Family

Happy nappy!

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

My 21-month-old granddaughter, Emma, loves to mother her baby dolls. She strolls and feeds them, tucks them in and sings “rock-a-baby”. Her tender ministrations warm my heart.

Earlier this week, I arrived at daughter Mary’s house for the first of my twice-weekly visits. Six-year-old Joshua greeted me with exuberant orders to “look at the tree, Grammie!” And what a tree it was! As my gaze followed Joshua’s outstretched arm, I beheld a magnificent, half-decorated Fraser fir, so wide it nearly filled the front room. Emma’s happy babbles joined Joshua’s continuing dialog about the tree as I made my way through the house. IMG_4789I tread gingerly, careful not to step on any of the favorite, kid-friendly (read: “unbreakable”) Christmas decorations scattered about on the playroom floor. Among those recently freed from their storage boxes: the Peanuts gang – Charlie Brown carrying his spindly tree, Linus hugging his blanket, Sally holding her outrageous letter to Santa; a stuffed, chartreuse Grinch with his menacing scowl; and the Fisher-Price nativity, whose plastic figurines are perfectly proportioned for tiny hands.

After the initial excited exclamations over the newly-appeared Christmas décor, Joshua, Emma and I settled into our morning routine, awaiting the appointed time to pick up 3-year-old Lyla from pre-school. As I was preparing lunch, I overheard Emma say, “happy nappy”, a phrase we use instead of “sweet dreams” when tucking the children in for naptime. Upon hearing her cheerful refrain, I surmised she was playing with the nativity.

IMG_4788“Emma, are you telling Baby Jesus ‘happy nappy’?” My query was met with her inimitable, “Yes”.[1] Moments later, she gently transported the miniature baby-in-the-manger to the play kitchen where she prepared a snack for him. As I looked on, misty-eyed, God graciously used Emma’s simple gestures to remind me of profound truths:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:1-5, 14)

“ . . . Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:6-8)

“The Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)

“When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.’ And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:15-16)

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:15-16)

Jesus, the beloved Son, the second person of the Trinity, came to earth as a tiny, helpless baby who needed naps and food and the care of his parents. Our finite minds can’t fully comprehend this astounding truth. Nonetheless, may we never forget that because of God’s great love for us, He sent us the most amazing, precious, priceless gift ever given, the gift we needed most: a Savior.[2]

 

[1] “Yes” was one of Emma’s first words. Her charming, emphatic pronunciation makes it one of her most endearing.

[2] John 3:16

Do-overs

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

Fall is the best time for planting most trees, shrubs and herbaceous perennials. Soil remains relatively warm even as ambient temperatures drop, allowing for root development as top growth slows. I’ve been judiciously purchasing specimens to fill in some gaps in my landscape, eagerly awaiting the optimal time to plant new leafy friends and to transplant a few old ones. Given the size of some of the items to be installed and the ever-deteriorating condition of my hands, I arranged for some professional assistance and happily anticipated the appointed day, which happened to be yesterday.

I awoke early, excited to finally get underway; however, as I bustled about making breakfast, a familiar “ding” alerted me to a text message. Sadly, my landscaping project could not proceed as planned due to a key helper’s illness. My disappointment was somewhat assuaged by knowing this change of plans would allow the other partner to attend her sons’ Thanksgiving programs without the added stress of traveling back and forth to oversee my project. Little did I know God had other, more important plans for me as well.

I texted my daughter, Mary to ascertain how 21-month-old Emma was doing. She’d fallen victim to some un-diagnosable, rash-causing virus the day before and was covered in red splotches when I last saw her. Mary replied that Emma’s runny nose was considerably worse and they wouldn’t be able to attend 3-year-old Lyla’s Thanksgiving feast. She then inquired if I might be able to go instead. I  responded affirmatively and quickly shifted my attention from playing in the dirt to surprising my beloved granddaughter.

As I made my way to Lyla’s pre-school, circumstances surrounding another feast came to mind. Many years have come and gone since that fateful day, blurring the details, but I distinctly remember the nature of the faux pas, long filed under “Regrettable Mom Moments”. Somehow Ray and I got our signals crossed or misunderstood the parameters of the event and neither of us went to Mary’s kindergarten Thanksgiving meal. She was the only one in her class without a parent or grandparent present. Although the hurt we inflicted on our dear daughter was unintentional, I felt miserable for disappointing her. Even now the memory brings tears to my eyes.

But yesterday, when He allowed me to be there for Lyla, God graciously gave me a do-over. His gift and the realization He too remembered my long-ago remorse made sharing Lyla’s experience that much sweeter, the past regret less painful.

Several Old Testament passages refer to God as compassionate, gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.[1] From Adam and Eve to the chosen people of Israel to those of us who call on his precious name in these end times – we’ve all been wayward[2] and given God plenty of reasons to turn his back on us. But He will never forget[3] or forsake[4] his children. In fact, He sent his only Son to save us from our sins[5], to be our righteousness[6], for He knows we are dust[7] and can never stand in his holy presence on our own merit.

