Daft on Rafts
Posted by Margaret on Aug 16, 2010
Waves, rafts and kids… a formula for fun. Today the girls celebrated Birgitta’s last vacation day before college by romping in heady Lake Michigan surf. Their laughter rose above the crash of the waves, and I had as much fun watching them as they had playing.
Churning white water presents three options: over, under or through. Leaping to jump or dive over a wave is a delight, offering a smooth ride down. Ducking under to let the turmoil of a breaking wave roll above you is especially good if you open your eyes and watch it pass.
But choosing to go through a wave, experiencing the full power of underwater chaos, is spectacular. Knowing you’ll come out the other side lets you submit with abandon.
Lake Michigan waves, admittedly friendlier than their bigger ocean counterparts, develop in the same way as the giant cousins. A new weather system bringing wind begins to stir calm water into a chop, which is followed by larger breakers. Bigger winds? Bigger waves.
Because of weather’s ongoing changes, we’re never sure when to pack the rafts for a day at the beach. But the rustling of trees along with a distant roar lets us know.
Like the continual change on the water’s surface, our family is adjusting to changes, too. The biggest one has been getting used to Nate’s absence. Ten of us have been working hard to calm our emotional waters over the past nine months. In many day-to-day ways also, a measure of chaos similar to white water has risen up and overwhelmed, just as big waves break over a swimmer on a raft.
Since last November, the “weather” of grief has shifted often, sometimes leaving us to tread water without a raft at all, which is exhausting. We’ve all felt like the next storm might swamp us completely, should it arrive too soon. But here we are, still afloat, making gradual progress through the waves.
Now we’re beginning to experience fresh winds of family change. Birgitta will become a first time university student. Nelson will return after circling the globe since last January while leading a YWAM group. Louisa will begin an intensive nine month Bible school, and Jack and I will regroup in an empty nest. Waves may develop, or there may be calm water ahead. It’s too soon to get the weather report.
But we aren’t alone in this. Everyone experiences change, and much of it involves waves. Waves of grief, waves of pressure, waves of work, waves of obstacles, waves of decisions.
Forty years ago we sang along with a Top 40 hit whose chorus went like this:
- Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the waters.
- Put your hand in the hand of the man who calmed the sea.
It was good counsel then and is still good now. The mental picture of God’s big, sure grip on each of us as we toss about in the waves of change should remind us he’s pulling us through toward quieter waters.
As a matter of fact, God has plans to one day pull everybody out of the water completely. We’ll be done with going over, under or through any more waves of change. And when that happens, we can deflate our rafts for good.
“He leads me beside still waters.” (Psalm 23:2b)
Summer Solstice
Posted by Margaret on Jul 2, 2010
Back in second grade science class, we all learned about the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. As youngsters we loved studying this subject for two reasons: (1) when it occurred, we knew we’d be on summer vacation, and (2) since the sun set really late that day, we’d have more time to play outdoors.
Summer is the favorite season of many, because it brings sunshine, grilling, swimming and flip-flops. It represents lemonade on the deck, green leaves on the trees and screens on open windows. And Nate and I, born ten days apart, celebrated our birthdays together during the summer.
There is no end to the delights of this season. But something has always nagged at me. Why do the days begin to get shorter when summer has barely begun? The Summer Solstice on June 21 is that turnaround day, and it has passed. It’s as if fall peeks around summer’s corner to remind us darker days are coming.
I’m nervous about the coming fall. Along with it’s arrival will come the one year anniversary of the day we were told of Nate’s cancer, September 22. Each of the 42 days following that will be, most probably, a reliving of those painful days. I’m already planning to pull out my 2009 calendar to read what happened on each day. That exercise might seem senseless, but as we travel through that season, something inside me wants to link up with what Nate suffered.
Just last month I was finally able to stop my mind from traveling back to those excruciating days on a daily basis. Aborting that thought pattern has taken eight months, and now, as the days begin to shorten toward autumn, I’m back where I started.
Scripture makes a case for living in the present, but it also recommends looking back, with the purpose of being thankful. By suggesting we count past blessings, the Lord wants us to recognize that he cared for us in the past and will care for us in the future. Even in mentally remembering the days of Nate’s decline and demise, God’s gifts during that time stand out like the flowers in a centerpiece, prompting my gratitude.
I don’t like watching the sun set one minute earlier each evening or realizing that a month of summer has already slipped away. But once summer is over and fall arrives, once we get through those 42 days, all our “firsts” without Nate will have passed. I’m hoping that after that I’ll be able to take more deep breaths and think back without having to relive the pain. My widow warriors tell me this will be true.
Surely the Summer Solstice a year from now won’t prompt nervousness as it has this year. Instead, when the days shorten and that next fall arrives, it’ll come bringing its usual golden glow. The sting of the cancer will be gone, even in our memories. I’m looking forward to the day when I can look back and remember Nate not in terms of disease and death but as he was in the many seasons that preceeded the autumn of 2009.
