Author: Patsy Kuipers

Orphaned Widow

/ Patsy Kuipers / 12 Comments

Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation.
Psalm 68:5

A New Reality

They’re gone.

Sometimes it’s my first waking thought. The reality settles over my sorrowing soul like a heavy mantle. I’m an orphan now. Though some might reserve that designation for minor children, and I left my childhood years behind many decades ago, in the strictest sense of the word, I assumed that title when Dad joined Mom in the presence of Jesus in the wee hours of July 12th.

I’m finding it difficult to grasp my new status or describe what it feels like to realize the two people who knew me from the first day of my life and through all the ups and downs that followed are no longer within reach of a phone call or hug.

Admittedly, our roles began to shift three years ago when Mom’s health declined significantly. There were times when I would accompany her to a doctor’s appointment, and she’d say, “Patsy’s the mother now. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Then, six months after Mom died, Dad had a stroke. Fortunately, the incident didn’t leave him with any physical weakness, but it took a toll on his brilliant mind. Details confounded him, and he couldn’t keep track of time. Thus, I took over his finances and oversaw his care at the assisted living facility we picked out together, his home for the last eighteen months of his life.

Cheerleader and Protector

Everyone needs someone in their corner, and Mom was in mine from my earliest days. She was my lifelong cheerleader, always encouraging and believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. Though my relationship with Dad was more turbulent, I never doubted he would protect and provide for me and that I could turn to him for wise counsel.

Despite the role reversal that accompanied her final months, as long as Mom was alive, I knew I had someone who would cheer me on and believe in me unreservedly. Likewise, the sense that Dad had my back remained even though, more and more, it was me who had his.

When I became a widow at age 38, Mom and Dad graciously moved to Georgia to help me raise Mary and Jessie, who were only 10 and 7 years old when their dad died. No special-occasion-only visits for us. Nope, Mom and Dad completed our nuclear family. Mom usually picked Mary and Jessie up from school, and we ate dinner with them most nights.

The fact that Mom and Dad played such a prominent role not only in my life but also in my girls’ magnifies the loss. They were tightly woven into the fabric of our lives, and their passing produced holes in our family tapestry.

Widowed First

As I’ve been contemplating my parentless state, verses that declare God to be a Father to the fatherless have come to mind. Have you ever noticed how those passages usually include His concern for widows too? I became a widow 26 years before becoming an orphan, and across those years, I’ve become well acquainted with God’s steadfast love and faithfulness. He has been my Defender, and I know I can count on Him to be my Father.

Wisdom tops the list of all the things I’ve prayed for since my husband died. I’ve routinely sought the Lord’s guidance, and He has repeatedly shown me the way. Now is no different as I seek God’s will to navigate this season of life as the eldest generation, responsible for managing the legacy Mom and Dad left to us – how best to glorify God and honor their memory in the process.

I’ve been journaling more than usual the past few weeks, trying to work through the emotions accompanying my parents’ loss and the feelings of “what now.” One day, I listed four specific areas where I needed wisdom and asked God to show me how to proceed. When I revisited the list a couple of days ago, I realized God had already given me clear direction on three of the four decisions. The fourth matter is ongoing, and I trust God will provide insight when I need it (James 1:5-6).

Motherly Love, Fatherly Protection

In addition to prayer, I’ve sought solace in familiar Bible verses. As is often the case, I’ve seen a new angle as the Spirit has applied the living, active word to my present situation (Hebrews 4:12). Take a look at these two passages:

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing (Zephaniah 3:17).

Behold, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; behold, his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young (Isaiah 40:10-11).

In the past, I’ve focused on the tenderness in these passages, the motherly qualities, if you will, but this week, God’s mighty power stood out to me. The love of my heavenly Father, who’ll never leave me, encompasses the aspects I miss most in my dear parents – Mom’s enduring encouragement and Dad’s persistent protection. What a blessing!

Sojourners

Remember the passages I referred to earlier that mention orphans and widows? God included a third category among the groups His people were supposed to care for in their midst: aliens and sojourners. Regardless of our marital or parental status, all of us are sojourners in this world. As God’s children, we are on our way to a better country, our true Home (Hebrews 11:16).

Mom and Dad knew and loved me from my first day in this world, but God chose me before the foundation of the world to be His (Ephesians 1:4-5). He knit me together in Mom’s womb, predestined me to be conformed to the image of His Son, determined when and where I would live, and wrote my days in His book before even one came to be. His love for me will never end.

One day, I’ll join Mom and Dad in the presence of Jesus, where there will be no more orphans, widows, or sojourners because we’ll all be safely Home.

Dear Lord, thank You that Mom and Dad were in my life for over six decades and for the blessing they were to me, my daughters, and my grandchildren. Even so, I know their love for us pales in comparison to Your perfect, infinite love. I rest and rejoice in the assurance that You will guide and protect us until we arrive Home to spend eternity in Your glorious presence.

Faith Connections

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.
3 John 1:4

Ending and Beginning

My 30-year career at a large corporation came to an abrupt end 12 years ago in a windowless conference room where my manager stated, “I know you’re expecting your annual review, but you won’t be having it because your job has been eliminated.”

Given all that had happened in the months leading up to her pronouncement, the news didn’t come as a surprise. I knew it was an answer to prayer for direction and a clear indication from the Lord that my time there was over.[1]

Some might say a chapter of my life ended that day, but the years encompassing my work history would fill a volume. I was thankful for the many opportunities and relationships I’d had over those three decades and for the salary and benefits the work provided, especially after I was widowed at age 38 and was left to raise two young daughters on my own.

