Category Archives: Remembering

Thank you, Drew.

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Today when Drew came over, it was to finish the last couple of things on my home improvement list. I’ve loved his daily cheerful arrival and have enjoyed listening to him sing along with the country music he loves. (To Drew’s credit, he’s learned to appreciate Michael Buble’, too.) I’ll miss him!

One of his last endeavors was to finish a bit of stone artwork the two of us came up with together. It’s a door mat made of beach stones set in front of our “door to nowhere” (which will one day lead to an outdoor deck). Drew filled the mat space with mortar, and I filled it with my favorite stones. After the mortar dried he sealed it, and we’ll all be stepping on it for years to come.

The mat has a special feature, a larger rock set amongst the smaller ones with my favorite “footsteps” Scripture on it. Drew’s cousin offered to try his laser etching machine on carving the verse directly into a rock, which turned out to be a tricky task, but it turned out great.

Some people think I have rocks in my head for all the beach stones at my house. They’re glued around picture and mirror frames, candles and clocks. My sister’s Scripture rocks are on my desk, and I have multi-colored rocks in a decorative bowl. That doesn’t count the 4 long shelves of rocks stored in my basement.

And God made them all. Since he frequently refers to himself as The Rock, I figure it’s ok.

Rocks factor into quite a few Bible stories, too. The patriarchs often stacked stones to make an altar upon which to make a sacrifice to God after something spectacular had happened. Later God instructed Joshua to stack 12 stones in the middle of the Jordan River as tens of thousands of people passed through it on dry land (much like the Red Sea). God says those 12 stones are still there today. (Joshua 4:9)

He also told them to stack 12 stones at their very first campsite in the Promised Land, telling the people that when their children asked about their significance, they were to tell the story of God drying up the Jordan for them to cross over, a picture of his power.

Even the priests put something called “stones of remembrance” on the shoulder straps of their apron-like ephods. Then as they entered the temple to seek forgiveness of sins, the 12 tribes were represented, their names engraved on the stones.

David appreciated rocks, too, killing a giant with one carefully selected smooth stone. And Jacob had his head on a rock-pillow the night he dreamed of the ladder to heaven.

My humble door mat won’t have as grand a use as any of these biblical examples, but everyone who walks on it will be reminded that God can keep us from anything that threatens to ruin us, if we’ll just trust our footsteps to him. (Psalm 119:133)

Thank you, Drew.

There is “a time to gather stones together.” (Ecclesiastes 3:5)

Grave Thoughts at the Graveyard

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As is true every Memorial Day, we visited Rosehill Cemetery. Eleven of our loved ones are buried there, the first in 1911, 100 years ago. And eight empty graves lie waiting, a troublesome thought.

Mom’s ancestors didn’t enjoy cemetery visits, but Dad’s family made it a tradition, particularly on Memorial Day. In the early 1900’s they toted picnic fixings to Rosehill for lunch and watched a parade of period-dressed Civil War characters. Canons were fired and actors played the parts of soldiers, complete with grieving widows dressed in black.

Today as we assembled around the Johnson family plot where Nate is also buried, we heard the canons fire on the other side of the cemetery near the Civil War graves. But our focus was on what had occurred to cause one of our empty graves to be recently filled.

Nate’s burial took place 18 months ago, and I wasn’t sure how it would feel to revisit his grave. This would be our first look at his headstone, made to match that of my Dad’s family a few feet away. Birgitta and I arrived first, and when we saw the marker, we couldn’t hold back our tears. Last year, six months after Nate’s death, our Rosehill visit was traumatic, but there was no gravestone then, and it didn’t impact us then like it did today.

Mary, our excellent family historian, brought along her Memorial Day binder with its documents, photos and clippings, all in reference to the relatives buried at Rosehill. Lars read an old blog post written two weeks after Nate died, reminding us aloud that God gives us victory over death through Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15)

As we continued to talk about our ancestors and mostly about Nate, the sorrow of missing my husband welled up and spilled over. I couldn’t stop crying. But as Nate told me when I cried during his cancer, “Crying lets out some of the sadness.” And out it poured.

Every widow is lifted when others miss their man. Our family grouping, though small this year, was a special bunch whose shared tears meant a great deal to me.

Days pile into years, and we all know the empty graves will bring us back to Rosehill with other sad stories of loss. But Scripture details the togetherness of our future on the other side of death. My nephew shared a thought about the shortest verse in the Bible, “Jesus wept.” (John 11:35) It happened just minutes before Jesus raised his good friend Lazarus from the dead.

Andrew told us of the original translation of the word “wept” and of Jesus’ intense distress over death’s presence in our world. Although he will one day kill death permanently, for now we’ll all experience it and continue to suffer deeply when those we love are taken.

Waiting for Christ’s ultimate victory over death isn’t easy, but God keeps his every promise. One future day we’ll watch his prediction come true as he puts an end to all grave scenes in graveyards.

“The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (1 Corinthians 15:26)

Lost and Found

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Today’s beach trip revealed a surprise, literally. When Birgitta and I came over the dune ready to enjoy a hazy but lovely afternoon together, we saw that someone had dug a giant hole in the sand. And sitting in the middle of it was the previously-buried blue kayak that I watched sink below the sand many months ago. (1/25/11 – “Hidden Away”)

During winter storms the beach’s configuration had changed, and the shallow covering of sand I remembered had grown a foot deep. Seeing that this “lost” boat had been found was very satisfying. The fact that someone was actually hunting for it meant even more.

All of us feel lost once in a while, and when we do, we ache to be found. I remember feeling lost at 13, that awkward age between childhood and adolescence when kids struggle to find their place.

My parents viewed me as a child, but my changing body (pimples and other surprises) told me otherwise. Having moved to a new neighborhood, I’d lost my old friendships and felt like a bottom-feeder at school. My older sister was a beauty, my younger brother a prince, and I longed for a label, too.

Everything came to a head one Sunday morning at Moody Church. I’d asked a Sunday school pal to come home with me for lunch, but she couldn’t, and I took it personally. I started to cry on the church steps, and when Mom arrived she said, “What’s the matter?”

Feeling like I couldn’t possibly summarize my many woes in one sentence I said, “Nobody loves me.”

Now that I’ve mothered seven children through being 13, I see how that conversation was doomed. What statement could possibly have offered the comfort I needed at that moment?

“Oh honey, that’s not true.” Mom said. “Your father and I love you, and so does…” (glancing around) “…so does Caroline!”

Caroline was my brother’s pal, 4 years younger than me, just a little kid. Mom’s “comfort” only deepened my conviction that no one loved me, and my life was without purpose. I felt lost and ached to be found.

God is in that exact business, finding the lost and lavishing his love on them. And he even goes one step further, allowing us to find him, not only when we seek him but even when we don’t. His desire is that none of us feel lost but instead all of us know the delight of being found.

I’ve learned since my crisis on the church steps that most 13 year olds feel as I did, and it quickly passes.

As for this afternoon’s newly visible kayak, if it could talk it would say, “I was lost but now am found!”

“I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me; I was found by those who did not seek me. To a nation that did not call on my name, I said, ‘Here am I, here am I’.” (Isaiah 65:1-2)