Yearly Archives: 2011

Looking Back, Part 1 of 2

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I’ve always admired people who are future-focused, particularly older people. I remember Stuart Briscoe saying, “I’m in my 70’s now, and most of life is behind me. My continual temptation is to think backwards, but I’m fighting that. God still wants me to look to the future.”

My Aunt Joyce was another example of being future-focused. She called from California one day when she was 91, concerned about my mom’s health. Half way through the conversation she said, “I apologize for talking a little funny. I’m bleaching my teeth.” I loved that she was still looking toward the future.

Grieving the death of a spouse virtually always includes a long period of looking back, because in our sorrowful state, going back to those last weeks and days somehow keeps us emotionally linked with those we so recently lost.  Besides, looking forward is scary, while looking back is familiar.

Although I’m not focusing backwards with the same frequency or fervency I once did, from this vantage point I see it was healthy and healing to do that. It was part of what helped me accept the sad truth. When my mind said, “I just can’t believe he’s gone!”, looking back told me, “It’s true. He’s gone.”

It’s been 17 months since Nate died, but I had to stop to count them up, unlike earlier days when I always knew. Now, when I mentally revisit Nate’s 42 days of cancer, his death scene, the wake and funeral, it’s not as difficult, not as sad. As a matter of fact, when I look back now, one of the things I do is analyze how we did and didn’t handle things well.

So, for families currently living through the heartbreaking days of terminal disease, I share below what I’ve learned (three things today, the rest tomorrow):

1.  We knew of Nate’s impending death for 42 days, and we got to day #27 before we first talked about heaven. It was day #30 before Nate mentioned his fear of the pain that might come just before the end. I wish I would have broached these subjects earlier, especially the topic of heaven. Talking over the delights of what awaited him, as well as leaving earthly suffering behind, would have lifted his spirits.

2.  I didn’t realize how quickly mental exhaustion would overwhelm Nate’s ability to converse and think, or to want to be part of his bustling, noisy family. He sequestered himself far more rapidly than I thought he would, at a faster pace. Even while sitting in the midst of us, he wasn’t always “there”.

3.  I wish I’d known how quickly physical fatigue would overtake him. The day we scheduled his last visit with our pastor, he was too tired to participate in the conversation. Nate’s last visit to his law office came within a hair of being cancelled. He wasn’t sure he could stand long enough to ride the elevator to the 13th floor and didn’t want to use the wheelchair. He made it, but it took every ounce of stamina he had left. Had I known, we would have gone earlier.

Tomorrow I’ll share six more suggestions for those of you who are walking the difficult path of terminal illness.

“No one knows when their hour will come.” (Ecclesiastes 9:12)

Staying Power

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When Jack and I were walking toward the beach today, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the ground. Springy-green shoots are poking up everywhere, a lovely sight after such a cold, snowy winter.

It’s a wonder how dead-looking patches of ground come alive right on schedule according to God’s dictate of the seasons. Some plants have to make their way through piles of soggy leaves that have blanketed them since last fall. Others actually wiggle their way out from under rocks or sidewalks.

But today we saw the ultimate in perseverance, two tender shoots making their way up through an unforgiving hunk of asphalt. Seeing such a display of wonder made me turn around and head home for the camera. I admired those little plants and hoped they would grow into lush day lilies with roots pulling nourishment from the soil beneath the asphalt.

We all know families who seem to be steamrolled by circumstances as rough as that asphalt over soft greenery. Some of these people give up in despair, but others never lose hope and make it through with determination and pluck.

But because determination and pluck are boot-strap resources that do have a limit, it’s best to garner our stick-to-it-tiveness from a source other than ourselves. God offers to supply whatever we need to wage war against negative circumstances.

A pertinent hymn we sang as kids went like this:

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving has only begun. (Annie Flint)

I love those words, because when we’re living in the first three lines (exhausted, failed, the end), suddenly the last line gives us a happy ending. Not only is God willing to pick up the slack for us, he’s just getting started. With him there’s always more. Such knowledge is enough to pull us back to our feet to go another round.

People who live like this, triumphing over struggles by taking advantage of God’s supply, are heartening to the rest of us, too. Although they aren’t usually aware we’re watching, we are. And we find ourselves saying, “If God did it for them, he’ll do it for me.”

This morning just before Jack and I left the asphalt-plants, I noticed something strange. The greenery appeared to have been given a haircut, the unmistakable calling card of a deer. These baby lilies lived through a harsh winter, made it up through hard asphalt, and now have endured being nibbled on.

It’ll be interesting to watch what happens next.

“In [the Lord’s] hand is the life of every living thing.” (Job 12:10a)

That cracks me up.

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Skylar, my two year old granddaughter, amazes us with her comments. In Florida recently, she and I were sitting on her bedroom floor, nose-to-nose:

“Grandma Midgee, your eyes are blue.”

“So are yours.”

“And your eyes have black in the middle.”

“So do yours.”

Suddenly she got quiet but kept staring into my eyes.

Finally she said, “Old ladies get cracks in their eyes.”

I guess my bloodshot was showing. Long life seems to “crack us up” that way.

In our study of the Book of Job this morning, our pastor used a great word picture to illustrate Job’s life. She described each of us as looking at life through a big, clear glass window. As children, our view is good, but eventually, without warning, a rock gets thrown and “Crack!” There’s a flaw.

A barrage of rocks hit Job’s window, so damaging he found himself sitting in a heap of broken glass wondering how he got there. But after he passed his faith-test, God miraculously mended his window, putting the shattered pieces together again.

That isn’t to say Job’s post-cracked-life was exactly as it had been before the rocks. His relationship with God had changed, and his additional 10 children were not duplicates of the first 10. I would guess his marriage changed, too. And surely all who watched his fall and subsequent rise were keenly interested to hear what he had to say.

But what about his repaired window? Was it permanently scarred?

A year ago, my Toyota Highlander and I were taking our first road trip when a rock smacked the windshield leaving a one-inch crack. By the time we got to Florida, it had ever-so-slowly grown a couple of inches, forking into two cracks. After we returned home, I called Geico to ask their advice. They were quite specific:

“If the crack fits under a dollar bill, we’ll fix it for free. If it’s bigger than that, you’re on your own.”

My neglect had done me in, because by that time the two cracks had grown to a couple of feet. The only way to fix them was to buy a new windshield.

God’s crack-repairs are free to us, and he does a spectacular job. Often, however, we find ourselves looking through quite a few cracks before he mends the window. Once in a while God will even break the glass himself, knowing that when he puts it back together, it’ll be better than the original.

He may even stain the glass.

Stained glass windows are made from intentionally broken glass, and as an artist assembles the pieces, a brand new image emerges. Just as old ladies get eye-cracks, life ”stains” us. Sometimes we long for that clean-and-clear window glass we had during childhood.

But God views our stain-experiences and our cracks as valuable. And in his hands, they become stunning works of art.

“Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her… to present her to himself… without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish [like a crack], but holy and blameless.” (Ephesians 5:25-27)