Grieving with Hope

Homesick

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
Philippians 1:21

To Stay or Go?

Many Christians have a life verse that sums up their calling and motivates them in their walk with the Lord. I have so many verses that sustain me depending on what I’m going through that I long thought it would be impossible to pick just one. I finally realized Philippians 1:21 was it.

After the Apostle Paul made the bold declaration recorded in that verse, he went on to say:

If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account (Philippians 1:22-24).

Paul was in a Roman prison when he wrote the letter to the believers in Philippi. Surely, he would have been better off had the Lord delivered him by calling him Home, yet he was willing to stay for the sake of the gospel and his brothers and sisters in Christ.

Holding on for Our Sake

I thought of this passage multiple times as I sat by Mom’s bedside as she spent the last days of her life in the hospital. I can’t imagine the pain she was in or how much she suffered, physically and emotionally, after she had surgery to repair her hip, broken in a fall. She was barely ever still, and the bruises from the fall, her surgery, and multiple blood draws created a pitiful patchwork on her paper-thin skin.

Those caring for her marveled that one so tiny could endure so much. Yet those of us who knew Mom best recognized the determination that had kept her going when faced with difficulties throughout her life, based on her faith and summarized in her life verse: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13). After loving us so well for so long, it was as if she didn’t want to leave us, even though it would have been so much better for her to depart and be with her Savior.

Letting Go of Loved Ones

Mom was my best friend, lifelong cheerleader, and most ardent prayer warrior. I couldn’t imagine life without her, much less praying for the Lord to call her Home. Even so, after watching her struggle mightily without making any progress toward recovery, that’s precisely what I did.

Still, she lingered. It was only days, but they were days that felt like months, as one dissolved into another. A friend observed, “Maybe there’s one more person for the Lord to touch with her life.” Perhaps there was.

Mom passed away ten days after she fell. She had fought the good fight, finished the race, and was pain-free in the presence of Jesus at last. I rejoiced in her victory over death, secured by the blood of Christ (1 Corinthians 15:54-57).

Longing for Home

I recently had the opportunity to visit my childhood home. When the current owner noticed my second slow drive-by, she came out to see what was up. As I approached her in the driveway, I introduced myself and apologized for bothering her. I was so overcome with emotion that I could barely speak the words: “I grew up in this house.”

I didn’t ask to go in, but even after exiting the house for the last time 37 years ago, I can still envision the exact layout of the rooms, as well as the furnishings. And when my dreams feature a house I’ve lived in, it’s always that one, despite the fact I’ve lived in my current home almost three times as long.

Pondering the wave of emotion that swept over me as I stood in front of my childhood home has led me to wonder what it will be like when I get to my forever Home, the one Jesus is preparing for me (John 14:2-3). I bet it will feel familiar and oh-so-perfect because, as C.S. Lewis said, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

Promised Reunion

Mom and Dad, my husband, baby sister, grandparents, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters-in-law, friends – the list of loved ones who’ve gone on to Glory keeps growing. Just as watching loved ones suffer changes our perspective, making it easier to let them go, having more loved ones in Heaven makes it even dearer. Though being in the presence of Christ is enough to fuel our desire to depart and be with Him, the assurance of a grand reunion adds to our longing for Home.

I began with my life verse, and I will end with one of my very favorite passages, one that gives us that assurance and makes me want to shout, “Hallelujah! I can’t wait!” whenever I read it:

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” (Revelation 21:1-4).

Dear Lord, we long to be with You and rejoice in knowing that one day You will call us Home to live with You forever. Until that day, please help us be faithful to walk worthy of Christ’s gospel and diligent in completing the good works You’ve prepared for us.

Another April

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

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.
Revelation 21:4

The end of March inevitably brings with it a sense of melancholy. The foreboding creeps up on me, gradually increasing, until I realize, “Oh, it’s almost April again.”

Mom and I used to dread the arrival of the last week of October each year since her parents and my paternal grandfather passed away on the 25th, 27th, and 30th of different years, but April long ago superseded October when it comes to personal losses. 

My beloved husband, Ray, went Home on April 19, 1997, two months after his 39th birthday, stricken by a fatal heart attack. His passing forever severed my life into before-and-after pieces.

Ten years ago, a dear sister-in-law fell while helping Ray’s brother reroof a building on their farm. Marcia succumbed to her injuries on April 12, 2014.