God disciplines those He loves.[8] He forgives and restores us when we repent.[9] And by the power of his Spirit, He is transforming us more and more into the likeness of our Savior[10], enabling us to produce good fruit when we abide in him.[11] Finally, when the old order of things has passed away, He’ll wipe away every tear and dwell among his people forever.[12]

As we enter into this Advent season, may we rejoice anew at the extravagant gift we’ve been given. Our Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace[13] knows us intimately. He humbled himself, took on flesh, lived a perfect life and died on a cross[14], the Sacrifice to end all sacrifices. No do-overs required. [15]

 

[1] See for example, Exodus 34:6; Psalm 86:15; Psalm 103:8

[2] Isaiah 53:6

[3] Isaiah 49:15

[4] Deuteronomy 31:8

[5] John 3:16

[6] Romans 5:17

[7] Psalm 103:13-14

[8] Hebrews 12:5-11

[9] 1 John 1:9

[10] 2 Corinthians 3:18

[11] John 15:5

[12] Revelation 21:3-4

[13] Isaiah 9:6

[14] Philippians 2:5-11

[15] Hebrews 10:1-18

A most glorious beginning

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

As chronicled in an earlier post , death has visited my family often in October. (See “The gift of remembrance” in Archives, October 2014)  Three of my four grandparents, a beloved aunt, a cherished uncle – all six passed away during the tenth month of different years.

This fall finds us bereaved once again, as son-in-law Justin’s grandfather completed his earthly sojourn two weeks ago. His memorial service was a celebration of a life well-lived, a race faithfully run, a servant safely Home.[1] As Justin and his brother and cousin shared memories of their grandfather, it was clear he made a lasting, positive impact on their lives.

Though their memories won’t be as clear or numerous, “Papa” touched the lives of the next generation as well. Since his great-grandfather’s passing, Joshua has comforted himself and others with truth: “He’s not sick anymore. He’s in heaven!”; “In heaven, guess what? You can’t die again! Papa is there waiting for us!”; and, possibly my favorite, “Papa doesn’t have to pray anymore. He can just walk right up and talk to Jesus!”

 

 

 

IMG_4547Oh the beauty and simplicity of child-like faith, the kind of faith Jesus commended[2], the kind we’re told to pass on to our offspring.[3] It’s apparent Papa followed that mandate, modeling a godly walk for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Indeed, it is the greatest legacy any of us can bestow, the greatest joy to know our children are walking in the truth.[4]

Nonetheless, we grieve our loss when a loved one is called Home. Though we’re assured the separation is temporary, their departure leaves a silence, an empty spot, that only their voice, their presence can fill. Someone asked me recently if I would wish Ray back. I hesitated. I know the spiritually-correct answer. How could I be so selfish as to ask him to return from Paradise?[5] Yet, I think back over all we’ve experienced and endured without him over the past 20 years and, in my frail humanity, I wish, oh-so-much, that he’d been here – to watch his daughters grow into amazing young women, to play with his grandchildren, to tend our garden with me.

The One who records our tears on his scroll[6] understands. Moments before He called Lazarus from the tomb, even knowing his Father would hear his plea to raise his friend, Jesus wept.[7] Being full of compassion, He shared the sisters’ sorrow and He shares ours.

But unlike our human friends who come alongside us with sincere condolences and ministrations in our times of need, Jesus can also meet our deepest need, the need to be reconciled to God. Our Savior took our sins upon himself and paid our penalty so we may joyfully proclaim[8], “Death is not the end, beloved. For the believer it is the most glorious beginning!”[9]

As you might imagine, whenever I attend a funeral or memorial service, I think back to Ray’s services. My ability to hold my emotions in check varies. I did reasonably well last week until the final song, “Twelfth of Never”, requested by Justin’s grandmother. While strains of the Johnny Mathis classic filled the church, tears trickled, then streamed from my eyes as I was reminded love never dies.[10]

 

IMG_1102

During Ray’s graveside service, one of the pastors told Mary and Jessie their lives would be blessed by having had a godly father even though he was with them for a relatively short time. I’m thankful Ray loved us so well that we continue to feel his love, thankful for his saving faith that guarantees we’ll see him again.[11]

I recently read a thought-provoking statement: “We are all under sentence of death; we are all terminal cases.”[12] Sometimes death comes quickly, unexpectedly, as with Ray’s passing. At other times it’s preceded by a long, arduous illness. IMG_1539Regardless of its manner, it is a certainty.[13] The author went on to say, “For the believer, the time of death becomes far less daunting a factor when seen in the light of eternity. Although death remains a formidable opponent, it is, from another perspective, the portal through which we pass to consummated life. We pass through death, and death dies. And the more a Christian lives in the consciousness of God’s presence here, the easier it is to anticipate the unqualified delight that will be experienced in God’s presence there.”[14] A most glorious beginning indeed!

Papa

Lord, we are like a mist.[15] Please teach us to number our days aright[16], knowing You wrote them all in your book before even one came to be.[17] Help us to fix our eyes on things above[18], to store up an imperishable treasure.[19] And may we leave a legacy of love and faith like the steadfast witnesses who have gone before us.[20]

[1] 2 Timothy 4:7-8

[2] Jesus welcoming the children is recounted in three of the four gospels: Matthew 19:13-15; Mark 10:13-16; Luke 18:15-17.

