Category Archives: Saying Goodbye

Fountain of Youth

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By now I’m used to goodbyes. When children grow into adults and move away, parents are waving them off continually. Today was a waving day as Hans, Katy, Nicholas, Evelyn and Thomas boarded an American Airlines jet for England. They were anxious to get home, and the rest of us are ready to get back to work and study.

With three car seats, a double stroller, five massive bags, unnumbered carry-ons and eight people, we needed two vehicles to get to the airport. Part of that was three drivers, two to circle while the third assisted Hans and Katy through check-in. The babies slept through the two hour ride, waking as if cued by an alarm as we pulled up to the airport curb.

 

Watching them roll/push/haul toward the big double doors, two babies in the stroller and one strapped to Hans’ back, I marveled at their efficiency in getting to this point without a glitch. Katy was so well organized this morning we had time for a cup of tea as we waited for the appointed moment to step out the door.

I’m thankful to God for these children and grandchildren, each one custom-designed by the Creator to accomplish the divine purposes for which they were born. I’m the privileged bystander, looking on and lending a hand along the way. Spending time with them is of great delight in the autumn of my life.

But there’s one chronic stress in our situation. All of my grandchildren live far from me. That means it’s double-or-nothing when we’re together. Either they have to move in with me or I with them, which can put a strain on young and old alike.

One friend told me that after she stayed in her daughter’s home with her two grands, back home she needed a week’s recuperation for each week spent with them. Last time she visited for three weeks so it was another three before she felt ready to put anything on her at-home calendar. I chuckled when she said that, but I didn’t have grandchildren then.

Now I do, and I understand.

As we stepped back in the door at home tonight, the first thing I did was pause at the baby toy bin sitting ready for a lift back to the basement. With a twang of sadness I wondered when my grandbabies would next handle those toys. Maybe so much time will pass before they return, they’ll have grown beyond them and the answer is “never”.

The second thing I did was sit down to think about that, and before I knew it, my head was hanging, and I was asleep.

Let’s see. The kids were here for five weeks. That means I’ll be back to normal by the end of February…. except that I’ll be staying with my Florida grandchildren to celebrate Micah’s first birthday well before then.

Maybe instead of counting weeks, I should just acquiesce to Mom’s point of view: “Spend as much time as you can with children; it’ll add decades to your life.”

 “The love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear him. His salvation extends to the children’s children.” (Psalm 103:17)

Signature in Stone

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I’m about to sign a sheet of 8½ x 11 paper with strange words on it: incised, polished, beveled, sawn, washed, sandblasted. It’s a verbal description of Nate’s cemetery headstone.

Although he died 14 months ago, we weren’t able to focus on a grave marker until the one year anniversary. When we visited the cemetery then, suddenly it seemed imperative to order a headstone. As Nelson said, the one scriptural reference to an unmarked grave is negative: “Woe to you! For you are like unmarked graves, and people walk over them without knowing it.” (Luke 11:44)

As we stood at the foot of Nate’s grave, memories washed over us, and though it’s difficult to design a headstone, we all wanted to get it done. After discussing the possibilities with cemetery personnel then revisiting the site, we went home and put pen to paper.

Our M.O. was to join Nate’s grave to the six family plots adjacent to his. My paternal grandfather, who died ten years before I was born, was the purchaser of the original plot when his family unexpectedly needed a grave. Their little William was only 20 months old when he died of pneumonia, an illness cured by antibiotics today. His name is third-down on the stone, a strong declaration by his parents that he should have died after both of them.

William’s funeral took place at Rosehill Cemetery on a snowy December day, surely the saddest event in this young family’s history. My father, William’s oldest sibling, was 12 at the time, old enough to remember the tiny casket and his parents’ anguish. William’s father arranged to have a photograph taken of their deceased toddler before his burial, the only picture of the son they knew so briefly.

But this family’s story further saddens. The second name carved on the Johnson headstone is William’s mother, who died of TB 15 months after her baby, leaving a widower with three children. These courageous people are a group we want to publically be connected to by designing our nearby stone in similar fashion.

This week the cemetery envelope arrived in my mailbox. Knowing it contained a sketch of our stone, I waited to open it until I could put the visual into my head. Would it be difficult to look at it? Would it be a shock to see my own name there also? Would we be satisfied with our design?

Yes to all of that, difficult, shocking, but also satisfying. We made only one addition, a phrase of Scripture beneath the names as a testimony to the important role Jesus Christ played in the lives of those buried there.

After the headstone has been installed, I’ll eagerly look for the opportunity to rest my hand on its polished granite, look at my children and say (just as my folks said), “Someday you’ll bury me here, too. But remember, it’ll be a good day, because I’ll be with Jesus.”  I’ll point to the letters carved in stone that are from their father’s favorite Scripture, reminding them to keep their eyes fixed on Jesus.

After all, that’s the best possible guidance for any heartbroken person seated in a cemetery in front of a descending casket.

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus…” (Hebrews 12:1b-2a)

New Day, New Year, New Decade

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All of us love a fresh start, and fortunately, each of us has that today. The numbers 1/1/11 virtually shout “new start” as we have another chance to take advantage of opportunities and begin again.

 

Some people enjoy their New Year’s Eve so much, New Year’s Day is spent getting back on an even keel. Others take advantage of long-practiced family New Year’s Day traditions in an effort to start the year on a familiar note. Our family customarily has company (family and others) for a dinner of “Aunt Minnie’s Irish Stew.” The recipe makes dinner for 16, and I usually double it.

This tradition came through Mom’s father, a jovial, fun-loving Irish man. He and his daughter were two peas in a pod, and Mom both looked and acted Irish, though her mother was Swedish. She used to joke to my Dad (who was 100% Swedish), “I lost all my Swedish blood in nose bleeds as a child.”

Her family whooped it up big-time on New Year’s Day, opening their home to anyone wanting to share their stew. Although Mom’s parents both died in the 1940’s, she carried on the tradition, eventually handing it off to us.

Last year on this date Nate had been gone less than two months. No one felt like celebrating, and most of our usual New Year’s guests were 110 miles away. For the first time in many years, I didn’t make Irish stew. Actually, I have no memory of last  January 1st, and as we approached today, my thought was, “We’re done with Aunt Minnie’s stew.”

Something in me said, “Make a new start.”

And isn’t that what New Year’s Day is about? It’s a chance to do something fresh. Just because “we’ve always done it this way” doesn’t mean we can’t make a change.

Our God is never stale and is full of fresh everything, a bottomless well of initiative and inventiveness. He’s always ready with a new idea. Although I love family traditions, if they’re to continue, they need to bring joy. If they don’t, it’s time to ask God what else we might do.

 

Nothing about Aunt Minnie’s stew appealed this year, possibly because I’m not well yet, but possibly because it was time to start a new tradition. I took a poll, and no one needed to be coerced. Stew would be replaced with Chinese take-out.

But today’s best new tradition had nothing to do with the menu. After dinner, as we sat around the candlelit table sharing almond cookies and ice cream, our conversation turned again to spiritual things. Before too many minutes, a Bible was on the table and Scripture took center stage.

For two hours we round-tabled ideas, trying hard to sanction God’s words rather than our own. Everyone participated, and I can’t remember having a better dialogue. All of us left the table enriched in our thinking about who the Lord is and how he factors into 2011.

It’s possible Aunt Minnie’s stew might reappear on another January 1st. But stew or kung pow, I hope our post-dinner conversation becomes the permanent tradition.

 

“I am writing you a new command; its truth is seen in him [Jesus] and in you, because the darkness is passing and the true light is already shining.” (1 John 2:8)