Category Archives: Grieving

Be prepared.

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I loved being a Girl Scout. Our motto was: “Be prepared.” This meant we were always to be mentally and bodily ready to face difficulties or even danger by knowing what to do and when to do it.

In an effort to get properly prepared, our leaders encouraged us to earn badges to prove how prepared we actually were. They taught us to make a fire, understand food nutrition, know about leadership, learn water safety, and much more.

As we earned our badges, we accumulated knowledge, and in order to apply it, our leaders role-played with us, testing our responses to different hypotheticals. They figured if we practiced enough, when a moment of need arose, we’d automatically jump in to help in appropriate ways.

Role-playing is a practical way to learn, and most of us do it eagerly. For example, before a couple gets married, they often attend counseling together. The pastor or teacher describes marriage moments they’re bound to encounter and asks how each would respond. The resulting discussions point out potential problems.

Nate and I did plenty of role-playing as we prepared for marriage: “What if we don’t have children? What if we do? If we move away from family, how will we handle that?” We worked to trouble-shoot, hoping we wouldn’t have too many bumps in the adjustment road, once we were married. It was all part of getting prepared.

At the other end of our marriage, as empty nesters heading toward retirement, we role-played once again: “When is it best to retire? Then what? And should we move? If so, what’ll happen when our children and grandchildren visit? And will our money last through old age? Should we travel before we get too old?” We wanted to be prepared.

The thing we didn’t role-play was an “early” death for one of us. “What will your/my life look like, if you/I should die? How can we prepare for that?” Other than life insurance, we hadn’t even discussed it.

Subsequently, when we learned of Nate’s cancer, we huffed and puffed trying to prepare, but death caught up to us before we were ready. When it was all over and I was alone, I stood in my living room on a wintry night and thought, “Now what? I’m completely unprepared for this.”

But God, who’s always ready for everything, had a good answer. “Since you couldn’t prepare for what was coming next, I did it for you.”

And here’s what he’d prepared:

  1. my grieving process
  2. this blog to tend
  3. a book to write
  4. Birgitta and her baby to help

In hindsight I can see he had me ready, so I’m not going to worry about what numbers 5 or 6 will be. And if I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that living within God’s preparedness is a better place to be than role-playing the unknown, all by myself.

 “I cry out to God Most High, to God who will fulfill his purpose for me.” (Psalm 57:2)

Giving Back

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This blog has always been a therapy for me, a place I eagerly look forward to going every day. It began as a bulletin board for family and friends when Nate was sick, then morphed into a place where I could work through the struggles of new widowhood. Readers were gracious and supportive then, and still are today.

Looking back over recent posts I see how they’ve become less and less about me and more and more about God. He’s become my shining star, a gleaming guide who is front and center in my life and on my blog. Writing about him will always be satisfying, and because of who he is, I’ll never run out of material.

Something impressive through the last couple of years is how extensively he has delivered a wealth of wisdom to me through you, dear reader. You’ve responded to my posts by sharing nuggets of gold, braving the comment boxes and the contact button in a way that has benefited me, and also other readers on this site.

Much of what you’ve written I’ve copied and saved in a cyberfile labeled, “Interesting Stuff,” and I can’t count the times I’ve returned to this compilation to hear you again. The following comment, left by a reader named Tina (10/27/09,“Tired”) seems to apply in a potent way to Easter week:

“I’m writing this with a hotel pen that says, ‘See the world. Stay with us.’ Seems a contradiction, since the world is a large place, and a hotel is not. When Jesus speaks, there’s no contradiction. ‘In my Father’s house there are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you.’ What I often forget is that He also stayed to prepare me for that place. Thank God for each morning’s new mercies… a cup of coffee, a warm hug, a baby’s drooling prattle, Scriptures that swell with meaning, then fit snugly into the day’s arsenal of resources. Another day. Another boatload of God’s tender compassions.” 

Easter week is the perfect time to zero in on the long list of resources that are mine (and yours) as a result of Jesus Christ’s willingness to take my sins into himself and suffer his Father’s incalculable wrath. For me.

He died, yet he lives. He departed, yet he stayed. He takes, yet he gives abundantly, an “arsenal of resources” with which to live our lives, every day.

And one of the valuable resources he’s given me, has been you.

“Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us,to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79)

Furry Friend… or Foe?

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Our nation has experienced record-breaking warmth this spring. Experts are confident wintery weather won’t return but that we’ll slide through a balmy spring right into a hot summer. Although I’d been keeping my winter clothes handy, today I gave up and swapped my cold weather wardrobe for the summer stuff.

One winter clothing item has always caused problems, though, even threatening to come between Nate and me years ago. I remember the Christmas he handed me a heavy gift box the size of a suitcase, nearly bouncing up and down in anticipation of me opening it.

He gathered the children to watch as I slowly untied the big red bow, and I just hoped my response to whatever was in the box would measure up to his expectation.

Inside was a full length black mink coat. I was completely taken by surprise, never having asked for a fur coat (or having wanted one). The best I could do was, “Wow! I sure never expected this!”

Nate’s thrill over giving me what he thought every girl always wanted was so strong, he missed my tepid response. Instead he pulled me out of the chair and helped me put it on, dancing me around the room to show the kids what a magnificent gift it was.

They took turns trying it on, bending under its weight, oooing and ahhhing approval. Lest I seem like an ingrate, my surprise at receiving the coat did translate into love and gratitude toward a thoughtful husband who chose his gift because he wanted to please me.

Falling in love with the coat, however, was another matter.

As the weeks went by, the mink became a thorn between us. When it was cold he’d say, “Aren’t you going to wear it?”

