Category Archives: Widowhood

Studying the Pictures

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I love looking at photographs of Nate. Now that no more can be taken, each is priceless. When pancreatic cancer came along, a widow-friend advised me to “take lots of pictures of him.” That sounded odd, since I already had 190 photo albums in my basement.

Not himself.But there were two roadblocks to taking those pictures: (1) quickly, as the cancer gained ground, he didn’t look like himself; and (2) how do you snap pictures of someone who knows he’s dying, without making it awkward for them?

Once it was all over, I remembered what my friend had said and wished I’d followed her advice about photos, because we have precious few of his 42 days of illness. That’s why I often find myself in my basement albums studying the face of my husband.

What impresses me again and again is that in most of the pictures Nate has a child or two in his arms or on his lap. Not being a “natural” with children when we married, I’m reminded of how significant this effort was. These pictures, the ones in which he’s busy “doing” for his children (and by that, for me) are the ones that mean the most.

At Chuck E CheeseFor example, here’s one taken at Chuck E Cheese’s. The occasion was Klaus’ birthday (turning 6), and Nate is holding 3 week old Louisa, his 6th child, while trying to manage the rest of his own children and a dozen young guests. The Chuck E Cheese entertainment stage was in full swing with it’s robotic characters singing at peak volume, a frenzy at best.

Nate was working hard, and I knew he must have been hoping the event would end soon, so we could go home to normalcy. But from his place across a mob of children, he caught my eye and flashed a smile. It was one of those very private moments between a husband and wife in a very public place. And today it’s a precious treasure.

Taking care of businessAnother picture I’ve studied recently was taken on Christmas Eve. We’d lunched at Marshall Fields’ in Chicago’s Loop and were on our way back to the suburbs on the “L” train. (We only had 5 children at the time, though a nephew is also in the picture.) But once again, Nate is hard at work, watching over the precarious steps of a two and three year old about to stumble off the bottom of an escalator.

My photos are a poor substitute for the man himself, but they’re wonderful gratitude-boosters for the wife he left behind. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all that I didn’t take many pictures while he was sick. Seeing him in action (and in good health) is probably much better.

”Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God.” (Philippians 1:3)

Waiting Patiently?

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Patiently waitingOne of my favorite family photos is this one of Klaus and Hans, our children #4 and #5. We were on a family trip to Florida in 1985 when these two little guys, ages 3 and 4, were demonstrating patience. They were waiting for the perfect wave to lift their mini- surfboards off the sand and take them on a smooth, danger-free ride atop the ocean. They’d done everything they knew to do and were waiting for the water to do what they could not.

It’s a perfect picture of faith. We wait; God acts.

Today is the 4th anniversary of Nate’s death. Although I don’t know if he’s marking time the way we are, sometimes I get impatient to find out. Whether he’s looking forward to our reunion or not, there are days I long for it with everything in me, just like the boys longed to ride an ocean wave. It’s not that I have a death wish; life holds many good reasons to go on living. I’d just like to be with him again.

My children don’t like it when I talk about joining their father, but my desire isn’t to leave them. It’s that we all leave. In other words, my longing is for Jesus to come and scoop us up for an exit from this world and an entrance into the next. And it’s difficult to be patient.

Last family photoNo matter how hard any of us wishes for that day, however, we can’t hurry it along any more than a gardener can force a seedling to sprout. These things are up to God.

Today a handful of my children and I talked about their father at lunchtime. Their spoken memories of him were like gifts to me, and we shared our feelings about this anniversary day. Talking about how difficult it was to be in Nate’s presence when he died didn’t make us regret being there. It was deeply meaningful to experience those holy moments as a family, expressing love to the one who was dying as well as to each other.

My Spurgeon daily devotional book has a simple note written on this day, November 3rd.  It says, “Nate died today,” a bare-bones statement of fact. Maybe I should have written, “Nate went to heaven today,” or something more positive. But when he died, my heart was so swamped with loss, those were the only words I could come up with.

That November 3rd devotional happens to be about waiting for God’s timing. Spurgeon wrote, “We are in a hurry, but God’s time is the best time.” The last paragraph is a note to himself: ”Come, my soul, canst thou not wait for thy God? Rest in him, and be still in unutterable peacefulness.”

M&NMy little boys waited peacefully at the shoreline, hoping for the best, and since I can’t do anything to hasten my reunion with Nate, I can only do the same.

“Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for him to act.” (Psalm 37:7)

Love Notes

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Those of us who are widows are familiar with this statement: “We’re in a club none of us wanted to join.”

But God has made it clear he’s the #1 fan of our club and is tightly tuned-in to the needs of its members. Amazingly, this attentiveness includes even unspoken needs no one else knows about. He knows, and is steadily working to meet them. Once in a while he’ll even put a note in one of our mailboxes, personally written by him.

Loving mailYesterday my mail included a sunshine yellow envelope from someone I’ve never met, a compassionate person who is encouraging widows in concrete ways, and she isn’t even in our club. When her personal note mentioned she’d been married 43 years, I knew we must be about the same age.

Cathy introduced herself as having heard my story on the radio a couple of weeks ago, and the fact that she continued listening after learning the programs were focused on widowhood is a testament to her big heart. She wrote, “Thank you for giving me insight as to how to treat widows.”

Love notes from the LordBut the best part about Cathy’s note was the gift inside: a dozen colorfully decorated cards, each with an encouraging Scripture passage, and all of them laminated. As the cards spilled out of her envelope, I was overcome with her kindness, a woman I didn’t even know who wasn’t in “the club,” reaching out to one of its members.

But the best part was that she said, “These are love notes from the Lord,” refusing credit for herself and giving it to him instead. He’d written a love note to me, and Cathy was, in a way, the mailman. Some of the heart-stirring things he said were:

  • “The Lord’s people may suffer a lot, but He will always bring them safely through.” (Psalm 34:19)
  • “You are complete in Christ.” (Colossians 2:10)
  • “God takes care of orphans and protects widows. He finds families for those who are lonely.” (Psalm 68:5-6)
  • “How precious it is Lord, to realize that you are thinking about me constantly.” (Psalm 139:17-18)
  • “You’ll get through this.” (Isaiah 43:2)

Cathy used different Bible translations for the verses and a wide variety of papers, texts, fonts, and card sizes to frame God’s words attractively. The process probably took a great deal of time, and yet this gift came from the hands of a busy woman with 9 children (she said) and probably many more grandchildren (she didn’t say). I stand amazed.

The only right thing to do is to emulate Cathy, passing along her inspiring love notes to other widows after benefiting from them myself. After all, our club has thousands of members, and every one of us needs a love note written by the Lord himself.

“The Lord your God is with you; He is a hero who saves you; He happily rejoices over you, renews you with His love, and celebrates over you with shouts of joy.” (Zephaniah 3:17)