I’ve made a new friend. Actually, I’ve gotten reacquainted with an old friend. Well, it’s not really either. Yet it’s both.

Marge is five years older than I am. Since both of us are in our sixties, the gap is insignificant. But when we were in high school, it was ginormous.

She and I grew up attending Chicago’s Moody Church. I watched her from afar, since she was one of those sparkly people no one could miss, but she was too far ahead of me to be a friend. Fast-forward fifty years to today, and its clear why we have recently become buddies. Her husband Jim died a few weeks before Nate, so we are widows together, moving through our grief simultaneously.

The two of us initiated an email conversation months ago, and this morning I awoke in her guest room in Knoxville, TN. She’s named her home “The Bryant Bed and Breakfast,” half way between Chicago and Florida, a stop-off point for any friend who’d like to come. With her penchant for hospitality, she throws open her front door to all kinds of people… even me.

Marge has been reading this blog since the outset, encouraging me with positive comments and rich insights about widowhood. I’ve appreciated her wisdom and her incredible attitude of gratitude throughout her time of dealing with such great loss.

This woman has the equivalent of a PhD in hospitality. When I arrived last night after a harrowing four hour drive from Asheville that should have taken two, Marge was waiting in the street, waving me in. She had freshly brewed hazelnut decaf ready, along with pumpkin pie and ice cream.

Jack was enthusiastically ushered in, right onto her white carpeting, where she offered him doggie treats she’d purchased just for him. “He’s not just any old dog, you know,” she said, kneeling next to him. “He’s like a person.”

After our coffee time, we walked Jack around the neighborhood, sharing husband-stories and support for each other. “I still keep Jim’s shoes by the front door,” Marge said. “It brings me comfort.” I loved that. (See them in the picture?)

Her guest room awaited me. Atop the quilted bed lay a brand new night gown, the tags still on. “For you,” she said. “Easter colors.” Next to that was a stack of fluffy towels. On the night stand was a water glass, coaster, clock, lamp, a verse of Scripture and a smooth black stone into which the word “inspire” had been carved. “To keep,” she said.

Knowing I’d be writing the blog, she’d readied her office where her computer was already warmed up and on line. The bathroom countertop featured guest-sized creams, shampoos and washes, with a choice of decorative night lights. Candles flickered, and the toilet paper end had been folded into a triangle. “Would you like me to draw you a bath?” she asked. I felt like I was at a spa.

This morning when Jack and I climbed into the car for our ten hour drive home, Marge had already fed us a bacon and egg breakfast and given us a treat bag for the road. “A little something to eat each hour,” she said. “It makes the time go faster.” Jack received his share of goodies, too.

Marge could teach a class on hospitality, better yet, a class on how to show love. Even as she’s grieving for her Jim, who literally fell dead in one instant with no warning, she used her precious energy to ease my struggle. She’s “Marvelous Marge,” a sister in the Lord, and a precious friend for sure.

“She has been faithful to her husband and is well known for her good deeds, such as bringing up children, showing hospitality, washing the feet of the saints, helping those in trouble and devoting herself to all kinds of good deeds.” (1 Timothy 5:9-10)

Today I got a chance to interface with mountains, not the man-made ski-hill kind but real ones. Driving from Asheville, NC to Knoxville, TN to spend a night with a good friend (also a widow), my route took me through the Smokey Mountains.

As I started out, an unusual snowstorm was blanketiung the area. While trying to read highway signs through a white-out, I snuck a peak at the peaks along the way, wishing I had a third hand to take pictures. Snow stuck to the trees with such beauty I felt like I was driving through a Hollywood movie set. But the challenge of mountain driving in a blizzard soon yanked my attention from the scenery to the highway.

As my Highlander climbed and my ears popped, suddenly I drove right into a thick cloud. In an instant, visibility shrunk to two feet, and I couldn’t read signs or see the bends in the road. It was tempting to pull onto the shoulder to “wait it out” but I was afraid I’d be rear-ended. Besides, what would I be waiting for? Spring?

Difficult weather hasn’t bothered me, until today. As I crawled along behind a semi-truck trying to stay close enough to see its tail lights, I thought of the many mountains mentioned in Scripture. Mount Sinai, for one, factored into a story of God’s immense power when he created a supernatural fog, a “dense cloud” to shroud the mountain. The reason? God himself would be coming to earth in the cloud to speak in an audible voice.