I knew the Lord had something else for me to do, but I never could have imagined the story He planned to write in Volume 2. Three months after the fateful afternoon, I returned to school to study horticulture. Three months after that, I became Grammie to my first grandchild, a beautiful baby boy.

Grandboy Blessings

When I worked, my cubicle overlooked an attractively landscaped courtyard. Many days, I’d gaze out the window and wish I could be outside enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. I recalled those longings when I pushed Joshua through the neighborhood in his stroller, grateful that the Lord had not only fulfilled them but had also given me someone to share my love of the outdoors with. Joshua was my study buddy from his earliest days. While we strolled, I practiced my plant ID, pointing things out to him and repeating their names.

As Joshua grew, it became evident that he had an extraordinary ability to learn and retain information. Words like predator, prehensile, and paleontologist were part of his pre-school vocabulary. One day when I asked him which animal we might find in a box of animal crackers, he sincerely answered, “Ringtail lemur.” (If you surmised we watched countless episodes of Wild Kratts, you’d be correct!) I made a deal with Joshua, “You teach me about animals, and I’ll teach you about plants.”

Our deal has worked well over the years, even though I’ll never catch up to Joshua’s knowledge about animals, and he can hold his own in our plant discussions. He’s a great field trip buddy too. I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about The Pocket, my favorite place to relish spring wildflowers, since it’s a small, remote area some 70 miles away. His enthusiastic, “Can we come again next year, Grammie?” when we’d barely left the parking lot after our first visit, dispelled my doubts.

Spiritual Links

As much as I delight in telling Joshua about plants, I cherish telling him about the One who created everything even more. In fact, many of our plant and animal conversations will lead us to a Scriptural connection:

  • We marvel that God created so many different varieties of plants and animals.
  • We look forward to the day when the ground will no longer be cursed with thistles and thorns, and the animals will no longer attack each other (Revelation 22:1-3; Isaiah 11:6-9).  
  • We ponder things like, “Why did God create roaches?” (Ick!!)
  • When the good guy wins and the bad guys get their comeuppance in a Wild Kratts episode, we assure each other that Jesus, the ultimate Hero, will subdue His enemies and make all things right (Revelation 11:15).  

I often remind Joshua and his sisters that God displays His character throughout creation. It’s up to us to pay attention, see the spiritual tie-ins, and give thanks for God’s good gifts.

Parable of the Bulbs

Given our nature-related Bible lessons, you can imagine how pleased I was by the exchange Joshua and I had one recent afternoon. He’d been helping me clean out my garage when he came across some bulbs I’d dug up and tossed into some empty pots intending to offer them to fellow gardeners. Alas, they’d been sitting in those pots for over a year. After such a long time out of the ground, I doubted they’d be viable, but I told Joshua he could sort through them and see if there were any signs of life.

He set about his task and found a few bulbs with tiny green sprouts emerging from their tips. I explained he could gently squeeze the other bulbs to judge their status. They might be worth planting if they weren’t mushy or completely dried out.

 A few more minutes passed, and Joshua announced, “Grammie! I removed the dried-out layers from the outside of the bulbs, and some of them show signs of life. That made me think of a parable!”

“Really? Tell me your parable!”

He did.

“That’s great, Joshua! I might have to include it in a blog post.”

Thus, here, with some minor edits, is Joshua’s “Parable of the Bulbs”:

Mankind is like a pile of bulbs sitting in a pot. They look dead until you strip away the outer layers. On some you’ll see some new foliage, yellowed from lack of sun, but the bulb is still alive. On others the core of the bulb is dead. The ones that are dead can’t be planted. Their core is rotten and they must be thrown on the debris pile. The others, however, can be placed in a pot of soil and can be grown again.

This parable is applicable to our life in Christ because we’re like the bulbs. We’re all dead until Jesus comes and strips the outer layers away and gives us new life in Him. When we’re alive, we can be planted in the pot of heaven. Those who lack new life in Christ are thrown into the debris pile, where they’ll rot forever.

The fact that Joshua could see a spiritual connection while sorting through the pile of bulbs made my heart happy. It also fuels my desire to continue to help Joshua and his sisters make those connections – evidence of God’s goodness is all around us. What a privilege to tell the youngest generation about His steadfast love!

[1] If you’d like to read more about those circumstances, please see “Working All Things Together for Good,” Archives, July 2014.

Legacy and Longing

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Dear readers, the events of the past few years as I walked with Mom and Dad on their Homeward journeys have filled my mind and heart with myriad images and emotions, plenty to ponder, process, and write about in the coming weeks. But today, the brain fog of grief is still with me, and those images and emotions are jumbled together, so I’m rerunning one of my favorite posts with a brief intro.

Last Wednesday, we laid Dad to rest in the little country cemetery where Mom, my husband Ray, and many other cherished relatives are already interred. Until Mom’s funeral two years ago, the peaceful place was an abstract idea for my grandchildren, “where Grandpa Kuipers is buried.” But now they’ve sat in the same wooden pews where several generations of Phillips relatives sat and have seen the Sunday school classroom where I heard Bible stories before joining adults for worship when I visited as a child. They’ve seen the grave markers and felt the tranquility that permeates the very breeze that gently ruffles the leaves of decades-old trees that tower above them.

They’ve also walked the aisles of the general store just down the street from the little church, the same aisles I trod with my beloved grandfather six decades ago. I wrote “Eating Apples” in loving memory of him. I’m not sure if he was the first believer in his family or if our Christian legacy began even further back. Regardless, his faith and faithfulness formed a significant link in my heritage, one that is now shaping a fourth generation.

With the passing of each loved one, the hope of heaven becomes increasingly precious. Just as there is a spot between Mom and Ray waiting to receive my earthly remains, I know Jesus is preparing a place where I will dwell with Him forever. Until then, I pray He will help me to be faithful in sharing His goodness and grace with those He places in my path.

