Widow Warriors

Posted on December 30, 2009 by Margaret

The word “widow” is all about negatives. To qualify, a woman has to lose her husband to death. She becomes half of the whole that marriage had been for her. Her marriage label is withdrawn, and she embarks on a journey characterized by alone-time. Websters widow 2

Wives are into togetherness. They understand partnership and burden-sharing. My Mom’s generation used to say, “When you get married, you double the joys and cut the sorrows in half.” Marriage is a joint venture in which one person can bounce ideas off the other, get a second opinion before making a decision, and balance a singular point of view with the opposite approach. Scripture underscores the reality of all this affiliation in Ecclesiastes 4:9-10. “Two are better than one… for if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falls, for he has not another to help him up. Again, if two lie together, then they have heat, but how can one be warm alone?”

When widowhood arrives, the twosome is pulled apart. She falls, maybe just emotionally, and wonders how she’ll get up or even if she will. One of Webster’s definitions for a widow is “a woman deprived of something greatly loved or needed.” Such a definition evokes raw emotions for me, because like it or not, that’s my life.

But as I move deeper into widowhood, I know I’m not alone. First and foremost I have my Heavenly Father who promises to step in for Nate as God the Husband (Isaiah 54:5). He’s already fulfilled that promise on several occasions.

I also have my fabulous, attentive children and children-in-law, who go above and beyond for me, day to day. I have my fantastic sister and her husband who notice and then respond to my needs in ever-creative ways, ministering kindness (and gifts!) again and again.

Although I used to live with my own lawyer, now I have my talented brother going to bat for me in handling Nate’s law practice and managing his personal financial affairs, no small task for my husband, who was deficient in filing skills! He signs his notes, “Your brother and lawyer.”

I have scores of people backing me up with prayer on my behalf, some every single day.

And if all that isn’t enough, I have my Widow Warriors List. On this list are 14 women who have gone ahead of me into this foreign land, a place to which none of us wanted to travel. Each of these ladies has pointedly told me, “I’m here for you. Call me. Here’s my number. Email me. Here’s my @ address. If you have questions, ask me. Nothing is off limits. I’ll check in with you from time to time,” which they have. And their most meaningful comment: “I know what you’re going through.”

One widow friend has been energized and organized by God to set up a valuable web site for those of us in the widow club: www.WidowConnection.com She works tirelessly for all of us and says, “We’re available even during your darkest night when everyone else is sleeping and you can’t.”

How blessed I am! I feel like someone looking out the window at a wild blizzard, knowing I have to head outdoors but being told, “Take your coat off. We went out there on your behalf, so you can stay in. Come over by the fire and get warm.”

Webster has one additional definition of a widow: “a short line ending a paragraph and appearing at the top or bottom of a printed page.” To me that indicates something came before and something new is coming after, which is the truth of my situation. Life as we know it has ended for Nate, but for me, the half that remains, something new is coming.

“The good deeds of some people are obvious. And the good deeds done in secret will someday come to light. 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. For you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless.” (1 Timothy 5:25, James 1:27, 1 Corinthians 15:58b)

Thank you!

A Blue Christmas?

Posted on December 25, 2009 by Margaret

Nelson’s “Theory of Grieving” is that I miss Nate the most during times when he would have been with me the most. In other words, during business hours, when he used to be gone anyway, I don’t miss him as much as on Sundays when we were together all day. Thanksgiving was hard, because Nate was always involved in preparing for and hosting that event. His absence was keenly felt, and sadness quickly followed. And of course our anniversary was a rough day.

I give credibility to Nelson’s theory. In the seven weeks since Nate’s death, it’s held true. Because of that, I wasn’t looking forward to our traditional Christmas Eve festivities in the Chicago area at my sister’s home. Each year we’ve had a Swedish smorgasbord there with the entire relation on hand, as well as a few close friends. Following that, we’d each hold an unlit candle, recite a short part of the Christmas story from Luke 2, and light our candles one from the other. The oldest person present concluded in prayer. After the serious part of the evening, the kids always put on a loose program of “talent” accompanied by whooping, hollering and clapping for each effort. And finally it was time for gifts, a $25 grab bag first, followed by presents for little-children-only.

Christmas Eve has always been well attended, and Nate has been part of every year’s celebration, until tonight. I knew it would be difficult for me and I was, in a sense, dreading it, a terrible thing to say about Christmas Eve, which shouldn’t be about me anyway.

