Thankful for…. that?

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Thanksgiving has historically been Nate’s and my holiday ever since we got married on that weekend, 41 years ago. As holidays go, it’s a pretty good deal for the hostess with one big spread, no gifts and minimal entertainment. Guests don’t expect fancy French sauces or first-time recipes on Thanksgiving. Instead everyone wants the menu to be “just like always,” and so the cook can leave her cook books shelved.

Last year’s Thanksgiving arrived two weeks after Nate’s death, and we were all numb. Most of the family was still in town, though, so we went ahead with the dinner at our Michigan cottage, feeding 28 guests. I fought tears the entire time and could only eat a small salad.

This year my sister Mary offered to host the dinner, since her family would number 18 and ours only four. I felt like I had the day off, since my Thanksgiving prep was only two pies and a veggie platter. So at breakfast we lingered over our oatmeal and talked about memorable Thanksgivings of the past.

There was the year we moved a week before the holiday and hadn’t unpacked our big roasting pan when it came time to cook the 25-pound turkey. Because disposable aluminum pans weren’t around that long ago, we roasted it in a 1”-deep jelly roll pan with a watchful “basting barista” pulling off the juices just ahead of spill-overs.

We also remembered a Thanksgiving morning when we were greeted with 14” of snow, but unploughed roads didn’t keep a single guest away. Then there was the year we hosted several international students but couldn’t come up with red sauce hot enough to make their Thanksgiving fare palatable.

Two years ago I overslept and didn’t get the bird into the oven soon enough. When carving time came, the turkey choice was neither light meat nor dark but pink, a major dilemma for poultry. We carved away the outer edges and nuked the rest in microwaveable chunks, not a recommended technique.

While finishing our oatmeal, we all got serious remembering two consecutive Thanksgivings that could have turned tragic. In the first, Mary’s van was t-boned at high speed on her side of the car. An impact one foot farther back would have killed her. As it was, the front of her vehicle was sheared off, but she escaped with only a sore shoulder.

The next year another accident frightened the four youngest girls as all of us caravanned in five cars to a movie on Thanksgiving night. A lake-effect snowstorm had blown out of nowhere, making the roads extremely slippery. The girls’ Durango fishtailed out of control, spinning around and flying off the expressway. They smashed into a short piece of guard rail that just “happened” to be in the right spot, which prevented them from careening into oncoming traffic. Although the Durango was in bad shape, the girls suffered only a few head-bumps.

This morning as wild rains pounded the windows, we cleared our dishes and recognized how many reasons we had to be thankful. Every family has its unique holiday stories of mistakes, flukes and near-misses, but the trick is to pluck out every opportunity to lavish gratitude on the Lord.

After all, isn’t that what Thanksgiving is for?

“Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
and his wonderful deeds for mankind.” (Psalm 106:21)

Pleasure Reading

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Nate was an intellectual, and I used to wonder if my goofy questions were too foolish to ask, not wanting him to think he married a dummy. My mind was like a wind-tunnel, whoosh-in-whoosh-out. Nate’s was like a funnel; information poured into him and stayed there. His favorite leisure activity was reading, especially newspapers, and wherever he sat, a pile of printed material would accumulate. Once it was in his head, he didn’t need the hard copy.

I well remember the day I was planning to ask Nate to read a certain book I’d found helpful, so we could discuss it together. It was about making a good marriage better, and I knew it wasn’t his preferred genre. But I had an idea. First I’d ask him if there was anything he’d like me to read. Then I’d ask if he’d be willing to read something of mine.

When I asked what he’d like me to read he answered, “A daily newspaper… daily.” And surprise-surprise, that wasn’t my preferred genre. Nate loved to discuss current events, and my end was usually no more than a battery of questions. I knew he wished I’d be better informed.

He then said, “And what am I supposed to read?” and I handed him the marriage book. He looked it over and said, “Sure. I’ll take a look at it.”