Although no one was driving a Highlander on Mount Sinai that day, they were all just as nervous as I was when they saw the fog. As a matter of fact, Scripture says they were “trembling” with fear because of God’s incredible voice, which came out of the fog and was accompanied by thunder, lightning, smoke and fire. (Exodus 19)

God’s message to the people, through Moses, was that they not “force their way through to see the Lord” or they would die. He needn’t have said that. As they saw the entire mountain begin to tremble, none of them had any desire to go mountain climbing that day. They knew enough to be fearful. They’d seen God do awesome miracles, some positive, some negative. They also knew fear was “the beginning of wisdom.”

Sometimes lack of godly fear in our society is responsible for our casual attitude toward God and his power. We like crediting him with the good he does but can’t believe he would purposely show his power in a terrifying way. But that’s exactly what he did on Mount Sinai. When Moses connected with the people after God spoke from the cloud, they said, “Don’t let God speak to us like that again! It’s terrifying! We’ll die if he does!”

But Moses assured them God was simply testing their obedience “so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.”

As Pastor James McDonald often says, “Choose to sin? Choose to suffer.”

Moses told the people, “God wants you to fear him to keep you from sinning,” which ultimately would keep them from suffering. Yet even while God scared them, he called them his “treasured possession.” God is who he is, and our proper fear of him is a good thing, not something to be avoided. It puts us in the proper place before God,which is beneath him.

I did some trembling today too, in that awful dense fog. But thinking about the Mount Sinai episode made me feel I could tackle my relatively small challenge, compared to the events of that day long ago. I didn’t hear God’s audible voice today, but he sure did hear mine as I called out for his help to make it through. Thankfully, he answered with safety.

“God said, ‘I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now if you obey me fully and keep my covenant, then out of all nations you will be my treasured possession’.” (Exodus 19:4-5)

Dear Linnea and Adam,

I feel honored to be the only canine who’s ever bunked under your roof. How many dogs get to go with their mistresses to welcome a new baby into the family? I had a fear you people might have thought I’d act aggressively, but as you know, all I needed was a quick sniff. Thanks for letting me investigate Micah Nathan that way.

I feared I wouldn’t be able to accompany Midge on her trip to see you, which would have thrown me into a blue funk for sure. Did you wonder why I never left your yard while I was outside, even without a leash or a fence? It was because Midge was inside. My M.O. of sticking close to her is still in effect. Thanks for letting me sleep in her room when you could have insisted I spend my nights in the garage or even on the patio. I’ve never gotten to sleep near her at home but have plans to campaign for this upgrade when we get back.

I also want to tell you what a delight it was to play with Skylar. Thank you for sharing this my-size person so generously and not insisting she keep her distance. I feared you might. The dog bones she gave me tasted twice as nice. I’ll miss her “Hi, Jackie!” in the morning and her tender “Oh, Jackie” in that soothing tone she reserves only for those she loves intensely.

I apologize for leaving my full water bowl and food dish within Skylar’s reach one too many times. I guess when she washed her hands in my water, they weren’t all that clean.

And thanks for Saturday when Midge, Skylar and I went to the library so you could wash all the tile floors. I’m sure when you did it, you found a disgusting amount of my black fur in your wash water bucket. I apologize. The Florida sunshine made it hard for me to hold onto my coat. I was afraid you might not like me as much after that.

One more apology is in order. I’m sorry I tore up your copy of C.S. Lewis’ “A Grief Observed” when I shook it around. After everything that’s happened in recent months, it was just my way of expressing deep feelings.

After Pidge got sick, I never quite knew where my place was. I feared I might not have one. I got excited every time his car drove in the driveway, but it confused me when he was never the one to step out of it. Eventually his car stopped coming at all. Then Pidge disappeared, too, along with the head-pats he used to give, a very confusing time for me. I began to get fearful every time Midge turned to me with her coat on and said, “You stay here, Jack. I’ll be back.” I never knew for sure. That’s why it was so great when you let me come with her to your house. Thank you.

Looking back over this letter, I see I mentioned fearing five different things. None of them happened. What a waste of energy on my part! I should stop fearing anything in the future, too, like Midge’s upcoming trip across the ocean. I’m tempted to feel afraid for her safety without me there to watch over her. But since my fears usually don’t come true, I’m going to let that one go, too.

Love, and without fear,

Jack

”I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.” (Psalm 34:4)