Three years ago, my dear little mom fell and broke her hip on April 20th, my dad’s 90th birthday. Though she survived the surgery to repair her hip, her body and mind were too fragile to recover, and she entered the presence of Jesus on April 30, 2021.

And now here we are, April 2024, the first April of my life that I won’t be able to celebrate Dad’s birthday with him. Though he joined Mom in Glory last July, his birthday will be forever linked to the final days of Mom and Ray’s lives.

That listing may feel like cold, just-the-facts reporting, but I can assure you each one of those losses packs a powerful gut punch regardless of how long my loved ones have been gone. Having missed Ray for 27 years, I know the longing to see Mom, Dad, and others who have gone Home won’t fade away either.

As hard as the losses have been and as deep as the lingering grief is, I know there’s a day coming when I will see my loved ones again. I can be confident because of Jesus’ death and resurrection. And when the day of His promised return arrives, there will be no more death or tears or pain or suffering! Whenever I think about it or read the passage in Revelation 21, I want to shout, “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! Come, Lord Jesus!!”

Yet, I can’t gloss over the pain of loss because to do so would be to minimize the penalty of sin as well as the ultimate sacrifice it cost Jesus to save us (Genesis 2:16-17; Isaiah 53:5-6; Romans 3:23). Death hurts because it was never part of God’s good plan. Watching our loved ones’ health decline hurts because we weren’t supposed to get old and sick. Missing them hurts because we were never supposed to be separated – from them or God.

We’re in good company when we lament the passing of our loved ones. Even though Jesus knew He would raise His friend, Lazarus, He had great compassion toward his sisters and wept outside his tomb (John 11:32-35).

However, we can grieve with hope because death doesn’t get the final say (John 11:25-26; 1 Corinthians 15).

A friend was visiting the other day and commented on how beautiful my flowers are. I thanked her and explained that April is a bittersweet month for me. I told her that although I revel in the beauty of springtime, I also associate the season with significant losses. Knowing that I love to garden and surveying the vast array of plants on my little property, she said, “That’s why God gave you all these pretty flowers!”

A small sample of the flowers adorning my springtime garden.

Her statement affirmed what I’ve often thought, and I replied, “I agree! Everywhere I look, creation is shouting ‘resurrection!’ From the colorful flowers to bright green leaves to baby birds, there’s new life everywhere!”

Dear readers, I expect each one of you has experienced significant loss in your life. Jesus told us that we would have tribulations in this world, but He went on to say, “Take heart, for I have overcome the world!” (John 16:33) We can take comfort in His triumph over tribulations as well as in knowing He’s overcome death, the final enemy. Jesus promised to return and make all things new (Revelation 21:1-5). While we await that glorious day, may we see evidence of His love and care all around us, interwoven with shimmering threads of resurrection realities that provide solace for our hurting hearts.

Legacy, Lament, and Longevity

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”
1 Corinthians 15:54-55

There they were, sitting side by side on a sofa at a funeral home – Mom, Dad, and my Aunt Margie, Dad’s only remaining sibling. The occasion? The service for another of his sisters. A solemn thought pervaded my soul later that evening when I gazed at the photo capturing the moment. Mom was one of eight siblings, and Dad was one of ten. Eighteen siblings had been reduced to three, and, given their ages and the relentless march of time, I knew they, too, were drawing near to the end even if the Lord blessed them with several more years.

That was January 2020. Mom passed in April 2021, Dad in July 2023, and Aunt Margie joined the family circle on high ten days ago. Oh, how it hurts to write those words and contemplate the void left in our family. A whole generation is no longer with us.

But what a generation it was! Dad’s family line-up began with two older brothers, followed by four older sisters. Dad came next, the eldest of the four younger boys. The siblings who preceded Dad served in WW II. Uncle Harry was in the army and helped liberate one of the concentration camps. Uncle Fred flew numerous bombing missions. Meanwhile, the sisters worked for the Justice Department in Washington, DC. The younger brothers served our country in later conflicts and times of peace.

With birth dates ranging from 1916 to 1937, Dad and his siblings lived through the hardships of The Great Depression. Their experiences during that tough time and humble beginnings in rural North Carolina undoubtedly shaped their values. During his eulogy for Dad, one of my cousins described him and his siblings with three Ds: Duty to country, devotion to family, and dedication to their chosen professions.

