God’s faithfulness

Always remember

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

When anniversaries of momentous days come around, I find I’m able to recall the events in great detail. For example, my wedding day, the birthdays of my daughters and grandchildren, and the day Ray was called Home are all etched in my mind . . . .

. . . as is the day I learned my job had been eliminated.

January 26, 2011 was overcast and chilly, a typical mid-winter day. I was anticipating my annual review at three o’clock that afternoon. My emotions went back and forth between calm and concern throughout the day. To say things hadn’t been going well in the year since I started reporting to a new manager was an understatement. In fact, the situation had deteriorated to the point I told my family I expected to be put on probation or terminated. I’m sure they felt my statement was hyperbole, a by-product of the stress I’d been under. I, however, was most sincere. In looking back, I believe that premonition was a gift, God’s way of preparing me for the news I would hear.

I went to the appointed conference room at the scheduled time. A few minutes later my manager entered, accompanied by her boss. His presence was my first clue this wouldn’t be a normal review. My suspense didn’t last long as my manager said, “I know you’re expecting to have your annual review, but you won’t be having it because your job has been eliminated.” My first thought: “This is real.” My second: “Thank you, Lord, for giving me an absolute answer.” Indeed it was a clear, decisive response to all the prayers for wisdom I and faithful friends had been praying, as I wondered if I should continue working or resign.

I was told the HR manager would be in to explain the details of my termination. Within the hour I’d turned in my computer, my badge and my company credit card. As I drove home, a protective numbness settled in. Just like that, my 30-year career came to an end. I wasn’t even able to say goodbye and there was certainly no opportunity for a retirement party.

The next morning I awoke to a familiar feeling and realized I was in a mild state of shock, not as deep as the one I’d experienced when Ray died suddenly, but a surreal sense of loss nonetheless. A significant part of my life had ended abruptly and was no longer accessible to me.

12-17-2012-me-and-joshua-at-graduation-3-2But my story was far from over. On January 28th, a mere two days after that fateful meeting, I contacted the admissions office at a local technical college and started the enrollment process to study horticulture. Six months later, my first grandchild was born. Joshua was present when I received my Environmental Horticulture diploma in December 2012. Two more grandchildren, Lyla and Emma, have joined our family. My days are full and my interests are many. I am blessed to have meaningful relationships. I am thankful.

When I awoke this morning, there was a tinge of sadness. I wish my career had ended differently. There are co-workers and customers I still miss and remember fondly. But, most of all, on this beautiful sunny day, I hark back across six years and praise God for working all things together for good.[1]

On multiple occasions, God commanded the Israelites to remember what he’d done for them, to tell their children, even to set up memorial stones so they wouldn’t forget his mighty deeds on their behalf.[2] Last week I had the pleasure of a lengthy phone call with a dear friend. Our relationship stretches across 35 years. We’ve known each other long enough and well enough to compare notes on dating, marriage, motherhood and, now, grand-motherhood. We’ve prayed for each other and watched as God’s plan has unfolded for us and our families. And we agree that one of the best things about getting older is having more and more instances to look back on to remind ourselves of all God has done. He is faithful. He keeps his promises. He never forsakes his own.[3]

At three o’clock this afternoon, I recollected how it felt to sit in that windowless conference room and receive the news of my termination. But those memories were quickly eclipsed by recalling all God’s done since. What an adventure he had in store for me!

Though there are times we can’t understand his ways[4], we can always trust him to have a plan – a good and perfect plan.[5]

[1] Romans 8:28

[2] See, for example, Deuteronomy 4:9, Psalm 103:2, Joshua 4 and Deuteronomy 6

[3] Deuteronomy 31:8

[4] Isaiah 55:8-9

[5] Jeremiah 29:11

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

For better or worse

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Thirty-three years ago on August 5, 1983, Ray and I became man and wife. The ceremony, held in an un-air-conditioned sanctuary in conditions that make the word sweltering come to mind, was the culmination of months of planning and anticipation.Wedding photo for blog Family and friends, many of whom still refer to our wedding as the hottest they’ve ever attended, looked on as we said our vows and pledged ourselves to each other no matter what came our way. We were young and optimistic. Although we had a number of pre-marital counseling sessions with two different pastors, like most newlyweds we went into our marriage expecting more better than worse, more health than sickness. And the idea of death parting us? Well, that possibility seemed decades in the future.

