Strength of Commitment

Posted on April 19, 2011 by Margaret

I’ve been thinking of Good Friday, even in my dreams. This morning when I woke up, I felt awful because a fresh dream was still hovering. In the dream I’d been wolfing down a plateful of rice cakes coated with thick peanut butter. Since I gave them up for Lent, as I awoke I was devastated. No one in the dream seemed to know I was going against my commitment to the Lord. As for me, I’d simply forgotten about it.

In just a few seconds the nightmare faded, but the thought of “forgetting” to keep my tiny bit of shared suffering with Jesus was deeply disturbing. During Lent I’ve wanted to reflect every day on Christ’s cross and the weeks leading up to it. The rice cakes that stand in my kitchen cabinet next to the Jif have been important reminders of this season (especially because of the Post-it note there that says “Lent!”). But I’d like to think even if there were no rice cakes, Jif or Post-it, Jesus’ sacrifice would have been on my mind every day anyway.

As I’ve been thinking about Jesus’ walk toward his own death, I’ve wondered how much thinking he did about it. Although I doubt he thought about it as a child, we see him describing his death to his disciples as he taught. Somewhere between pre-teen and adulthood, his Father must have begun detailing the future. And surely as he did that, he also strengthened Jesus to follow through with the elements of the plan.

As the Father was reminding him about the cross and encouraging him toward bearing it, Satan was probably working non-stop to coax Jesus away from it, fabricating lies about being able to accomplish it in another way. And I believe Jesus could have pulled out, had he wanted to. Even as he was being arrested, he said he could have called on God to rescue him. (Matthew 26:53)

But the Son and his Father were in it together. They mutually devised salvation’s plan, and they partnered to carry it out. This is evident in the Father’s response to watching his Son suffer intense torment just before his arrest. Listening to, and watching Jesus agonize as they talked, the blood of intense stress coming from his brow, God responded with help. He dispatched an angel exactly then, and not just as a reminder to Jesus he’d soon be back where he belonged, in heaven. Scripture says the angel came for one purpose: to strengthen Jesus.

As I’ve been thinking of the anguish leading up to Easter Sunday, the thought of the Father-Son team embarking on this massive effort “as one” has brought comfort. Jesus understood the plan and refused to divert from it in any way.

Unlike me in my dream, he never forgot the importance of his commitment.

“The Father is in me, and I in the Father. I and the Father are one.” (John 10:38b, 30)

Looking Back, Part 2 of 2

Posted on April 9, 2011 by Margaret

Yesterday I shared three things I wish I could go back and do differently in reference to Nate’s 42 days of cancer. Here are six more.

My hope is that these will be of practical help for anyone currently traveling with a loved one on the difficult journey of terminal illness:

4. I wish I’d taken many more pictures of Nate before he got so physically depleted it was awkward to do so. With only six weeks of cancer, we had only three of acceptable picture-taking time.

5. By the time I realized I didn’t have all the answers about our shared paperwork and tax stuff, it was too late to get them. Confusion began to pepper our conversations unexpectedly, and we weren’t sure if what he was telling us was accurate. His help with answers to my brother’s questions about his law practice (and there were hundreds) was non-existent after day #25. It would have been a blessing to all of us to have concentrated on these questions almost immediately.

6. I regret not asking Nate, “Is there anything I’ve said or done that is standing between us and needs to be settled?” Of course I would need to have had thorough preparation by the Holy Spirit to be ready for his answer and the difficult discussion that might have followed. But this is a good question for any wife (or husband) to ask any time. It might be especially important as death is on the horizon.

7. Pulling out old photo albums would have been a rewarding way to use precious together-moments. Counteracting the darkness of terminal cancer, family pictures would have prompted laughter and light-hearted remember-when’s. During those moments when neither of us knew how to cope, it would have been a welcome lift from miserable circumstances.

8. When we say goodbye to any loved one, whether it’s after a shared meal or a week’s vacation together, we usually make it a point to say thank you. When we’re about to say goodbye because of death, thank you’s are doubly important. I wish I’d thought back to the endless kindnesses Nate had shown me, then talked about them, thanking him again and again. It would have made for sweet conversation.

9. As soon as we discovered Nate was not going to live much longer, I viewed him as fragile and touched him accordingly. Looking back, it would have been lovely to have had more husband-wife time in private during the early days. I didn’t realize how quickly there would be other eyes and ears in the room helping us, but also watching and listening, making intimate moments impossible.

More and more I find myself looking forward, but I hope this look back can be useful to someone who’s still in the middle.

“The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.” (Psalm 121:8)

Travel Time, Part I

Posted on March 18, 2011 by Margaret

Although Nate always dreamed of having the freedom for extensive travel, I’ve always been happiest at home. When the two of us would go away, he couldn’t squeeze in enough sight-seeing, but walking back through our own front door was always the highlight for me.

Now, however, I have grandbabies. Although I’m getting “up there” in years and going away offers its inconveniences, spending time with these little ones has brought a new dimension to travel. Today Jack and I are on the road, headed south to meet up with two year old Skylar, one year old Micah, their parents, others of my children and all of my sister’s family. We’ve rented a couple of condos in the Florida Gulf.

My travel buddy, Jack, rides like royalty sprawled out on the back seat as we clock our 1425 miles together, visiting friends along the way. Our mostly-empty vehicle reminds me of many a crowded car trip with children jockeying for their fair share of space. Without the benefit of seat belts or car seats in the early years, personal boundaries were loosey-goosey and hard to define.

Just like every family, we always over-packed, pulling out of the driveway loaded to the ceiling. Then car-top carriers were invented, and we bought a tan plastic model from Sears that could have doubled as a giant McDonald’s burger box. It didn’t do much for the wind-flow around our station wagon but held seven full-size suitcases. Although it was a beast to load and unload, it cut down on passenger over-crowding and, by that, on parental insanity.

Driving from Chicago to Florida in March is to travel through three seasons in two days. But when northerners glimpse that first palm tree, it’s like walking out of a blizzard and into a botanical garden show. Winter ends and flip-flop season begins.

One of our many family drives to Florida was particularly memorable. We’d purchased our first mini-van and were excited to break it in together. The car-top burger-box was old and worn by this time but still worked well. As usual, it was crammed full of both soft and hard suitcases.

Half way to Florida we were gassing up and buying candy bars when I noticed a sign for a $2 sit-in-the-car wash. Since we’d started our journey on Chicago’s snowy, salty roads, the new van looked old, and none of us liked that. So as Nate walked into the gas station to pay, I said, “We’re gonna go through the car wash!”

Forgetting all about our carrier, the kids and I sat up straight while the automatic treads pulled us into the tunnel. Massive brushes and thick carpet strips quickly smothered us in bubbles.

Suddenly there was a tug on the van, followed by a mysterious racket behind us as the carrier straps snapped and the car wash brushes knocked our box off. Because of all the suds, though, we were oblivious.

At the end of the wash, our clean van sat sparkling in the sun just in time for Nate to see it as he came from the mini-mart holding a coffee in each hand. I was smiling, but he was not. “What happened to the carrier?” he said, looking at our rooftop.

[…to be continued]

“Don’t begin until you count the cost.” (Luke 14:28)