And now, let me introduce you to PaPa, my beloved grandfather.

Eating Apples – encore

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13

Cherished Memories

I don’t have many distinct memories of my grandfather since I was in first grade when he passed away. However, I cherish the recollections I do have. Details provided by my mom as she spoke lovingly of her father over the years complete my mental portrait of this kind and gentle man. 

Born July 31, 1890, James Alton Phillips was a short fellow, about 5’ 3”, who weighed 125 pounds, give or take a few. Genetics undoubtedly played a part in his slight build, but a lifetime of hard work farming his land also contributed to his compact physique. My mom was the baby of her family, the youngest of eight siblings, and her father’s darling. He called her “Babe” and warmed her clothes by the fire before she went to school on cold mornings.

Occasionally my grandmother, sterner in her demeanor, would delegate the task of disciplining a wayward child to my grandfather. He would take the offending party outside beyond her view and tell the child to cry out while he used the switch on some inanimate object instead of their legs.

As for me, I recall walking hand in hand with him to the small general store, stopping by the post office to check Box 73 for mail, and waiting for the train to come by so we could wave to the conductor and count the cars. But my favorite activity was eating apples with him. “PaPa,” as I called him, would sit me on his lap, producing an apple in one hand and a small knife in the other. He’d cut a slice for me, then a slice for himself. Back and forth the ritual would continue until we finished the tasty fruit. For as long as I can remember, I’ve eaten an apple almost every day. And when I do, I always think of my grandfather.

A Godly Man

“Mr. Jim,” as the people around town knew him, was a man of faith, a deacon in the tiny country church where he worshiped. He embodied the fruits of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). When he suffered a heart attack a few months before he died, the doctor told him he had to limit his physical activities. The doctor’s order was like a death sentence for a man who loved his garden and was used to being outside. He’d sit in the kitchen of the home he shared with my grandmother, his wife of 55 years, turn his gaze toward the little church, and comment he’d rather be in the cemetery than just sitting around.

Nearly 58 years ago, on October 25, 1965, God called PaPa Home. He had gone outside to check on some work a neighbor was doing for him, work he would much rather have done himself. In a fitting end to his earthly life, he died in his garden. I can still hear my mother’s anguished cry, “No, not Daddy!,” when she received the phone call telling her of his passing.

Abiding Love

Although our relationship was brief in terms of time, and nearly six decades have passed since we last shared an apple, PaPa’s love impacts me to this day. Years after his death, the large corporation I worked for sent me to a training course, one of many I attended during my career. But that one, a self-awareness workshop, was different. A team of psychologists facilitated it, and it was intense. One of our first exercises involved closing our eyes and imagining a safe place. I immediately envisioned myself in my grandfather’s lap, sharing an apple with him. The physical nourishment we’d partaken of paled compared to the bonds of unconditional love and acceptance formed during our time together.

Today I’m privileged to be “Grammie” to three precious grandchildren. Sharing snacks, especially apples, is one of my favorite things to do with them. It connects me to them and them to my grandfather, who they’ve come to know by my loving accounts of my short yet precious time with him.

A Promised Reunion

I don’t get to visit the small graveyard where my grandparents and many other maternal relatives are laid to rest as often as I’d like. My husband Ray is buried there, too, near my sister, Mary Jeannette, who died in infancy. Last spring, Mom took her place between them, leaving a space for me.

When I worked, my job frequently took me to that area of North Carolina, and I’d visit the cemetery as often as possible. I would gaze at the tombstones, each representing someone I love and long to see again, pondering how glorious it will be when we all rise to new life, a life that will never end (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). For the love we share now is but a shadow of the Love that awaits when the Everlasting Arms reach out to embrace us and welcome us Home (1 Corinthians 13:4-13).

Until then, I’ll remain thankful for little rituals and rock-solid faith, lovingly shared, that can reach across the decades, blessing one generation after another.

O Lord, how great are the gifts of familial love and a heritage of faith! Please help us to be resolute in telling those coming along behind us about Your great love and faithfulness so that they, too, may know the joy and peace of belonging to Your family.

Through the Valley

/ Patsy Kuipers / 10 Comments

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.
Psalm 23:4

“He’s gone.” My throat, tight with tears, barely allowed me to utter the words when I called Dad’s hospice nurse shortly after 3:30 AM Wednesday.

The rollercoaster Dad and I had been riding for the past couple of months, enduring the ups and downs and twists and turns of his precarious health, had come to a gentle stop.[1] Dad disembarked and passed peacefully into the presence of Jesus, leaving me to sob alone on the platform.

Yet even in that dark moment, I knew I wasn’t truly alone. God was counting each tear, assuring me that Dad was better than he’d ever been. And I felt the prayers of friends and relatives, a mighty fortress built petition by petition in the days and hours leading up to Dad’s Homegoing.

When we heard of some tragedy or other, my late husband, Ray, and I often said, “How do people get through (fill in the blank) without faith in God?”

Ray passed away suddenly from a heart attack a few weeks after his 39th birthday. In the intervening years, 26 of them, I’ve endured other life-changing losses, including the elimination of my job after a 30-year career, watching my elderly parents’ health decline, losing Mom two years ago, and now Dad. These and other less significant losses have led me to affirm repeatedly what Ray and I used to say to each other. Without God, I would never have made it through these events and their aftermath, nor will I make it through future hardships.

But I won’t have to.