I’m somewhat chagrined to admit reality hit soon after we returned from our honeymoon. I’m an only child and an introvert by nature. I was used to having time and space to myself. Suddenly I had another person to cope with ALL THE TIME. Granted, I loved Ray very much, but part of me kept waiting for him to go home. That thought of course was quickly followed by, “Wait! He is home!” And so it went. The early months were difficult as we learned to live together and accommodate each other’s needs and idiosyncrasies.

Before our 1-year anniversary we managed to buy our first home, a townhouse. Several months after our third anniversary we welcomed a baby girl, Mary. IMG_1652A second daughter, Jessie, joined our family a few days after our sixth anniversary. In 1991 the company I worked for decided to transfer their carpet group to Georgia. Ray was fully supportive of the move. We put down roots and settled into our “raise the kids” house the following year.

Bit by bit we became partners, working together on our shared goals, trusting God to guide us . . . and then the unthinkable happened. On April 19, 1997, a mere thirteen years after our marriage began, death parted us. 055Some weeks after Ray’s passing, I contacted Focus on the Family to request materials on grieving and widowhood. The woman who answered my call was so kind. I explained what had happened and told her I felt like a part of me was missing. I’ll never forget her reply: “Over the years you were married you and your husband became one and part of you is missing.” God had undeniably knit Ray and I together as we sought to honor Him by loving and serving each other and raising the children He blessed us with.

Indeed, those early notions of, “Isn’t it time for him to go home?”, were replaced by fervent prayers that God would watch over Ray. Journal entries documented my concerns. In one such entry I wrote, “Please keep Ray in good health . . . Sometimes I worry about him because of his dad’s early death. I don’t know what I would do without him, Lord.”

Almost 20 years have come and gone since Ray went Home and I’ve come to realize my implied question (“What will I do?”) would have been better stated, “What will you do, Lord?” After losing my husband, I clung to the One who promised to be with us always, through times of great joy and heart-wrenching sorrow, for better or worse. I’ve found Him to be faithful and his grace to be sufficient. Furthermore, death will not part us. Instead, it will be my passage Home.

Another year

/ Patsy Kuipers / 7 Comments

My interest in writing dates back to elementary school when I started keeping diaries and chronicling family vacations. I’ve filled numerous journals with my take on life events ever since. After nearly 50 years of writing, I began to contemplate blogging and so, on July 1, 2014, I launched Back 2 the Garden.

IMG_1434

Two of my journals. Nothing fancy, but together they chronicle my musings across 24 years of life.

 

As I stated in my first article, “Count it all joy”, gardening became my passion after my horticulturally-trained husband’s death at the all-too-young age of 39. This passion has produced much fruit as I’ve tended our garden across the past 19 years:

“Not only has God faithfully provided for me and my family since Ray’s death, He has ministered to me over and over again through the beauty of his creation. While playing in the dirt, I’ve been reminded of his promises, seen tangible examples of Scriptural principles and found solace for my soul. This blog is born of a desire to share some of what I’ve learned spiritually and horticulturally.”

My hope when I embarked on this endeavor was to impart spiritual insights as well as practical horticultural information, with the aim of publishing an article once a week. But the demands of life have a way of tempering our goals. I’ve averaged posting an essay about every two weeks, the pages I launched to expand the content of Back 2 the Garden have languished, and almost all of what I’ve written has focused on the spiritual. Nevertheless, my longing to share the joy and hope I find in faith, family, friends and flowers is as strong as when I debuted my first post. My desire to carry on in spite of various and assorted distractions is fueled in no small part by those of you who take time to read what I publish and encourage me to keep writing. Thank you!

Since celebrating the first anniversary of my blogging efforts last July, I’ve lost a dear brother-in-law and gained a precious granddaughter; had to let go of a friendship or two, yet reconnected with a special friend from my past; had surgery; endured a time of not playing in the dirt while I recovered; and, just recently, commenced a major landscaping project which is sure to provide fodder for future reflections on this page. Joy, sorrow, challenges, new dreams – the stuff life is made of. And underneath it all, the everlasting arms of the One who never changes, who knows the end from the beginning and loves us more than we can imagine.

Whether you’re visiting this page for the first time or have been a faithful reader from the beginning, I hope you’ll continue to find many reasons to come back to the garden with me.

A hand to hold

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Anyone who’s tried to transfer a slumbering babe-in-arms to its crib knows what a daunting task it can be. Having attempted this move innumerable times, first years ago with my daughters and more recently with three grandchildren, I’ve come to believe babies are born with a sensor which alerts them to the increasing proximity of the miniature mattress. The little person sleeping so soundly and peacefully in your arms can become a crying bundle of flailing arms and legs in a split second.