I’d say, “Oh sure. Ok.” But he sensed reluctance. My problem with the coat was four-fold. It wouldn’t move with me, it was too warm, too heavy, and worst of all, it made me look fat. It also bothered me that when we went to public places, Nate didn’t want to leave it on a coat rack, concerned for its safety. Instead we took it to our restaurant table or into the church pew. We also had to rent cold storage during the summer, a bill I resented paying.

Thirty years later I still have the coat, and it’s still beautiful, probably because it didn’t get much use. I regret not wearing it more, if for no other reason than to please Nate, and my unappreciative attitude was the perfect example of putting myself ahead of him, the man I loved. It was selfishness to the core. Now, every time I put the coat away for the summer, I feel guilty and wish I could have a re-do.

Sometimes I wonder how many re-do’s I’ll wish I could have when I eventually stand in front of Jesus. It’ll be hundreds. Probably thousands, if wasted and wrong thoughts count, which they will. Although I can’t change my fur coat history, I’m glad I still have time to work on everything else.

As for my mink, the proper thing to do is give it away. Either that, or when winter comes ‘round again, start wearing it.

“The sorrow that is according to the will of God produces a repentance without regret.” (2 Corinthians 7:10)

Not All Bad (Continued from yesterday)

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Peter’s badly chosen comment at the moment of Christ’s revealed glory brought a screeching halt to the supernatural experience for him and his companions. When God instructed him to listen to Jesus, he and his fellow disciples fell to the ground in terror. After that, they didn’t hear a thing.

When they came to, it was all over. Jesus’ clothes had lost their brightness, and his shining face had returned to normal. Were Jesus’ purposes (in bringing Peter, James and John along) accomplished? We don’t know how long his face shone and his clothes were as lightning, but we do know he wanted these 3 men to see him that way. Did they learn anything?

Maybe since the crucifixion was soon to happen, he wanted them to get a glimpse of what would come after his suffering. Or maybe he wanted them to visualize that he was not merely the man they’d lived with but the God-man, deserving of God’s glory.

Though they didn’t listen well that day, they saw what Jesus wanted them to see. As for Peter hoping to hold onto Jesus, Moses and Elijah, his comment might not have been as nonsensical as it first seemed.

The whole incident reminded me of a poignant dream I had about Nate after he died. (One Year Ago: Part III and IV, Oct. 18 & 19, 2010) In the dream I knew Nate had entered a supernatural world, but when I saw him back on earth, I clung to him, just like Peter wanted to hold Jesus, Moses and Elijah. My emotions were burning with desire, and if I couldn’t keep Nate from leaving my world, I thought I might collapse.

Peter must have felt the same way. He was fervently attached to Jesus and sensed his teacher and friend would soon slip away. He might have made his 3-tents-statement hoping to prolong the moment and borrow time to think. He had no way of knowing what was ahead, how/when Jesus would leave the earth or if/when he’d be back.

Interestingly, Jesus didn’t resent Peter’s off-the-subject statement or his attempt to usurp the lead or even his failure to listen. Instead, after Moses and Elijah had gone, he approached all 3 of them and touched them tenderly, coaxing them up off the ground, away from fear, and back toward him. Although they’d missed virtually everything that had been said, they apparently got the drift enough to satisfy Jesus, because as they hiked back down the mountain, he told them to keep it all a secret.

Jesus knows we long for him. It’s even possible he sees our desire as an act of adoration and worship. If that’s the case, Peter’s outburst turns out to be a pretty good one after all.

Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”  (Matthew 17:4)

Cry it out.

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I’ve always been impressed when actors cry on cue. Recently I read the biography of Melissa Gilbert who played the part of Laura Ingalls on the TV series “Little House on the Prairie.” When an episode called for tears, she’d separate herself, close her eyes, and withdraw into a sad memory, focusing on it until she’d brought it from her past into her present. After several minutes, real tears would come.

I wonder if there’s a difference between coaxed tears and those that come when we’re trying to hold them back. If examined under a microscope, would scientists be able to tell the difference?

My friend Barb Ingraham wrote, “When scientists studied human tears, they discovered the purpose of the tears determined their chemical composition. Tears to cleanse foreign objects were different from tears of sorrow, which were different from tears of joy.”

When I read that, I thought immediately of our God who delights in tending to details, assigning a purpose to each one. He cares about our crying, keeps track of our tears, and ministers to the reason for our weeping. And it gets even better than that. God uses the product of our grief, the tears themselves, to help us. Barb wrote, “Tears of sorrow actually have natural anti-depressants that cause a literal lift in body and spirit.” We have an awesome, helpful God!

When I was a newlywed, I awoke one night feeling sad about something (can’t recall what) and started to cry. Climbing out of bed and heading into the next room, I sat on the couch and bawled my eyes out, wishing Nate would wake up and come looking for me. I desperately needed his arms around me but wasn’t going to wake him.

I sat on the couch sobbing for 15 minutes or so when suddenly there he stood in the doorway, his eyebrows up and his mouth hanging open. “What’s wrong?” he said.

“I’m sad.”

“What should I do?”

I looked up at him with my wet face and runny nose, aching to have him enfold me in his arms but wanting him to initiate it. (Such was the mindset of a newlywed.) Because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, he sat down next to me and put his arms around me, exactly what I’d longed for.

I melted into him with a tremendous sense of relief and gratitude. Before long my crying calmed to a sniffle, and we both went back to bed. The crisis had passed, because of his love.

Each of us cries because of a crisis, and it’s God’s love that can bring us through. We see it in his design of our specific tears, realizing he knows why we’re hurting and, more importantly, knows what we need. Whether it’s reassurance of his love or something more, he’ll make sure we get it. He may not take away our crisis, but he’ll be our shoulder to cry on as we move through it.

And he makes this additional promise:

“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” (Psalm 126:5)