Home Improvement – Part III

After we finished painting all the rooms in our house, we’d done everything possible to make it sell. Potential buyers came and went, each one raving about how “charming” our home was and how much “character” it had, but no one made an offer. As Linnea said, “If that house ever sells, you’ll know for sure it’s God who does it.”

I thought about our perseverance. It was fruitless. Why was it so important to God anyway? The answer, of course, was that perseverance is one of his character traits, and he’s a champion at it. We’re to emulate him, and cultivating perseverance is part of that calling.

In the Old Testament, Abraham’s offspring, the children of Israel, were about as difficult to deal with as any rebellious child of our time. Yet God modeled perseverance to the nth degree, continuing to love them without conditions. He loves us that way, too.

God also demonstrates perseverance in his efforts to teach us, despite our inability to learn everything he wants us to know. But he uses a variety of methods and sets up life circumstances as object lessons to make our learning easier.

And most impressive is how he persevered to find a way to bridge the chasm between our sin and his sinlessness, letting Jesus go to the cross to absorb our judgment. His perseverance in finding a way for us to be forgiveness is the one and only reason we have access to heaven. If he’d have thrown in the towel and said, “I’m giving up on them,” we’d all be damned.

When I thought of God’s flawless perseverance, my complaints about the house not selling “after all we’d done” seemed trite. God wasn’t doing what I wanted him to, and I was annoyed. But of course there was a good reason for his resistance. I just didn’t know what it was.

When we’d originally put the house on the market, Birgitta was about to enter high school. By this time she was a senior, closing in on graduation, and my patience was wearing thin. We knew seven people who’d put their homes on the market after we had, and during those four years, all seven had sold. We thought maybe we should take down the “For Sale” sign and put up “House for Free.”

As the weeks went by, every time the realtor called to say a new family was coming to look at the house, I’d jump into action: stop what I was doing, wipe the sinks, close the toilet lids, shake the rugs, straighten the throw pillows, turn all the lights on and put Jack in the car. This was done without hope for a sale but strictly because I didn’t want the realtor to know I’d given up.

And then one day it happened. She called and spoke the magic words: “We have an offer!”

We’d heard these words twice before without finalizing a sale. But if we were ever going to sell, it would have to begin there. Did we dare to hope?

(…to be continued)

“What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient?” (Job 6:11)

Remembering the Wake

A year ago today, our family got dressed in black and assembled in a Chicago funeral home for Nate’s wake, a difficult day that began rushing toward us the moment he died. Thinking back, I remember with a shudder how I felt as we drove the old mini-van from Michigan to Chicago. Nelson was at the wheel, others were in the back, and my mind was swirling with a thousand details. Had we covered all the bases? Were we factoring in the time change from EST to CST? Did we bring the programs? Would we be able to bear what this day would bring?

But God was ready with a special something to calm my fears and bring a measure of peace. As we drove, my cell rang, and I heard the unmistakable Scottish accent of Colin Smith, our former pastor. He would be doing Nate’s service and was calling to reassure me. Reminding me Nate was  in the presence of Christ on this day, he pulled my attention toward eternal positives and brought welcome relief to my spirit.

I also remember walking into the funeral home, greeted warmly by the personnel there, on a day when my frame of mind was freezing cold. The low point of the day came as I stepped into the room where Nate’s casket was positioned at the far end, wondering if my knees would buckle.

Seeing him there was a more powerful confirmation of his death than seeing him at home in the hospital bed immediately after he died. Lying in the bed he looked exactly as we’d expected at the conclusion of terminal, stage 4, pancreatic cancer. At the funeral home, in a casket, dressed in a business suit and wearing make-up, he looked out of place and awful. It was hard to look at his face, because that wasn’t my Nate.

Today I’m remembering with gratitude the long line of sympathizers who made the effort to attend that wake, who greeted me with memories of Nate and words of reassurance. As I hugged people, without realizing it I gradually inched away from Nate’s casket toward the back of the room. Several good friends tapped me on the shoulder and said, “You ought to move back toward Nate.” But I was far more composed half-a-room away.

In thinking back to Nate’s wake, my wish is that I could watch a video replay of each attendee and listen to our conversations again. So much of it was blurred because of the strain of that day. But I do remember the warmth that flowed over me as I received people, a stark contrast to the trembling cold I felt while looking at Nate’s body.

My family and I are still in the land of the living, which makes standing next to the dead an alien experience. But by God’s design, one day all of us will again stand next to Nate, who will be very much alive and well. That joyful truth will be the grand finale of his sad earthly wake. As rough as that day was, it wasn’t God’s final word.

There will be much more to the story.

”We will not be spirits without bodies. While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sigh… We want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life.” (2 Corinthians 5:3-4)

One Year Ago: The Last 24 Hours

I look back at last year’s calendar with its description of our final day with Nate and shake my head. It was a dreadful yet holy day, a family time set apart like no other. What stands out in my memory?

  • First and foremost, Nate, struggling with pain but then responding well to the morphine drops, liquid relief from the agony of failing organs.
  • Hospice nurses, three in particular: Margarita teaching us how to use atropine to lessen the fluids in Nate’s system; Sonia showing us how to swab his mouth, moisten his lips, cool him with wet cloths and speak soothingly; Dee, spending the night on a stool near Nate, then tenderly bathing him on his last morning.
  • Singing, praying, reading Scripture.
  • Nate finally resting without pain, no knitted brow, no agitation, a relaxed hand as I held it.
  • Family love and gratitude expressed through tearful goodbyes.
  • The Holy Spirit’s presence with us in our dimly lit sanctuary, with Nate in his hospital bed as the centerpiece.
  • Nurse Dee’s comment, “During the night, he looked like he was getting younger and younger.”
  • Nate’s passion to hang on as long as he could, not leaving us until there was no other choice.
  • God and Nate deciding his life had reached its finish line and Nate’s walking into eternity with the Lord.
  • Our aching hearts struggling to believe what had happened, crying, praying, loving.
  • Watching a new nurse officially declare he was gone, released from his earthly body-bondage; listening to her words of comfort as she shared her Christian faith with me.
  • Disposing of Nate’s many drugs with Hospice, grateful he had no further need for them.
  • Watching the funeral home director and his assistant carry Nate out our front door, but being sure the real Nate had left two hours before that.
  • Realizing God had dramatically healed Nate of a very bad back and pancreatic cancer!

Although I’ve thought about these same details a million times during the last 12 months, tonight, for a change, I’m not crying. And I can’t explain it.

Tomorrow might be a different story, but for now, I can walk among the memories and be drawn to the blessings. During this year, God the Father has taught me so much about leaning on him that I’m continually aware of his nearness and can honestly say he’s my most precious Friend.

Today Louisa shared her thoughts about missing her papa, and we agreed there would be many future days when we’ll wish he was with us. Nothing, however, can spoil the unending togetherness we’ll have in eternity. The disconnect is only temporary.

Most likely we’ll never get the answer to her important question, “Why did he have to die when he did?” Instead, through his death, we’ve been given an opportunity to deepen our relationship with God. He had a reason for taking Nate when he did, a good one, and we can choose to trust him on that. Then, as trust increases, we’ll wonder “why” less and less.

In the mean time, we can freely look back, counting on God’s comfort to help us well into the future.

”Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4)