Such is the case with baby Emma. Emma in her favorite sleeping position - a face down snuggle!She starts to fidget as soon as she feels my arms (and herself) move away from my body and works up to a full-on wail by the time I get her into her bed. I quickly cover her with a soft blanket and begin to rub her back and pat her bottom to ease the transition. Inevitably one tiny hand reaches for her mouth and extracts her pacifier. As of now this is a one-way maneuver – she hasn’t quite figured out how to put it back. The result: more fussing. In an attempt to keep her from dislodging her paci, I offer her one of my fingers to hold as she dozes back off.

Barely four months old, Emma has a vise-like grip which leads to another challenge as I try to reclaim my finger and exit her room. Yet a baby’s inborn ability to curl its tiny fingers around a bigger one is a most endearing quality. IMG_1356Siblings Joshua and Lyla will offer Emma one of theirs from time to time and then exalt, “Look! She’s holding my finger. She likes me!”

As our children become mobile, hand holding continues. We extend a hand to steady them as they take their first steps. We ask them to hold our hand as we cross the street or a busy parking lot. Gradually, the practical need to hold hands decreases . . .

But we never outgrow the need to hold hands from an emotional perspective. I’ve said countless times, one of the things I’ve missed most since Ray died was having his hand to hold. From momentous events like puffing my way through labor pains to more mundane activities such as discussing the day’s activities after dinner and strolling around our small property – we held hands. We were partners. He had my back. And then one day his hand was still and it could no longer reach for mine. Instead, it held a single red rose as we laid him to rest.

In the midst of my loneliness and sorrow, there was One who told me not to fear or be dismayed. He promised to strengthen me and help me. He assured me He would hold my hand and never let go. He’s been true to his Word. He always is. And now, in His goodness and mercy, He’s seen fit to provide another hand to reach for mine – a strong yet gentle hand that dwarfs mine in its grasp. Though I don’t know where our strolls will take us, I know the One who holds us in His mighty, everlasting embrace. We can trust Him to have a good and perfect plan . . . always.

A different kind of grief

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

“19 years on the 19th”. That phrase has been echoing in my mind for the past several weeks as yet another anniversary of my husband’s sudden death approached. Shortly after lunch 19 years ago today I told Ray goodbye for the last time . . .

In 1997 the 19th fell on a Saturday. It was a beautiful, warm day, much like today. Life was proceeding normally – Ray left for his job at The Home Depot, I and my young daughters (ages 10 and 7 at the time) went shopping for summer attire. Mary, Jessie and I returned home around 7pm. We weren’t in the house 10 minutes when the phone rang. Chris, a patient care specialist from Kennestone Hospital was calling to tell me Ray had been brought to the emergency room from work and I needed to get there as soon as possible. No other details. It wasn’t until we were in a private room at the hospital that I got the devastating, life-changing news.

After a few questions about Ray’s health, Chris said a doctor would be in to talk to me. I pleaded, “Can’t you at least tell me if he’s alive?” For a moment she just looked at me. I asked more urgently, “Is he alive?” And then came the awful reply, “No, honey, he isn’t.” That scene, her words and the gasp of disbelief that simultaneously escaped me and my little girls will be forever etched in my mind.

But oh how God has comforted, upheld and sustained us across all the years since that fateful night. Over and over again He’s proved himself as a protector of this widow and a Father to my fatherless girls. [1]

Our pastor recently began a sermon series on Philippians. The past two weeks he’s reminded us that Biblically-based joy is not dependent on circumstances. It’s grounded in the assurances of God regarding the past, present and future found in His Word. Our faith won’t exempt us from hardship. Believers will face trials and troubles of various kinds. Jesus told us as much, but He didn’t stop there. He encouraged us to take heart because He’s overcome the world. [2]

We know the end of the story. Even now He’s preparing a place for us.[3] So we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. [4] There will be times when we’re hurt and disappointed, times when we may cry out, “Why, Lord?”, but we won’t be alone for He’s promised to never leave us.[5] In our humanity we’ll experience a full range of emotions associated with the events of our lives – Jesus, fully man, wept over Lazarus’ death even though being fully God, He knew He’d raise him – yet the Truth will allow us to not be controlled by our feelings.

