Till the End of Time, Part I

Posted on September 19, 2010 by Margaret

Nate once gave me a Rolex watch worth $5000. When I later lost it, I felt awful. Twenty-five years ago, the only people who were given gold watches had earned them by working forty years at the same institution. Retirement and the watch came together. I hadn’t done a thing to deserve such a fine gift. As always, Nate had been generous to his wife but not to himself, buying the watch he wished he had, for me. His own watch came from Walmart.

When I tried to think of some way to show my remorse over losing the watch, my only idea was to buy a Rolex for him. But I didn’t work outside our home and had no paycheck. The weekly allowance he gave me worked well to manage our household, but the dollars were all spoken-for. The only answer was to save a little here and there until I had enough.

It took me several years, but the day finally came when I counted $2500 in my plump envelope of bills. I drove to Peacocks Jewelry Store feeling like a Depression-era child finally able to buy her dream bicycle.

As the salesman spread out the few Rolex designs my money would buy, I chose the one that most resembled his cheaper watch, but of course this one would be a real Rolex. Before I left the store, I asked if they could engrave something on the back:

“I’ll love you till the end of time. Your Meg, Christmas, 1985.”

Although men are often difficult to buy for, I couldn’t wait for Christmas morning. When it finally came, my gift was the hit I’d hoped it would be. Nate was dumbfounded when he saw the Rolex box, then delighted all over again to find I hadn’t just used my empty box for something else but had put the real thing inside. When he turned over the watch and saw the message, he was grateful for my expression of timeless love.

God also testifies of his deep love for us with an engraving. He’s carved us on his palms. In an effort to impress us with the depth of his loving bond, he compares a nursing mother and her baby to his relationship with us and asks, “Can a mom forget her nursing child?”

I nursed all my babies. When I’d go out for an evening, leaving the baby at home, my body would continue to produce milk just as if the baby was consuming it. Sometimes so much milk accumulated that when I got home, I’d pick up my sleeping infant and coax him or her to have an unscheduled meal, just to relieve the pressure. For this reason, no nursing mother can forget her baby.

The Lord says he feels that way toward us, saying even in the unlikely case a nursing mother should forget, he never will. To prove it, he engraved us on his palms.

Nate’s watch has been set aside now. I still love him but only from afar. The good news about God’s engraved promise is that his love doesn’t have a stopping point. He won’t ever abandon us, become disinterested or forget about us.

Not ever.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” (Isaiah 49:15-16)

Starting the Clock

Posted on September 18, 2010 by Margaret

Today is September 17. Last year on this date we were blissfully unaware of Nate’s cancer, which was secretly taking over. He was still working six days a week, commuting from Michigan to Chicago’s Loop, still providing for his family.

On this day he left work before lunch to have a biopsy, because we’d learned via phone several days before of a “mass” on his liver. During a routine pre-op exam prior to back surgery, his blood numbers had been askew, so the doctor had ordered a scan.

“Try not to worry,” the doctor told Nate on the phone. “A mass doesn’t always mean cancer.”

We took his advice, at least outwardly. Nate’s response to the news was stalwart. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s not mention it to anyone.” We agreed to keep it quiet until we knew more, shrugging it off as a blip on his health screen.

That night when I couldn’t sleep, a legal phrase laced my thoughts: innocent until proven guilty. My greatest longing was to hear the doctor say the mass was innocent… benign.

The day of the biopsy, Nate insisted I not accompany him. “I’ve got a jam-packed day, and I’m sure it’ll be a quick in and out at the hospital. I have to go right back to work afterwards.”

But he walked in the cottage door earlier than usual, looking weary. “How was it?” I said.

“Brutal. Four zaps with a gun to the chest.”

The biopsy site was bandaged, but the next day his chest testified to the pain of having four pieces of flesh, even tiny ones, plucked from an organ.

Nate and I mentioned the mass and biopsy to no one, as if holding back that information might hold back bad news. Later, after we learned the deadly truth, we agreed it was good not to have known for those five days between the phone call and the diagnosis. As a matter of fact, it was good not to have known that whole summer. What benefit would there have been? Pancreatic always gets its patient anyway.

As the old saying goes, timing is everything, and God is the one regulating the event-clock. Despite Nate’s occasional physical complaints, summer had been good as we settled in at the cottage. We got to know our neighbors better and were liking the new routine. Our children came and went all summer, happily enjoying beach days with cousins and pals, without the burden of knowing their father was sick and dying. In a bad situation, God’s timing was good.

On the day Nate died, the Hospice nurse and Mary gave him a bath while he slept. As the nurse tenderly washed his chest, I noticed that the four biopsy punctures were still black and blue, a reminder of our journey’s beginning just as we were nearing the end. Although it had been a terrible six weeks, it could have been 12, doubling the misery, or 24, quadrupling it.

God knew what he was doing by bringing the cancer to light when he did. By waiting, he kept the blare of life’s alarm clock silent in order to give us a precious gift: a summer of time with Nate, without cancer… at least as far as we knew.

“To everything there is a season… a time to build up… and a time to break down.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,3)

Family Photos

Posted on September 17, 2010 by Margaret

Every family values its own history, and pictures are a good way to preserve a specific moment in time. Over the years Nate and I dragged our kids to so many photographers’ studios our rooms could have been papered with the pictures. One dinner guest said, “You don’t have any art on your walls, only pictures of your kids.” But that was art to us.

We also loved “artwork” from other families, and Christmas cards were the best source. I’ve saved every photo card ever sent to our home, and each one is mounted in the albums.

Our own Christmas cards always included a photograph, despite every single photo shoot being difficult. I would work hard putting outfits together to coordinate everybody, but no one seemed to appreciate it. I remember the year I bought four matching sweaters, one for each of our boys. As we walked from the car to the studio, Nelson said, “Don’t ask me to wear twin stuff like this again. I feel like a freak.” Despite the opposition, we kept at it.

When looking at photos of other peoples families, I’m convinced (despite smiles and an orderly arrangement) that each picture represents a great deal of parental effort and family tension. The more people in the picture, the harder the task.

Over 37 years of picture-taking, our kids have long-since accepted the ordeal of family photographs. Although they always objected, in the end everybody would cooperate. But since Nate died, we’ve all gained a fresh appreciation for picture-taking. When we look at the photo we took last October, our last with Nate, we’re exceedingly thankful for it. As we assembled to take that shot, we knew it’d be our last opportunity to picture our family with him, and there wasn’t a single objection. I love looking at that picture. Despite the heavy heart beneath every smile, including Nate’s, it’s a treasure.

These days photo-taking has changed dramatically because of digital cameras. Pictures come easily and have less value than in the past. What hasn’t changed, however, is a desire to somehow preserve relationships or encapsulating a moment by taking family pictures.

This year at Afterglow there was no opposition to the family photo idea, even though it was a challenge with five babies and their non-synced sleep-schedules. But this time all of us have been impacted by how tentative life can be, and none of us can say if the family might change dramatically before we get a chance to take another picture. And when it does change, will it be an addition or a subtraction? We don’t know that, either.

Jesus holds the keys to life… and death. He’s in charge, not us, and he hasn’t guaranteed tomorrow. So while we’re busy making the most of today, we should take lots of pictures.