Saint or Sinner?

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A friend recently said, “I’ve been reading the blog and gosh, I never realized what a saint Nate was.”

I’m sure he was also thinking, “He wasn’t really, was he?”

If Nate had truly been a saint, we’d all have known it without having to ask. So why does he come across that way in the blog posts? I suppose it’s because I’ve chosen to share only the good things.

Interestingly, that’s easy now. It’s satisfying. In the months since he died, I’ve missed him more than I ever thought I would and have come to appreciate the good stuff anew.

Psychology experts tell us if we’re going to criticize someone, we should first speak out four praises. Thinking I was already doing that, one day years ago I decided to keep track. Sadly, I was woefully deficient in the praise category.

One thing I learned as I kept my tally was that I could improve at praising, if I practiced. I also discovered something else. When I thought nice things about Nate such as, “He looks good in that shirt,” I often failed to speak them out. If I asked God to prompt me to turn those thoughts into words, he would, but of course I had to remember to ask him.

I did learn one foolproof way to go from my spotty performance to 100% success in dwelling on Nate’s positives: hearing the words “terminal cancer.” Just knowing he would soon die was powerful motivation to change my ways. Now, looking back to the time when Nate was healthy and with me daily, I see it was pride that kept me from succeeding at this when I still could have, and it’s pitiful.

I wonder how marriages would change if wives and husbands agreed to make only uplifting or complimentary statements to one another for a week or even a month in an effort to establish new patterns. This would mean swallowing every word of criticism, all desire to change someone. It would mean continually ignoring the bad and highlighting the good… as I’m finding it so rewarding to do these days.

God knew this wouldn’t come naturally and would be hard for us, but that didn’t stop him from urging us to reach for it. When he addresses those in partnership (husbands and wives, soldiers and leaders, brothers and sisters, church members, parents and children, business partners), he urges us to be positive with our words. As a matter of fact, he elevates this to best-possible-activity level, telling us it actually brings him glory when we do it.

After nearly 11 months without Nate, my inner wish is that I could go back and try again. I know beyond all doubt I could do a much better job now, maybe even be 100%. Maybe even

.… saintly.

“May God, who gives… patience and encouragement, help you live in complete harmony with each other, as is fitting for followers of Christ Jesus. Accept each other just as Christ has accepted you, so that God will be given glory.” (Romans 15:5,7)

Figuring out Fatherhood

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Last week two friends tapped on my front door just before leaving town. They wanted to deliver a few things, among them an old copy of a newsletter I’d edited back in the eighties.

Nate and I were members of Moody Church in Chicago then and were raising our children with help from Sunday school teachers, pastors and other families there. I was on the nursery committee, a fun group that birthed lifelong friendships.

One of my duties was to put together a newsletter, the Crib Sheet, 20-plus pages printed quarterly. It was reader-written, and several columns were included in every issue: mothering tips, an interview with a grandma, menu suggestions, quotes from young children, medical commentary, several articles written by young moms, and a word from the nursery chairman.

Believing that fathers played a critical role with their young families, we asked one of them to contribute a short piece for each newsletter. Most were reluctant to write, and occasionally when print time came, I’d still be empty-handed.

This was the case in April of 1984, so I asked Nate, late one night, if he’d write our “Father’s Forum” feature. Last week when my friends came by, the Crib Sheet they put into my hands included Nate’s article. At the time he was 39 and had five children ages 12, 10, 8, 4 & 3.

Nate’s piece (below) made good use of 200 words with five summary statements followed by five examples:

Fatherhood

 

Fatherhood makes you aware of your own mortality. You appraise the birth of your child from your age: how old will I be when my child is 7, 14, 21?

 

Fatherhood gives you empathy for your own father. You remember your father’s words from an episode of many years ago which seemed incomprehensible or petulant. Now you appreciate what he wanted to tell you – the significance of his syntax.

 

Fatherhood affords understanding of the Lord. The metaphor used in Scripture frequently for the relationship between Divinity and man is Fatherhood – the Trinity – Father, Son and Holy Ghost. This use of Fatherhood shows us God’s power over us and concern for us.

 

Fatherhood gives fun and joy. You enjoy teaching your child to swim or ride a bike. You treasure his or her efforts to learn to speak, read, write and spell. You share the mirth of a two year old’s birthday party and a six year old’s affection for a kitten. You smile at the spelling of a boy of nine, grin at an eleven year old’s rendition of the Civil War and share time at the beach with all the kids.

 

Fatherhood is profound and yet routine; it is intimidating at times and yet fun. It is hectic.

 

I love my children.                                                              Nate Nyman

 

What a delight to hear from Nate. When I got to the last line, I started to cry. Even with the mild conflicts detailed in his final point, his firm conclusion was, “I love my children.” And he made sure Crib Sheet readers knew it.

Our friend Dr. John Elsen (with 11 children) says, “Most men are unprepared for fatherhood.” Nate was no exception, but God cares deeply for young fathers and willingly co-parents when asked. He was helping Nate, and he knew it.

Nate’s bottom line, though, is the reason Nate’s children rushed to be with him when the chips were down, because even though young daddies make mistakes, love covers a multitude of sins.

“Love makes up for practically anything.” (1 Peter 4:8b, The Message)

One Year Ago

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During every hour of this day my mind has jumped back 12 months to September 22, 2009. I remember driving the 80 miles from Michigan to downtown Chicago, picking up Nate at the curb in front of his office at Wabash and Monroe, and heading across town to Rush University Medical Center. We were scheduled to meet with a team of doctors who had studied our “case” and reached a conclusion as to what was wrong with Nate. Today I’ve been mentally back at that meeting receiving their report: Nate had terminal cancer.

We both knew he had a mysterious mass on his liver. We also knew he was scheduled for back surgery but had “failed” the pre-op physical. And we both hoped the team of doctors was going to give us good news, something like, “Nate’s mass is benign. We’ll remove it during spinal surgery, and he’ll be as good as new.”  A year later, I see how these thoughts were tantamount to wishing on a star.

Just a week ago, all of us except Nate were gathered in northern Wisconsin, enjoying being at the same place at the same time. We shared laughter, conversation, prayer, fun, work and each other. Today, blending the warmth of those days with our cold day of discovery a year ago, I wonder how we got here, why we’re still standing. I feel like the answer might be found in looking back.

Last fall, we watched our husband/father receive his diagnosis, absorb the shock, do his best to put his life in order, decline physically and finally die, all in six weeks. Many of the details are a blur. Something deep within me wants to climb back into that painful time, to inspect everything under a magnifying glass and see what we experienced.

I’m not sure why I feel compelled to do that. Some of our children want to avoid remembering. Others want to remember it all. Returning to the scene of our family trauma is, for me, a way to honor Nate’s memory. But each of us will have to cope in the way that seems best.

When I think of Nate being selected to go through intense pain and die at age 64, leaving all of us “too soon,” his own words ring in my ears. “I shouldn’t ask, ‘Why me?’ Instead, ‘Why not me?”

There was wisdom in those words. More than that, though, there was permission for the rest of us to accept his diagnosis because he had. As I travel back during these next weeks and read my own blog-report of each day, I’ll be asking the Lord, “What should I be thinking?”

Nate was thinking as God wanted him to a year ago, refusing to fight his “fate” or rebel against his approaching death. For all of us, he was a sterling example of grace under pressure.

…God’s grace…

which is also the reason we’re still standing.


“To all… who are loved by God and called to be saints: Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Romans 1:7)