In the Midst of Sadness

I told Angie, Comer's daughter, I could videotape his wife Evelyn's memorial service, since he was unable to leave his bed to attend. That way, he could still watch the service. She liked that idea, though I warned her, all I had was a camera, and I was not certain the battery would hold out.

There was no official announcement that I was videotaping NOT because I was an unbelievably insensitive oaf, but because I was doing so at the daughter's behest for the husband who was too ill to attend his wife's funeral. Thus, in this unspeakably sad and somber occasion, I tried to find a subtle way to videotape the whole thing. Nonetheless, I felt very conspicuous, and knew many people behind me were shooting daggers with their eyes.

I have the world's best friends. One offered to drive me and the other neighbors to the service. Another walked with me to the ideal videotaping seat, not afraid to sit with the pariah upon whom the crowd looked with disdain as I pulled out my camera during the piano overture. In fact, Kristen even made the clever suggestion to place the camera under the aisle seat in front of me, and shift the focus upward at the lectern where presumably most of the action would be occurring. We had not considered the unfortunate angle that shot might have at ladies passing by in skirts, but clever editing later could always be done...if I could find a clever editor.

It would have been a devastatingly sad service, complete with a moving poem written by Comer, except that Kristen and I were often distracted by the need to make compelling video. I only broke down a bit during the poem, which Comer's grandson read. I had compiled over a hundred of Comer's poems, and was in the process of publishing them. The proof had arrived only a week before, and now, her grandson held the proof and read one of the poems Comer had written about the day he knew would come when he would have to say goodbye to his wife. The other teary moment was when the pastor read the 23rd psalm, saying it was Evelyn's favorite psalm. I hadn't known that, but wondered if that was why Comer squeezed my hand so hard when I told him the day before I wanted to recite to him my favorite psalm...the 23rd psalm.

After the service, I tried mightily for an hour to try to download and find a way to send the video to Angie. Finally, at wit's end, I emailed Brian, one of the world's smartest and most compassionate computer gurus, and lucky for me, a good friend. He told me to bring the camera SD card to him, and he would make a CD of the video. As a bonus, while Brian worked on the CD, I got to visit with his wife, Melissa, another one of my all time favorite people. Brian emerged from his home office not only with a CD, but with a CD that had a lovely and elegant plastic case with the title professionally typed on the label, and on the video itself, he had added the title and date.

I brought the CD immediately to Angie's house and hung it on her door so she could bring it to Comer in the morning. And I thought that though the day had indeed had moments of excruciating sadness, it had also been filled with the love and prayers of many family members and dear, considerate friends.
I learned some very important lessons, only one of which was I should not consider a career in video-photography.

God's people are never alone. They, of course, always have God, but the community of believers displays its most beautiful face in the midst of sadness and struggle. Honestly, I don't know how I would get through death of loved ones without God, or without the support of His people.

2 Corinthians 13:11 (NIV)
Finally, brothers and sisters, rejoice! Strive for full restoration, encourage one another, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you.

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And all God's People say Amen

Comer's daughter Angie texted me Sunday after church. Comer was too weak to leave hospice, about 45 minutes from my home, and would not be at the service for his wife's funeral on Monday. So after church, and praying for God's comfort on my friend, I headed to the Hospice House. Angie warned me he was non-responsive, rarely wakening, but when he did, he saw his deceased wife Evelyn, reaching for him. Angie felt he would not know I had even visited. Nonetheless, I felt it was important that I go.

I have never been in a Hospice Center before. I was very impressed. It smelled clean, and had a sense of peace about it. The room doors were all open, and I glanced in as I walked to the nurse's station. All the patients seemed to be asleep, and as old as the earth. The nurse told me Comer's room number, and added that he had declined rapidly upon hearing of his wife's death. She told me that he would probably not wake up or acknowledge I was there, but not to be afraid to hold his hand or to speak to him.

I went in his room and was somewhat shocked by how small he seemed, and how frail. He was asleep when I walked in.
"Comer," I said softly.
HIs eyes opened and he looked at me, and groaned.
I took his hand and he squeezed my hand, hard. So hard, that in a few minutes my fingers were numb, but I held on.
"I am so sorry Comer," I told him. He squeezed harder and I saw a tear form in the corner of one eye, "You will see her again one day, in a place with no more tears, or sadness, or disease."
He squeezed my hand.
"Would you like me to tell you my favorite psalm?"
He blinked.
I recited Psalm 23, and he gripped my hand as though it were a lifeline. I read him several Psalms, and then I read him the last chapter of Revelation. I reminded him that God promised that one day, believers would be reunited with their loved ones. I thought of his twin brother, who had died some years back.
Then I read him 1 John, while he hung on to my numb fingers. I finished with the verse: 1 John 5:20

"We know also that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true. And we are in him who is true by being in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life."