Aunt Margie

I could say so much more about my aunts and uncles, but I want to turn my attention to Aunt Margie.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve known Aunt Margie was a widow who raised four children on her own. My admiration of her as a single mother grew exponentially when I, too, was widowed at a young age and started raising my two elementary-aged daughters alone. Knowing she’d persevered for years and seeing how my cousins turned out inspired me to keep going. It wasn’t until I read Aunt Margie’s obituary that I realized she began her solo journey at an even younger age than I did – 33 years vs 38.

But that wasn’t the only area where Aunt Margie’s determination encouraged me. Like me, she loved to work in her yard and continued to do so well into her 80s.

Mom and Dad kept in touch with Aunt Margie and would fill me in on their conversations, including reports of “Margie was out working in her yard again!” which they inevitably conveyed in concerned tones. My enthusiastic reply? “Good for her! I hope I’m able to do the same!”

I felt a similar sense of, “You go, girl!” when I read this section from Aunt Margie’s obituary:

She didn’t care for Pilates or yoga, and she absolutely despised having to do physical therapy after a fall. She preferred to get her exercise by planting, weeding, and tending her flowers and vegetable garden, and insisted on mowing her yard with a push mower. Her approach to physical fitness served her well, as evidenced by her longevity.

Grandmama

Speaking of longevity, though Dad was the only one of the male siblings to make it into their 90s, all four of his sisters did. Two passed away within days of their 94th birthdays, while the other two made it to 95. And Grandmama, who bore those ten children, surpassed them all. She lived 95 years and 10 months, six months longer than Aunt Margie.

Though I have fond memories of visiting Grandmama when I was a child, I treasure the times I visited her as an adult, especially when it was just the two of us. She’s been gone 30 years, but even now, as I type, I can envision her serene countenance and see the Bible she kept on the table next to her favorite chair. I recall the softness of her skin as I held her hand during our quiet chats.

Another memory comes into focus, one of a visit my husband Ray and I paid her. When our visit was over, Grandmama walked us to the door. As we lingered on the porch, saying our reluctant goodbyes, she said, “Don’t wait too long to come back to see me. I’m going Home soon.”

I have no doubt that confident assurance contributed to Grandmama’s serenity. After a long and often challenging life, she knew she was nearing Home.

The Ultimate Longevity

It’s been heartbreaking to lose so many loved ones over the years. But death doesn’t get the final say. Regardless of how many years God grants us in this life, they’re a mere drop in the vast ocean of eternal longevity. As I grieve the loss of my last aunt, I’m once again turning to the promise of a grand reunion to assuage my sorrow. If it weren’t for that, our lament would know no solace, but because of it, we can rejoice in knowing that for those who die in Christ, death isn’t the end. It is a most glorious beginning.

Dear Lord, last Sunday, we celebrated Your resurrection. Thank You for conquering death so that we, too, will rise again when You return with glorified bodies like Yours that will never get sick or grow old or die! What a joy to know that we’ll be reunited with our loved ones and live in Your presence forever!

The Sad Relief

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

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

Holiday Blues

For most of my life, I looked forward to the final six weeks of the year, full of holiday cheer, beginning with Mom’s November birthday, followed by Thanksgiving, my mid-December birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s, with long-standing traditions associated with each. Granddaughter Lyla arrived the day after my birthday in 2013, multiplying the joy by becoming my birthday buddy.

But several years ago, my anticipation of the end-of-the-year celebrations began to wane as Mom’s health declined, and she couldn’t fully enjoy the season as she had in the past. Then 2020 rolled around, and, like many other families, COVID-19 derailed our Christmas traditions.

Little did we know it would be our last Christmas with Mom.

December 2021 found me going through the motions. Not only was it my first Christmas without my beloved mother, but my strong father had suffered a stroke six months after her passing. Though the physical effects were minor, the stroke impacted Dad’s cognitive abilities, leaving him incapable of handling his finances or medications, making it impossible to live on his own. Though we found a live-in caregiver for him, Dad grew tired of having someone in his space all the time. Thus, December found us looking at assisted living options, planning to move him in January.

I was equally despondent as the holidays approached in 2022. If it had been possible to fast forward to mid-January 2023, I would have done so. Dad contracted Covid at the end of October. His health was so fragile I thought it likely I would be planning a funeral before the end of the year. But he rallied and was able to celebrate Christmas, New Year’s, and his 92nd birthday before suffering another stroke in May of 2023 and gradually declining until passing away peacefully on July 12.

