Monthly Archives: October 2010

The Journal: Will it be widowhood?

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I remember the first moment the word “widow” entered my mind. It was about a year ago, just a few days before Nate and I were told he had terminal pancreatic cancer. I was sitting in a warm tub in the early morning hours after Nate had had a bad night with intense back pain. He was finally asleep, and I grabbed the chance to decompress (and think) behind closed doors.

The tub wasn’t even full before I was weeping, panicky at the unknowns in our immediately future. What if Nate really had cancer? What if he died? What if I became a widow?

Feeling isolated as a woman who’d just moved 110 miles away from her sister, her girlfriends, her prayer groups and her church, I clutched. But God, the tender Father, interrupted that downward thought-spiral by flooding my mind with a list of caring friends. These were women who would come to me if I asked, women who were faithful to God but also to me. They were people I could call at any hour, confident they would give me good counsel and be willing shoulders to cry on. In thinking of them, I knew I would make it… even if I became a widow.

When I climbed out of the tub, I felt much better than when I’d climbed in, even though our circumstances hadn’t changed. But God had spoken to my need, demonstrating again how close he was. And that’s one of the awesome things about him. He’s intimately aware of where we stand at every given moment, knowing precisely what we need. My focus, and also that of Nate and I together as a couple, had been riveted on his health issues for many months. God knew my meltdown was coming, and he knew exactly when. He was ready.

I’ve learned God is practical and that he faithfully rushes toward our needs with sufficiency. He perfectly measures out ideas and vigor to cover every situation. As a doctor matches drugs to a patient’s illness, God matches aid to his children’s crises.

A sensible daily prayer for all of us is, “Lord, prepare me for whatever’s coming, and when it gets here, show me what to do.”

And he will.

He did it during my bath-time meltdown and has repeatedly rescued me throughout the last bumpy year. I still crave and pray for his preparation, because new crises will surely come. But I’ve witnessed how superbly he answers that prayer, and I don’t ever want to be caught weeping over bad news without having first invited God to get me ready for it.

As for my God-inspired list of women supporters, as I thought about each name he’d given me, I realized how amazing his help really was. Every single one on his list was a widow.

“Such is the confidence that we have through Christ toward God. Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God.”

(2 Corinthians 3:4-5)

The Journal: Bad News from a Cell Phone

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With hindsight being 20/20, we now see how Nate’s invisible cancer was present and active throughout the summer before his September diagnosis. But it wasn’t until the test results from his pre-op physical came in, that alarm bells finally began to clang. His liver numbers “were off,” prompting the doctor to order a scan of the liver and pancreas, located next to each other.

Journal words tell the tale: “While we were in the office of a new orthopedic doctor getting a third opinion on Nate’s spine, one of our other doctors called Nate’s cell. ‘The results of your scan indicate a mass on the liver,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘But don’t jump to any conclusions. Tissue is tissue, and we won’t know anything conclusive until we do a biopsy.’ The doctor told Nate he’d made an appointment for him and then said, ‘Be sure you keep it.’

At the end of the conversation the phoning doctor asked Nate, ‘Do you have any questions?’ I would have asked, ‘How likely is it the mass is cancer?’ but Nate said, ‘Will the biopsy hurt?’ He’d already begun his time in denial, and the pain question was all he could think to ask.”

A few minutes later as we stood in the hall awaiting the elevator, Nate was trembling from head to toe, his shoulders, his cheeks, his hands, but no wonder. He’d just been hard-hit with the words “mass” and “biopsy”, two words no one wants to hear.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked, enfolding him in a hug.

“It’s OK. We’ll get through it,” he said.

Our words promised we wouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but our eyes said we already had. When we got to the car, we listened to an earlier phone message left by the same doctor who’d called in the examining room:

“I need to talk to you right away. Here’s my direct number. And if I don’t answer, here’s my pager. And if for some reason that one won’t work, here’s the number for the girl at the desk, who will come and find me.” We knew we were in a serious mess.

As we drove from Chicago to Michigan I said, “If they need to do surgery on your liver, I want to give you a chunk of mine. People can do that, you know. And I really mean it.”

Nate’s response was off-subject. “I think I’ve used up my allotted pain meds for this 24 hours and know I’m going to have a bad night.”

Both of us had become aware that a storm was about to hit and knew we’d need a place to run and hide. We’d also need God to show us how to spot his blessings in the rubble, because at that moment, we couldn’t see a single one.

“My people will live in… undisturbed places of rest. Though hail flattens the forest and the city is leveled completely, how blessed you will be.” (Isaiah 32:18-20)

What about Me? (By Jack)

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Yesterday was Lars’ birthday; kudos to him. There was someone else born on October 25, however, a very special someone who has an important place in this family, too: me!

Where’s my party hat? Where’s my king-for-a-day treatment? Where’s the blog devoted to the subject of me? And most importantly, where’s my cake?

Although I can’t remember my actual birth, my place in the litter or how many siblings I had, I do recall the most important day of my life, the day I became a Nyman.

By the time I was nine months old, my first family was in turmoil. Strange things were happening at our house, and my owner, a seven year old boy I dearly loved, kept crying. A For Sale sign went up in our yard, which was upsetting enough, but then the unthinkable happened. My boy, who had named me Stitch, told me he was moving but I couldn’t go. I felt like saying, “Grab a leash and let’s run away together!” But then I noticed his mother crying, too. She would need to keep her boy.

The two of them put me in the car, and before I knew what had happened, I was locked up alone in a cage in a room full of cages, each one filled with a barking dog.

Although my boy had already hugged me goodbye, as I sat in the cage trying to understand, I heard his voice one last time, just around the corner. “When Stitch gets a new home, be sure this toy goes with him!” He was sobbing, and the man in charge told him he was sorry he had to lose his dog. I was sorry, too.

Suddenly there were a couple of young girls and a mom standing right in front of me. “What about this one?” a girl said. “He looks sad.”

Amazingly, after the girls and the mom looked at the other dogs, they decided to take me home with them. While they were signing papers, the man said, “This one’s been in the cage less than an hour. Good timing.”

Then he talked about my little boy. “It was wrenching to watch the owners bring him in. Something about a divorce and relocating. I felt sorry for the kid. Anyway, he wanted Stitch to have this doggie toy when he went to his new home, so it’s all yours.”

When I learned I shared a birth date with one of the Nymans, I knew I belonged.

Although I’d had no experience with girls before, getting acquainted with Louisa and Birgitta was fabulous. Girls give endless hugs and kisses, and their abundant love helped me not to miss my boy so much. I didn’t even mind when they switched my name to Jack. It’s actually Captain Jack after Jack Sparrow, and I think it suits me much better than Stitch.

Officially I belong to the girls, but I give a great deal of myself to Midge, too, especially since Pidge died. I know how hard it is to lose somebody you love, and I want to help her feel better.

As for skipping my birthday celebration, I’ll let it slide this once. But from now on, my party should take precedence over Lars’. After all, he’s 36 to my 56, and it’s a simple matter of respecting your elder.

“Teach what accords with sound doctrine. [The] older.… are to be sober-minded, dignified, self-controlled, sound in faith, in love, and in steadfastness.” (Titus 2:1-2)