I'm feeling strange today - lonesome but grateful that son Rich is here; nostalgic but not exactly sad; misplaced somehow. Last night Rich and I attended the lovely supper and terrific candlelight service at Faith Bible church. The congregation sang "O Holy Night" while candles were lit, so I got to sing it after all. Good thing it wasn't a solo, though, because I broke down during the chorus. LeRoy used to beg me to practice that just "one more time" and I could see his face in the pew, even though we were in a completely different church. I hope he heard it and knew I was missing him and thinking of him.
A couple of days ago, my new devotional "Hope for an Aching Heart" by Margaret Nyman addressed the issue of tears. Here is an excerpt that I found particularly comforting:
"God created us to live forever. (In the garden of Eden.) When death aborts life, something inside us goes askew.
Will there ever be an end to our tears over death's apparent victory?
Jesus said, 'Very truly I tell you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life.' (John 5:24)
God hasn't changed His mind about us living forever, but because of sin, He needed to make an adjustment to His original plan. Now most of us will suffer through earthly death to gain eternal life. But if we do things God's way by entrusting our lives to His Son, then death simply becomes the passageway to a death-free life... exactly as He first intended.
In this death-free life, unexpected tears will never occur again (Rev. 21:4).
Weeping may stay for the night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5
Lord, I'm glad you will one day abolish death and eliminate sorrow. Until then, I trust you to love me through my tears,"
I'm still looking up. Sometimes through tears, but looking up.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Christmas prep
All the things to do to get ready for Christmas are gradually getting "checked off" my famous lists. I am trying to prepare my heart for the day we commemorate His birth, even though some king somewhere decided on December 25. That's OK, we are celebrating in a symbolic way no matter when the King of Kings was born.
We are changing several traditions a bit, as I said before, by putting the tree in a different spot and planning on attending even a different church for Christmas Eve. I just can't go sit in "our" pew without LeRoy, and I certainly can't sing as I usually do. The day will come when I can do solo's again, but that time is not now.
I drove out to the cemetery the other day to put some silk poinsettias on the grave. It looked so nice, and felt like an honoring and respecting thing to do. Then I got my Subaru stuck. Got it out myself, tho! Didn't even set the tires to smoking.... I can hear LeRoy chuckling.
I'm still getting so much support, even through printed matter. Our Caring Hands organization seems to send me a newsletter fairly often, and it always has a gem or two.
Today I read about a poem by Philip Larkin. Much of it is not at all cheery, but as he wrote about the inevitability of even granite getting worn down and eventually disappearing, he closed by saying, "Love is what will survive of us." This is from "An Arundel Tomb."
I find that to be a comfort. These mortal bodies will be gone indeed, but love prevails. Especially the love of a Father who sent His son to be born among men, fully God yet fully human. God with us.
As you look up, hunt for that special Star!
We are changing several traditions a bit, as I said before, by putting the tree in a different spot and planning on attending even a different church for Christmas Eve. I just can't go sit in "our" pew without LeRoy, and I certainly can't sing as I usually do. The day will come when I can do solo's again, but that time is not now.
I drove out to the cemetery the other day to put some silk poinsettias on the grave. It looked so nice, and felt like an honoring and respecting thing to do. Then I got my Subaru stuck. Got it out myself, tho! Didn't even set the tires to smoking.... I can hear LeRoy chuckling.
I'm still getting so much support, even through printed matter. Our Caring Hands organization seems to send me a newsletter fairly often, and it always has a gem or two.
Today I read about a poem by Philip Larkin. Much of it is not at all cheery, but as he wrote about the inevitability of even granite getting worn down and eventually disappearing, he closed by saying, "Love is what will survive of us." This is from "An Arundel Tomb."
I find that to be a comfort. These mortal bodies will be gone indeed, but love prevails. Especially the love of a Father who sent His son to be born among men, fully God yet fully human. God with us.
As you look up, hunt for that special Star!
Friday, December 13, 2013
A special gift
Today is my 71st birthday. I think that sounds so much older than 70, but my daughter says to tell people I am just a "skosh older than 70." I think I'll try that.
At one time, I blogged about LeRoy assuring me before he died that he would tell me every day he loved me. I have received those messages, many times, but actually in the sound of my own voice. Not that I ever doubted he loved me. I just longed to hear his voice.