Grieving with Hope

After four years, holiday joy finally returned to my heart last December. That may sound strange considering it was my first without either of my parents. I’ve pondered that myself and have frequently returned to a phrase one of my friends used when she replied to my text informing her of Dad’s passing:  “I’m so sorry. Now begins the sad relief.”

The sad relief – an apt description of the blend of sorrow and joy known to Christians because we’re able to grieve with hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). Though I miss Mom and Dad, there’s great comfort in knowing they’re together in the presence of Jesus, far beyond the reach of earthly pain and distress.

After three years of intense caregiving, first for Mom and then Dad, another type of relief joined that of knowing they’re better than they’ve ever been – the relief from stress related to not knowing what any given day would bring, having to make so many difficult decisions, and, as an only child, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility. Only now, after several months of no longer experiencing the daily tension, do  I realize the load I carried, one always tinged with guilt and doubt. Was I making the right decisions? Should I be doing more? Ultimately, I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I was helpless to stop the relentless march of aging or prevent the inevitable conclusion.

Faithful God

But looking back, I also have a much clearer view of how God went before us every step of the way.

Mom’s agony was intense but relatively brief. God directed and redirected throughout the ten-day interval between the moment she fell and broke her hip and the one in which she drew her final breath. We intended to bring her home and endeavored to do so, but the Lord had plans to call her Home.

Though the stroke Dad experienced six months after Mom died wasn’t as catastrophic as her broken hip, it initiated a decline that lasted 18 months before he joined her in Glory. When he came home from the hospital, we secured a male, live-in Christian caregiver for him. I’ve got to believe that’s a rare combination of traits! When Dad grew tired of that arrangement, we found a cozy apartment in a lovely assisted living community two miles from my daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren.

Then came the day when Dad’s primary care physician recommended we transition to palliative care. The assumption underlying her suggestion wasn’t lost on me. We were running out of options to make Dad “well.” It was time to focus on making him comfortable instead. And, when we needed to take the next step and enlist hospice care, who would turn out to be his primary nurses but two women who’d overseen his care after his seizure some months before. In the interim, they’d started working for the hospice provider. Coincidence? I think not!

There are other examples of God’s provision and presence during Dad’s final months, but I’ll let these suffice.

Never Alone

There were times when I felt so alone in my seat on the emotional roller coaster associated with Dad’s ever-changing status, from declines to rallies and back again. Yet I was never alone. The One who promised never to leave or forsake me was there for every up and down, every daunting diagnosis and surprising recovery, not only knowing but also ordaining the end from the beginning (Isaiah 46:9-10).

The sadness of no longer having Mom and Dad to share things with, celebrate with, or reminisce with will stay with me for the rest of my life. But there’s the joy of cherishing memories of times past, carrying on favorite family traditions with my grandchildren, and mentioning Mama and Papop often so the youngest generation doesn’t forget their great-grandparents.

Ultimately, the greatest joy comes from the realization that God accomplished what I could not – relieve their pain and suffering – and He did it for eternity.

Epilog

Several days ago, I opened my journaling Bible to a section of Psalms I hadn’t read for a while, at least not in that particular Bible. I did a double-take when I saw what I’d written next to Psalm 40:17 two days before Mom broke her hip: “My prayer for Mom tonight, Lord. Please don’t delay in helping her or delivering her from the pain she’s been experiencing.” At the very moment I was writing that prayer, He had already determined how He would answer. Twelve days later, the Lord delivered Mom entirely and eternally from her pain.

Watching Mom and Dad decline gave me a glimpse of what my future might look like as I continue my journey Home. It also provided ample evidence of God’s faithfulness. It saddens me to think of possibly losing the capability to care for myself, yet there is relief in knowing God’s grace will be sufficient for my caregivers and me, just as it was for Mom and Dad and theirs – all the way to the end (2 Corinthians 12:9; Hebrews 10:23).  

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.

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.

My Forever Cheerleaders

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.
Hebrews 12:1

Watching the Clock

For weeks after my 39-year-old husband Ray died suddenly of a heart attack at work, I dreaded Saturdays. I replayed the events of the fateful day when Ray passed away, becoming progressively tenser as 6 pm, the time of the heart attack, approached. I imagined what he went through, how his associates tried to help him until the EMTs arrived, and the wailing of the ambulance’s siren as they rushed him to the hospital. All the while, my young daughters and I were shopping, ignorant of the fact our lives had changed forever.

