Nate ran his life with Post-It notes. After we learned about his cancer, his note writing increased exponentially, partly because he had more time on his hands and partly because so many of his thoughts had “URGENT” flashing above them.

As the cancer spread, Post-Its piled up next to his lazy-boy, bringing unwelcome pressure with their presence. Although he kept writing almost till the end, he stopped reading his own notes half way through the six weeks. When that happened, I began removing the older notes, leaving the fresher ones for him to keep in his shirt pocket or hold in his hand.

Although his script had always been difficult to read, gradually it changed from the familiar, loopy hand of healthy days to an illegible chicken scratch. But God was merciful. As Nate wrote to himself, he seemed to know what the markings meant, never noticing the deterioration of his own writing.

Today I took all 115 Post-Its from those 42 days and spread them on the bed. Most were dated, making it easy to put them in order. As I read each one, the story of my husband’s journey from diagnosis to death was staring back at me.

The beginning notes were a mix of office reminders, days and times for doctors appointments and single word questions: “Back surgery 9/28. Dr. Mace 2:00. Stomach ache. Ulcer?”

On September 14 he wrote, “Melson. 1:35 pm, tumor on pancreas, lesions on liver, ultrasound.”

As I read Nate’s private impressions of his dilemma, my eyes filled with tears. Medical terminology popped up more and more between client phone numbers and court dates. One Post-It said, “Difficult road.” Another simply said, “Help.”

He listed bills that needed paying and people who needed to be told of his cancer. Nate’s brother Ken’s name appeared again and again, sometimes just his initials, a much loved friend continually on his mind.

Among the notes was his last commuter train ticket and a receipt from Panda Express. We’d shared a lunch there just before learning about his cancer. He also saved the parking pass from the hospital garage that same day. These bits of paper were a hold on our pre-cancer reality, because what we heard from the doctors about our future couldn’t possibly be true, could it?

One note included a list of doctor questions for our next meeting: “Life expectancy? Parameters? Time frame? Stronger meds?” At the bottom was a concern for Hans and Katy who were trying to get passport and visa issues cleared to come from England: “Hans, letter.” Nate asked the doctor that day to write a letter indicating it was urgent his son be allowed to come soon.

Another Post-It detailed personal documents he wanted to find, and at the very bottom he penned the word “bad”. His experience was so hurtful it couldn’t help but come out the end of his pen.

As I studied each note, tears plopping on them, I came to a square that simply said, in the strong, round letters of a young person, “I love you, Papa.” The timing was good, because immediately after that came Nate’s note with the words “Breath. Panic. Drowning. Urped up. Not good.” The lung tumor was pressing, making it hard to breathe.

Another note listed “Car title. Electric dog fence. Several phone numbers,” and the words, “No fun.” Nate never complained about his constant pain. He’d ask for meds but didn’t whine or express self-pity. At the bottom he wrote, “Trust and obey.”

Eventually there were no more business reminders, only medical events and terms: “Call dr. Cotton mouth. Chapped lips. Panic? Panic. Tests? Results?” Reading these notes, I’m newly impressed with the courage he displayed.

Nine days before he died, he wrote, “40^th Roma.” He knew we couldn’t do much on our anniversary but wanted to do something. With the way he felt, I can’t imagine sitting in a pizza restaurant, but as always, he was putting me first. At the bottom he wrote the word “expectations”. I wish I knew what he’d been thinking.

On his last legible note, barely readable, are the words “Margaret Nyman. Blog.” But I’ll never know what he wanted to tell me.

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” (Proverbs 19:21)

God was good to us on July 21, 2007. That’s when Katy Mills became Katy Nyman by marrying our Hans, and today is her birthday. The Youth With A Mission “match factory” produced another marriage made in heaven for our family as Hans and Katy left their homelands (US and UK) for a six month missions project initiated in New Zealand. God brought them from opposite sides of the world to the bottom of the globe to find each other.

Since the time our children were little, I’ve prayed for their future mates who were simultaneously being raised elsewhere. I prayed for godly upbringings, loving family relationships, commitments to Christ at young ages, protection from life-scars and many other goodies. As I prayed for Hans and his eventual wife, God had his eyes on Katy. Somehow, in a way beyond my understanding, he applied my prayers to her life on the other side of an ocean, and when we met her, we were looking at God’s faithful answer.