I’m not fond of the aging process or the accompanying aches, pains, and infirmities, but one thing I do like about increasing years is that I have more and more examples of God’s goodness and faithfulness to file away in my spiritual memory bank. Several passages in addition to the one above from Psalm 23 have become foundational for me, providing comfort when the path before me is grueling or uncertain:

  • The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)
  • It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. (Deuteronomy 31:8)
  • But (God) said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

I know challenges lie before me as we plan and have Dad’s funeral, find homes for his belongings, and settle his estate. I fully expect to be riding an emotional rollercoaster for a while, though I doubt the climbs and drops will be as steep as they have been. Even though I will grieve, I will do so with hope, knowing Dad’s faith has become sight and he and Mom are back together, beyond the reach of earthly pains and heartaches.

And I will cling to the promises in the passages above, promises that have withstood the assault of previous trials and misfortunes.

Dear readers, I expect many of you are dealing with your own tribulations. Please remember, we’re never alone, no matter how dark the valley we or our loved ones are walking through. We have the tender care of our ever-present Father. He’s never forsaken us, and He never will. That is our hope and assurance as we traverse the vale of tears.

[1] If you would like to read “The Rollercoaster,” you can find it in Archives, June 2023.

Prowling About

/ Patsy Kuipers / 6 Comments

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.
1 Peter 5:8

Another Anniversary

Dear readers, I launched Back 2 the Garden nine years ago yesterday. Some of you have been with me on my journey to share stories of God’s goodness and faithfulness since that first post, while others have found their way to my little place in the blogosphere more recently. Regardless of the length of our association, thank you for taking the time to read my posts. As I write, I always pray God will use my humble attempts to encourage others and point them to Him, our source of life, hope, and peace.

This is my 246th post. Longtime readers know I don’t seek to be contentious. Yet, ironically, the object lesson I’ve chosen to write about this time might provoke a strong response, so I will preface it by saying I do not hate cats – I’ve had several as pets – and I don’t mistreat animals unless you count roaches which I obliterate if they get within reach! Whether you’re a fellow cat-lover or think dogs are man’s best friend, I hope you’ll read all the way to the end for the real villain.

A Terrible Sight

As soon as I stepped out of the garage, I heard a commotion coming from the large camellia in front of my house. I looked that way and realized the shrill noises emanated from a bird who jumped up and dove back into the bush. She repeated the moves several times. Frantic flapping accompanied her desperate chirping.

My mind quickly ran through possibilities as I strode closer. What could be pestering the bird to elicit such frenzied behavior? Was it another bird? A snake? Oh no, not a CAT!! The thought had no sooner entered my mind than my neighbor’s black cat plopped to the ground under the camellia. I approached her, scolding and clapping my hands. But, unlike usual, my shooing didn’t work. Instead, she flashed a nonchalant look my way and opened her mouth enough for me to see the mangled body of a baby bird.

I stomped toward her, yelling, “Noooo! How could you?!” Unremorseful, she trotted off to consume what remained of her tiny prey.

I picked up a stick and chased her all the way around my house, threatening as I pursued her. I’m glad I didn’t catch her since giving full vent to your anger rarely results in a positive outcome unless it’s a Jesus-casting-money-changers-out-of-the-Temple moment. As much as the event I witnessed shocked and saddened me, it didn’t meet that criteria.

I don’t know how long I stood vigil by the camellia, stick in hand, plotting how to protect the other babies in the nest. I could hear their muted chirps and imagined the mother’s despair at losing one of them. I contemplated several extreme possibilities, but after googling options gave me time to calm down, I sprinkled cayenne pepper on the ground around the giant shrub and on several of its lower branches in hopes it would provide a deterrent against future foraging.

The Real Enemy

The horrible scene of the cat dropping to the ground with the broken body in its mouth replayed in my mind. I couldn’t unsee it, no matter how hard I tried. As I sat at my table and lamented the wanton loss of life, I realized I wasn’t just weeping for the mamma bird and her baby. Death has snatched too many people, both friends and relatives, from my life in the past few years. In fact, I’d received word just a few hours before the cat incident that a dear sister in Christ had entered the Lord’s presence after a courageous battle with cancer. And that news came the day after I attended the funeral of a friend’s father.

Sometimes death pounces, taking its prey quickly as it did with my husband. Then again, it will toy with its victim, batting and clawing, diminishing them bit by bit as it did with my beloved mother and is doing now with my dad. Oh, how it hurt to watch Mom lose the ability to balance her checkbook or make the pound cake she’d baked countless times for over 50 years. Oh, the pain of seeing my strong, capable daddy withering away, barely able to feed himself or complete his sentences.

I was chasing my neighbor’s pet around the house, but she was only symbolic of the actual target of my rage. Our enemy prowls about like a roaring lion seeking someone to destroy, and even though death won’t get the final say, it presently causes great sorrow. We weren’t supposed to get old or sick or die, and the animals weren’t supposed to eat each other, but sin entered God’s beautiful, perfect world. All of creation has been groaning ever since (Romans 8:19-22).

Ultimate Victory

Praise God; we know the groaning won’t last forever. Though death is part of our life now, Jesus dealt the promised fatal blow to the enemy of our souls. He secured the victory when He went to the cross and endured God’s wrath for us so that we can enter into God’s presence, robed in His righteousness (Romans 5:8-11). It is finished!

Our pastor ended this morning’s sermon by reminding us that death and grief do not define us. We are covenant children, people of hope, who have God’s immutable promises as a sure anchor for our souls (Hebrews 6:19).

When Jesus ushers in the new heavens and new earth, death and tears and pain will have no place. The wolf will dwell with the lamb. Nothing will harm or kill or destroy on God’s holy mountain ever again.

I long for the day when our Savior will return to make all things right. I may have been yelling at the cat and weeping over my friend’s passing and my dad’s waning abilities, but I know the Lord heard the true cry of my heart, “Come, Lord Jesus!”