This afternoon as I was wrapping the last gifts, a Christmas CD began playing “Blue Christmas” by Celine Dion. It’s a beautiful arrangement of an Elvis tune, and I like Celine’s version much better than his. Hearing it triggered a sweet memory of Nate from a few years back when we still lived in the Chicago area. I was coming up from the basement one evening in December, and he was heading toward it. Christmas music was playing on the stereo, and just as we passed each other, Celine’s “Blue Christmas” came on. He stopped. I stopped. He started singing the song in his own tone-deaf way, and on the spur of the minute, I put my arms up as if to say, “Wanna dance?”

Neither of us knows how to dance. We only do it at the weddings of our own children, when under pressure to do so. But right then and there, he put his arm around me and took my other hand in his, and we actually danced through the entire length of “Blue Christmas.” It was more of a shuffle than a dance, but he continued to sing til the end. It was a complete delight to spend those three minutes dancing, and when the song finished, we went back to what we were doing but with a new warm fuzzie in our memory banks.

Somehow this sweet remembrance of Nate set a good tone for today, and except for a few tears here and there, all went well. Although our two grandchildren are far away this Christmas, my sister’s six were on hand for the festivities, adding energy, joy and adorableness. The college kids were all home, renewing relationships, and the evening was filled with laughter and happiness. Even seeing Nate on an old Christmas Eve video tape was something good, not sad. Overall, there had been nothing to dread.

When we pulled back into the icy driveway at our Michigan cottage well after midnight, the lights of our Charlie Brown Christmas tree glowed from the front window. It was nice to be home. As for Nelson’s grieving percentages, I wasn’t sure any more, because Christmas Eve hadn’t been as difficult as I thought it would be.

“The angel [of the Lord] said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’ “ (Luke 2:10-11)

Oh, Christmas Tree

Posted on December 22, 2009 by Margaret

In 64 years I’ve never come to December 22 without having had a Christmas tree. Nate and I were married on Thanksgiving weekend, 1969, so Christmas was right on top of us when we returned to our small apartment after a four day honeymoon. He was in law school, and we owned virtually nothing. Our three small rooms were empty except for a card table, two chairs and a Murphy bed that pulled down from a closet.

One day in mid-December I said, “Hey, we just have to get a Christmas tree!” While on our honeymoon in downtown Chicago, we’d each purchased a tree ornament for the other with a plan to add one ornament per person per year until our tree was full. We had only two ornaments in 1969, but by 1979, we figured, we’d have twenty! Meg with ornament 13 Nate with ornament 13

Before we chose a time to go tree shopping, Nate came home from class dragging a surprise up the three flights of stairs to our apartment. Knowing I loved surprises, he knocked on the door and said, “Open up for Santa!” There he stood with a Christmas tree as tall as he was and a smile a mile wide.

When I saw it, I burst into tears, confusing him completely. We’d been married only two weeks and by comparison to today, knew very little about each other. What I’d neglected to tell him in reference to buying a Christmas tree was it had always been a big family affair during my childhood. We never got a tree until all of us were available to go Johnsons by tree 2 hunting together, and we looked at and touched every tree in the white-bulb-lit lot before deciding on our purchase.

Once at home, my family would put the Lennon Sisters Christmas LP on the hi fi, fix hot chocolate and string the lights in preparation for unpacking the ornaments, each one accompanied by a memory to tell. The task was shared in every way, complete with picture-taking. If my dad had arrived dragging a tree through the front door on his way home from work, we’d all have considered it full-on rebellion!

Poor Nate. He had no idea. He did his best to understand as I blubbered out the reason for my tears, and eventually I rallied when he promised forever-after we’d go tree shopping together. For 39 years he kept his promise, even though we had lots of kids who were always growing older making it increasingly difficult to buy the tree as a group. Nate, trees and babies

As for our ornament plan, that first year I chose a fragile blown glass sphere that didn’t even make it to the second Christmas tree in one piece. Nate’s choice was a durable plastic ornament I always called “the stoplight” because of its resemblance. We still have it.

This week Nelson and I wondered whether or not we should get a Christmas tree. Most of his siblings were working in the Chicago area, and we were in Michigan, traveling toward them on the weekends. While we were trying to decide, I said, “I don’t feel much like having a big, well-decorated tree this year, although the lights are comforting.” We weren’t sure what to do, as we aren’t sure about so many things lately.

We decided to compromise by saying “yes” to a Christmas tree but not the kind we’d always had, an eight-to-ten foot evergreen, thick and full all around. We’d choose a smaller model and find it somewhere in the woods ourselves. The process took only a few minutes, and our tree was “cut down” with a pruning snips. The task wasn’t complicated with a trunk the width of a thumb.

Nelson constructed a tiny wooden stand from pieces of kindling, and we clipped on a short string of 25 small bulbs, the thin branches barely able to hold them. As we stood back and surveyed our work, Nelson said, “It’s the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.” Charlie Brown Tree