Soon after hearing Chris’s answer, it was as if a giant door slammed shut in my mind. Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have taken in the enormity of it all at one time without crumbling. Instead, the Lord provided a protective, albeit primarily subconscious, bubble of denial and disbelief. It allowed the reality of Ray’s death to drip into my soul bit by bit over weeks and months as I was ready to accept it. In the days immediately after, I was in a state of shock, yet the Lord enabled me to make difficult decisions regarding the visitation, service and Ray’s final resting place. Most amazing, He gave me the strength to speak for a few minutes at the end of his funeral. I’ll close this post with the sentiments I expressed when concluding my remarks that day.

None of us knows when the last goodbye will be said. Keep current in your relationships. Tell your family you love them. Thank your friends. Hug people who are dear to you. Let them know you care. And let us leave today rejoicing because we know Ray is in the presence of God. I believe he’s planting flowers right now and I look forward to joining him in God’s garden one day.

055

 

[1] Psalm 68:5

[2] John 16:33

[3] John 14:2-3

[4] 1 Thessalonians 4:13

[5] Deuteronomy 31:6, 8

Ask

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

When I came downstairs this morning, there was a squirrel wrapped around the bird feeder, trying to figure out how to get to the precious sunflower seeds within. The spring-loaded feeder was doing a good job of protecting its contents, the weight of the squirrel having caused its outer sleeve to drop and close the openings. I raised the window over the kitchen sink and shooed him away, but the sleeve didn’t pop back up. Closer inspection revealed the squirrel’s determined efforts had unhooked one of the springs. I was NOT happy since this had happened once before and I remembered all-too-well how difficult it had been to reattach since the outer sleeve covered the hole where the hook resided when the spring was attached. Furthermore, I knew my feathered friends would soon be arriving for breakfast and I didn’t want them to be disappointed to find their source of food unavailable.

I brought the feeder inside and began to work, discouraged that my initial efforts to reattach the spring proved unsuccessful. As I tugged and fumbled with the hook, I prayed, “Please, Lord, help me fix this! It’s so hard. The birds count on me to feed them. I don’t want them to go hungry.” And then I saw the obvious solution which I’d completely overlooked when the spring was unhooked months ago and again this morning: the hook at the other end of the spring was exposed. All I had to do was unhook it, reattach the one at the end that was covered when the outer sleeve was raised and then reattach the hook at the lower end! Within minutes I’d refilled the once-again-fully-functioning feeder, returned it to its hanger on the deck and watched happily as the birds came for their morning meal.

As I turned to making my own breakfast it hit me: Too many times when faced with a challenge or a problem to solve I launch into self-initiated, self-sustained efforts that often prove frustrating and futile. Yet I have a Father who’s told me to ask when I lack wisdom, when I don’t know which way to go or what the best course of action is. He’s shown me time and again that his promise to instruct me and teach me, to counsel and watch over me is trustworthy.

More and more, may we begin by coming to the One who tells us to ask . . . taking time to be still before Him instead of heading off on our own . . .  confident in the assurance that He always hears us and will lead us in the way everlasting.

Letting go

/ Patsy Kuipers / 5 Comments

Over the years Ray and I were married, I saw him pull up perfectly good plants to make way for the next season’s annuals. I was always a bit appalled since I’m one of those people who doesn’t like to waste anything. Yet he knew the next season’s plants needed time to establish their roots and get acclimated before the harsher temperatures of the upcoming season arrived, be they summer’s highs or winter’s lows.

Purslane, Portulaca oleracea

Purslane (Portulaca oleracea) is a dependable sun-loving, drought tolerant summer annual. Mine has bloomed enthusiastically since I planted it in May, but is starting to look a bit tired and leggy. Soon it will be replaced by mums which will in time be replaced by violas.

As I’ve become more knowledgeable horticulturally, I’ve realized Ray was right and I try to get my cool-season annuals placed in their beds at a reasonable time even if it means pulling up still-blooming warm-season plants and vice versa. (I do, however, usually apologize to the plants I’m pulling up and thank them for providing so much enjoyment across their respective season.)

A wise friend recently pointed out that our strengths become weaknesses when pushed to their extremes. I’m loyal and dedicated, a consummate Golden Retriever for those of you familiar with Gary Smalley’s animal-based personality profiles. Just as I hesitate to remove still-flowering plants from my garden, I find it difficult to let go of people or situations, even when it would be best to do so – loyal and dedicated . . . to a fault. I’ve said on many occasions since losing my job four and a half years ago I’d still be sitting in my cube, working away, if God hadn’t made it abundantly clear that chapter of my life was over. And what an amazing adventure I would have missed had He not (lovingly) slammed that door and sent me on my way. After all, I went back to school to study horticulture and became a first-time grandmother within six months of losing my job. What a joyful, and somewhat humorous, combination of events!