[3] Deuteronomy 6:6-7; Deuteronomy 11:18-19.

[4] 3 John 3-5

[5] Psalm 16:11; 2 Corinthians 5:1-6

[6] Psalm 56:8

[7] John 11:1-43

[8] Isaiah 53:4-6

[9] Rev. Todd Allen made this statement during Ray’s funeral service, April 24, 1997. I’ve thought of it many times since.

[10] 1 Corinthians 13:1-13

[11] John 3:16; John 11:25-27

[12] D.A. Carson, “Be Still, My Soul, Embracing God’s Purpose & Provision in Suffering”, Wheaton, IL; Nancy Guthrie/Crossway, 2010; p 117.

[13] Romans 5:12

[14] D.A. Carson, Ibid

[15] James 4:13-15

[16] Psalm 90:12

[17] Psalm 139:16

[18] 2 Corinthians 4:17-18

[19] Matthew 6:19-21

[20] Hebrews 11; Hebrews 12:1-3

An audience of One

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

IMG_0024 (2)Mom says she could always tell when I saw her in the audience at one or another of my elementary school concerts. A smile would spread across my face and I would relax, knowing my biggest fan was there. And so it was with my daughters and now my grandchildren. Indeed, wise directors of lower-school productions allow a few minutes before commencing for their performers to connect with those who’ve come to watch. Exchanging waves and grins makes for a cheerful beginning all around.

Truth be told, Mom is still my biggest cheerleader and encourager, the one I can always count on to be in my corner. From her fervent prayers to her interest in every post on this blog, her support is unwavering. I hope my daughters feel that same constancy of care from me.

We never outgrow our need for unconditional love or the assurance we’re accepted, short-comings and all. It’s a rare person who’s immune to the opinions of others, especially those we’re in contact with most. We prefer to be viewed positively by our neighbors, work colleagues, fellow church-goers, classmates and friends. Yet, given our fallen natures, opportunities to reject others and be rejected abound from our earliest years. Childish name-calling and shunning give way in later years to backbiting and various forms of adult exclusion.

We were made for relationship with God and each other. Our innate desire to connect and be well-received may lead us astray or cause us to hide parts of ourselves. Rejection hurts. Misunderstandings wound. If only I could explain – my tribulations, my perspective, my hopes – maybe then they’d comprehend.

No one can fully understand another. At times even our own hearts deceive us.[1] Yet there is One who knows me even better than I know myself. The One who knit me together in Mom’s womb, who wrote each of my days in his book before any came to be, who never loses sight of me.[2] Not only does He know me intimately, He purposed to save me by sending his Son to die for me – the epitome of unconditional love.[3]

Isaiah 53 describes the suffering Savior as “despised and rejected”.[4] Not only did those closest to him misunderstand his mission, hoping for an earthly kingdom, they abandoned him in his darkest hours, first by falling asleep, then by fleeing.[5] Truly, He understands our sorrows.

I recently came across the phrase “audience of one”, as in “Jesus, the One and only, Savior and Lord.” It resonated deeply with me. Even though I would like others’ approval and affirmation, his “well done” is not only sufficient, but supreme.[6] In fact, pleasing the Lord above all others is so important, the Apostle Paul includes reminders in several of his letters. Whether eating, working or serving, whatever we do is to be done for his glory.[7]

When plagued with self-doubt or troubled with a nameless sense of disquiet, I often pray David’s prayer: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”[8] Though we may be pummeled by differing opinions and challenged by clamoring voices, we have the assurance that his sheep hear his voice.[9] He will show us the way[10] and lead us on level ground.[11]

As we journey forth, precious are those who come alongside to encourage, support and cheer us on, for they give us a glimpse of God’s unconditional love. I am immensely grateful for the life-givers He’s placed along my path. They are among his greatest blessings.

“May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and by his grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage (our) hearts and strengthen (us) in every good deed and word.”[12]

[1] Jeremiah 17:9

[2] Psalm 139:1-18

[3] Romans 5:6-8

[4] Isaiah 53:3

[5] Matthew 26:36-56

[6] Galatians 1:10

[7] See, for example, 1 Corinthians 10:13; Colossians 3:17,23; Ephesians 6:7-8

[8] Psalm 139:23-24

[9] John 10:2-5

[10] Isaiah 30:21

[11] Psalm 143:10

[12] 2 Thessalonians 2:16-17

Blessed ties

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

It’s customary to meet the family of your intended prior to making a lifetime commitment to each other. Ray had ample opportunity to interact with my parents in Delaware, but it took a 1,400-mile trek to South Dakota for me to get to know his kin.

The sixth of seven siblings, Ray was preceded by three sisters and two brothers. Youngest brother, Phil, completed the family. In addition, there were 18 nieces and nephews at the time of my first visit in September 1982, hence much of our flight was spent going over relationships. Ray patiently coached me on who was married to who as well as names and ages of their offspring.