”The moon marks off the seasons, and the sun knows when to go down.” (Psalm 104:19)
As time goes by…
Posted by Margaret on May 24, 2010
Is it possible I’ve been in England at Hans and Katy’s house for 12 days already? That’s what the calendar says, but none of us believe it. Although we haven’t done much running around and have lived our days at home base, the hours have flown by, and it’s nearly time for me to climb back on a plane and head home.
While Hans has been at work, Katy and I have been consumed with the daily tending of their young flock. Nicholas cut another tooth this week, and we’ve celebrated Katy’s father’s birthday with a multi-course feast. Hans has explained his plan for their large vegetable garden and pointed out the herbs he’s already growing. We’ve pushed the triple stroller uphill and hiked along sheep pastures. I’ve marveled at watching Hans make a cream sauce that went over asparagus, which went over salmon. But mostly we’ve all participated in parenting and grandparenting, and that’s what I’ll miss most when it comes time to leave.
The last time I saw Nicholas was during the weeks of Nate’s illness and death. He was only ten months old, and when I saw him this time, he had no recollection of our relationship. Nearly seven months had gone by, during which he’d changed dramatically. How much more time will slip past us all before we can be together again? I try not to think about it. And of course the changes in Nicholas between now and then will be nothing compared with the changes in the twins.
Nate used to tap on his watch face with his index finger and say, “Nobody beats this guy.”
As a grandma, I’ve been labeling “distance” as my enemy, when in reality the enemy has been “time”. Its relentless march never slows, not for a second. Katy, Hans and I have had lengthy conversations this week during our evenings together, recently chatting about the passing of time. We’ve looked back and seen how we wasted it as youths and only appreciated time’s value when we seemed to have very little of it. I see these two young parents, fresh and strong in their mid-twenties, as having most of their lives ahead of them, while I view my life as waning. In truth, none of that may be accurate, since we can’t predict our futures.
When Hans and Katy called last year to announce a new baby would be coming this spring, I thought Nate and I would be traveling together to meet him or her (him and her, as it turned out). But time ran out sooner than we thought it would. This harsh reality, that time ends in different lives for different reasons, hovers over all of us.
Scripture puts the whole thing into perspective, describing our lives as a morning mist. In other places we’re likened to early dew that disappears, chaff swirling from a threshing floor or smoke escaping through a window. God is telling us that earthly life is fleeting and brief, over before we know it. Compared to eternity, it doesn’t matter much. When we ponder that broad truth, the ongoing mini-crises in our lives fall into proper perspective, and we become free to stop worrying, even about when we’ll next visit the children and grandchildren we love.
”You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)
Scent or Smell?
Posted by Margaret on Jan 9, 2010
Have you ever stepped into an elevator with a woman who’s wearing too much perfume? It’s enough to make you step out and head for the stairs. That’s the way Nate wore cologne. His preference was Aramis, a pricey scent introduced in 1965. He was wearing it in 1966 when we met as college seniors and was still wearing it on our wedding day three years later.
I liked Aramis, even lots of it. The problem came when I was expecting baby #1, in 1972. Funny things happen to normal women when they become pregnant, and my hormones birthed a hatred for Aramis. It no longer smelled good; it just smelled. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with it, which presented a major problem for our marriage.
“Pour it down the drain,” I insisted, but Nate loved his Aramis and didn’t understand my turncoat behavior. By baby #3, I’d done so much complaining, he finally surrendered, and I know why. Desperate to get my way, I’d told him, “If you keep wearing it, I can’t kiss you anymore and risk that stuff rubbing off on me.” That did it.
Trying to remain calm amidst the churning emotions of his pregnant wife, he asked, “So, what cologne can I wear?”
“Old Spice.”
I saw him turn up his nose and tip his head as if to say, “Are you kidding? That’s what our fathers wear!”
But he didn’t say it, and soon a stopper-topped, milk-glass Old Spice bottle appeared in our bathroom. The familiar ship on the front was comforting to me, and the scent was pleasing since it reminded me of… my father.
Nate saved his bottle of Aramis for years, hoping I’d eventually warm up to it again. I left it there under the sink, thinking I might enjoy it after we finished having babies, which took 17 years. In the mean time, he got plenty of kisses while wearing Old Spice. Sadly, though, my distaste for Aramis never went away.
But 2005 was a banner year, because something happened that opened the door to Aramis. Our golden retriever had a mental snap, and though she loved me, attacked me with an intent to kill. Snarling and growling, she bit me repeatedly, tore my skin open and shook me like a captured rabbit. Two days later, admitted to the hospital with a serious infection, I was given “the atomic bomb of antibiotics.” It was a last-ditch effort to save my hand from amputation.
“You’ll probably smell something terrible inside your head for several weeks,” the doctor told me. “It’ll be the medicine. And more than likely it’ll take away your sense of smell. But which would you rather have, a hand or a sense of smell?”
I picked my hand, and the doctor was right about my nose. After those antibiotics I couldn’t smell anymore, not even Nate’s Old Spice. So one day I told him, “Guess what. You can wear Aramis again, because I can’t smell you anymore.”
