Monthly Archives: August 2014

Our Rescuer

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Nate’s family came from western Illinois, mine from the Chicago area. Once we had children, we made good use of route 80, our link between four loving grandparents.

I remember one summer when Nate and I took our then-five children to visit Grandma and Grandpa Nyman, 210 miles from home. We were able to stay an extra night when Nate decided he could take a train directly to Chicago’s Loop early Monday morning. The five kids and I would follow on Monday afternoon in the family car, a robust Jeep Cherokee.

Blue-CherokeeAfter waving goodbye, we started down route 80, the car windows open and the music playing loudly on the cassette player. Our children, ages 12, 10, 8, 4 and 2, were all enjoying the trip when we pulled off for gas and a bathroom break. But as the Jeep slowed, we heard a raucous banging coming from under the hood.

I pulled into a little country station in Rock Falls and left the motor running, hoping a mechanic would listen to the racket and tell me how to stop it. His news wasn’t good. “Lady,” he said, “when you turn that engine off, it’ll never start again.”

I thought he was joking, but apparently the car had run out of oil. Parts had broken off inside the engine and were crashing against each other. I considered filling the gas tank without turning the car off and resuming our trip. After all, it was still running.

While the kids raced around the gas station and the car continued to pound, I called Nate at his Chicago office. He squelched my idea to keep going and said, “Park the car wherever the gas station guy tells you, and then turn it off. I’ll come and pick you up.”

Rock Falls.He said that without hesitation, as if Rock Falls wasn’t over 100 miles from his office. Coming to “pick us up” was going to ruin his business day and put him behind the wheel for four hours.

But this is what love does. It rescues.

I like to think of Jesus in that light. He loved us so thoroughly, he made the ultimate sacrifice to rescue us, laying down his life. He could have said, “Human beings are a big disappointment and aren’t worth saving.” But his actions said the opposite.

On that summer day in Rock Falls, I’ll never forget the rush of joy we all felt when Nate’s black Lincoln came into view and turned into that tiny gas station. The 7 of us, along with four suitcases, squeezed into his car with a spirit of celebration and gratitude. Our rescuer had come.

An important question to ask myself is, do I have that same spirit of celebration and gratitude toward the grandest Rescuer of all time?

“Jesus gave his life for our sins, just as God our Father planned, in order to rescue us from this evil world.” (Galatians 1:4)

When Healing Comes

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After the death of a husband, how long does it take to heal? When is grieving finished?

Getting Through ThisFourteen months after Nate died, as I looked back over that year’s blog posts, I was surprised to realize not every one of them had been about him. At first I was appalled but later realized it was a sign of a broken heart being mended.

C. S. Lewis published a small book of journal entries penned during deep sorrow over losing his wife to cancer. A Grief Observed was so personal, he wouldn’t allow his name on the cover but instead ghost-published as N. W. Clerk. After Lewis died several years later, his stepson republished it revealing his true identity.

A Grief ObservedLewis went through raw grief, doubting God’s love and availability to him, wondering whether there was an afterlife at all. But by the end of the book, his relationship with the Lord had been restored, and his grief was beginning to heal. He wrote:

“There was no sudden, striking emotion. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight when you first notice them, they have already been going on for a long time.”

That year after Nate died I was encouraged to realize my healing had already been going on for a long time. It wasn’t that I was “finished,” but just as Lewis learned, raw emotion  slowly mellows. Instead of labeling Nate as “missing”, as having left a big, empty hole in our family, I began to think of him as our larger-than-life husband and father, the lively, loyal head of our family who was full of personality and loved each of us wholeheartedly.

As one of our kids said somewhere during that first year, “Papa was a legend.” He wasn’t the kind of legend that made the cover of TIME, but a Nyman-legend to be sure. Grief has a way of wrapping what’s good with a negative shroud, but as time passes and we heal, the layers peel away, and the positives come shining through.

God has helped me see more and more of these positives as the years have passed, and I credit him with every bit of my healing. He’s been my constant companion, my shield from despair and, as the biblical David put it, “the lifter of my head.”

Nyman familyHad we known Nate would die at 64, leaving us after only 42 days of warning, we’d have still chosen him for our husband and father. He will always be our main man, the one we wanted then, the one we still love now, and the one for whom we thank God.

“You, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the One who lifts my head. I was crying to the Lord with my voice, and he answered me.” (Psalm 3:3-4)

Fan Club

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Nate was a true-blue fan of Elvis Presley. Although he wasn’t musically knowledgeable, he never met an Elvis tune he didn’t love.

He loved to talk about his favorite songster, laughing at his extravagant ways and forever attracted to his down-home, country-boy charm.

But Nate was tone deaf, unable to carry a tune and embarrassed by his own singing. He often wondered if he was fully appreciating his Elvis music and one day said, “Does Mr. Presley have a good singing voice?”

I acknowledged he did, but to a true fan, such a simplistic answer was lackluster, and Nate wanted more. So I said, “I’ve heard he could sing in four octaves without straining his voice.”

“Is that good?” he said.

“Real good,” I said, which seemed to make him happy.

Over the years Nate amassed an elaborate collection of Elvis memorabilia, all gifted by others who knew he was a fan: posters, mugs, key chains, license plates, photos, t-shirts, postcards figurines and a copy of his driver’s license. The stand-out gift was an Elvis telephone. When a call came in, he sang “Jailhouse Rock” while gyrating his hips.

I was never the Elvis fan Nate was but could tolerate certain recordings, unlike some family members who had zero tolerance, like his mother-in-law. Nate got along with Mom exceptionally well, unless the subject was Elvis.

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” she’d say.

“Greatest recording artist of all time,” he’d say, then add, “and a Christian, too.”

Mom had her doubts.

All of us have life-heroes, but hero worship is always risky, a set-up for certain disappointment. Although Elvis may not have enjoyed living on a pedestal, his fans kept him there anyway.

Nate and Mom had fan clubs, too, people who admired them and as a result, put them on pedestals. Many were watching their lives, following their examples. The truth is, all of us are being watched by somebody.

It might even be true that we all have life-moments on pedestals, but when that happens, God usually doesn’t wait too long to nudge us off, knowing it’s neither a happy nor healthy place to be. In his view, there’s only one pedestal-worthy person, and that’s Jesus. He stands alone as an unflawed hero, which is the reason we ought to be watching him carefully, admiring his ways, modeling our behavior after his.

The difficulty is with his invisibility. Elvis was easy to see; his face and voice were everywhere. Our task in watching Jesus takes more want-to, more discipline, but there is no greater goal than following his example.

And as we’re working at that, it’s reassuring to know we’ll never be disappointed by his falling off his pedestal. That’s even better than owning a whole wall of gold records.

As to Elvis’ Christianity? Both Mom and Nate know for sure now, one way or the other.

“We [endure] by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion.” (Hebrews 12:2)