Katy and Hans were married in Macclesfield, England, in a 400 year old cathedral-style church just outside the city of Manchester. Although Hans was sure beyond all doubt Katy was “the one” before we even met her, we seconded that vote as we got acquainted from afar. There were pictures, emails, videos, letters, and at long last, a visit when we got to put our arms around the real girl.

Katy has a sparkling personality that attracts others and makes them feel included. With a spirit of optimism and joy, she’s captivated us all. As Hans aptly described her after catching a glimpse of her at an airport gate, “There she was, in all her colorfulness!” Now that we’ve gotten to know her, we understand he meant not just her cheery exterior but her delightful inner persona, too.

Katy has a natural beauty that enables her to “get ready” in a few quick minutes, a young husband’s dream. She’s also an excellent cook and has pulled Hans into meal preparation to the point where I’ve overheard them discussing the benefits of different spices, and I don’t mean salt and pepper. “It’s like art,” Hans told me, “bringing a meal to the table in a joint effort.” This is one of the many gifts Katy has shared with our son.

Giving birth to Nicholas Nyman a year ago, a little guy who looks just like her, is a blessing that benefits us all. And I’ll never forget the day Nate and I, with Linnea, were driving home from yet another radiation treatment, feeling dispirited. The cell phone rang at an opportune moment, bringing Hans and Katy into the car all the way from England. Together they announced they were expecting twins! Our gasps and squeals banished gloom from the car as we received the bright news that two more little Nymans were being readied to join the family. And as for coping with twins, Linnea put it well that day when she said, “If anybody can handle it, Katy can!”

The most significant part of our daughter-in-law, though, is her deep faith in Jesus Christ. I remember trudging upstairs with an armload of clean laundry on a discouraging day in October, when all the medical news was bad. Hearing soft voices in the next room, I peeked through the open door. There sat Katy and Hans, knee-to-knee, heads bowed, deep in prayer. For a Christian parent, there is no greater happiness.

”I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.” (3 John 4)

“Those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)

Nate loved language. He read the dictionary for pleasure and used seventy-five cent words in everyday conversation. He was my personal walking, talking lexicon, and I loved asking him, “What’s that word? What does it mean?”

My husband never met a word he didn’t like. If he heard something new, he’d do exactly as all the grade school teachers instructed: use it in a sentence. One try at that and it was his forever. I recall the first time I ever asked him a word question. We were newlyweds, and he was in law school. When he referred to “becoming an attorney,” I asked, “What’s the difference between an attorney and a lawyer?”

“Nothing,” he said with a smile. “But that was a really cute question.” (Spoken like a man in love.) That was the start of forty years of word questions from me to him. Thankfully, he never criticized me for so much not-knowing.

In high school, Nate was the captain of the debate team (second from left), propelling his classmates to excellence and a case full of trophies. Words were important, and he made it his business to learn all he could. As he studied the dictionary, he underlined words he needed to come back to, and made tiny notes in the margins. He memorized definitions, then quizzed himself year after year to be sure it all stuck.

He didn’t only enjoy English, though. He knew a smattering of all the romance languages and also Latin, the source of many English words. He also minored in college Russian and spoke it fluently. He used to say, “No, not fluently…” but whenever he ran into a native Russian, the two of them got lost in animated conversations the rest of us didn’t understand. One waitress and one hair cutter were particularly entranced by his interest in their language and loved to see him coming.

The other day as I was reading a morning devotional book, I came across a word I didn’t know and was frustrated I couldn’t just holler into the next room, “Nate, what does ‘abrogated’ mean?” Instead I had to go to the dictionary, a boring alternative to asking him . (It means to nullify or do away with something.)

I never really appreciated Nate’s massive vocabulary skills, at least not until now when I find myself hunting through the dictionary. He had a fantastic memory and seemed never to forget what he’d learned. We all looked up to him for his intelligence, and I don’t think I ever asked a question for which he didn’t supply the answer.

(But lest I give the impression he was perfect, he did destroy a toilet bowl trying to get rusted bolts loose with a hammer.)

We all have strengths and weaknesses. Nate took advantage of his love affair with words by studying them and quizzing himself over and over. Language is important, and words run the world. But there are words, and then there is The Word, God’s definitive Word on all matters. Thankfully none of us needs an extensive vocabulary or a grasp on foreign language to be schooled by Scripture. The words on its pages concern matters of the heart, and since we all have one of those, its promises and words of eternal hope are meant for us all. To take full advantage of them, we don’t even need a dictionary.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.” (Psalm 119:105)
[Jesus said,] “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.” (Matthew 24:35)