Although I’m an only child, I’m no stranger to big families. My dad was one of ten, my mom one of eight, so I had plenty of aunts and uncles as well as 31 first cousins. Nonetheless, knowing Ray was seeking his family’s input before he asked me to marry him made me somewhat nervous. IMG_3900I’m not sure what those fun-loving folks from the heartland thought of this serious, urbane introvert, but they welcomed me warmly. Furthermore I must have garnered enough support since Ray proposed three months later and a substantial Midwest contingent attended our wedding the following year. Ray and I exchanged vows one sweltering August evening as they and other relatives and friends watched. Thus I became “Patsy Kuipers”, an official member of the family.

Years passed. We added two daughters to the tally of nieces and nephews and we strived to return to Ray’s hometown every other year, keeping in touch via phone calls and cards in between. And then came April 19, 1997. I trembled as I dialed my sister-in-law’s number, tasked with placing a call I didn’t want to make. I was relieved when her husband answered, confident he was strong enough to hear the unthinkable news, wise enough to know how to convey it to the unsuspecting kinfolk: Barely 39 years old, Ray had succumbed to a fatal heart attack, like his father 34 years before him.

Once again my Kuipers family made the journey eastward, first to Georgia for Ray’s funeral, then onward to North Carolina for his burial. In our shared grief, we cried, we laughed, we celebrated the life of the one we’d lost. We reminded each other that death is not the end for those who belong to Jesus.[1]

Mary, Jessie and I resumed our every-other-year visits until cumulative life events kept 7-7-2014, Justin and Joshuaus away for almost eight years. When we finally returned in 2014, our family unit had increased by three. What a delight to have son-in-law, Justin, and grandchildren, Joshua and Lyla, with us for the long-awaited reunion.

Last week found Jessie and me back in the heartland. Ray’s hometown, Platte (population ~1,300), is a picturesque farming community. The surrounding land is flat, the roads straight, and the horizon seems to stretch forever. The vista is a swath of differently-hued greens and browns, dotted with placid cows and classic red barns. As the crops sway in the ever-present breeze, it’s virtually impossible to keep from mentally humming “America the Beautiful”.

7-7-2014, Family by the family signInevitably, when I mention I’m going to South Dakota to visit my Kuipers relatives, someone will comment, “How nice that you’ve kept in touch with Ray’s family.” I suppose some would view Ray’s death as having severed those ties. How wrong they would be! As I traversed miles of open country on this most recent trip, I thought how familiar it all feels, how much I enjoy the traditions that have developed over the years and treasure the relationships. My brothers and sisters-in-law connect me to Ray, while my children and grandchildren allow them to see glimpses of their brother.

Although much levity accompanies our visits (I laugh more in a week in Platte than I do in a month at home!), our visits are tinged with sadness for the ones no longer with us. My melancholy has lingered this time. Maybe it was the visit to South Dakota State, Ray’s alma mater, or watching brother-in-law, Dave, tenderly clean the grave marker of his beloved wife or standing by Phil’s grave for the first time since we attended his service. But most likely it was the photos from one of my early trips to Platte that nudged me over the edge. Ray and I were newlyweds, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. Grief that normally resides deep within my soul after 20 years without my partner spontaneously surfaced as I gazed at our youthful innocence through tear-filled eyes.

I lost Ray’s care and companionship when his earthly life ended, but I didn’t lose his family, my family. How thankful I am our shared history will soon span 35 years. So many memories – times of laughter and tears, rejoicing and sorrow. Yet I am most grateful for the strong heritage of faith that exists in my family-by-marriage. Our shared belief in Jesus as Savior and Lord sustains us. It’s the real tie that binds us. The one that will last through eternity[2] when we are reunited with our loved ones around His throne.[3]

IMG_3720“Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love; The fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above.

Before our Father’s throne we pour our ardent prayers; Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, our comforts and our cares.

When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain; But we shall still be joined in heart, and hope to meet again.”[4]

[1] 1 Corinthians 15:20-28

[2] John 6:40; John 10:28

[3] Revelation 7

[4] “Blest Be the Tie That Binds”, John Fawcett, lyrics

‘Tis so sweet

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Probably not the heading you’d expect for a reflection on two decades of widowhood . . . at least not until you complete the title of the cherished hymn, ’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus and recall its first verse: “’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, Just to take Him at His word, Just to rest upon His promise, Just to know ‘Thus saith the Lord.’” [1] As I’ve contemplated writing this memorial post, the refrain of that anthem has come to my mind repeatedly: “Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him! How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er! Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus! O for grace to trust Him more!”[2]

This time 20 years ago I was in a daze, a protective state of shock. On some level I recognized the need to make decisions regarding my 39-year old husband’s services – visitation, funeral, burial. So many decisions brought about by his sudden death the night before. But more than anything I just felt numb. My thoughts churned. “How could he have gone to work and not come home? Surely he’ll drive up any minute now, won’t he?” My mind and emotions grappled with the surreal situation I found myself in.

