Summer Solstice

Posted on July 2, 2010 by Margaret

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)

A word from Linnea

Posted on June 30, 2010 by Margaret

June was a great month for me, mainly because I spent over half of it at my mom’s house. Though I live in Florida with my husband and two kids, my heart and mind are often at my mom’s place in Michigan these days.

I hadn’t been back since I left last November after my dad’s funeral. On my first afternoon back I sat in a chair and looked at the living room. In my mind I saw my brothers and sisters sitting in our nightly circle, eating dinner together the way we did during the weeks before my dad’s death. Nelson would be carrying wood in from outside to keep the fire going. Nicholas and Skylar, the only two grandchildren at that time, would be eating and chattering, making plenty of noise and a total mess. There’d be a lot of laughing and talking, though we’d all be thinking of Papa with sadness at the same time. And my mom would be serving my dad faithfully, getting his pills and ice packs, and encouraging him to eat something.

The house feels different now. It’s my mom’s house instead of my parents’. My dad’s chair is empty and there are no newspapers scattered on the floor next to it. It’s summertime, so instead of chilly fall winds and orange leaves on the ground, everything outside is bright green and the air is thick and humid. During my last visit I was pregnant; this time I spent hours walking outside with baby Micah in my arms. Being outside calms him down when he’s fussy, so we’d go for slow walks down the road, just the way my dad did during his final weeks.

Each day as I traced my dad’s steps, I’d think about the end of his life. I hate that he had to die and I hate that my mom is now a widow. But as I’d stare up at the tall trees lining the road, their leaves making a shady covering for Micah and me, I couldn’t help but remember God’s faithfulness and goodness to my family, even as He took my dad away. I’ll never forget the moment my dad died—the way my mom sat and held his hand, and how all of us kids were right there in the house when it happened. After he was gone, we stood around his bed, said our goodbyes to him, and cried. If any of us had been missing—out running an errand or walking the dog—it would have been different. God arranged the timing perfectly and that was a gift. One of many.

It’s scary to think that death can reach out and touch us without much warning, without our permission. We are not in control of our lives the way we like to think. In the end, all that matters is our faith in God. Do I belong to Him? If my answer is yes, then I don’t have to live in fear—not of cancer, not of being alone, and not even of death. God has promised to work everything together for my good. Watching my dad die was awful. I don’t think I’ll understand in this lifetime why it had to happen the way it did. But God has left the evidence of His love for my family all over our memories, and when He says someday He’ll wipe away our tears for good, I believe Him.

“Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.” (Revelation 1:17b-18)

Rejoice and be glad.

Posted on June 13, 2010 by Margaret

After two weeks visiting three grandbabies in England and several days with two more in Michigan, I’m up-to-date with our five youthful relatives. Cameras are clicking non-stop, but sadly their Grandpa Nate is only in a few of the photos, and he’ll never appear with three of these children. As a matter of fact, none of the five will ever know him.

Skylar Nicholas I’ve worked hard not to camp there in my thinking. Instead I’m trying to focus on God’s spectacular timing in sending three new lives just as we’re painfully adjusting to losing one.

All of us pray for good health, protection and safety. When circumstances dish out the opposite, disease, injury or danger, it means God has overruled our prayer requests for important reasons that will ultimately be to our benefit.

As an example, take the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In the beginning it was all about anger and revenge. “What kind of a God would let this happen?”

But a month later, the entire country had recognized God as a force for good in America and had begun appreciating people in new ways. Many had started going back to church. Prayer meetings abounded. And those who’d lost loved ones in the attacks vowed not to wait before telling family members of their gratitude and love. Yes, there were losses, but there were also gains.

Henry Blackaby, an author and teacher I admire, says when we pray about specific situations, we ought to carefully observe what happens next. God will show himself in the circumstances that follow.

I remember years ago when a missionary friend who was based in the States (but a citizen of another country) was trapped in governmental red tape. Trying to renew her visa for traveling in and out of America, she’d been left in a third world country when her team had headed home. Unable to get back into the US, she sent out a call for prayer.

I began praying but wondered if I could help in another way also. I asked God what to do. Within days I “happened to hear” a broadcast on the power of fasting and decided God wanted me to fast for my friend.

At the end of a week’s fast, my friend actually called to say she’d not only received the paper work she needed but had secured permission to exit and enter the States indefinitely for ten years, something she’d never expected.

Was it an accident I was influenced to fast? I believe it was God’s response to my question of what I should do. When we seek him, he shows himself.

So here I am today, missing Nate and praying daily about my family’s different future without him. What should we think, Lord? What should we do?

His answer has come with three babies born in the first five months after Nate’s death. God has shown us we’re not to dwell on our losses but to focus forward and give thanks for where we are today.

We will never forget Nate. We’ll always love him dearly and delight in recounting our endless memories of him. And although his five grandchildren will never know him personally, we aren’t to spend time bemoaning that. Instead we’re to rejoice in their lives and move into the future with gladness and gratitude for the way things are… today.

“This is the day the Lord as made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24)