance ourselves from the event. We can either mull it over again and again, increasing our resentment, or we can tell God, “You deal with it, because I can’t.”

I don’t think Nate ever experienced complete freedom from the malice of that history teacher. The teacher probably thought very little about Nate after he graduated, but Nate often thought about him. Turning it over to God would have been beneficial.

Last Sunday our pastor quoted Martin Luther who said, “There are only two days on my calendar. Today and that day,” meaning the day we meet our Maker. The hurtful events of yesterday shouldn’t be allowed to bind us today. It’s our choice, though. We can drag all the unfair stuff along with us, risking ruining today, or we can say no to that, with God’s help.

One day, after Nate and I had been married nearly a year, he told me the Harvard rejection story. He’d graduated with a strong GPA from Northwestern University and was about to graduate honorably from the University of Illinois Law School, so the Harvard rejection didn’t matter much to me. But as he talked, I could sense he was still hurting.

But we were newlyweds, and our “today” was lots of fun, so I tried to encourage him back into it. “If you’d gone to Harvard, we wouldn’t have met!”

I watched his pain melt, and he said, “Oh, I would have come back to the Midwest to get you.”

We only have today (which we know), and that day (which we don’t know).

“…of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father alone.” (Matthew 24:36)