It was a Sunday and my house was full as friends came and went all day. Many heard the news at church, where we would normally have spent our morning had the unthinkable not occurred. Visitors came bearing food and encouraged me to eat, but I had no appetite. All I wanted was to be with Ray, to somehow help him, to know he was ok. When I finally got to see him on Tuesday afternoon, the knot in my stomach began to relax. I know that sounds contradictory, but in viewing his lifeless body I knew he was beyond any help I could offer. Furthermore, I was comforted to know his spirit was with the Lord. He was much more than ok. He was Home.[3]

Decisions were made, relatives and out-of-town friends made arrangements to attend the services – visitation Wednesday evening, funeral Thursday morning, burial in North Carolina on Friday afternoon. I can recall the events of that week in vivid detail. The people who gathered around us; prayers so abundant and fervent I could feel them; numerous gestures of support. I remember and am thankful.055

The flurry of activity and visitors eventually subsided and my daughters, ages 10 and 7, and I were left to contend with reality. I don’t recollect how many nights passed before one or more of us didn’t cry ourselves to sleep, how long it was before my subconscious stopped expecting Ray to come home from work, or when a “new normal” finally took hold. The raw pain of loss eventually diminished, but the longing to talk to Ray, to have my wise and loving partner by my side remains to this day.

So much has happened since that warm week in April, the daily ins and outs of life plus birthdays, graduations, weddings and the arrival of grandchildren. These momentous occasions were bittersweet without Ray to share them, but there has been much joy nonetheless.

Because God has never forsaken us![4]

From the second we heard the devastating news in a tiny room at Kennestone hospital to this very moment, God has been a faithful defender of this widow and a Father to her fatherless girls.[5] As I’ve thought about what to write on this 20th anniversary, each hardship that came to mind was met with a “but God”. A few examples: He made it possible for my parents to move to Georgia to help me raise Mary and Jessie, provided friends who’ve faithfully prayed for us and offered other assistance as needed, and he allowed me to be gainfully employed all the years my daughters were dependent upon me and my income. In addition there are the over-and-above gifts, like getting to go back to school to study horticulture.

I’ve often said if there’d been a signup sheet entitled “Get to know God better by losing your Husband”, I wouldn’t have put my name on it. Yet God sovereignly saw fit to add the roles of widow and single parent to my resumé. I have no doubt I’ve come to know him far better than if I’d had my earthly husband and provider to depend on. And so I can say as Louisa M.R. Stead did in the last stanza of her hymn, “I’m so glad I learned to trust Him, Precious Jesus, Savior, Friend, And I know that He is with me, Will be with me to the end.”

God owes me nothing, including explanations. Although I don’t remember ever being angry with God, I have wondered on more than one occasion why he took Ray so young. I’d reason it made no sense because he was a kind, caring spouse, parent, friend. But God sending his perfect Son to die in my place doesn’t make sense either.[6] Moreover, it is ample proof of his infinite and unconditional love. Yet He constantly pours out reminders, blessings both big and small.

Although my girls and I bear the scars of losing a beloved father and husband all-too-soon (at least from a human perspective), the Lord has comforted us that we might comfort others.[7] He has bestowed upon us the oil of joy instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.[8] Some who’ve witnessed our journey comment on our strength. May they recognize that apart from the Lord we would have none.[9] We are a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor[10]. Truly all praise, glory and honor belong to him alone.

 

[1] Louisa M.R. Stead, lyrics; William J. Kirkpatrick, music, 1882

[2] Ibid

[3] 2 Corinthians 5:1-9

[4] Deuteronomy 31:6

[5] Psalm 68:5

[6] 1 Corinthians 1:18-25

[7] 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

[8] Isaiah 61:3a

[9] See, for example Psalm 46:1-3, Psalm 73:25-26 and Isaiah 40:28-31

[10] Isaiah 61:3b

The letter

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

As I’ve admitted in previous posts, I’m a keeper, especially when it comes to things with sentimental value, mementos associated with the numerous trips I’ve taken throughout my life and items that might be useful at some point in the future. After nearly six decades, I’ve accumulated a lot of stuff that fits into one or more of those categories. Hence I’ve decided to start cleaning out bit by bit, box by box so my dear daughters won’t have quite so much to wade through later.

Since making this decision several weeks ago, I’ve managed to sort through approximately half a carton of keepsakes from the years I spent in Argentina. Pitifully slow-going to be sure as day-to-day demands are more pressing than dealing with boxes in the attic and basement.

img_2777Upon opening the aforementioned carton, I spied the beautiful scrapbook given to me by my 6th grade Spanish teachers, Señor Alvarez and Señora de López. It’s full of postcards and photos accompanied by my notations of dates and places. But, placed inside the front cover, I found a long-hidden treasure. It was the letter Señor Alvarez wrote to go along with the gift. Reading his kind words of affirmation and good wishes for future success affected me far more than flipping through the pages of the scrapbook itself. His words were the real gift, one that touched a 13-year old girl as well as the woman she became.

I have other similar gems tucked in boxes and drawers and files. Meaningful, heart-felt notes from family and friends, received on various special occasions or for no reason other than to reach out. Birthday cards, expressions of sympathy, thank you notes. From childish scribble to elegant cursive. Each in its own way says, “You matter to me.”

