Category Archives: Widowhood

Giving Her All, Part 2 of 2

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After the elderly stranger fell face-down into deep creek water, Mary and I ran to help. But as we arrived, her head lifted above the water, and she began crawling with her heavy garbage bags to the opposite bank.

“Are you all right?” Mary shouted.

“Fine,” she said. “I just need to drip dry.”

Jack had followed her into the water, and when she saw him, she talked to him. “Hey! Get my rake, and bring it to me!” She had dropped the rake during her dunking.

I pulled off my shoes and socks, rolled my pants and crossed the frigid, fast-flowing creek, fishing out her rake on the way. Again she refused my help with her bags, but as she stood, wet from head to toe, she began to talk.

“Many people have been mean to me, from when I was a little girl” she said. “My parents locked me in a room to keep me from hugging Charlie the horse. They were worried I’d get kicked.”

She told stories of her husband and son, both deceased, but assured me they were caring for her from the hereafter, sending signals when they were near her. She described a babysitting job when the doorbell had rung twice, but there was no doorbell. “That,” she said, “was my husband and son.”

“I’m 76 years old now,” she concluded, “and God has always watched out for me.”

She said she lived six miles from the lake and was planning to walk home after she’d stowed her gear. “Six miles?” I said, alarmed, worrying about her being soaked and cold.

“It’s good to keep moving,” she said. “Besides, I’ve had the pneumonia shot, so I can’t catch that.”

As she bent down for her water-logged garbage bags, I reached for one of them, but she wrestled it away. “No. I’ll do this,” she said. Mary, on the other side of the creek (taking phone pictures) worried she might strike me.

Before she left, I asked her name. “Thelma,” she said.

As she shuffled toward the dune, Mary and I bolted for home, hoping to quickly drive back with dry clothes, a bit of food and a six mile lift. When we returned, we walked the dunes, checked the yards and drove the streets. But she had vanished.

Both of us were disturbed for hours after our encounter, wondering what to do or think. We agreed she was an excellent example of perseverance, but toward what end? Scripture praises perseverance, but only when the object of our quest is a worthy one: godly character, or the Lord’s calling, or holy living.

Some people show determination, but not toward wise behavior. Instead they persevere in disobeying God or trying to live independently of him, or they show determination in giving in to sin. That kind of perseverance is rebellion. In Thelma’s case, she had the right idea, but the wrong goal. Working hard is a virtue, but risking drowning for the sake of two garbage bags full of leaves is foolishness.

So how do we know if we’re persevering after a worthwhile cause?

“The one who looks into the perfect law [God’s Word], the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing.” (James 1:25)

Giving Her All, Part 1 of 2

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Two days ago, Mary and I took the dogs to the beach as usual. It was a chilly, overcast day in the 40’s, and we were bundled in fleece jackets, long pants, socks and shoes. I had a down vest on, too, but was still cold. The stoning was good, though, and as the dogs romped, we walked the water line looking for treasures left by winter storms.

Suddenly, without our notice, an elderly woman appeared right in front of us, startling both of us. We’d never seen her before, and she presented a peculiar picture in a long winter coat, babushka and tennis shoes, dragging two half-full, black garbage bags along the sand, as well as a white plastic bag filled with paper trash. Though her steps were small and slow, she was bent with determination.

Because she walked directly up to us I said, “We’re collecting stones. What are you collecting?”

Without pausing as she passed she said, “Raked leaves. It’s easier to drag them on the sand than on the road.”

“Where did the leaves come from?” I said.

“My last job.”

“Where was that?”

“Up there,” she said, nodding toward the houses on the dune.

We walked alongside her, fascinated. “Where are you taking them?” Mary said.

“I’m going to stow my gear at my next job.”

“Where’s that?”

“Down that way,” she said, tipping her head toward the creek.

We reached for the heavy bags saying, “Let us help you.” But she yanked them toward herself saying, “No.” How could this woman, in her 70’s, be employed to rake leaves and dispose of them? It didn’t make sense.

Mary said, “You won’t be able to cross the creek today. It’s too wide and is over your knees. You’ll get your shoes and pants wet.”

The woman kept trudging along. “My feet are hot and could use a cooling off.”

She made it clear she didn’t want our help, so we found a spot to sit, waiting to see what would happen. Suddenly she dropped her bags and said, “I forgot my rake.”

Turning around, she slowly walked back the way she came, traveling the length of two football fields before disappearing in the bluff grasses. “I’ll bet she won’t be back for her garbage,” I said.

But 15 minutes later we saw her dark form reappear, heading our way. Sure enough, she was dragging an ancient rake with claw-like tines. When she reached her bags, she gathered them up with difficulty after adding the rake to her burdens,  and resumed her steady march toward the creek. As she approached the rushing water, she paused, struggled to raise her bags up high, then stepped in, shoes and all.

Half way across she stumbled and fell face-first into the water. All but the top of her rounded back went under, and she didn’t move.

(…continued tomorrow)

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” (Hebrews 13:2)

Looking Back, Part 1 of 2

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I’ve always admired people who are future-focused, particularly older people. I remember Stuart Briscoe saying, “I’m in my 70’s now, and most of life is behind me. My continual temptation is to think backwards, but I’m fighting that. God still wants me to look to the future.”

My Aunt Joyce was another example of being future-focused. She called from California one day when she was 91, concerned about my mom’s health. Half way through the conversation she said, “I apologize for talking a little funny. I’m bleaching my teeth.” I loved that she was still looking toward the future.

Grieving the death of a spouse virtually always includes a long period of looking back, because in our sorrowful state, going back to those last weeks and days somehow keeps us emotionally linked with those we so recently lost.  Besides, looking forward is scary, while looking back is familiar.

Although I’m not focusing backwards with the same frequency or fervency I once did, from this vantage point I see it was healthy and healing to do that. It was part of what helped me accept the sad truth. When my mind said, “I just can’t believe he’s gone!”, looking back told me, “It’s true. He’s gone.”

It’s been 17 months since Nate died, but I had to stop to count them up, unlike earlier days when I always knew. Now, when I mentally revisit Nate’s 42 days of cancer, his death scene, the wake and funeral, it’s not as difficult, not as sad. As a matter of fact, when I look back now, one of the things I do is analyze how we did and didn’t handle things well.

So, for families currently living through the heartbreaking days of terminal disease, I share below what I’ve learned (three things today, the rest tomorrow):

1.  We knew of Nate’s impending death for 42 days, and we got to day #27 before we first talked about heaven. It was day #30 before Nate mentioned his fear of the pain that might come just before the end. I wish I would have broached these subjects earlier, especially the topic of heaven. Talking over the delights of what awaited him, as well as leaving earthly suffering behind, would have lifted his spirits.

2.  I didn’t realize how quickly mental exhaustion would overwhelm Nate’s ability to converse and think, or to want to be part of his bustling, noisy family. He sequestered himself far more rapidly than I thought he would, at a faster pace. Even while sitting in the midst of us, he wasn’t always “there”.

3.  I wish I’d known how quickly physical fatigue would overtake him. The day we scheduled his last visit with our pastor, he was too tired to participate in the conversation. Nate’s last visit to his law office came within a hair of being cancelled. He wasn’t sure he could stand long enough to ride the elevator to the 13th floor and didn’t want to use the wheelchair. He made it, but it took every ounce of stamina he had left. Had I known, we would have gone earlier.

Tomorrow I’ll share six more suggestions for those of you who are walking the difficult path of terminal illness.

“No one knows when their hour will come.” (Ecclesiastes 9:12)