Learning Curve

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From the time I was a toddler, prayer was in my life. It started with poem-prayers from a child’s Golden Book, repeated in a sing-songy way I could repeat along with Mommy. I learned there was an invisible someone to whom she talked in a special way, with her hands clasped and her head down, someone who listened to her. Whoever he was, he commanded great respect from grown-ups.

During my school years, Mom would kneel next to the bed and pray individually with each of us, one at a time, teaching me by example to approach prayer with humility and care. The poetry was left behind, and Mom’s praying became personal to our family situation. I concluded God must know who we were, each one of us.

When I was in 8th grade, life got complicated. My cousin Karen was killed in an accident that year, and my parents evidenced distress like never before. When no one knew what to do, Dad quietly said, “We need to pray.” And as he put words to our anguish, I learned that during the worst of times, prayer helped.

Mom continued praying with us through the high school years. By this time her calls to heaven on my behalf numbered in the thousands, but one specific prayer stood out. Mom was praying for a godly man to one day be my husband. Then she prayed, “And Lord, if any man ever breaks her heart, I’ll break his neck.” I opened my eyes and looked at her, but she was sincere. I was learning that prayer was a way to entrust God with my future, especially if I was nervous about it.

When I went off to Wheaton College, I was forced to decide where I really stood on religion and whether or not the God to whom I’d been praying was important to me. Although I lined up with those who were committed to him, privately I set prayer aside.

But then I married, had children and needed God badly. I came under his leadership in a new way because I was responsible for the welfare of another human being and was inadequate to the task. Prayer became my link to God’s wisdom. I learned that prayer was a two-way conversation, not just me asking but him offering back to me.

Small groups, prayer meetings and increased needs for guidance from a trustworthy source served over the years to develop a strong bond between God and me, and I learned that prayer was instrumental in deepening our relationship. And best of all, he began to identify his answers.

Eventually I decided to pray less of my words and more of his, which led to praying Scripture over people. I set my “wish lists” aside and prayed for the things I knew God wanted: humility, a pure heart, goodness, increased faith, conviction of sin, patience. I learned God isn’t concerned about our having a good time but wants to develop our character, and prayer is a good starting place.

Now prayer is on my mind continually. If a day ends without a chunk of time spent in conversation with God, I go to bed with a sense of loss. I want to get as close as possible to the amazing Person who hears and answers prayer. And the best way to do that is to converse with him.

God has made himself available, and I’ll spend the rest of my life taking advantage of this priceless offer.

”Pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests.” (Ephesians 6:18a)

Doggy Dress-up

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We might live in a dog-eat-dog world, but plenty of people still love dogs, and Nate was one of them. When he’d arrive home from work, Jack would trot over to receive the head-pats he loved. Nate ascribed personalities to each pet and considered an animal’s point of view. He also loved the soft feel of their ears.

There was one oddity, however, about Nate’s involvement. He liked to dress them up. When I’d ask why, he’d just shrug. “They’re so cute that way.”

When our girls used to play with dolls, he’d borrow an extra dress, hat, whatever they would loan. If an outfit was too small for a dog, he’d dress one of the cats. If no clothes were available, he’d use his hankie as a babushka, tied under a furry chin. “Get the camera!” he’d say.

In an effort to figure out Nate’s fascination with animal dress-up, I’d ask, “Is this about the miniature clothes? Or maybe a wish that our pets were human? An idea for a new business? An underlying desire to have more children?”

But in 40 years, I never figured it out. Our kids would watch their father in amusement, enjoying his laughter but chalking it up to the foibles of an older generation.

We’ve all seen TV spots featuring animals doing human things: the horse that counts with his hoof, the chimp that obeys sign language, the dog that alerts his family to a fire. We love them all. Maybe Nate’s fascination with dressing our pets was an effort to elevate them a notch, as these shows tried to do.

My best guess was that a dog wearing a sweater and glasses, sitting patiently with a serious expression, was a visual oxymoron Nate relished. His business world forced rationality and logic, and at home he needed to be the voice of reason in every discussion. A cat in a bonnet was jolly comic relief.