Written or spoken, our words can have lasting significance for good or for harm. Scripture instructs us to encourage one another and to refrain from unwholesome speech.[1] Proverbs 12:18 states, “The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing”, while Proverbs 16:24 declares, “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.”[2] James tells us man’s anger is contrary to the righteousness God desires[3] then goes on to explain in great detail how difficult it is to tame the tongue and how much damage it can cause.[4]

Furthermore, we don’t know when we’ll no longer have the opportunity to tell someone what they mean to us or to apologize for an angry word spoken in haste. After I read the letter eloquently penned in Spanish so many years ago, I longed to tell Señor Alvarez how much his words meant to me and how my life has turned out since he wrote them. But time and distance make that impossible.

Sometimes death is the cause of separation. On occasion it comes quickly and without warning. I need no reminder of this, having unexpectedly lost my husband to a heart attack shortly after his 39th birthday. Nonetheless, every so often the reminders come. Such was the case last week as I attended the funeral for a dear woman I worked with years ago. Her brother, a pastor, conducted the service. He eulogized his sister and shared fond memories, including how she ended their last conversation in her customary way, “I love you Brother.” Marcie was my age and her sudden passing has given me reason to reflect, once again, on the brevity of life; to remember we don’t always know when last goodbyes are being said.

Believers look to the Bible as our only rule for faith and practice, recognizing the sufficiency of Scripture[5] as well as its supremacy.[6] Yet the all-powerful Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.[7] Jesus’ coming was promised immediately after the fall[8] and foretold throughout the Old Testament.[9] The Gospels proclaim his birth and detail his earthly ministry. Revelation gives us a glimpse of eternity in the presence of God.[10] And so for me the Bible is a love letter from beginning to end. A divinely-inspired account, full of promises kept and assurances of promises yet to be fulfilled by an Almighty Father who will never forsake his children in this life or the life to come.

As we await Jesus’ return or our own summons Home, may our words be helpful and healing rather than reckless and angry, beneficial to those who listen[11] and expressed in a timely manner[12] for we do not know the final day or hour.[13]

 

[1] See Hebrews 3:13 and Ephesians 4:29 respectively.

[2] Both Proverbs verses are quoted from the NIV translation.

[3] James 1:19-20

[4] James 3:1-12

[5] 2 Timothy 3:16-17

[6] Hebrews 4:12

[7] John 1:14

[8] Genesis 3:15

[9] See for example Isaiah 53 and Zechariah 9:9

[10] Revelation 21:1-4, 22:1-5

[11] Ephesians 4:29

[12] Hebrews 10:24-25

[13] Matthew 25:13, Mark 13:32

It’s all in the details

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

1989 was an important year. On August 9th a baby girl joined our family. A few months later Ray gave me several pieces of Department 56’s Dickens’ Village and one of my most cherished Christmas traditions began. Not that I equate the importance of daughter Jessie’s arrival with an assortment of ceramic buildings and accessories, but it helps me keep track of how long Dickens has been part of my Christmas celebration.

As long as Ray was alive, he would creatively set up the village and add to the collection every December, usually giving me several pieces for my birthday and/or Christmas. He also started a set for my mom. After he passed away in April 1997, I came across a number of Dickens items boxed up in the basement. No doubt Ray had taken advantage of post-holiday sales, purchasing gifts for the next season. I gave some to Mom and kept the rest for myself, surmising Ray intended to divide his stash between the two of us.

Although I’m a fairly frugal person, my family will attest to the fact I have two weaknesses when it comes to buying: my village and plants. (They’ve also assured me there could be worse things when it comes to non-essential spending and are supportive of my relatively innocuous addictions!) During my travels, I found a small store that no longer planned to carry Dickens’ Village. They were having a “buy one get one free” sale to clear out their inventory. Of course I had to help them do so. That year the village gained a whole new suburb.

img_2464When I choose pieces to add, I usually look for ones I can connect with. This year’s additions include “First Christmas Eve Service” (for baby Emma), “Letters to Santa” (a Victorian version of granddaughter Lyla) and “Lovebirds” (‘nuff said).

Two birthdays ago, Mom gave me her entire collection. She said she’d enjoy it more if I combined it with mine. More suburbs appeared. The village now fills three rooms and requires many hours of assembly across several days.

Nonetheless, I always look forward to unpacking the village and getting reacquainted with the various pieces as construction progresses. Inevitably the initial opening of boxes is accompanied by bittersweet tears. So many memories. So many Christmases without Ray. And every year I pray he might somehow know how much joy the village has brought me; how thankful I am he started it for me.

This morning was no different. I was crying intermittently as I opened first one box, then another, when my phone chimed to signal an incoming text. I’d been corresponding with my daughters and several friends throughout the morning, exchanging thankful notes about the much-needed rain we received overnight and sharing Christmas plans. I supposed someone was continuing one of those conversations. I was amazed when I saw instead a text from a friend who’s on staff at Smith-Gilbert Gardens. img_2461She’d sent two pictures of a Japanese maple I donated to the Gardens in memory of Ray. In spite of the cloudy day, it shone forth in all its fall splendor. Planted on April 19, 2013, the sixteenth anniversary of Ray’s Homegoing, the tree sits at the edge of the Koi pond, one of grandson Joshua’s favorite places at SGG.