When Mom passed away last year, no such replays plagued me on subsequent Fridays. Though images of her tiny bruise-covered body and pain-racked countenance haunted me for several weeks, her peaceful passing surrounded by those closest to her was more of a comfort to me. Whereas Ray’s sudden death sent me into a state of shock, I’d begun to grieve Mom’s decline months before her death, and knowing she was pain-free and in the presence of Jesus was a relief, even though I missed her terribly.

Thus, when April 30th, the first anniversary of Mom’s Homegoing, arrived, I was caught off-guard by the flood of memories that accompanied it, memories as clear as if the events had happened last week, not last year. As soon as I woke up, the heaviness hit, and the tears soon followed. The morning progressed,  and I found myself watching the clock, tension building as the time of Mom’s final breath approached.

Last year’s sequence of events played out in my mind: I called her hospice nurse, who informed me Mom had rested well and was still dozing. The same nurse called an hour later, telling me Mom had taken a turn and we needed to come. Texts to my children and prayer warriors, a call to Dad. The tense drive. The hushed room where we gathered around our beloved to sing, pray, and whisper our goodbyes.

And then she was gone. Or was she?

A Great Cloud of Witnesses

Twenty-five years ago, when I met with my pastor to plan Ray’s funeral, I asked, “Do you think Ray can see us? Not to see how sad we are, but how much we love him.”

His answer, paraphrased after all these years, went something like, “Scripture isn’t clear regarding how much our loved ones see, but God is sovereign over all and can allow them to know things if He chooses.”

I’ve held onto his answer and have even prayed for God to allow Ray to know about certain events if it’s His will to do so: my daughters’ graduations, my return to school to study horticulture, the births of my grandchildren, and sometimes a simple, “Please tell Ray I love him, Lord.”

Ray loved me so well for the years he was with me that I still feel his love. And so it is with Mom’s. I know I’ll carry her love with me for the rest of my life.[1]

In addition, there are times when I feel them very close to me. Such was the case in the days after I finished filming the video for Focus on the Family.[2] I longed to share the experience with Mom and Ray, the wonder, the excitement, and the misgivings. I dreamt about Ray two nights in a row, dreams that were like sweet visits, as I told him about the video. We were both so happy. And then, when the self-doubts set in – being filmed introduces a whole new level of vulnerability not associated with written words – I could sense Mom’s affirmations, her wholehearted support of my efforts, her joy.

I described these incidents to a dear friend and asked if she ever has similar instances with her departed husband. She smiled, nodded, and said, “Yes. Sometimes the veil is thin.”

Indeed it is. My two most ardent supporters haven’t left me. They’re part of the great cloud of witnesses surrounding me (Hebrews 12:1).

Glorious Reunion

Though there are many things we don’t know about heaven and our loved ones’ current state, there are others Scripture is quite clear about:

  • Believers who are absent from the body are present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8).
  • Jesus is preparing a place for us and will return to take us Home (John 14:2-3).
  • Our bodies will be raised imperishable (1 Corinthians 15:53-55).
  • We will dwell in His presence forever (Revelation 21:1-3).
  • There will be no more tears, death, mourning, or pain (Revelation 21:4).

As the clock continues to count down to Jesus’ return, let us comfort each other with the words of the Apostle Paul:

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18).

Dear Lord, as we recall all You did for us and await Your return, it is comforting to know that our departed loved ones are resting in Your presence. How sweet are the moments when You allow us to feel their nearness, and how dear the promise that we will one day be reunited in the new Jerusalem to live with You forever. Thank You for Your infinite, eternal love that unites us to You and each other.

[1] Please see “Legacy of Love,” Archives, July 31, 2020.

[2] Please see “Twenty-five Years,” April 19, 2022.

Celebrate the Light

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
John 1:5

Traditions

I’m a Christmas baby, born on December 19th. Mom and Dad brought me home on Christmas Eve, and Dad hung a bootie up as my first stocking. Despite my birthday falling within a week of Christmas, Mom made sure I had a birthday celebration each year, complete with cake and presents. Some years we invited friends over for a party, while other times, Dad took us out to dinner at a nice restaurant. And each year, my gifts included a pretty dress from Mom.

Christmas traditions were equally dear and included shopping, preparing dozens of goodie boxes to share with friends, decorating, and attending Christmas cantatas and worship services.

