Tantalizing Fantasizing

Posted on May 15, 2011 by Margaret

Every widow friend of mine has wished her husband could come back, if only for a few minutes. We’ve all fantasized about how we would greet them, what we’d say, how we’d show love. Such a scenario is as captivating as a first date, and although we all know it can’t be, thinking about it is delicious.

This morning I was pondering the biblical Lazarus, a friend Jesus often stayed with between destinations. He enjoyed time with this pal and his two sisters, probably relaxing around a lamp-lit wooden table, telling of his travels. These four singles were close in heart and surely had fun together, too. Scripture twice says Jesus loved them.

When Lazarus got sick, the grieving sisters did what came naturally: they got word to Jesus. But Lazarus died before he could get there.

When Jesus finally came, Mary, Martha and a crowd of mourners had been grieving for four days. No doubt the sisters were thinking, “Oh, how we want our brother back, even for just a few minutes. He left so quickly we couldn’t even get Jesus here in time. If only we could talk with him again, hold onto him, somehow prevent his death.”

When Jesus arrived, Martha raced out to meet him with the same wish my widow friends and I have. “Jesus, you can do whatever you want! You could bring him back!” Although I haven’t met Martha, I know what she was thinking: “If you bring him back, you can heal him, and then he won’t have to die!”

But Jesus responded conservatively, reminding Martha that Lazarus would rise eventually. That wasn’t good enough for her, though. I picture her tugging on his arm, bouncing up and down saying, “Yes, yes, I know, but you know what I mean!”

Jesus calmly asked if she truly believed he was the way to heaven, and she says, “Yes, of course! I believe you! But…”

Racing back to the house, she grabs Mary and excitedly says, “Jesus is here! Hurry up!” And it’s Mary’s turn to rush out. While weeping, she voices the same longing as Martha but in a different way. “You could have prevented this! And you should have!”

Amazingly, Jesus gave the sisters what they wanted: their brother back.

What was life like for these siblings after that? Martha and Mary probably didn’t take their eyes off Lazarus, couldn’t stop asking questions. Most likely they touched him, took his hand, hugged him, told him they loved him, until he had to say, “Ok, girls. Enough already!”

I’ll bet they loved their brother with a nearly perfect love after having lost him, then gotten him back. How blessed they were with that rare opportunity to love flawlessly the second time around. And that’s what my widow friends and I long for, too, though we know it won’t happen for us.

But if wives could just get that second-chance love figured out the first time around, marriages could be radical examples of what God originally had in mind for husbands and wives.

Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:43)

Ya don’t say….

Posted on May 4, 2011 by Margaret

After being with Dad, Mom and Nate as their lives wound down, I’ve learned people on pain meds are not themselves. Trying to have a conversation with a heavily drugged person gives meaning to the word “hallucinogen.”

All of us wonder what we’ll say in our final days. Dad remained dignified, and Nate, who always had much to say, was accurate and gracious to the end.

But Mom? Absolutely goofy. Her colorful statements were so entertaining, we kept a log. She’d been a one-woman-show during her non-medicated life, and her words while drugged (for pain) stayed in line with her character.

Get ready to laugh.

Chewing on the hem of her hospital gown she said, “This tastes good, and I like the color. It’s also very nourishing.”
To a grandson: “Let’s play funeral. I’ll be the corpse. You be the soloist.”
To a sweet visitor: “I can’t wait to get rid of you.”
“The most important thing is my conversation with God. He talks out of the Bible, and I talk back.”
To me: “Let’s both get in the same bed and start a riot about same sex marriage.”
It’d be nice to see my apartment again, but I guess I’d rather go to heaven. I’ll wave down at you.”
Looking at our wrinkles: “Do I have strings all up and down my face? Because both Mary and Margaret do.”
To a nurse removing her dinner: “Save that food tray. When I’m in heaven, if the Lord decides not to return to Earth, I’ll have something to feed him.”
“Maybe I’ll go to bed now.” We said, “You’re already in bed.” Then she said, “Boy, that was easy.”
Son Tom asked: “How do you feel?” She said, “With my hands. How do you feel?”
After restlessly working both legs out from under the sheets, she began laughing hysterically. We said, “What’s so funny?” She sputtered, “My beautiful legs!”
To me: “I wish you a Happy New Year and that you’ll get prettier.”
“If I can do anything for you, let me know. I can only do things in my miserable way, but I am the way, the truth and the life.”
“It’s nice when parents are just starting out and know that ‘Jesus loves their little children.’ That helps when they don’t know anything.”
“Maybe I should change my mind about going to heaven tonight. There’s lots of happy people here, too.”
“I served 10 salmon. Put the rest over there. It’s brain food. It’s ok, but not great.”
“When I die, just drown the [pet] bird and throw him in the toilet.”
Pushing an invisible item around the end of the bed with her foot: “I’m trying to get that muffin over into the corner.”
A friend called and said, “Who’s there with you?” She said, “Just Mary and Margaret, if you call them visitors. It’s more like a zoo.”
“Today I’m better. I have happiness running out of my lips.”
To a visitor: “I’m going to throw up any minute…on you.”
Fingering her hospital gown: “I’m going to send this to Joyce. She likes blue and can wallpaper a room with it.”
“If I ever wrote a book, it would be about the magnificent mercy of God.”

These are just a few from 26 pages of Mom’s colorful statements. She spoke often of her approaching death but never with uncertainty or fear. One of her last statements while “under the influence” was, “Some stumble, some fall, but if we love Jesus Christ, we all eventually get home.”

She got home 19 days later… but forgot to take her salmon.

“We would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 5:8)

Letting Go, Part II

Posted on February 28, 2011 by Margaret

Last night, as Birgitta drove the five hours back to her college campus on icy roads, I stayed nervous until her text came through: “Just got here.” After that, I could breathe.

Life insists on our letting go of our children, but they aren’t the only ones. As we go through the years assigned to us, we have to say goodbye to parents, mentors, friends, pastors and others. Each positive relationship that has to end involves a negative go-moment.

The old expression, “When God closes a door, he opens a window,” means that when one situation ends, another begins. Every time we willingly let go of someone or something, we’re saying yes to whatever is outside that open window. Again and again God shows us that letting go of one thing opens up something else.

When I was a grade-schooler in the 1950’s, many of us walked home for lunch. Once in a while Mom would let us watch TV while we ate, and a 350-pound man who called himself Two-Ton Baker became our friend through the tiny, round screen.

Two-Ton loved kids, and occasionally he’d have one on his show to sing and banter with him. The child was always invited to grab a handful of candy from a giant glass jar, but a clenched fist full of goodies could never fit back through the small opening. The child would have to partially open his hand to get it out, thus letting go of some of the candy.

This is what happens when we try to hold onto someone or something after it’s time to let go. Our loss seems much greater the tighter we cling. Most departures have to happen anyway, and by hanging on, we lose the chance for a positive send-off. It’s as if we lose all the candy, not just some of it.

Sometimes, however, a go-moment just can’t go well. When a letting-go takes place next to a casket, it’s all negative. Someone precious has gone, and the slam of that closed door hurts deeply. A window may be opening, but we can’t see it through our crying.

God knows how difficult it is to let go. He let go of Jesus for 33 years after they’d been joined in a closeness we can’t begin to comprehend. And Jesus let go of his Father while simultaneously imposing human limitations on himself. He also let go of divinity and royalty to live in poverty. Their separation must have been excruciating, and yet they planned it and did it. The reason? Love of us.

Letting go is always an emotionally draining process. For a Christian who lets go of a loved one through death, however, the emotional pain will one day end abruptly. Our separation is only temporary, just as it was for God the Father, and God the Son.