Forever Promises

In closing, I want to share two of my favorite passages regarding what we look forward to with absolute assurance. I pray they’ll encourage your heart as well.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” (Revelation 21:1-5, emphasis mine)

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
    and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat,
and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together;
    and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze;
    their young shall lie down together;
    and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra,
    and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den.
 They shall not hurt or destroy
    in all my holy mountain;
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord
    as the waters cover the sea. (Isaiah 11:6-9, emphasis mine)

I’ll Be Back!

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also (John 14:2-3).

A Difficult Decision

I wasn’t with my husband when he passed away. I was holding Mom’s hand when she took her last breath. Given Dad’s fragile health, I had mixed emotions about embarking on my long-awaited, highly-anticipated trip to South Dakota. However, after much prayer and consultation with close friends, I decided to go. I trusted the Lord knew my plans and would orchestrate the circumstances of Dad’s passing so I would be exactly where I was supposed to be if the time came. Even so, I prayed I wouldn’t be halfway across the country if the Lord called him Home.

At my request, I received daily text updates from Dad’s hospice nurses. Though the ups and downs I described in my last post, “The Rollercoaster,” continued, Dad didn’t experience any extreme lows while I was away. In fact, as I sat in the Denver airport waiting to board my flight back to Atlanta, my phone dinged, announcing the day’s report. Not only did the words contain positive news, but there was also a photo of Dad sitting up, smiling, and eating apple slices. What a wonderful sight! I texted the picture to my daughters along with the message, “Papop’s having a good day!”

Nonetheless, remembering the last time I texted them similar news only to have Dad’s condition plummet a mere 24 hours later, I prayed, “Lord, please give me the grace to deal with whatever situation I find,” as I walked the hall to Dad’s apartment Friday evening.

Joyful Reunion

Much to my delight, I found him awake and ready to eat dinner. A mixture of relief and joy colored his countenance as I approached his bed. When I put my hand in his, he squeezed it tightly and said, “Oh, Patsy! You’re finally back! I’m so happy to see you. I love you so, so much!”

I told Dad about my trip before I left and assured him I would be back in a week, but the stroke he had 20 months ago robbed him of his ability to keep track of time. I could only imagine the week felt more like a month. Maybe he’d even begun to wonder if I’d ever return.

After I helped him with his dinner, he said he needed to call Mike, a dear family friend. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk to Mike about in the middle of our visit, but I obliged. When Mike answered, he asked Dad how he was doing. Nothing could have prepared me for his answer.

“Heaven has poured out blessings on me!”

Mike, somewhat puzzled, replied, “Oh, really?”

“Yes, my young’un has come home!”

Suffice it to say, I don’t remember much of the rest of the conversation. Overcome by Dad’s exuberant declaration, I struggled to contain my tears.

Jesus’ Return

As I replayed the scene in my mind, I began to think about Jesus’ promise to return. It’s been a long time since He left, and sometimes we may be tempted to believe He’s forgotten about us and isn’t coming back. Scripture assures us that God is not slow in keeping His promises. Furthermore, much like Dad has trouble keeping track of the days, we don’t reckon time as God does (2 Peter 3:8-9).

Those musings, in turn, led me to recall how rarely my daughters ever cried when I left them in the church nursery or daycare or at a friend’s house with a hug, kiss, and cheerful assurance, “I’ll be back!”

I suppose they knew they could count on it because I’d never abandoned them, though I did get my signals crossed one day, thinking Mom was picking Jessie up from school, only to arrive home and find her missing at the dinner table, but that’s a story for another time!

If my daughters could depend on me, a finite being, to keep my pledge, how much more can we rely on Jesus to keep His?

God the Father vowed to send a Redeemer (Genesis 3:15), and, in the fullness of time, the Son came (John 3:16), fulfilling God’s promise and hundreds of Old Testament prophecies surrounding the Messiah’s birth, life, and death. That’s a way better track record than I have, one that guarantees the trustworthiness of the prophecies and promises yet to be accomplished.

Never Forgotten

When they were little, I doubt my daughters realized that even when we were apart, they were on my heart and in my prayers, and I looked forward to the time when we would be back together. The same is true today and extends to other beloved family members and friends; thus, Dad is never far from my mind, regardless of our physical location.

These sentiments provide an inkling of God’s intense, abiding love for us, recorded by the prophet Isaiah:

Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
 yet I will not forget you.
Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands (Isaiah 49:15-16).

What a consolation! God hasn’t forgotten us, and He never will, not for a moment. Jesus is preparing a place for us. He’s promised to return and dwell with us forever. It’s a promise we can rely on and joyfully tell others about, just as Dad gladly shared the news of my return with Mike.

I’m thankful to have Dad with us for another Father’s Day. I rejoice even more in knowing we’ll have eternity together in God’s presence, reunited with the loved ones who’ve gone before us. Count on it!

The Rollercoaster

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. John 10:28-29

A Terrifying Ride

I was in elementary school when Mom, Dad, and I went to Myrtle Beach for the first of many family beach vacations. One evening we ventured to the amusement park, home of the Swamp Fox, a towering wooden roller coaster. I must have been eight or nine at the time, totally unaware of how it felt to ride such a thing, so when Dad suggested Mom and I get in the front seat, I went for it. Being first is a big deal when you’re a kid, plus I would have a great view of the park, right?

My dad’s mischievous grin should have given me a hint regarding what awaited, but Mom and I climbed aboard when the coaster rattled into the station. The first few rises and falls were manageable, lulling me into complacency, but then we began to climb. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack. Higher and higher we went. The Swamp Fox reached the peak and then paused briefly before plummeting at a rate that left me gasping for breath. What little air I had escaped my lungs as uncontrollable screams.