Today at the beach a couple dragged two yellow kayaks through the sand to the shoreline. Sitting proudly in one of them was a small white poodle. As they passed me, his owner said, “He loves a good ride.”

I saw what she meant after she snapped on her own life jacket and then produced one for the dog. Although the lake had white caps today, this poodle stood at the bow, leaning into breaking waves like the ornamental figurehead on an ancient ship. Even while taking water in the face, he never flinched.

When they returned an hour later, the dog still hadn’t had enough. Although they set him on the sand, his choice was to sit back in the kayak wearing his life jacket, gazing at the waves. Nate would have been all over this scenario, asking questions of the couple, patting the dog and loving the outfit. I wish he could have been there.

I believe the following “outlandish statements” are true:

Animals matter to God, because they’re a part of his “good” creation, and he’s pleased when we delight in them. In heaven, animals will be there as part of creation’s restoration, and when we’re in conversation with them, we can ask Nate’s pets exactly what they thought of their earthly outfits.

On second thought, they may be dressed in heavenly outfits at the time we ask. If that’s true, Nate’s joy will know no bounds.

”As I watched, I heard an eagle that was flying in midair [in heaven] call out in a loud voice… to the inhabitants of the earth…” (Revelation 8:13)

Really?

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Although it seems incongruous, widowhood has its perks. Lest you think I’ve suddenly stopped missing Nate, I haven’t. His face, voice and personality run through every one of my daytime hours and often into the night. But several of my widowed friends are now encouraging me to count an unusual type of blessings.

For example, today I left the house on an errand-running excursion at 4:30. Around 6:30, I subconsciously knew I should get home to start supper. Nate used to walk in the door at 7:10 every weekday (6:50 when we lived near Chicago), and he loved to smell dinner waiting for him. It was a moment he looked forward to throughout each day, so I tried to make it happen.

Tonight as I pushed my cart from Walmart’s grocery aisles to its pet section, it dawned on me that I needn’t hurry. Nate wasn’t on his way home, a bittersweet thought, mostly bitter. But there was a bit of sweetness to it, too. I could finish my errands before heading home, a small thing but something my widow-experienced pals have told me to count as a blessing.

This is new for me, and it doesn’t always sit well. Although I looked for positives during every one of Nate’s 42 cancer-days, this kind of blessing-hunt seems different, something akin to betrayal. Feeling gratitude for a benefit that comes to me only because Nate died seems wrong, even though I’m trying to look on the bright side of life.

Does God want me to seek out these blessings of widowhood? Even before I answered my own question, I came up with something positive. Nate liked music, but very little of it. He never failed to appreciate an Elvis number, but his first choice was not to have music playing in the house at all. He thought it inhibited conversation.

My thinking was that music or radio added a dimension to chores, meals, entertaining, almost anything. Nate asked me only three times if we could “turn that off,” but I got his drift. After that, when he drove in the driveway, his tooting horn was my cue to click off the music. Sometimes I resented doing it, but wanting him to think of his home as his haven, I did it anyway. So what about now? Now I can listen to music around the clock if I choose. It’s a small thing but does qualify as a plus.

My guess is there are many widows who continue in the patterns of their marriages because they want life to stay the same as it was. I read of one widow who began doing what her husband wanted her to do, after he died. That doesn’t make sense, unless she was motivated by guilt or remorse. Complying with his wishes after his death probably wouldn’t soothe either one.

What is the proper balance between a merry widow like Scarlett O’Hara and one who can’t move out of the darkness at all? I believe God gifts us with good things every single day, all of us. Some gifts are obvious, and others are hidden, requiring us to search for them. Following this logic, a woman receives blessings when she is a wife but then also when she’s a widow. After a husband dies, his wife might be lost in grief for some time, but God showers her with good things even while she weeps. The person who can’t heal at all might simply need to hunt for the Lord’s touch on her life. When she finds it, her grief will ease.

I’m beginning to see new things as I move through the months, ways in which God is sustaining, encouraging and blessing me. And if Nate read this post about the music issue, he’d say, “Turn up the radio, Dear, and let music fill the cottage!”

“Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.” (Micah 7:8b)