When I awoke, I was thinking about all the people who have already wished me well -- Facebook, texts, phone calls, a card and gift. Then I distinctly felt LeRoy's arms around me with that signature hug, and heard him say "Happy birthday, honey." What a gift. I know it's sentimental and a little sappy, but it just meant the world to me. He IS here. Yet he is not. God is taking care of him and I can't. Best of all, I don't need to because he is well, and safe, and full of joy. Of that I am convinced.
Look up, friends.
At one time, I blogged about LeRoy assuring me before he died that he would tell me every day he loved me. I have received those messages, many times, but actually in the sound of my own voice. Not that I ever doubted he loved me. I just longed to hear his voice.
When I awoke, I was thinking about all the people who have already wished me well -- Facebook, texts, phone calls, a card and gift. Then I distinctly felt LeRoy's arms around me with that signature hug, and heard him say "Happy birthday, honey." What a gift. I know it's sentimental and a little sappy, but it just meant the world to me. He IS here. Yet he is not. God is taking care of him and I can't. Best of all, I don't need to because he is well, and safe, and full of joy. Of that I am convinced.
Look up, friends.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
An early warning system
Ah, the Christmas season. I love it. What I need, though, is an early warning system for when a "trigger" is going to hit me with more emotion than I can contain. It seems to find its way down my cheeks.
Yesterday I was cleaning the refrigerator, of all mundane tasks, and found the dish of cinnamon honey butter. This was LeRoy's very favorite thing to put on his toast. Food doesn't usually make a person cry, but the associations certainly do.
I was having a blue day anyway, what with frustrations: the failure of medical people to call me back with a much-needed specialist appointment; a business person who chose to talk down to me and make me feel really stupid. I don't do well when people make me feel stupid. As a dear friend pointed out when I was blubbering away about this, I have lost my adviser. It's all well and good to learn to make decisions without your partner's input, but sometimes it's just overwhelming.
The roads were so awful we could not drive the 80 miles to our funeral home's memorial service. I was so looking forward to putting LeRoy's ornament on their tree. It's a little ceramic doctor coat with his name on it. I was pretty disappointed, but the weather made the whole idea just not worth the risk.
On a happier note, I have put up our tree in a different spot. Time to start some new or slightly different traditions. I am enjoying decorating the house, and instead of a marathon, I'm doing it gradually.
My calendar for today has a wonderful quote. It's from Henry Van Dyke: "Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars."
Wise words. Keep looking up!
Yesterday I was cleaning the refrigerator, of all mundane tasks, and found the dish of cinnamon honey butter. This was LeRoy's very favorite thing to put on his toast. Food doesn't usually make a person cry, but the associations certainly do.
I was having a blue day anyway, what with frustrations: the failure of medical people to call me back with a much-needed specialist appointment; a business person who chose to talk down to me and make me feel really stupid. I don't do well when people make me feel stupid. As a dear friend pointed out when I was blubbering away about this, I have lost my adviser. It's all well and good to learn to make decisions without your partner's input, but sometimes it's just overwhelming.
The roads were so awful we could not drive the 80 miles to our funeral home's memorial service. I was so looking forward to putting LeRoy's ornament on their tree. It's a little ceramic doctor coat with his name on it. I was pretty disappointed, but the weather made the whole idea just not worth the risk.
On a happier note, I have put up our tree in a different spot. Time to start some new or slightly different traditions. I am enjoying decorating the house, and instead of a marathon, I'm doing it gradually.
My calendar for today has a wonderful quote. It's from Henry Van Dyke: "Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars."
Wise words. Keep looking up!
Sunday, December 1, 2013
The "first" Thanksgiving
Today is December first. First day of Advent. First day of the last month of the year. This does not seem possible.
I made it through Thanksgiving, the first without LeRoy physically present, without too much difficulty. It was indeed an emotional day, but we laughed, cried, reminisced, and ate too much. Also sharing the day with daughter Trina and her family were her husband's parents, my son Rich, and a family who also lost someone to brain cancer -- at the age of 15. These are bonds we don't ever hope to make, and yet they are precious and strong bonds. I could not ask for a better support group.
Now our thoughts turn toward the birth of our Saviour. With lovely reminders all around us, it's not hard to look up. Sometimes the commercialism tries hard to compete, but we will persevere! Jesus, I read recently, is not the reason for the season. He IS the season.
I know there will be many poignant reminders of Christmases with the love of my life. How wonderful that he is still here, inside my heart. I know I will see him again. I just sometimes miss the hugs.
Keep looking up, friends.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)