I grasped the slender safety bar inches in front of my lap as if it were the only thing that stood between me and certain death. At my age, I did not understand the forces playing on my body as we hurtled toward Earth. Instead, a firm conviction permeated my being –  surely, if I let go for an instant, my body would catapult out of that seat.

Traumatized and terror-stricken, I vowed I’d never get on another rollercoaster! I kept that promise for ten years until another vacation found us at Busch Gardens Tampa Bay. I stood by one of the coasters, listening to the screams of riders as they sped over and around, up and down. Were they exhilarated or terrified?

Determined not to let rollercoasters get the best of me, I asked Dad to join me for a ride. I can’t say I enjoyed it, and I don’t remember how much or little I screamed, but I had the satisfaction of conquering a long-standing fear. Even so, I didn’t plan to ride one again, ever!

Back on Board

Despite my long-ago proclamation, I’m in the front seat of another rollercoaster, this time an emotional one, as Dad’s declining health becomes increasingly fragile. Highs and lows, twists and turns that mimic those of the iconic rides, have filled the past few weeks.

Dad has been sleeping more and eating less. He spends most of his time in bed, doesn’t talk much, and rarely looks at his newspapers, something he’s always done. But last Tuesday night was a different story. He ate his dinner and sat in his recliner while we visited. When I left, he was reading the comics and watching Sports Center.

What an improvement! I almost skipped to my car. I couldn’t wait to text the good news to my kids.

My heart was still singing a happy song of praise the next day. And then, barely 24 hours after I exited Dad’s apartment, I got a call that he’d fallen. He didn’t have any injuries, but his blood pressure was precariously low. 

I went to check on Dad and await the arrival of the on-call hospice nurse. After he examined him and took his vitals, Chris said, “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I’ve seen people rally, but given your dad’s extremely low blood pressure and slow, erratic pulse, I’d say he’s nearing the end.”

I replied stoically, “Considering Dad’s recent decline, I can accept that, especially since he’s pain-free and not in distress. I’ve prayed he won’t experience the same torment Mom did in her final days.”

There would be no skipping to my car that night. Despite my brave words, it took me a long time to go to sleep. When I finally drifted off, I tossed and turned, plagued by troubling dreams.

Dad’s vitals improved over the next three days, and he resumed eating. But this morning, the buzzing of my FitBit jolted me out of a deep sleep. Dad had fallen again. Paramedics with him assured me he hadn’t broken any bones but needed me to confirm his wishes not to go to the hospital. I did so emphatically since I promised Dad several months ago when his hospice care began, that I would do everything possible to keep him out of the hospital.

Secure in the Father’s Grasp

Up and down, back and forth. I have no idea what will happen next. The uncertainty takes a physical as well as emotional toll. Not only did my tracker alert me to the incoming call, but it also captured the effect it and the news I received had on my heart as my pulse rate shot up from a restful 50-some beats per minute to nearly 100!

Though there are times when I feel like screaming, tears have become my emotional safety valve. Sometimes, I’ll sniffle intermittently throughout most of the day. I’m losing my dad bit by bit, and, to borrow a phrase one of my daughters used when Mom was slipping away, my heart is breaking in slow motion.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack. How high will the car climb? How steep will the plunge be, snatching my breath and elevating my heart rate? How many times can you prepare yourself for the worst?

I don’t know the answers to those questions, but nothing surprises God. I’m clinging to the same assurances I held on to when Mom’s earthly life was drawing to a close – God is faithful, His mercies are new every morning, and His grace is sufficient (Lamentations 3:21-24; 2 Corinthians 12:9).

Though there may be times when I feel like I’m free-falling, I know God is holding Dad and me safely in His grasp. His grip is more secure than any safety harness on any ride. Eventually, this rollercoaster will come to a stop. Until then, I will pray for wisdom and strength to help Dad as he makes his way Home.

O Lord, I am powerless against this great horde that is coming against Dad. I do not know what to do, but my eyes are fixed on You. Thank You that Your children are never out of Your sight or beyond Your reach.

An Invitation to Grieve

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Jesus wept.
John 11:35

Most Friday mornings, I can be found grocery shopping at a nearby Kroger. The floral department is within view of the entrance, and, being the plant lover I am, I stroll by the display slowly, enjoying the beautiful sight. I’ll also admit I usually check the clearance table to see if there are any slightly bedraggled houseplants that need a home.

Sadly, the sight that greeted me the two Fridays preceding Mother’s Day didn’t elicit the usual delight. Instead, the cheerful array of balloons, cards, and bouquets brought me to tears both weeks, even though I prepared myself for the onslaught of emotions the second week. I knew Mom would love anything and everything I picked out for her. I could imagine her smile and expressions of gratitude.

But I wouldn’t be picking out anything for Mom with eager anticipation, and she wouldn’t be joyfully receiving my gifts because she went to be with the Lord a week before Mother’s Day 2021, and I would be spending my third Mother’s Day without her. I sniffled my way up and down the first two aisles, finally reining in my tears so I could see my shopping list, but the sense of sadness lingered even after I returned home.

I didn’t sleep well the night before the fateful holiday. I dreaded facing another Mother’s Day without my best friend, lifelong cheerleader, and prayer warrior, and my 92-year-old father had experienced an alarming health incident the day before. My troubled mind worked overtime as I tossed and turned.

And then Sunday morning came, and the dam broke. I could no longer hold back the flood, nor did I even try to. I stood in the shower and sobbed, my tears flowing as fast as the water from the showerhead. I don’t know how many minutes passed before the torrent subsided, but it did, leaving me both spent and yet somehow comforted.

