Category Archives: Widowhood

Making Preparations

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Today is the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the day after Black Friday, and much of the country has begun its enthusiastic preparation for Christmas. For many years that was true for our family, too. We kept our 22 boxes of decorations under the stairs in a “secret” closet in which no adult could straighten up. It dictated assembly-line emptying of the decorations, smallest people farthest in.

Every family relishes the fun of opening their boxes again and pulling out Christmas items that mean something special only to them. It’s like participating in a private holiday festival, half silly and half magical.

Nate was never big on setting out decorations or stringing lights. His enthusiasm was strongest for choosing the tree, sawing off the stump and getting it upright. He usually finished by wiring the trunk to the window behind it, hoping it wouldn’t “go overboard again this year.”

The rest of the family lost interest long before the tree was completely trimmed, but that never dimmed my holiday spirit. After they’d all been bathed and bedded down, and after Nate had settled into his nightly “bathtub hydrotherapy” with a good book, I’d head back to the boxes and put on my middle-aged-mom-music, decorating well into the night.

Today Birgitta and I did some shopping and enjoyed seeing newly purchased Christmas trees tied to the tops of cars heading home for the decorating ritual. Their ordinary evergreen would soon be transformed into a lighted, sparkling wonder, the focal point of their home for a month.

As we arrived home, our next door neighbors had finished decorating their pretty picket fence with garlands and lights, and in the twilight it was a welcoming sight. Last Christmas, seven weeks after Nate died, none of us were feeling merry. We did have a tiny, lopsided excuse-for-a-tree, but most of us were just hoping to “get Christmas over with.”

This Christmas will be different. Our “new family” will be together, which means we’ll be minus Nate but plus Micah, Evelyn and Thomas. Little children can serve as God’s instruments of joy, coaxing us to surrender to laughter and good cheer. Just imagining their expressions of glee at the ornaments and lights will make the decorating fun, even if I do it alone.

But while eagerly pulling out the boxes marked “Christmas”, I have to ask if I’m equally energized to ponder the magnificent coming of Christ. Have I lived through so many Christmases my subconscious tells me I know everything there is to know?

Jesus Christ, the Messiah of Christmas, has more depth to him than any of us can possibly comprehend. His interest in saving us, his unique way of accomplishing it and the love he expressed by becoming human are mind-boggling concepts we’ll think about throughout eternity.

As I decorate the house and yard, I’ve asked the Lord to show me something brand new about himself during this season.

And because I’ve prayed that, I’ll be eagerly anticipating his answer, watching for it, waiting for it and knowing it will come.

“The child [Jesus] grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.” (Luke 2:40)

Picture this.

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Today was a hazy day with wispy clouds high in the sky. Unseasonably warm temps coaxed Jack and I to the beach for an outdoor prayer time, a special treat. Walking the waveless waterline in bare feet was surely wading on borrowed time.

When we left the beach to run errands, I glanced back to appreciate the view. “The sunset will be beautiful tonight with these streaky clouds,” I told Jack.

Hours later I was taking advantage of a senior citizen day at the nearest Kohl’s (22 miles away) and noticed a pinkish light streaming through the windows and across the clothing racks, a wildly colorful sunset going on just across the parking lot.

Heading for the windows with an armload of clothes, I marveled at the magnificent view. Amazingly, the crowd pushing hangers back and forth nearby was unaware of the light show outside.

Watching pink, blue, purple and gold layers ripple across the sky like theater floodlights, I knew God was doing something spectacular, so dug in my purse for the camera I always carry. When I couldn’t find it, I wondered how I could ever “save” the sunset without it.

Before I could figure that out, though, the colors began to fade, and the opportunity was gone.

As I walked to the fitting room, I couldn’t figure out why my spirits were so low. What was there to be sad about? The bargains were good, the selection was great, time was ample and I’d just enjoyed a gorgeous sunset. What bothered me was my inability to get a picture. Without the picture, I had no evidence of what I’d just seen.

As expected, none of the clothes looked good on me, because my heart wasn’t in it. While driving home, I thought about the sunset and realized I’d been more concerned about getting the picture than seeing the actual sunset. And immediately I thought of Nate. Last night I’d gotten lost in my photo albums until well past midnight. Every picture with Nate in it had become a treasure, because of course there will be no more taken.

And that’s what was bothering me.

A photo can’t hold a sunset any more than a picture could have held Nate. But my thoughts said, “You should have taken more pictures. He’s gone now. You squandered your chances.” I recognized this as the quiet voice of mourning. Although I’ve been feeling better lately, I knew the old sense of sadness could bubble up at any time.

It’s at moments like this that God’s promises of heavenly reunions move in and lift us. “Looking at” the mental picture of reconnecting with loved ones is enough to obliterate negative self-talk and put bright hope in its place. Although I  have no photos of heaven in my albums, those glorious reunions are worth trying to “see”.

I can’t post a current picture of Nate, nor can I show one of tonight’s sunset or of a heavenly reunion. But having no pictures can’t negate the wondrous reality of all three.

“Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.” (Hebrews 11:1)

Getting Out

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In my first year as a widow, I took 11 trips, accumulating 17,000 frequent flyer miles and clocking 28,000 highway miles. I’m not sure how that happened, and traveling certainly hadn’t been my goal. My honest intention after Nate died was just to burrow in at home and think about whatever God put on my mind.

But when new babies come, grandmas go!

Although I did fly and drive to spend time with faraway friends and family, I didn’t do much locally. Last September was Nate’s and my first autumn living in Michigan, and we fully intended to begin putting roots down immediately. We wanted to serve in our new church and get better acquainted with our neighbors, thinking we might host a casual supper for everyone on our street.

But right then cancer hit, and we were forced to begin a completely different journey. We couldn’t go to church because of the severity of Nate’s illness, and our neighbors graciously gave us space and privacy (while somehow managing to put food on our doorstep).

After Nate died and my kids and grandkids returned to their regular lives, those in our neighborhood began stepping forward with loving invitations. “Would you come for dinner? Does the church concert interest you? Could you use the extra banquet ticket I have? Want to come for game night? join our book club? go out for pizza?”

These kind invitations came in between my unpacking and repacking sessions when I was craving time alone. Saying “no” to each request, I felt guilty and unfriendly. The one invitation I did accept turned into a debacle; I forgot to go. They were understanding, but I still feel badly about it.

Meeting new people, answering questions and trying to smile was nearly impossible in those early months. My insides ached, and no amount of “want-to” helped.

But today is a different day. Life is getting better. The ache, although still there, is less pronounced, and tears aren’t just beneath the surface anymore. So when my next-door-neighbor Linda invited me to her Bible study, I said “yes”.

This morning, about twenty of us gathered at a church five minutes away to learn from Hebrews 6. All ages were represented among the women, and our young leader did an exceptional job teaching us and then drawing thoughts from her students. She was a superb listener, incorporating every comment into her instruction.

As I sat with Hebrews on my lap, I sensed the room was full of biblically seasoned women from whom I could learn much. Quite a few of them were widows. We talked of our sure hope in Christ and of him being our anchor during rough times. We paused over the mention of Abraham, whom we see as running ahead of God’s promise, but who God saw as “waiting patiently.” (6:15) What a relief to know God has realistic expectations of us, without judging us as failures.

It was a joy to dig into God’s Word with these women today, and I’m looking forward to next week. Since the last 12 months were chuck-full of travel, maybe the next 12 will be dominated by stay-at-home time…  including time to faithfully attend Bible study.

“All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true…” (2 Timothy 3:16a)