Love Letters

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I laughed the other day when a radio commentator made reference to today’s students as the “I-heart-you generation.”  She was referring to the abbreviated communication between boyfriends and girlfriends that has replaced traditional love letters. Texts and tweets are preferred over hand-written messages that were, in bygone years, scented with perfume, sealed with a kiss and read over and over again.

I still have every one of Nate’s love letters, written to me in the late sixties and early seventies. They span the weeks after we met, the time during which we developed a friendship, the months of his active duty in the Army and our five month engagement period. As I recall, they included a vocabulary of love, original four-line poetry and an abundance of longing, although I haven’t re-read them in forty years.

Nate was a frequent letter-writer during those days but also spoke the language of the I-heart-you-generation long before 21st century kids ever thought of it. Always the gift-giver, in our early years together he communicated his love with heart-shaped necklaces. The first was a small one made of ruby chips which I’ve worn hundreds of times. After that, any heart that would strike his fancy found its way home.

His most recent heart gift came during the summer of 2007 just after our son Hans got married. It was time to go home, and we were painfully late for our flight to Chicago. As we raced through the Manchester airport dragging wheeled bags and carrying many more, my eye caught on a display of chunky heart-shaped glass pendants in a glittering gift shop. “Oooo!” I pointed as we ran past. “Look at those!”

I never broke stride but ten paces further realized Nate had. When I looked back, he was stopped in front of the necklace display, reaching into his pocket. “Might as well get rid of our British pounds,” he said, looking at me. “Come and pick one fast!”

No problem, since they were all gorgeous. We made the plane, the whole crowd of us, just before they closed the doors, and today I have my glass heart, along with that joyful memory of Nate’s desire to please. I never had cause to doubt his love.

Nate loved me in a 1 Corinthians 13 kind of way. In doing so, he was being Christ-like, and I wish I’d thanked him for that. God’s love for his children can’t be duplicated, because he’s God and we’re not. And his greatest love-gift, that of his Son Jesus, represents a depth of love beyond all human possibility. Nevertheless, he wants us to reflect his love as we try to love others. Nate did a good job of that.

In the days immediately after he died, my heart hurt. I wore his heart necklaces often, sometimes under my hoodies, thinking about the circumstances that prompted each gift. Then one day while opening the mail, I came to a padded envelope. A college friend who knew nothing of Nate’s penchant for heart pendants had sent a golden heart with the word “Nate” engraved on it. She said, “You don’t have to wear it in the traditional way. Just pin it to your pillow, hang it over a mirror or slip it into your pocket.”

I was touched deeply by her thoughtfulness, and it seemed a fitting final necklace to add to Nate’s series of hearts. He “hearted” me, and one of these days I’ll celebrate by re-reading those old love letters. On a cold winter night, it’s bound to be a warm walk down Memory Lane.

“Love comes from God… for God is love. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.” (1 John 4:7,8,10, parts)

Meeting Micah

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While the girls and I flew over the miles toward Florida today, our excitement mounted as we anticipated being with those waiting for us at the end of our journey. By the time we walked through Linnea and Adam’s front door, our little firecracker Skylar was already in dream land, but Micah Nathan had waited up for us.

New babies have their own special club. To join, they must have a scent so alluring, it’s almost intoxicating. Their skin must be like satin, so smooth you can’t tell if you’re touching it yet. And their mouths, able to open wide and cry with vigor, must be mushy when kissed. We got to attend the newborn club meeting tonight to meet Micah, and he qualified on all counts.

Micah’s parents are stronger this time around, having survived the newborn “night” of dynamite Skylar. She had been in the club, too, but had insisted her opinion dominate all others, including her parents’. (As Skylar’s grandma, I’d attended some of those early meetings, too, and remember the whirligig of events.) But when a new baby screams, second-time parents know “this too shall pass,” which is why tonight, even as Micah fussed, we all thought he was utterly adorable.

Holding this precious bundle for the first time, I could see my own babies in him. As his daddy said, “He has a Nyman face.” The marvel is that God never runs out of ideas for making babies unique. Skylar and Micah are as different as a kitten and a puppy, while simultaneously sharing a family resemblance.  This phenomenon is a mystery that’s all to God’s credit, and he performs this wonder again and again, in every family.

Just as visiting an art gallery and studying the paintings reveals what the artist is like, so it is with studying this new little baby. As we learn what he’s like, we’ll be getting to know more about the One who created him.

Tonight, as Linnea bounced gently on an exercise ball in an effort to comfort a complaining Micah who was then bouncing in the crook of her arm, all of us reminisced about the difference between today’s one week birthday of Micah and Skylar’s one week birthday 18 months ago. Skylar has since grown into a high-energy, smart-as-a-whip, fast-talking toddler who lives life in a blur of activity. Adam summed it up well when he said, “Looking back at Sky’s first weeks and her intensity then, it all makes perfect sense, knowing her now.”

So what will we see in Micah? What clues will we find during these early meetings of the newborn club? We all look forward to the joy of discovery. In the mean time, our greatest challenge will be to keep Skylar from taking over all the meetings!

“Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him. Children born to a young man are like arrows in a warrior’s hands. How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them!” (Psalm 127:3-5a)

A Word from Birgitta

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Since Midge is about to pass out, I’m writing the blog for her tonight. It’s been a long day of traveling and we’re all a little tired. But unlike me, who got to sack out at the hotel once we arrived and watch movies all night, Midge decided to pay a visit to some family friends and their six children while we were in the area. So, even though I desperately tried to convince her I had nothing good to say, I figured I could do her this favor.

I am 19 years old and the the baby of our family. I grew up with constant teasing from my siblings about how I was the “golden child” who always got my way. Though that may have been true at times, there are also downsides to being the last one.

When my dad was sick, he wrote a note to each of us. My mom gave them to us to read a few days after he died. In his note to me, he expressed sadness that he would be absent from my future. This is something each one of us has to face, but being the youngest, sometimes it’s hard not to feel I missed out on the most. The reality is, none of us had control over the situation, and my siblings each suffered just as great a loss as I did. In his note to me, Papa also wrote that I was the only one who had all the experiences of my six brothers and sisters before me to draw on and learn from. Each of them is part of the legacy he left, and they will always be in my life. I am very blessed to have had 19 years with my dad, which is much more than many people can say.