Category Archives: Widowhood

A Fresh Look

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This afternoon the slanted sunshine of winter spilled through our windows. While the rest of the country gathered chips and dips in preparation for the Bears-Packers game, I decided to do something different: paint a couple of stools in the bright sunlight. They’d been primed for six months awaiting their finishing coat, and today was as good a day as any.

Though I don’t have TV, I could have listened to the game on the radio but chose worship music instead. Following football might have been a better idea, however, because when Nate’s favorite hymn, “Blessed Assurance,” came on, I got weepy. Even bright sunlight doesn’t help watery eyes see brush strokes very well.

Bagging the brush and picking up a hymnal, I decided to follow the words as the familiar song played. “Visions of rapture now burst on my sight. I in my Savior am happy and blest. Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine!”

Although these words had run through Nate’s mind hundreds of times, their meaning for him now is completely different, more authentic, tangible. Something about that struck me. He was far away experiencing a life radically different than mine. We had much in common until 15 months ago, but now we share very little. Today I’m painting stools. What is he doing?

Sitting in front of me on the coffee table was the book my kids gave me in September, the story of Nate’s life in pictures and words. As precious old hymns played, I read through the book again, feeling intense sadness that Nate was gone. It’s been quite a while since I cried hard, but as I carefully studied his face, especially in the most recent pictures, holding back sobs was impossible.  

Oh to go back! I really miss him. Did I love him enough? Had I put him first? Could I have done more?

I… I… I.

It was self-pity for sure, which doesn’t do much for healing. If anything, it produces inertia. My crying was a good reason to ask God, “What would you like me to think right now?”

He answered with something he’d already told me. “Rejoice always. Pray continually. Give thanks in all circumstances.” (1 Thessalonians 5) I was thankful he brought that up again and gave me something positive to do immediately. Focusing back on the book, I continued weeping but this time found myself rejoicing in the picture-memories and being thankful for all Nate did as a husband and father.

When I came to the photo of Nate sitting in a wheelchair with severe pain on his face, I cried hard remembering his suffering but was enormously thankful for how courageously he bore his pain, a great accomplishment.

As the Bears and the Packers battled it out on the other side of Lake Michigan, the Lord and I sat together for two hours, listening to hymns, rejoicing, talking in prayer and remembering Nate with thankfulness.

Tomorrow, as the Bears nurse their wounds, I’ll finish painting the stools.

“My heart rejoices in the Lord! The Lord has made me strong. There is no Rock like our God.” (1 Samuel 2:1a,2b)

Don’t lose heart.

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Last week I received a note in the mail with handwriting I hadn’t seen for quite a while but recognized immediately. It was the strong script of Pastor George Sweeting, the man who married Nate and I in 1969. He was the head pastor at Moody Church then, and we were delighted he was available to perform our ceremony.

As we met with him privately in the days before the wedding, Pastor Sweeting told us he felt invested in the couples he married and offered to be available to us indefinitely through the years of our marriage, should we need him in any way. Although he eventually left the church to become the president of Moody Bible Institute, he kept in touch with us and occasionally reminded us of his offer.

About a month ago, 41 years after he married us, I bumped into Pastor Sweeting and his wife Hilda at a funeral, and we exchanged hugs and had a quick conversation. His letter followed that meeting and means a great deal to me.

This is a man who has spent a lifetime teaching and preaching the truth of Jesus Christ with indomitable optimism and joy. His letter was filled with encouragement not to “lose heart” in my walk through widowhood, and he cited four Scriptures urging me not to get discouraged or give up, two of them from Nate’s favorite biblical chapter, Hebrews 12. When we grow weary and don’t feel like fighting our battles anymore, whether they’re struggles with sorrow or loneliness or the difficult tasks of the day, the Bible tells us to examine the life of Jesus “so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”

Jesus didn’t have an easy life in any category, yet according to Scripture he never lost heart, gave up or walked off the job. He remained focused on his mission, difficult as it was, all the way to the excruciating end. God offers to equip us to do the same.

Where Nate lives today, not one soul is discouraged, because the temptation to lose heart has no place in heaven. Rather his life is overflowing with  joy beyond words as he lives with Christ among a crowd of other contented believers. Although Nate sometimes lost heart in his earthly life, all of that is but a dim, powerless memory for him now, if even that. And the same happy destiny awaits all of us who align with Jesus.

Although Pastor Sweeting helped Nate and I “tie the knot” that death has now untied, he’s still making good on his promise to help us by encouraging me not to lose heart.

 “We know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus…  Therefore we do not lose heart…” (2 Corinthians 4:14a,16a)

Skipping Christmas but not Skipping Tears

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Every December my sister and I spend an evening with the Kranks, a family we met in 2001 by reading John Grisham’s book, Skipping Christmas. It’s about a middle-aged couple hoping to duck the expense and demands of a traditional Christmas season by taking a cruise.

When the movie came out in 2004, Mary and I rushed to see it. One of her daughters came along but was so embarrassed by our raucous guffawing she nearly walked out. Ever since then, we’ve revisited the Kranks and their illogical antics each Christmas season, looking forward to laughing together at the same places we always laugh.

This year, due to the combination of illness and family commitments, Mary and I failed to fit in our tradition but never lost the desire. Last night, several weeks late, we finally got our opportunity.

We ordered Chinese food, settled with our tea and beef with broccoli on Mary’s upstairs beds and hit the DVD “play” button. Watching Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis make a mess of things was just as hilarious as we remembered, and we took pleasure in every scene.

But then we came to the cancer part. Because we’d seen it before, I knew it was coming but was surprised by my sad reaction. The storyline has a sixty-something couple living across the street from the Kranks, and toward the end of the movie, the wife discovers her cancer has recurred. Conversation hints this will probably be her last Christmas.

As the camera looked across the snowy street into their picture window, we saw them dining alone on Christmas Eve, and suddenly my eyes brimmed with tears. Although these were actors in a fantasy, my heart believed what it saw and thought, “Your immediate future is going to be awful. Enjoy your ‘normal’ dinner together, because it’s not going to last. Misery is on its way.”

I haven’t cried about Nate’s cancer or about losing him for many days in a row. My kids and I talked often about him during the holiday weeks, which was a deep satisfaction to me. Tears were not part of it, and I felt I was doing well.

Then there was the movie and my tears, a reminder of what widow friends have said. “The triggers are there, just beneath the surface, and you’ll be taken by surprise at the oddest times.”

Tears about cancer during a comedy movie would qualify as odd but also as oddly normal. Although it’s difficult to explain, as the tears came, they were soothing, an oxymoron of mourning. Although I don’t cry every day, I’m still grieving the death of my husband. And until earthly life ends, I always will be.

Thankfully, I had my snowman napkin to dab at my eyes, and as the movie concluded, its ending was optimistic. I’m conscious of God’s careful monitoring of my emotions and know he’ll encourage tears whenever it’s right.

I’ve abandoned myself to his flawless care and his consoling promises.

“Your widows… can depend on me.” (Jeremiah 49:11)