God’s Perfect Timing

In a few short weeks a new book will be published. The back story is that my sister Mary and I wrote it together over an 18 year period.

That sounds like a long time to write about raising children from birth to only age five, but it wasn’t the content that stretched our project. It was the raising of children ourselves.

Mary and I first talked about co-writing a book long ago in side-by-side beach chairs. “Some day we should write for younger moms, so they can avoid the many mistakes we’ve made,” she said.

We began praying about it and our sense was that God wanted us to move forward, encouraging mothers whose efforts to raise children these days are often denigrated by our culture.

We set to work, even though finding time together without kids was a challenge. After we would reacquaint ourselves with what we’d written to that point, it was usually time to put it all away again.

As our collective 14 children grew older, though, new pockets of peace popped up, and we began making better headway. Then a giant stop sign planted itself right in front of us:

Mary’s terminal cancer diagnosis.

Her free time quickly filled with medical appointments, surgery, feeding tubes, and chemotherapy – and the book was set aside. I gathered our materials and folded them deep into a basement box.

We assumed Mary’s remaining time would be in days not years, but how fortunate we were to be wrong. About five months after her diagnosis her health was stable, and she was feeling good. One day, again at the beach, she said, “Hey, let’s dig out the book and try again.”

“Really?” I said, grateful for her forward-thinking.

“ Well let’s try, anyway,” she said. “Who knows what’s ahead.”

The next day we dug out the stack of 10×13 yellow envelopes stuffed full of ideas, examples, and Scriptures for each chapter, and spread them out to see where we’d left off.

As we worked, we followed the pace of Mary’s good and bad days, making sure we had lots of creative sessions at (guess where) the beach. 

One day I told Mary that since the Lord was the Initiator behind our book, he might just keep her going until the project was finished. With her usual pluck she said, “Then let’s drag our feet.”

God always finishes what he starts, and two years later, he brought us to our finish line. We began shooting the book through cyber-space to different publishers who each considered it for several months, and we came close. But before we got a yes, the Lord lifted Mary into Paradise.

Both of us trusted God to publish the book whenever he wanted, and now…this appears to be his time. THRIVE AND SURVIVE, ZERO TO FIVE, will be launched in several weeks.

And I like to think Mary knows all about it.

“It is not for you to know times… that the Father has fixed by his own authority.” (Acts 1:7)

A Lovely Look-Back

Reminiscing brings pleasure to those of us getting up in years. We find joy in looking back over our shoulders at the many ways God was active on our behalf.

Not long ago the Lord initiated a look-back that surprised us all. My adult kids and I were following a road map of all the places Nate and I had lived in the Chicago area after we were married – a tour set up by Linnea.

First stop was a tidy bungalow Nate and I called home right after he graduated from law school. We lived there with an aunt who kept me company when Nate had to go on active military duty.

Next we visited the city apartment building where we lived for a year as Nate settled into his first lawyering job in Chicago’s Loop.

After that we drove to a three story walk-up on the north side of the city. Back in 1972, it had charmed us because of its proximity to a small patch of beach on Lake Michigan’s shoreline. If Nate and I hung our heads out the apartment window and looked left, we could see the water.  

We then drove to the suburbs and stopped at three houses, the first in Deerfield where we lived for three years, the second (also Deerfield) for five years, and the third in Prospect Heights where we raised all seven of our children and lived for twenty-nine years.

As the kids and I drove along that day, they urged me to share memories linked to each location. I was honored that they were interested.

We hadn’t planned on getting inside any of these special places except at our last stop. I’d written to the current owners of our old farmhouse, warning them not to be alarmed if they saw a crowd congregating in their cul de sac taking pictures – because it would just be us.

When we knocked, Theresa warmly invited us in and led us to a lavish hot chocolate / dessert bar in the kitchen. She encouraged us to tour the house at our leisure and offered to take pictures.

She got a kick out of our reminiscences and was happy to hear how much we loved the house. Then, as we hiked upstairs, God had a sweet surprise waiting for us.

Louisa’s old bedroom, now pink and green with fresh white woodwork, was a far cry from her decorating — glitter-painted walls festooned with hundreds of 4×6 photos. As we complimented our hostess on the room, she asked a question.

“Would you mind looking in the closet? Maybe you can explain something to me.”

Wedging ourselves into the small space, we turned and saw a loopy ballpoint script written on the inside of the door frame:  “A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit.” (Proverbs 15:13)

Louisa caught her breath and said, “Oh my gosh! I wrote that! When I was thirteen!” It was a quote that had impacted a middle-school girl enough to tattoo it in a private place – seventeen years ago.

 

As Louisa took a picture, her eyes brimmed with tears. Theresa watched in wonder… which is when we asked a question of her. “It looks like you painted around this writing to leave it there. How come?”

Her answer was simple. “We thought it was a nice blessing over our house.”

Louisa remembered that year as being up and down, much like the written proverb. But on our tour day, God showed us that his living words had been on her mind, influencing her young life.

Even now, years after we moved away, those words are influencing still.

“Write [God’s words] on the door frames of your houses.” (Deuteronomy 6:9)

In Memory Of….

February 2019 is in the books now, along with Valentine’s Day. We widows don’t look forward to February 14th like we used to when our men were with us, but no widow ever forgets how things used to be.

Even though Nate was a big gift-giver, I don’t miss the gifts nearly as much as the giver… especially on February 14th.

This Valentine’s Day, however, included a lovely bright spot. I received a unique gift that was linked back to my favorite giver.

 

Linda is both an old and a new friend. We met 50 years ago in 1969, as newlyweds. What brought us together was our teaching assignments at the same southern Illinois grammar school. We carpooled that year and forged a happy friendship in the process.

After two years, though, she and I moved apart, and our lives filled with children, homes, and separate schedules. In a natural way, our friendship dimmed. But in 2017, we reconnected through my blog — and our friendship was reborn. It’s been rewarding getting to know each other all over again.

And that’s where Valentine’s Day comes in.

Collecting the mail one day, I wondered what a padded envelope from Linda might contain. Inside was a pretty Valentine card and a heartfelt note that had Nate’s name in it. She wrote, “I saw the thing that is in this package and thought instantly of you and Nate.”

I couldn’t imagine what it was but didn’t waste time guessing. Unrolling the red tissue, the first thing I saw was the back side of her gift. She’d written an inscription on the crème-colored stone, and these four words jumped out at me:

“In memory of Nate.”

 

It’s been years since anyone used those words in my hearing, and they touched me deeply, so much so that I broke into tears. No one remembers a man like his wife does, but knowing someone else was remembering him, too, surrounded me with comfort.

When I turned over Linda’s gift, I found a lacy red heart and the words, “I love our story.”

My sentiments exactly.

 

One widow friend told me recently the thing she most fears is that people will forget about her husband. With the passing of time, fewer friends mention him, and his face isn’t in any of their photos. No fresh stories surface about him, nor are there any memories that haven’t already been shared.

And maybe that’s why Linda’s gift meant so much to me. She suggested packing it away with my Valentine decorations, but I prefer keeping it next to Nate’s picture on my dresser, where I can see it every day.

“God loves a person who gives cheerfully.” (2 Corinthians 9:7)