He immediately got rid of his Old Spice bottle, but rather than resurrect the Aramis, he experimented with other colognes. I bought him a bottle of Brut, thinking Elvis Presley’s choice would make cologne-wearing fun again, but amazingly, he settled on Mennen Aftershave, a mild scent bought at Walgreens for $1.99.
Today at the cottage I found three bottles of his bright green Mennen under the bathroom sink. I opened one to sniff deeply, wondering if I might be able to smell Nate, but nothing came. Since our boys had no interest, I simply poured it all out. As I watched his Mennen swirl down the drain, I realized in a new way what a great love Nate had for me.
It’s the refusal to give in to the whims of a spouse that can one day become the spontaneous combustion of divorce. Nate didn’t want to give up his Aramis, and he held on for three babies trying to convince me. But when he saw I wasn’t going to bend, he did the bending for both of us and put it away. At the time I didn’t appreciate the significance of what he’d done. I probably said something like, “Thank goodness!” or “Finally!”
Today I say, “Shame on me.”
My objection to Aramis was valid, but my mistake was in failing to honor my husband for his willingness to give up what he’d wanted to keep. More and more I’m realizing that much of the reason our marriage worked was because Nate acquiesced to my desires. I wish I would have looked for more ways to give in to him, and oh how I wish I could thank him now… for putting away his Aramis, way back in 1977.
“Keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaint.” (1 Peter 4:8-9)
Emotional Eruption
Posted by Margaret on Jan 4, 2010
We’ve passed the two-month mark now. Life is speeding along around us, and we’re doing our best to keep up, but every once in a while, we bump into a road block of anguish.
This morning I looked at the mountain of reading that has accumulated in the weeks leading up to Christmas, still untouched but calling loudly, and decided I’d better shuffle through at least some of it. Sorting it into piles was helpful: 1) for much later, 2) as soon as I can, 3) now!
That sounds efficient and well organized, but I am neither. Turning to leave with my pile of “nows” in one hand, the December Focus on the Family newsletter caught my eye. It was atop the “for much later” pile, but in a flash I was reading it.
Each December that newsletter breaks with the format of the other eleven months and shares a warm Christmas story, the kind families could confidently read around the holiday dinner table. I look forward to each December’s story and this morning found myself into it even before I had my pajamas off.
Sitting down with coffee, my “nows” and the newsletter, I read a husband’s story about his wife’s surprise pregnancy after cancer and intense radiation. Although they’d been told she would never have children, there was a positive pregnancy test, which unleashed nine months of anxiety over the condition of the child.
Their miracle baby due at Christmas, arrived at Thanksgiving, tiny but healthy. The young couple, without money for Christmas gifts, put their tiny month-old newborn under the tree with a miniature red Santa hat on his little head. His daddy wrote, “He was our gift to each other that year. Nothing else could have come close.”
They saved that Santa hat, and every Christmas since 1976, have topped their Christmas tree with it. The husband wrote, “It serves as a reminder of how out of the depths of despair and the shadow of death can spring hope and expectancy, and ultimately affirmation [of new life].”
This morning as I read that story and landed on that last sentence, I broke into sobs like I haven’t since my encounter with the homeless man weeks ago. I couldn’t stop. And once again, I didn’t know why I was crying. My head was hanging down, and tears began pooling in the lenses of my reading glasses. What was this all about?
Maybe it was the husband’s positive statement that hope and expectancy can spring from death and despair. If that was it, my tears were those of happiness. I might also have been unconsciously thinking of the three newborns God is sending to our family, one due in three weeks, the twins in about three months.
But also underneath that emotional eruption was Nate’s death and disappearance, along with my yearning never to let the memories fade. Maybe I was unconsciously asking, “What represents our Santa hat for Nate?” Over the next few days, I’m going to think about it.
In Old Testament times, the Israelites had their Santa hat. It was called a “rock of remembrance.” God instructed them to set up stone markers as reminders to them and future generations that he was the master of rescuing, of performing wonders and of bringing new life from the death of old ideas, habits and hopes. This morning while reading the baby story I realized afresh that God is the same today as he was in 1976, and the same in Bible times, and the same even before time began at all. One of the best things about him is how he still brings life from death. Always did and always will.
God saved the life of the young wife suffering from killer-cancer but even greater than that, he brought new life directly from her. This is the kind of spectacular work God does. He doesn’t always cure cancer or send new babies, but he always, without fail, brings new life. The categories in which he works are myriad. If we don’t believe it, it’s because we haven’t seen it. And if we haven’t seen it, it’s because we haven’t asked for it. When I ask, he shows me, and when I see, I’m overwhelmed with pleasure and hope, just as the young couple in the story was.
I know God will bring new life from my husband’s death. In a way, he already has by using Nate’s life as the focal point of this blog. With every positive feedback, a little something new is born. For that, and for all the new life I have yet to see as a result of Nate’s death, I am truly thankful.
“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24)
“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.” (Hebrews 13:8)