Hidden Growth

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Today marks seven months since Nate has been gone, although it seems like only last week we were wrapped in the misery and pain of his pancreatic cancer. I know it’s been many months, however, because I see small signs of healing and growth. Although we may not have wanted it this way, our new lives without Nate are slowly, steadily taking shape.

Louisa and Birgitta spent time with me this week, working cheerfully and hard at whatever I asked. Together we attacked the yard, raking the ivy, picking up sticks, pulling weeds, sweeping the driveway, hanging window boxes, planting flowers, transplanting shoots, bringing house plants outdoors, putting sleds and snow shovels away, and laying down stepping stones. Until now, I’ve had no interest in projects like these, not even in cleaning. Life has been handled best at idle speed. The fact that all our yard work was satisfying is, I believe, a sign of healing for all three of us.

As I pass the front window and see our small pink impatiens peeking through the screen, I get a little lift. They will continue to grow throughout the summer, and we will do the same. There will be set-back days ahead as we come to Father’s Day, Nate’s birthday and the one year anniversary days of our cancer experience in the fall. But God will be on hand as he has been all along, nurturing our growth and guiding our progress.

Today as I walked around the yard surveying our improvements, I noticed something funny going on in a pile of logs sawed from a dead tree last fall. They are stacked together, awaiting the splitting wedge that will transform them into firewood, but one of them isn’t dead at all. It has actually begun growing again. The other logs, all cut from the same tree as the growing one, are completely lifeless.

Nothing happens by accident, and I decided to view those sprouts of new life as God’s encouragement for this day. Although Nate’s cancer brought death into our family, those of us who felt lifeless after he died are beginning to sense the stirrings of something new. Just as the log’s new growth looks different from the original tree trunk, so our lives will look different without Nate. But if we let them, they will continue to grow.

God has new plans, fresh ideas and an innovative strategy for all of us that we know nothing about yet. It took many months for new shoots to come from the “dead” log, and when the time is right, our new shoots will come forth, too. God is busy during these days laying the groundwork for that growth, and we’re all beginning to feel it.

”All the trees of the field will know that I, the Lord, … make the low tree grow tall. I … make the dry tree flourish. I the Lord have spoken, and I will do it.” (Ezekiel 17:24)

Dancing around Decisions

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When the kitchen sink clogs, I can figure it out. When a drawer sticks or the upholstery rips, I know what to do. When fuses blow again and again, I don’t have a clue.

My electric water heater has its own little fuse box with twin fuses and an on-off lever. It’s simple. But it doesn’t work. When there ought to be hot water in the tank, suddenly there isn’t. But not always. Only sometimes.

When I check the power box, one of the twin fuses is always blown. This week when it happened, the glass on the front of the fuse got so hot, it was bulging. When I touched it, it burned my finger.

So now I’m flipping the lever “on” to heat up a tank of water (while standing back to avoid sparks), then flipping it back to “off” again afterwards. I’m worried about the house burning down and wonder how likely that is. But when I begin feeling sorry that I don’t have a husband to tend to the problem, my friend Becky’s words come back to me: “Neither Paul or Nate did home repair jobs anyway!” I guess we can’t miss what we never had.

New widows feel especially vulnerable to minor mishaps like my blown fuses, and any small blip in circumstances can quickly grow into a major crisis. Of course we can use a phone as well as the next person but often have trouble making the many tiny decisions necessary to move forward. “Who do I call? What if I get swindled? Can I trust a stranger? If I need a recommendation, who will I ask? Will the repair be expensive? Will the whole electrical system have to be replaced?” And on and on it goes in a succession of paralyzing questions. Meanwhile, nothing gets done.

In the months since Nate died, I’ve found myself in a swirl of indecision again and again, even to the point of wondering if I should walk upstairs to get my shoes or go downstairs to start the wash. Either would be fine, and both have to be done, but there I stand in the living room, immobilized by my inability to decide. I’ve asked a few of my widow friends if this is crazy, but they’ve responded with knowing smiles and similar scenarios.

Life becomes discombobulated when a mate is lost. If Nate was here, I’d report to him on the electrical dilemma and ask what to do. Being good at making decisions, he’d act without hesitating, either by finding the Yellow Pages or making a call or promising to have a solution by tomorrow. But because he is gone, the other half of that conversation is missing, which throws me into a tailspin of uncertainty.

I have high hopes my decision-confusion will eventually lift. Long-term widows tell me it will. In the mean time, I’ll lean on my knowledgeable brother-in-law for help and be thankful he’s willing to rescue me… yet again.

“Let all things be done decently and in order.” (1 Corinthians 14:40)

Hi, neighbor!

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I learned of our friend Paul’s cancer the day before my flight to England, by way of an email from his wife, my good friend Becky. We lived next door to each other for 22 years until our family moved out of state a year ago. Their three children and our youngest four grew up playing in adjacent yards, forming happy friendships in the process. Separating from these great neighbors was the most difficult part of our move.

Becky and I shared a love for being stay-at-home moms and found our school commitments were twice as fun if we did them together. Paul and Nate had much in common, too, owning their own businesses and working hard at them. Both men put their families ahead of themselves and also enjoyed neighborly conversations about politics and the economy.

When Paul and Becky learned he had cancer, they also learned it was everywhere inside of him, and except for radiation, nothing would help. Their sons rushed home from their colleges, and their daughter stayed home from high school. They camped in the master bedroom, spending as much time together as possible, which turned out to be just three weeks.

Paul was a spectacular dad who loved orchestrating good times. He flew planes, rode motorcycles, drove SUVs before they were popular and wore cowboy boots every day. He also had a heart for the down-and-outers of society, alcoholics, abandoned women, the homeless. He was generous in his giving of time and money, and Becky has heard one story after another about his selfless help.

In Paul’s last days, he found comfort in the words of John 10, which Becky read aloud to him again and again. He especially loved the part about the Good Shepherd speaking to his sheep and the sheep recognizing his voice. Today Paul has audibly heard the Shepherd’s voice and has followed him through the gate and right into paradise. Amidst the many losses, this one great gain brings his family deep comfort.

Becky and I spent Sunday afternoon together, sharing our sorrows and identifying unnumbered similarities in the last weeks of our husbands’ lives. Because earthly death was in God’s plans for both Paul and Nate, widowhood was in his plans for Becky and me. As she was seeking God’s sustenance in the days immediately following Paul’s death she said, “God called each day ‘good’ in the Bible, and I believe he wants me to do the same. So every morning I wake up and say, ‘This will be a good day.’ ”

Paul had not been afraid to die, despite great pain. Even as  breathing became a struggle, he rested in the knowledge of where he would wake up after his final breath. Nurses testify that patients without a relationship with the Lord hang onto life at all costs. For Paul (and also Nate), the assurance of an afterlife with Jesus dispelled all fear, and neither one of them resisted death when it arrived.

One of Paul’s boys told me, “Our two families will have a stronger bond than ever now, having gone through such similar trials. And even though we don’t live next door to each other anymore, Paul and Nate have become neighbors again… in a much, much better neighborhood.”

“I am the good Shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep.” (John 10:14-15)