The next morning, after he’d read the first newspaper of his daily four or five and had left for work, I spread out Section 1 on the kitchen counter and began to read. In the next few weeks I gleaned enough from 10 daily minutes with the newspaper to handle dinner conversations, and he perused the marriage book enough to talk about it. Eventually, however, we fell back into our old preferences.

Interestingly, though, Nate wanted to keep it going. He began marking newspaper pages with ballpoint pen, drawing arrows at articles here and there he thought I’d like to read. Sometimes he’d scribble comments in the margins.

Gradually I applied his condensed method to the books I wished he’d read. I’d Xerox a couple of pages, write a note at the top and set them next to his newspapers. He always read them, sometimes adding his own comments next to mine and handing them back. Our “distilled” system worked well throughout the years, and we were still using it until the cancer took away his ability to read.

Sometimes I think of God as the #1 intellectual of all time. He’s fully informed about every newspaper subject, having actually orchestrated the details behind the world events reported in the articles. Yet he’s also interested in close-to-home topics like good marriages getting better.

He uses creative ways to point his arrows toward the parts of his Word we need to read, and his comments are written all over it. Best of all, though, he’s eager to participate in the conversation. And when we call on him, he answers with, “Count me in.”

“Moses and Aaron were among his priests, and Samuel was among those who called on his name. They called upon the Lord and he answered them.” (Psalm 99:6)

Heaven on Earth

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My Widow Warriors warned me it might be difficult to see Nate’s name on pieces of mail or worse yet, to bump into his handwriting by surprise. Because the mail still includes his name almost daily, that part hasn’t been hard. Today, though, I was flipping pages in an old journal, and suddenly there was his distinctive handwriting on a Post-It note.

I’d stapled a couple of grandbaby photos into my journal just after grandchild #2, Nicholas, had been born. Unbeknownst to me, Nate had added his own comment, which I hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t anything earthshaking, but being unexpected, it gave me a jolt. But contrary to what my friends had told me, seeing his writing warmed me inside, reminding me of the everyday relationship we once had.

His note said, “Dearest – We certainly have beautiful grandchildren! The Lord has blessed us. Love, Nate.”

These journal pages were from January, 2009, well before cancer. Nate’s Post-It was written during the height of tension over the non-sale of our house and our uncertain future. He was suffering through sleepless nights of worry, and in the midst of all that turmoil, God had sent a new baby.

Little Nicholas Nyman was the first Nyman in the new generation, and for a few days, his presence (and that of 5 month old Skylar) overruled the never-ending angst in other life categories. Nicholas’ birth date was particularly meaningful since Mary’s daughter, Johanna, gave birth on the same day. Hans and Jo, the same age, were “partner cousins,” growing up together and remaining fast friends to this day.

None of us had expected their babies to arrive simultaneously since the due dates were nearly a month apart. But Jo delivered late, and Katy delivered early, cousins having cousins. We called them our cross-Atlantic twins, since Nicholas was born in England. Because we missed much of his babyhood, we enjoyed looking at Jo’s little Ruby (living locally) and pictured Nicholas, mirrored in her size and development.

Nate appreciated the two grandchildren he’d met and the three he knew would arrive after he departed. Although he wasn’t a natural with babies, once we had our own, he participated 100%, changing as many diapers as I did and pacing just as many miles with a baby on his shoulder.

Before we had grandchildren he often said, “Once you get a grandchild, it’ll be heaven on earth for you.” He knew babies would bring abundant delight, and he got satisfaction just thinking about me being a grandma. As he contemplated his own death, surely it crossed his mind how brief his relationship was with the two grandchildren we had and how non-existent with the three that were on the way.

Yet even as he must have felt sad to be leaving them, I believe he was comforted to know these five little people would be bright spots in my world after he was gone. He was, I’m sure, hoping his absence wouldn’t be as difficult for me because of their presence.

How curious that I’m experiencing “heaven on earth” with five babies… and Nate is experiencing “heaven in heaven.” As much fun as I’m having, he’s probably having even more!

“Grandchildren are the crowning glory of the aged.” (Proverbs 17:6)