As Christians, we grieve with hope, but too often, we won’t allow ourselves to mourn fully and deeply the losses that send pieces of our hearts into graves along with our loved ones. We move quickly to the assurances:

  • To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8).
  • Death has lost its sting (1 Corinthians 15:55).
  • Jesus is preparing a place for us and will return to take us to be with Him (John 14:2-3).
  • We’ll spend eternity together in the presence of God, where there will be no more pain, mourning, tears, or death (Revelation 21:1-4).

Don’t get me wrong. I cherish those promises and ones like them. I frequently remind myself of them as I look forward to my heavenly Home and the glorious reunions that await. But I also need to permit myself to express the sorrow of losing loved ones without fear of disparaging my faith. Even though death’s sting is not permanent, it is still powerful and painful.

When Mom died, a friend referred to me as a “grief veteran.” Having been widowed at age 38, I know death is final in this life. The hand I long to hold and the voice I long to hear are lost to me for now. Likewise, Mom and I won’t share any more afternoons filled with haircut appointments and Starbucks treats or sit side-by-side in church on Sunday mornings. No, our departed loved ones won’t return to us. One day we will go to them, but for now, the separation hurts, and it’s ok to say so whether the loss occurred years ago or more recently.

Scripture describes our perfect Savior as a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3). If we ever doubt we have permission to grieve, we have only to look to Jesus. He experienced what it’s like to walk through this sin-scarred world. Even though He knew He would defeat death and not one of those entrusted to Him would be lost, Jesus wept because death was never part of God’s good plan. It stings. It always will this side of heaven.

A recent conversation with my pastor regarding our propensity to rush to the good news of Christ’s victory over death without allowing ourselves or others to grieve reminded me of my daughter Jessie’s comment as we stood by Mom’s grave two years ago. After watching Mom endure horrible pain the last ten days of her life, I said I was thankful she wasn’t suffering anymore. Jessie replied, “That’s true, but don’t miss out on the mourning, Mom.”

Dear reader, if you’ve lost someone you cherished, I, too, say, “Don’t miss out on the mourning.” Take your sorrow to the Lord, the compassionate One who understands. He will meet us in our grief.

Homeward Bound

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city (Hebrews 11:13-16).

Comings and Goings

Sometimes I think my smartphone is a little too smart. It keeps track of my comings and goings, and whenever I back out of my driveway, it anticipates where I’m headed, suggests a preferred route, and tells me how long it will take to get there. Sometimes it guesses incorrectly, but my phone’s predictions are usually accurate, given that I’m a creature of habit with a dependable pattern of destinations. Church on Sunday mornings, grocery shopping on Friday, dinner with Dad at his assisted living several evenings a week – my phone has made note of my whereabouts.

When I’m away from home and start my car, my phone always tells me how long it will take to return home. I can’t think of a time it’s suggested another destination, even though my Friday pattern almost always includes a stop at Starbucks after I get groceries.

The underlying assumption is valid though – ultimately, I want to get home safely.

Heading Home

As I was thinking about this the other day when my phone helpfully told me yet again how long it would take to get home, I mused, “What if I had something that told me how long it will take to get Home and the best route to take?”

Just as I wish to return home safely each time I depart, I fervently long to arrive Home. As dear as my little piece of property is, full of trees, shrubs, and flowers I’ve tended for almost 30 years, I’m reminded daily that this world isn’t my Home, no matter how lovely it is. This life is full of challenges, losses, and brokenness that make me yearn to be in the presence of the Lord.

Even so, I don’t really want to know how much longer my journey is. If I learned my earthly life was drawing to a close, I might despair of accomplishing the goals I’ve set for myself or dwell on the impact my death will have on my family. Conversely, if I discovered I had many years ahead of me, I might squander my time or grow weary at the thought of dealing with the trials of this life.

Closer Than We Think?

Further pondering led me to recall lyrics from a Michael W. Smith song, “I’m Waiting for You”:

You’re on the road
Thinking you’re far from here
And suddenly find
You’re very near

The words brought to mind two arduous events from the past couple of years:

Mom broke her hip, had surgery to repair it, and spent nine harrowing days in the hospital, days in which we kept vigil by her bedside, helpless and heartbroken. We made the necessary arrangements to bring her back to the home she shared with my dad, determined to care for her for whatever time the Lord allowed. We agreed to an interim stop at a hospice facility to stabilize her medication. It was there, barely 24 hours after she arrived, surrounded by family, that Mom took her last breath and slipped peacefully into the presence of the Lord. Just like that, her earthly strife was over. She was Home.

Last summer, I spent countless hours going through things Mom and Dad had accumulated in their nearly 70 years of marriage in preparation for selling their house. Given the hot housing market, I expected the house would be under contract quickly. However, I anticipated at least another month of checking the property each day while the buyers secured a loan, had the house inspected, and requested repairs. But we got a cash offer, and they wanted to settle the following week. Just like that, my responsibility ended.

Scripture urges us not to grow weary of doing good or to give up (Galatians 6:9). As one of my favorite podcasters said recently when describing the challenges of losing her mother bit by bit to Alzheimer’s, the Lord will allow trials to last long enough to accomplish His purposes, no more and no less. Though the two stressful scenarios I described above were relatively brief, even if a trial lasts a lifetime, it’s merely a dot along the line of eternity (2 Corinthians 4:16-18).

Traveling Companion

Now take a look at the first stanza of “I’m Waiting for You:”

I walked this road
So very long ago
To show the way
So you would know
I walked the road
With holes in my hands and feet
To make the way
Come follow me

Even though I don’t know how long it will take me to get Home or the details of the specific route God has planned for me, I have no doubt about the Way. Not only is Jesus the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6) whose sacrifice ensures we will reach our final destination, He’s promised never to leave or forsake us. His Spirit dwells within us, guiding, comforting, and reminding us of all Jesus said. Furthermore, Jesus is preparing a place for us and has promised to return to take us to be with Him (John 14:2-3).