As the years passed, I married and started a family, so we tweaked and added to our traditions. We joked that our holiday season begins with daughter Mary’s late-October birthday and continues into November with Mom’s birthday and Thanksgiving.  Granddaughter Lyla’s birthday is the day after mine, then Christmas. We finally wrap up our celebrations on New Year’s Day. Different foods and festivities accompany each occasion, as do plenty of reminiscences and lots of photo-taking.

Just Skip It

Several weeks ago, I began to contemplate this year’s holiday season. Unlike most years when joyful anticipation colors my feelings, I thought, “I wish I could fast-forward past the holidays.”

You see, for the first time in my life, Mom won’t be with me to celebrate. Granted, we curtailed our goodie-making some years ago, and Mom’s ability to fully participate in shopping, wrapping, and sending out Christmas cards had declined the last few years. However, her smile still shone brightly, and her joy at being together was infectious.

Pondering Mom’s absence on my birthday and Christmas morning weighed heavy on my heart.

Not Celebrate?!

Those dismal thoughts didn’t have a chance to put down roots, though. Almost as quickly as they came, another took their place, “What do you mean, not celebrate?! How would that honor her memory, much less the One whose birth we’re celebrating?”

Last week’s sermon[1] further dispelled the notion of merely going through the motions this December. After acknowledging that not everyone experiences hope and joy during the holidays, Pastor Donovan reminded us of the following:

  • Biblical hope isn’t maybe-things-will-work-out wishful thinking, but the confident expectation that God will act according to His purpose, plan, and promises.
  • Advent is a season of celebrating God choosing to come near, to save us. (What a gift!) We must:
    • Gratefully acknowledge and receive the gift. Don’t take it for granted or think, “I’ve heard the Christmas story so many times.” Never stop marveling at the fact the Word became flesh and dwelt among us!
    • Actively cultivate hope by remembering God’s past faithfulness to look forward with assurance. God is worthy of our joy, expectation, and trust. He will fulfill all His promises.
    • Communicate that hope to the hopeless. Celebrate what is and what’s coming. Don’t complain about what (or who) no longer is.
    • We’re to be agents of hope by sharing and celebrating the Light of the World.

Grief Veteran

Shortly after Mom passed away, a friend described me as a grief veteran. It was her way of encouraging me, of acknowledging the path wouldn’t be easy, but it would be passable. Having been widowed at age 38, knowing what it’s like to miss a loved one across over two decades of holidays yet find joy in celebrating and remembering, I knew she was right.

This Dietrich Bonhoeffer quote is one of my favorites regarding grief:

Nothing can make up for the absence of someone we love . . . it is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; God doesn’t fill it, but on the contrary, God keeps it empty and so helps us keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain . . . the dearer and richer the memories, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude changes the pangs of memory into tranquil joy. The beauties of the past are borne, not as a thorn in the flesh, but as a precious gift in themselves.”

Each year when I set up the Dickens Village my late husband Ray started for me or purchase poinsettias in memory of the last Christmas he worked at Home Depot, tears of sorrow and joy mingle together. Sorrow that he’s no longer here to help me set up the village or see how much it’s grown, but such joy and gratitude for the love and years we shared. As Bonhoeffer observed, the memories are a precious gift in themselves.

It is the same with Mom. I cherish all the years we had to laugh, love, and celebrate in so many ways. Though she’s no longer physically present, I know she’ll always be with me.

Pass it On

I’m blessed to have three grandchildren to create and share traditions with. But I’m most excited to share the true meaning of Christmas as we celebrate the Light that came into the world. All the love and joy bound up in our celebrations is a reflection of God’s great love and an outpouring of thanksgiving for the blessings we have in Christ. Because He came as a tiny baby, lived a sinless life, and died on our behalf, death doesn’t have the final say. The circle of love is unbroken. And one day, we’ll be reunited around His throne to praise His name together forever.

Heavenly Father, thank You for sending Your Son, the Light of the World, to bring everlasting hope to this dark world. Regardless of the source of darkness – sin, grief, illness, loss – we have the confidence that the darkness will never overcome the Light. Please help us not to hide our light under a basket, but place it on a pedestal for all to see, ever ready to share the reason for our hope.

[1] “Advent: Having Hope and God With Us in This World,” Pastor David Donovan, Grace Covenant Church, November 27, 2021.

