Category Archives: Widowhood

Ice Cold

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Last night the thermometer outside my kitchen window sunk to 9 degrees. When I put my head on the pillow I was thankful for my furnace and prayed God would rescue anyone faced with spending the bitter cold night outdoors.

But this morning when I came downstairs, the house was surprisingly chilly. I turned the thermostat up to 72, then 74, and even 76, but the indoor temperature remained in the sixties.

After church, while doing dishes with my coat on, I called the furnace man, Norm, and presented the problem. He asked when I’d last changed the filter. “Never,” I said.

Directing me to the basement (without any judgment in his voice), he walked me through the process of finding and removing the old filter. “Hold it up to the light,” he said. “Can you see through it?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No. It’s completely black.”

Without any criticism, his thoughtful response was, “Then our problem is easy to fix. Leave the filter out for a while and your house will warm right up. Then get some new filters tomorrow.”

While I was blubbering out gratitude he said, “Why don’t you take the old filter with you? That’ll help you get the right replacement.”

After we hung up, I stood in front of my purring furnace, filthy filter in hand, and broke into tears. It wasn’t about the warming furnace but the ice cold separation from Nate. He hadn’t been a handyman, but he did do a faithful job of replacing furnace filters. My heating dilemma had highlighted, in an unexpected way, how far away he really was… from the furnace, the filters, the house, and mostly from me. It was one more new bit of widow-awareness and felt like a sledgehammer to the heart.

One of the ways God cares for widows is by placing kindhearted people within arm’s reach, right when we need them. Last summer when the furnace was being installed, Norm mentioned ”my husband” doing this or that, which prompted me to tell him my husband had died. Today on the phone he seemed to remember that, handling my shortcomings with compassion. Whether or not he knew it, he was an instrument of God’s grace. And this isn’t the first time I’ve experienced “gentle handling” from “strangers.”

We’re all familiar with the Bible verse that says we should offer kindness to everyone, because that “person” might really be an angel in disguise. I’m learning the reverse is true, too: certain people act kindly toward me so quickly, I don’t even have a chance to initiate kindness first.

And that’s how our tenderhearted God arranges life around his widows.

“I will tell of the kindnesses of the Lord, the deeds for which he is to be praised, according to all the Lord has done for us— yes, the many good things he has done.” (Isaiah 63:7)

A Reminder to Remember

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After people die, their words gain in importance. We may have listened to what they said when they were with us, but we hear them with greater intensity after they’re gone.

For example, Nate chose a passage of Scripture as his favorite and never wavered as the years passed. Paul’s words in Hebrews 12:1-3 struck a chord with him because of the reference to running the particular race “set out before us” by God. In Nate’s view, each life-race looked different, some set on less strenuous courses than others, but our task was to run the one assigned to us, as best we could.

While Christmas shopping in December, I came across a tiny plaque with a portion of Hebrews 12 on it. When I saw it, I glommed onto it like it was a piece of Nate himself. Of course I know Scripture belongs to everyone, but the fact that it was his favorite passage linked it to him in a way that gave it more significance to me. Because he loved it, I’ll always love it.

The same holds true for someone’s personal belongings. Increased value post-death is what prevents a widow from cleaning out her husband’s closet or giving away what he owned. Even his scent, still hanging in the threads of his clothes, becomes precious, a reason to refrain from washing or dry cleaning his wardrobe.

Scripture makes good use of this principle. Jesus knew that those hearing his words were absorbing only part of the message while he was with them. Strangers listening on a hillside often turned and walked away, unable to believe the outrageous truths he taught. Religious authorities argued back; and his disciples suffered confusion. But Jesus knew that after his death, his words would take on greater potency, more effectively moving hearers to believe what he’d told them.

When a husband dies, that’s the end of his earthly existence, although his posthumous influence continues somewhat. But after Jesus died, he and his Father were ready with a plan that would not only continue his earthly influence but enlarge it to a world-shaking level.

He promised not to leave his followers as orphans [or widows] and said, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever— the Spirit of truth.” (John 14:16-18) Since he’d just told them he was going away, causing them to feel low, this must have lifted them significantly. Then at Pentecost, they got their chance to meet this miraculous advocate, the Holy Spirit.

One of the Spirit’s many functions was (and is) to bring Jesus’ words and lessons to the remembrance of those he’d left behind (much like I remember Nate’s words) but to do so with added oomph, teaching and explaining what Jesus had meant in his earthly ministry. And he’s been doing it with excellence for 2000 years.

We can be forever thankful for this, because now that Jesus is no longer on the earth, what he taught has become especially precious to us.

Jesus said, “The Holy Spirit… will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.” (John 14:26)

Off and On

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A nightlight is a small thing with a big perk. Its tiny beam of light in an otherwise dark space can calm a fearful child or guide stumbling footsteps. One of my many inexpensive nightlights has a small electric eye on its front that acts as a timer. When the sun goes down and light is needed, the nightlight flicks itself on. If someone enters the room and switches on a lamp, the nightlight turns itself off.

Once in a while, as dusk slowly darkens the room, the tiny bulb in the nightlight isn’t sure if it should be off or on. It wavers back and forth, flickering on-off-on-off as if it’s waiting for the room to make up its mind. “Are you light or dark? Do you need me or not?”

During these winter days of shortened daylight, my faithful little nightlight turns on earlier and earlier as the nights lengthen. You might say greater darkness brings more light. That can also be said about spiritual darkness and light.

As a new widow, I remember the sadness of increasing winter darkness coming at the same time as my night of mourning. I was needy for even a faint bit of light on the miserable situation, but as it is for most new widows, everything just seemed to get darker.

But that ended up being a good thing. Just like my little nightlight produces steady light as soon as everything is black, God responded with strong light when my gloom seemed darkest. He showed his influence in many small ways during those early days without Nate, reminding me again and again that he was watching me and would light my path hour to hour, day to day, as needed.

The Lord also flickers about within our minds, waiting for us to recognize how “in the dark” we can be in our thinking, hoping we’ll crave the light of his wisdom. When we say, “Please illuminate this or that problem with your truth, Lord,” he stops flickering and beams brightly, shining new insights into us.

The only time he lets us continue stumbling in the dark is when we insist on finding our way without him. If we say, “I can do this on my own, Lord,” it’s the same as if the bulb in my nightlight has blown. Without God’s light on our paths or my nightlight’s glow in the room, we’re left faltering and maybe falling. Without any power, no light will come. But calling out to God for his enlightenment is like putting a fresh bulb into a nightlight. The path to power reconnects, and new light comes.

And while I’m thinking about it, I’m going to check for a replacement nightlight bulb… just in case.

“You, Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.” (Psalm 18:28)