Stefanie had no way of knowing how much those photos would mean to me at that moment, but God did. He knows us intimately – every hurt, every hope, every reminiscence. Like the loving Father he is, he gives us good and perfect gifts.[1] Seeing those photos of the little tree decked out in its gloriously colorful leaves provided assurance of both an ongoing connection and a future reunion.

Not only does God tenderly meet our needs, his timing is always impeccable. Over 2,000 years ago, after hundreds of years of silence, He sent the perfect gift for all time, the One we needed most[2], the Baby in the manger.

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace[3].

As we go through this Advent season, may we rejoice, for the One through whom all things were made[4] humbled himself, took on flesh and came as Savior[5]. He cares about every detail of our lives and will graciously guide and provide for us[6] until he returns as King to gather us to himself.

Immanuel . . . God with us . . . for all time.[7]

[1] James 1:17

[2] John 3:16-17

[3] Isaiah 9:6b

[4] John 1:3a

[5] Philippians 2:8

[6] Matthew 7:7-11

[7] Matthew 1:23

Contentment

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

The dictionary defines contentment as a state of happiness and satisfaction. Synonyms include gratification, fulfillment, and serenity. In Philippians, the Apostle Paul said he had learned to be content in all situations, whether facing plenty or hunger, abundance or need.[1] When I think of contentment, I think of Aunt Mary Kate.

Born June 4, 1903, the youngest sibling and only sister of my beloved grandfather[2], Mary Kate Phillips was much like her older brother. Slight of build and grounded in her faith, her big heart overflowed with love for others, especially her family. By the world’s standards, she was poor and most likely would have met the government’s criteria for poverty. She lived in a small 3-room house comprised of a sitting area, bedroom and kitchen, a stone’s throw from the house she was born in. For much of her life, she didn’t have running water or an indoor bathroom. I don’t know if she ever traveled outside North Carolina. Aunt Mary Kate was just shy of her 44th birthday when she lost her husband suddenly one night, presumably to a stroke. She lived alone for almost 50 years afterwards, choosing not to remarry.

My initial memories of Aunt Mary Kate date back to when my grandfather was alive. We’d sometimes cut through the field on our way to or from the post office so we could pay her a visit. But my most cherished memories came later. Early in my career, I worked a two-year stint in tech marketing. I was still living in Delaware at the time and most of my customers were located in North and South Carolina. Aunt Mary Kate and a number of other relatives were conveniently positioned between the Raleigh-Durham airport and a carpet mill I called on in Aberdeen, NC. As you might imagine, I tried to fit in visits with my kinfolks as often as possible. Although I got to see her at other times over the years, the one-on-one conversations during business trip stop-overs were among the best.

Aunt Mary Kate was always delighted to see me and welcomed me into her tiny dwelling with a big smile and a warm hug. The walls of her sitting room were lined with photos of family members. She’d take time to tell me about first one and then another, beaming with pride as she recounted accomplishments or pointed out new babies.

img_2375

Probably the most beautiful of Aunt Mary Kate’s material possessions. She wanted her namesake, my daughter Mary, to have it.

 

Based on her demeanor, you would have thought she lived in luxury, lacking nothing in terms of worldly comforts, but that was far from the case. Yet my mom attests to the fact she never heard her complain, in spite of her meager means and being widowed so young and losing a beloved 18-year old great-grandson to an auto accident.

Though I’m sure she had moments of doubt and great sorrow, I never heard her grumble either, hence I always think of Aunt Mary Kate when asked for an example of contentment. Because contentment is about what’s on the inside. It’s not about our surroundings or our circumstances or the value of our possessions. Nor is it an emotion. “It’s a state of being, anchored firmly in the confidence that God is sovereignly working out the details of our lives, moment by moment from beginning to end.”[3] That’s why Paul could say he’d learned to be content in any and every situation – the reason for his hope and the guarantee of his well-being, both temporal and eternal, rested in One who never changes.[4] The same One Aunt Mary Kate loved and trusted.

I believe thankfulness is a key component of contentment. Sometimes I’d stop by the small general store near Aunt Mary Kate’s house and pick up a Co-cola and a moon pie for her. If you’d seen her smile and heard her expressions of gratitude, you would have thought I’d given her something much more expensive. But the love given and received in those exchanges made the gift priceless. It’s a love that still touches me today and led me to name my firstborn after this dear, godly woman.[5]

img_2382

Aunt Mary Kate, 84, holding baby Mary, her 9-month old namesake. Taken August 2, 1987 on the porch of Aunt Mary Kate’s home.

 

 

I like to imagine visiting Aunt Mary Kate’s heavenly abode. I hope it will have a porch and a couple of rocking chairs where we can sit together. I look forward to seeing her sweet smile again. I know I will for Jesus has gone ahead to prepare a place for us and has promised to return and gather us to himself, FOREVER. [6]

In the meantime, may we be content, rejoicing always, praying continually and giving thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for us in Christ Jesus,[7] the One in whom all God’s promises are “Yes”.[8]

 

[1] Philippians 4:11-12

[2] See “Eating apples”, in Archives, October 2015

[3] Pastor Ben Duncan, Grace Covenant PCA, Dallas, GA, sermon “The Secret of Contentment”, July, 17, 2016

[4] Hebrews 13:8

[5] My daughter, Mary Elizabeth, is named after Aunt Mary Kate and my sister, Mary Jeannette, who died in infancy.