Help Is on the Way

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first.
1 Thessalonians 4:16

A Faithful Friend

It took several months after my husband’s fatal heart attack before I was ready to hear the specifics of his final hours. But, when I was, one of his closest colleagues shared those details with me.

After describing Ray’s busy afternoon helping customers with plants and garden supplies at The Home Depot, Barbara went on to recount how she was one of those waiting in line to perform CPR prior to the EMTs’ arrival. Though she didn’t get to do so, she was unwilling to leave her friend’s side and asked if she could ride to the hospital in the ambulance with Ray. When the paramedics denied that request, Barbara followed close behind in her own vehicle as the ambulance’s siren wailed, clearing a path through traffic.  

I think of Ray and that ambulance ride almost every time I hear a siren. And when I do, I say a brief prayer that the Lord will be with the emergency personnel and those who will receive their aid.

Another Day, Another Siren

On the morning of April 20, 2021, 24 years and a day after Ray’s sudden death, I stood on my parents’ driveway awaiting the arrival of the fire department EMTs. I knew from previous calls to 911 that they’d be the first on the scene. Having already let my adult children know Mom had fallen and most likely broken her hip, I texted, “Paramedics are on their way. I hear the sirens.”

The firetruck pulled up by the curb, its siren silenced upon entering the neighborhood. Struggling to contain my tears, I led the three solemn men into the house. Two knelt beside Mom, comforting her and assessing her condition, while the third asked Dad and me a series of questions regarding her medical history and the circumstances surrounding her fall.

Soon a second siren signaled the approach of the ambulance. The crew conferred with those already tending to Mom and took over her care once apprised of the situation. I expect the image of them carrying her out of the house, cradled in her pink sheet, pain and resignation lining her face, will stay with me the rest of my life.

I felt so helpless as the paramedics loaded Mom, closed the doors, and drove away. Yet even in my despair, I knew I wasn’t alone, and neither was Mom.

Faithful God

The Bible, God’s infallible Word, is one continuous story of God keeping His promise to be with His chosen people. The sweet communion Adam and Eve enjoyed with God was broken when they disobeyed His command not to eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (Genesis 3:1-10). But their disobedience didn’t catch God by surprise. Before the foundation of the world, the Father and Son covenanted to save a people for themselves, even though it would cost the precious blood of the perfect Son (Ephesians 1:3-10).

Hundreds of years passed from the time of God’s promise in Genesis 3:15 until the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. In those intervening years, God sent angels and prophets with messages to affirm His promise.

And then, in the fullness of time, Jesus, Son of God, yet fully man, was born in Bethlehem. An angel brought the good news of great joy to shepherds tending their flocks by night (Luke 2:1-12). Help had arrived in the form of a tiny baby Who would live a sinless life, take our infirmities upon Himself, and pay the penalty we owed (Isaiah 53:5-6). 

The message of hope resounded through the heavens. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” (Luke 2:13-14)

The Promised Helper

Jesus dwelt among us for a while, full of grace and truth, but He didn’t come to stay, at least not yet. His disciples were distraught at the thought of life without Him, but He promised to be with us always, to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20b). He even went so far as to say it was better for Him to depart so the Holy Spirit could come (John 16:7). Indeed, the promised Helper dwells within every child of God, reminding us of His promises and directives and empowering us to persevere (John 14:25-26).

And when trials beset us, and we don’t even know how to pray, the Spirit intercedes for us with groans too deep for words (Romans 8:26-27).

A Trumpet Call

God is not a man that He can lie. He is trustworthy and faithful (Numbers 23:19). All of His promises find their yes and amen in Jesus (2 Corinthians 1:20). Though God has already fulfilled many of His promises, ultimate consummation awaits. A day is coming when the mighty trumpet of God will herald Jesus’ return.

Unlike Jesus’ first coming, barely noticed by the world, His second will be impossible to ignore as He assumes His earthly, eternal reign. Every knee will bow, and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord (Philippians 2:9-11). Our rescue will be complete. Death will be swallowed up in victory once and for all, and the dwelling place of God will be with man (Revelation 21:1-4).

Until then, we will face hardships, but we can take heart, Jesus has overcome the world (John 16:33). The darkness has not quenched the Light, and it never will.

O Lord, how I look forward to the day of Jesus’ return when You will make all things new, and death will be no more. I thank You that while we wait, confident in all your promises, we’re never alone as Your indwelling Spirit guides, helps, and comforts us.