Comer struggled mightily to speak, and finally he said, "Amen."
"Do you want me to read any more?" I asked.
"No," he said.
I could tell he wanted to say more, but he couldn't.
"It's ok," I told him, "You don't need to talk. You have been a beloved friend, and I have been so blessed to know you. If I could take away your grief, I would."
He raised his other hand as though to cover mine, but then settled it wearily on his chest, and heaved a great sigh. Many years ago, I had sat at the bedside of a friend's child who was dying. I had been terrified that he might die in my presence. That child did die that evening, but ten minutes after I left. I always felt guilty that I had been so frightened, unable to stay just ten more minutes.

But now, sitting beside this man struggling with such overwhelming grief and betrayal of body, I found myself hoping that God would take him home immediately, reunite him in the blink of an eye with the wife he mourned so deeply now. I sat there a long time, silently holding his hand feeling the helplessness of mortal beings who wish, for just a moment, to have the healing power of God.

Revelation 22:17,20-21 (NIV)
The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let the one who hears say, “Come!” Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life. [20] He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. [21] The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.





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The Heart is my Canvas

I had 6 teenagers over to paint their Destination Imagination backdrop yesterday. Fortunately, it was a warm day so the pack of teens had 10 cans of house paint open outside in the back yard, rather than inside my precious home. I shudder to think what I will do on a day too cold to let them loose out back.

Before they painted their backdrop, they had to finish constructing the frame. Since I am not allowed to interfere or assist in any manner, I felt the best idea was for me to go just outside the sunroom where they were building, and rake. I heard a few worrisome loud bangs, and a few shrieks, but nothing that rose to the level of "Call 911".

They all seemed quite proud of the well built structures that they carried out on to the lawn. I gave some final hopeful instructions on the paint, and went indoors. There was a lot of laughter, and again, those disconcerting shrieks. I wandered out every so often just to be sure no one was practicing painting our tree trunks. They never did, though once when I poked out my head, they were painting one team member. I put the kibosh on that, and warned them that no blue person would be allowed in the house.

They all knew the rule no shoes in the house after going in our muddy/dog-poop minefield. So they all took their shoes off, left them dutifully on the back deck, and walked in their bare feet on the muddy/dog-poop minefield. Then when they came inside, of course, they left their footprints...
"Wait!" I called out, "Put your shoes on before you walk in the house with those muddy feet!"
"But you told us no shoes in the house," cautioned one wise teen.
"That's if you walked in the muddy backyard in your shoes," I said, "But right now, your shoes are cleaner than your feet."

Other than that, the afternoon seemed to go well, and they seemed to have a lot of fun. They delegated roles, and everyone had a part, though at times there was some standing around trying to figure out where exactly their skills fit in. Not everything they worked on was successful. I saw some ideas started and abandoned, but creativity rarely springs forth in one completed and perfect swoosh.

Perhaps most importantly, they were figuring out how to manage and complete a complex project with little adult supervision and no assistance. It is what I love most about Destination Imagination. It teaches kids that with organized team work and self reliance, they can do amazing things without a teacher telling them what to do. It teaches the teacher to trust her student and back off. This is tremendously difficult for me, and always makes me wonder how God manages to keep His hands off and let us stumble through, when He knows He has ways to make it all so much easier!

There are always things to do on weekends, fun places to go, hours to put your feet up and relax. I would not have described the Saturday overflowing with teens with gallons of indelible paint "relaxing", but the picture it painted in my memory was worth the forfeited afternoon. I am an artist and I had to keep myself from rushing out and grabbing the brush and painting that glorious huge backdrop myself. I didn't, however. Instead, I thought of their hearts as my canvas and hoped I was helping paint something very valuable and lasting upon them.

Romans 12:1,3-5 (NIV)
Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God---this is your true and proper worship. [3] For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you. [4] For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, [5] so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.