Being confident of the Way, I don’t need to know the distance remaining on my journey. Instead, I take comfort in knowing all my days were written in God’s book before even one came to be (Psalm 139:16). Each morning when I wake up, I do so with purpose, knowing God must still have something for me to do. When I’ve finished the good works prepared for me in advance, He’ll call me Home.

Dear Lord, one day I may leave home and not make it back, like Mom, but thank You that I have complete confidence that I will make it Home, as she did, because of Jesus. Until then, please help me to glorify You all along the route You have ordained for me.

A Month for Remembering, Reprise

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?
1 Corinthians 15:54b-55

Beware the Ides of April

Though Ides looks plural, it is, in fact, singular and means the middle of a given month. According to the ancient Roman calendar,  the Ides fell on the 15th of  March, May, July, and October, and the 13th of the other months.

I’m not superstitious, and I realize I’m taking liberties with one of the most famous of Shakespeare’s often-quoted lines. Still, I’ve become wary of the middle of April, those days between the 10th and 20th,  because they are dotted with significant anniversaries of loss, both personal and national:

  • Waco Massacre – April 19, 1993
  • Oklahoma City Bombing – April 19, 1995
  • Ray, my dearly-loved husband, passed away from a heart attack on April 19, 1997, at the age of 39.
  • Columbine – April 20, 1999
  • VA Tech Shooting – April 16, 2007
  • Marcia, a dear sister-in-law, died on April 12, 2014, after a fall at her farm.
  • Mom was diagnosed with pneumonia on April 17, 2019, and spent the next 24 days in the hospital. There were several times we thought we’d lose her.
  • Mom fell and broke her hip on April 20, 2021, Dad’s 90th birthday. She went Home ten days later.

A Melancholy Month

When the calendar page turns to the fourth month, a sense of melancholy settles over my soul, much like pine pollen coats the Georgia landscape. I’ll admit I had to look up the specific dates of the national tragedies, though I knew they all occurred in April. Not so with the personal losses. Those dates and their attendant memories are etched into my mind.

Ray’s death forever divided my life into two pieces, before and after. Each year I intentionally revisit our last days together, when I had no idea how few there were, and the first days without him, when I wondered how I’d ever go on.

Now I do the same with memories of Mom. Unlike Ray’s final days, which were filled with typical family and work activities, Mom’s were plagued with pain and confusion, making the memories even more heartbreaking. In April 2021, medical appointments filled the calendar as I desperately sought help for Mom, whose health was precarious and becoming more so each day. Yet I didn’t realize I had less than a month left in this life with the one who was my chief cheerleader and devoted prayer warrior from the time I was born.

Purposely observing the passing of Ray and Mom, my two most ardent supporters, touches tender scars and re-opens the wounds. But it is a price I’m willing to pay as I honor the memory of these dear ones, gratefully recalling the love and blessings they poured into my life.

Hope Abounds

Despite the undercurrent of loss that runs through April reminiscences, my mood seldom remains somber for long. The beauty of springtime bursting forth all around me won’t allow it to.

I revel daily in the signs of new life, as leaves emerge on formerly bare branches, flowering shrubs look resplendent in their colorful array of blossoms, and perennials push their way out of the soil for another season of growth. And I delight in the increased activity around my bird feeders as my feathered friends form couples and begin raising their young.

Everywhere I look, I see reminders of resurrection hope.

Suffering Savior

Each year as Easter approaches, I ponder Jesus’ last week, just as I intentionally think back on Ray and Mom’s final days. On Palm Sunday, we remember His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, but over the next five days, the chants of adoration would be replaced by those of “Crucify Him!” (John 12:12-13; John 19:15)

In His final week, our beloved Savior, the Spotless Lamb of God, would wash His disciples’ feet, be betrayed with a kiss, abandoned by His closest friends, arrested, beaten, mocked, and crucified. Writing those words, contemplating all it cost Him to save me, brings tears to my eyes as quickly as thoughts of losing Ray and Mom – tears of sorrow for my sins and all He endured on my behalf.

Grieving with Hope

But death doesn’t get the final say. Jesus’ resurrection guarantees He’ll have the last word.

Though it is right to mourn our sins with sorrow that leads to repentance (2 Corinthians 7:10), we can rejoice knowing His atoning sacrifice removes our sins as far as the east is from the west (Psalm 103:12). They no longer define us because our identity is hidden in Christ, and we are robed in His righteousness.

Furthermore, Jesus’ victory over death enables us to grieve the passing of our loved ones with the hope of knowing the separation, though painful, is only temporary (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14). Jesus’ journey through the streets of Jerusalem, heralded by hosannas and palm branches, is but a shadow of His promised return. On that day, every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord. The dwelling place of God will be with His people, and He will wipe away every tear. Death, mourning, and pain will be no more, for the former things will have passed away (Revelation 21:3-4).

Last week I observed the 26th anniversary of losing Ray. This week I’ll be remembering Mom’s final days as the second anniversary of her Homegoing approaches. Though I miss them both every day, I would not wish them back, for their faith has been made sight, and they are beyond the reach of the pain and troubles of this world. Instead, I look forward to the day when I will join them in the presence of the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8).

Thank You, Lord, for the hope we have in You. Because You took our punishment upon Yourself and then rose in victory over death, we have the assurance our sins are pardoned, and we, too, will be resurrected to eternal life in Your presence. May we be ever mindful of this truth to comfort our hearts while we tarry in this world where the effects of sin and brokenness remain.