[6] John 14:2-3

[7] 1 Thessalonians 5:15-18

[8] 2 Corinthians 1:20

Father knows best, take 2

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

First-time obedience – it’s something we strive for and long for in our children, be they toddlers or teenagers. As we try to shape them into responsible, caring human beings we establish rules and enforce boundaries, preferably in a consistent and loving way. But oh do they ever push the limits. There are times when we even wonder if our children may be suffering from temporary hearing loss. We repeat our instructions over and over, frequently increasing our volume with each repetition.

Often our rules are meant to keep our children safe. For instance, we know the dangers of running in front of a car, playing with knives and sticking keys in electrical outlets, thus we warn them. At other times we try to help them learn how to play well with others. Hitting someone because you’re angry they took your “favorite” toy (which you may or may not have looked at for days) is not advisable, at least if you want the person to be favorably disposed to your presence. Likewise, cutting your sister’s hair, “so she can see better”, without asking Mommy first will more than likely result in your scissors being kept out of your reach.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart for MANY reasons, guiding and disciplining day in and day out being near the top of the list. After raising my daughters, I now have the opportunity to come alongside Mary and Justin to help them bring up their three little ones. img_1950Though it’s tempting to take the easy route and fall into the role of indulgent grandmother, I know it wouldn’t do any of us any favors, least of all the children. Hence I adhere to the house rules, sometimes stating, “Mommy (or Daddy) says . . . ”, to reinforce the idea of obedience even when they’re not present.

Several months ago, after I’d repeatedly asked Joshua to stop engaging in some now-forgotten misbehavior, I thought, “I just wish he’d obey the first time!” Almost immediately, a still, small Voice spoke to my heart: “What about you? Do you always obey the first time?” The question pierced me to the core because the honest answer was, “No, Lord. I don’t.”

Occasionally, like Eve, I let myself be led astray by “Did God really say?” thinking.[1] Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe it would be ok to run a quick test, just to be sure. A while back, I left Joshua unsupervised for a few moments while I tended to his sister. He appeared with a sheepish look and a small cut on his finger. Even though we’d told him again and again knives are off limits because they’re sharp, he decided to check it out for himself. I can relate.

At other times my disobedience is more willful. I rationalize that given the circumstances, my behavior is ok, at least “this once”. Yet try as I might, I’ve never found a footnote anywhere in the Bible exempting me from God’s commands. Moreover, rationalization is a slippery slope which can lead us further and further away from who we want to be. King David is a prime example. It all started when he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Yet committing murder was probably the furthest thing from his mind when he went up on the roof of the palace to get some fresh air. Nonetheless one poor decision led to another until he not only arranged to have an innocent man die, but he lied and committed adultery as well.[2] This is a sobering story indeed considering David was God’s chosen king,[3] described as a man after God’s own heart.[4]

Knowing our weaknesses, God promises to provide a way out when we’re tempted.[5] Even so, we don’t always avail ourselves of his provision. And when we don’t, when we decide to go our own way, He disciplines us. Not because He wants to squash our fun or limit our self-expression as our children sometimes accuse us of, but because He loves us.[6] We are fearfully and wonderfully made in his image[7] and He knows what’s best. His rules and boundaries are there to protect us.

Over the years, my mom has said countless times, “A self-learned lesson is the best.” As much as I’d like to shield my children and grandchildren from harm, I realize consequences are sometimes the ideal teacher, at least when we learn from our experiences. It is much the same with me and my heavenly Father. He frequently uses the pain caused by my disobedience to draw me back to himself. I have learned I cannot live a life which satisfies myself if I do not live a life which is satisfying to God.[8] To be sure, most of the pain comes from a sense of disappointing Him which in turn leads to a rueful desire to hide, like Adam and Eve.[9] I rejoice in the fact my Father never lets go or loses sight of me, even when I wander. It’s impossible to hide. Indeed He seeks me out. His discipline confirms I am his daughter[10] and his loving arms are always open to welcome me back. The peace and joy that come with restoration are priceless.[11]

Let us not lose heart as we raise the children entrusted to us. May we be wise as we set boundaries, consistent when discipline is called for, and steadfast as we assure them of our love. In so doing, we will give them a glimpse of the Father who loves them even more than we do.

[1] Genesis 3:1

[2] The full account is found in 2 Samuel 11

[3] 1 Samuel 16:1

[4] 1 Samuel 13:14

[5] 1 Corinthians 10:13

[6] Hebrews 12:6

[7] Psalm 139:14, Genesis 1:26a

[8] The Valley of Vision, Arthur Bennett, The Banner of Truth Trust, 1975, p. 166

[9] Genesis 3:8

[10] Hebrews 12:7-8

[11] Hebrews 12:11