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When You Can't Get Back Up

On my day of skiing, I was very careful to go slowly the whole way down, zigging and zagging across the mountain. I didn't want to fall given my new diagnosis of osteoporosis. However, there were two times I fell. Once I fell while skiing, and just hit an icy patch and lost control. I quickly got back up, since I was on the steep downhill, all I had to do was shift my body towards gravity and it was pretty easy to right myself.

The other fall was when I came off the chairlift. It was very steep and icy there and so I fell at the bottom of the little off-ramp. It is level at the bottom, so I had no gravity to help me get up. In fact, gravity was not my friend at all. I could not push myself up. I guess my legs were tired, and I had severely strained my stomach muscles a few days before using an "abdominal wheel" my son had recommended. Stomach muscles are surprisingly necessary in many tasks. I discovered they are critical in getting up when you are wearing skis. I spent a good 5 minutes trying, and finally managed to wrench my body up. Not without some giggles and rolled eyes from my helpful teenager watching me, I might add.

"Wow," I said panting, worn out from the effort, "What if I fell down and no one was around? I really almost could NOT get up."
"You could take off your skis," suggested Asherel.

I blinked at her, mouth open. Then I snapped it shut.
"Oh...yes...I didn't think of that."

This is a good suggestion, literally, and metaphorically. There are many times in life, barreled over by impossible circumstances that we just cannot get up. We struggle and strain to manage to rise while encumbered by the things that dragged us down in the first place. There is a time when one needs to just "take off your skis". Lay your troubles aside momentarily, the burdens that are too heavy or unwieldy to bear, and it is much easier to get back up. You can always put the skis back on, once you regain your footing.

There are several episodes in the Bible when heroes cry out, "the burden is too heavy, I cannot handle it anymore, I cannot get up again!" In nearly every case, God doesn't remove the circumstances. But He does help. He urges rest, and often sends a friend. Metaphorically, He helps us take off our skis, so we can get back up. And then the hero is reinvigorated, and puts the skis back on for the rest of the trail alongside the friends God has sent. Respite is sometimes necessary, and if we can't get off our skis ourselves, God or an emissary will unlatch the bindings.

"It would have been much easier if I had taken off my skis," I admitted to Asherel, "You might have made that suggestion a little sooner...."
She shook her head, and I followed her down the mountain.

Numbers 11:14-17 (NIV)
I cannot carry all these people by myself; the burden is too heavy for me. [15] If this is how you are going to treat me, please go ahead and kill me---if I have found favor in your eyes---and do not let me face my own ruin.” [16] The Lord said to Moses: “Bring me seventy of Israel’s elders who are known to you as leaders and officials among the people. Have them come to the tent of meeting, that they may stand there with you. [17] I will come down and speak with you there, and I will take some of the power of the Spirit that is on you and put it on them. They will share the burden of the people with you so that you will not have to carry it alone.




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The Angels Sing

The ski mountain was deserted. Asherel and I had the whole mountain all to ourselves, with just a handful of people. It was peaceful, and quiet. It took us a few runs to remember how to ski, but like so many skills in life, the memory never quite fades away. And when I stood on top of the mountain, looking down, I could hear the angels sing.

While on the mountain, I got a text from my 93 year old friend's daughter, Angie. She told me her mom, Evelyn, had passed away that morning. Meanwhile Comer had been in such intractable pain that she had moved him to a hospice center, with the hopes of better controlling the pain. When she gently broke the news to him, he thought she was making a bad joke, went back to sleep, and slept the whole day. My heart is heavy, and I cannot bear to witness the grief I know he will have to endure when he awakens.

On the car rides I used to take Comer and Evelyn on, even in the throes of Alzheimers, she used to sing. She could not speak or string two coherent words together in conversation, but she would remember every word of every song from the 30's to 60's or so. She and I would belt out song after song, while Comer grinned, holding her hand.
"Well now," he would say, "That's a might fine concert."

Maybe when I stood atop the mountain feeling I heard angels singing, it was Evelyn, freed from the struggles that had so overwhelmed her, touching my heart with her music one last time for my mortal ears to hear.

