Today marks seven months since Nate has been gone, although it seems like only last week we were wrapped in the misery and pain of his pancreatic cancer. I know it’s been many months, however, because I see small signs of healing and growth. Although we may not have wanted it this way, our new lives without Nate are slowly, steadily taking shape.

Louisa and Birgitta spent time with me this week, working cheerfully and hard at whatever I asked. Together we attacked the yard, raking the ivy, picking up sticks, pulling weeds, sweeping the driveway, hanging window boxes, planting flowers, transplanting shoots, bringing house plants outdoors, putting sleds and snow shovels away, and laying down stepping stones. Until now, I’ve had no interest in projects like these, not even in cleaning. Life has been handled best at idle speed. The fact that all our yard work was satisfying is, I believe, a sign of healing for all three of us.

As I pass the front window and see our small pink impatiens peeking through the screen, I get a little lift. They will continue to grow throughout the summer, and we will do the same. There will be set-back days ahead as we come to Father’s Day, Nate’s birthday and the one year anniversary days of our cancer experience in the fall. But God will be on hand as he has been all along, nurturing our growth and guiding our progress.

Today as I walked around the yard surveying our improvements, I noticed something funny going on in a pile of logs sawed from a dead tree last fall. They are stacked together, awaiting the splitting wedge that will transform them into firewood, but one of them isn’t dead at all. It has actually begun growing again. The other logs, all cut from the same tree as the growing one, are completely lifeless.

Nothing happens by accident, and I decided to view those sprouts of new life as God’s encouragement for this day. Although Nate’s cancer brought death into our family, those of us who felt lifeless after he died are beginning to sense the stirrings of something new. Just as the log’s new growth looks different from the original tree trunk, so our lives will look different without Nate. But if we let them, they will continue to grow.

God has new plans, fresh ideas and an innovative strategy for all of us that we know nothing about yet. It took many months for new shoots to come from the “dead” log, and when the time is right, our new shoots will come forth, too. God is busy during these days laying the groundwork for that growth, and we’re all beginning to feel it.

”All the trees of the field will know that I, the Lord, … make the low tree grow tall. I … make the dry tree flourish. I the Lord have spoken, and I will do it.” (Ezekiel 17:24)

When the kitchen sink clogs, I can figure it out. When a drawer sticks or the upholstery rips, I know what to do. When fuses blow again and again, I don’t have a clue.

My electric water heater has its own little fuse box with twin fuses and an on-off lever. It’s simple. But it doesn’t work. When there ought to be hot water in the tank, suddenly there isn’t. But not always. Only sometimes.

When I check the power box, one of the twin fuses is always blown. This week when it happened, the glass on the front of the fuse got so hot, it was bulging. When I touched it, it burned my finger.

So now I’m flipping the lever “on” to heat up a tank of water (while standing back to avoid sparks), then flipping it back to “off” again afterwards. I’m worried about the house burning down and wonder how likely that is. But when I begin feeling sorry that I don’t have a husband to tend to the problem, my friend Becky’s words come back to me: “Neither Paul or Nate did home repair jobs anyway!” I guess we can’t miss what we never had.

New widows feel especially vulnerable to minor mishaps like my blown fuses, and any small blip in circumstances can quickly grow into a major crisis. Of course we can use a phone as well as the next person but often have trouble making the many tiny decisions necessary to move forward. “Who do I call? What if I get swindled? Can I trust a stranger? If I need a recommendation, who will I ask? Will the repair be expensive? Will the whole electrical system have to be replaced?” And on and on it goes in a succession of paralyzing questions. Meanwhile, nothing gets done.

In the months since Nate died, I’ve found myself in a swirl of indecision again and again, even to the point of wondering if I should walk upstairs to get my shoes or go downstairs to start the wash. Either would be fine, and both have to be done, but there I stand in the living room, immobilized by my inability to decide. I’ve asked a few of my widow friends if this is crazy, but they’ve responded with knowing smiles and similar scenarios.

Life becomes discombobulated when a mate is lost. If Nate was here, I’d report to him on the electrical dilemma and ask what to do. Being good at making decisions, he’d act without hesitating, either by finding the Yellow Pages or making a call or promising to have a solution by tomorrow. But because he is gone, the other half of that conversation is missing, which throws me into a tailspin of uncertainty.

I have high hopes my decision-confusion will eventually lift. Long-term widows tell me it will. In the mean time, I’ll lean on my knowledgeable brother-in-law for help and be thankful he’s willing to rescue me… yet again.

“Let all things be done decently and in order.” (1 Corinthians 14:40)