I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have being. Psalm 104:33



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A Lovely Place to Reboot

I got up early, as I usually do. The parakeet, Tallin, is usually asleep. He is never a very social parakeet, and never seems to want our company. When I used to try to pet him, he would peck me. Even when I refill his food, he lunges at me with pecking motions. When I say good morning, he trembles and pops open his eyes. But this morning, while I was padding about making coffee, he was raising a ruckus, chirping up a storm. I had the feeling he was trying to tell me something. Then I noticed his water bottle, which I had refilled recently, was bone dry. It must have a leak. I refilled his water, and he stopped screeching. Funny how I knew the bird was talking to me.

The mountains are talking to me too. Our favorite ski mountain, Sugar, is open with a nice base of snow (mostly man-made, but some natural) and one good run open from the summit to the base. We have our own equipment, and mid-week half day lift tickets are affordable. Asherel worked hard to double up on her school so she could get the day off. Her Destination Imagination team that I manage even accomplished all that they had hoped to accomplish in their extended meeting yesterday. The snow was calling. My spirit has felt a little bone dry lately. I think it has a leak. I think perhaps skiing would help refill it.

That won't be a permanent solution. Snow cannot refill a spirit. But it can sometimes give a break from the worries and woes that wear one down. When my phone or iPad start acting funny, not working the way they should, I power them down, and then turn them back on. That usually solves the problem. The technicians tell me that it is like "rebooting" a computer. Even machines need a break now and then.

So I am going to the mountain with my daughter. We need a "reboot", a new perspective, even a bit of danger. I hope I haven't lost the skill I had last year that allowed me to go to the top of the mountain. Looking out over the whole world from that vantage point, with the gorgeous valley open before me and the endless rows of mountains on the horizon, I never fail to sense the overwhelming presence of God, who created it all. Unlike snow, God CAN refill a leaky spirit permanently. I don't HAVE to go to the mountain to find Him, but it is a lovely place for us to have a chat.

2 Samuel 17:29 (NIV)
.... “The people have become exhausted and hungry and thirsty in the wilderness. ”

Psalm 107:8-9,43 (NIV)
Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind, [9] for he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. [43] Let the one who is wise heed these things and ponder the loving deeds of the Lord.



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A Curse and A Blessing

I frequently check my book reviews that I receive on-line. My first book, I'm Listening With a Broken Ear, has over 100 reviews and all but a very few are 5 star, so I was shocked to see a 1 star review. 1 star! I was shattered. Steeling myself, I read the review. It was glowing. It praised the book, the message, and our work with Honeybun. I realized the 1 star rating was a mistake. She clearly didn't mean to give me 1 star...but there it was, an indelible blot on my record, lowering my rating. A destructive mistake.

I had finished collating, typing, and editing my 93 year old friend, Comer's, poems. Then I had taken this new collection of 120 or so poems, that he wrote in about a month, and I compiled and sent them to the Publisher. The proof arrived in the mail a couple of days ago. Just in time. Comer is doing very poorly- now on double pain killers for inexplicable, unbearable pain in his hip. His wife Evelyn, one floor below in the Alzheimer Unit, can no longer swallow and is bed ridden. The drumbeat grows faster and louder for both of them.

When I tiptoed into his room at the nursing home, he was asleep. I know visits mean the world to him, so I called his name. He opened his eyes.
"Sorry to wake you," I said, "But I didn't want to leave without you knowing I'd been here." (The cry of every human heart...)
"Oh I never sleep," he said.
I handed him the Poetry book.
He smiled broadly, and ran his finger down the shiny, sleek cover.
"Isn't this beautiful? Well now this makes me very happy."
He quickly opened it up.
"I'm going to read this right now."
"Well then I will leave you to it. If you find mistakes, call me. This is just the proof. I can still edit changes."
As I left, he was engrossed in his book, a smile on his wrinkled face.

A curse and a blessing, all in one day, both involving books.

A friend wrote to me and told me that her husband broke his shoulder. In the process of xrays and diagnosing him, the doctor found a stage 2 cancer in his lungs. Had the man not broken his shoulder, the cancer would have gone undetected. Now, hopefully, it was caught in time to be treated and cured. Who would have imagined praising God for a broken shoulder? Sometimes what looks like a curse is really a blessing.

I don't know how the 1 star rating will end up being anything other than a curse, but I have learned that God is always present, always working, and always surprising. Nothing happens that He doesn't permit, and "all things work together for the good of those who love God, who have been called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28) I think the most important lesson to remember from my day of curse and blessing was to thank God for all of it. You never know when being broken may lead you to the root of a problem that must, and can be healed.

Romans 8:31 (NIV)
What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?



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