Becoming gainfully unemployed is just one of many positive life-changing examples I can look back on. So you’d think I’d be better at letting go by now. Sadly, that’s not the case. Probably because letting go feels too much like giving up or losing. Plus there’s the fear of the unknown. Yet I firmly believe God always knows what’s next. He encourages us, saying, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:18-19a) There are times when I’m so focused on the known and the now I can’t perceive anything beyond an underlying sense of disquiet beckoning me to move forward. Tentatively, I’ll let go with one hand while keeping a tight grip with the other. But God is able to do far more than I can ask or imagine so isn’t it likely I’ll need both hands to receive whatever it is He wants to give? Being a patient and compassionate Father, He works to loosen my grip and enable me to embrace His plan – His good and perfect plan.

Even though it’s only mid-August, a few leaves are starting to fall, early harbingers of the major leaf-drop to come in a couple of months . . . signaling another chapter, another season, reminding me letting go isn’t giving up or losing.  It’s making way for the new.

Listen!

/ Patsy Kuipers / 7 Comments

As usual, I over-packed for a recent vacation. Nonetheless, I somehow managed to forget my mascara. Not wanting to appear eyelash-less for an entire week, I put “buy mascara” at the top of my to do list when I started out on my first field trip. Shortly after leaving my home-away-from-home I came upon a CVS, but it was on the other side of the street and I would have had to cross traffic to get to it. “Surely there will be another, more conveniently-located drug store before I reach my destination”, I told myself. Alas, there was no such drug store and I ended up stopping at a Walmart. Not only was it busier than the CVS would have been, it also required crossing traffic plus I got turned around in its convoluted parking lot both entering AND exiting.

A couple of days later I was heading off on another adventure. It was almost, but not quite, time for my afternoon tea. I passed a Starbucks soon after getting underway. Knowing I had at least an hour’s drive ahead of me I thought, “I bet I’ll pass another Starbucks soon.” Nope! This time I ended up backtracking to a Target which Siri indicated was home to the closest Starbucks. I had to endure the busyness of the store itself, its parking area AND the traffic on the mall access road leading to said parking lot. All told I added at least 20 minutes to my trip.

When would I learn? . . .

As most travelers know, it’s best to return rental cars with a full tank of gas to avoid excess refueling charges so finding a gas station was top priority as I started to the airport. I didn’t have to look far; there were two within a stone’s throw of the hotel where I spent my last night of vacation. Knowing I had a 35-mile drive I thought, “There will be more gas stations along the way.” (Cue internal conversation.) “Whoa! You’re not going to follow that logic again are you?! Do you really want to risk having to go off course to find another gas station and make yourself late for your flight?” (Anyone else out there have these conversations with themselves?) I’m happy to report I had learned my lesson. I pulled into one of the stations, refueled, and went blissfully on my needle-past-full, stress-free way to the airport.

As I drove I couldn’t help but think about other times when I don’t listen, times when I choose not to heed obvious directions when it comes to my spiritual journey. God promises to instruct us in the way we should go. He speaks clearly through Scripture, sermon messages, the godly advice of believing friends. Even so, there are instances when I’m slow to obey or I decide to take a different route altogether. And my detours often result in frustration and lead to needless sorrow. Yet God is compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love toward me, his sometimes wayward daughter. He tenderly draws me back to himself and leads me on the sure pathway Home.

In Remembrance

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.” (Unknown)

Eighteen years ago today my beloved husband was laid to rest in a tiny cemetery in North Carolina. The part of my heart that belonged to Ray went into the grave with him that sunny, late-April afternoon. Several weeks later I placed a call to “Focus on the Family” to request materials on dealing with grief. In the midst of my conversation with the kind person who answered I said, “I feel like part of me is missing.” I’ll never forget her reply, both compassionate and oh-so-insightful: “During the time you were married you and your husband became one. Part of you is missing.”

Months passed and I was having yet another day where I was struggling with the pain of losing someone so dear. Sensing my sadness, the woman I was meeting with inquired about how I was coping. When I confessed how difficult some days were she introduced me to a concept I’ve held onto ever since. She suggested I envision a beautiful piece of furniture, a chest with many drawers, each containing memories and their associated emotions. She went on with the analogy saying, “When memories of your husband’s death arise at a time when you feel you aren’t able to deal with them, imagine tucking them into one of the drawers, closing it gently and re-opening it when you’re ready to do so.” I’ll admit there have been times when a drawer has sprung open and caught me off guard. Times when a memory has overwhelmed me and I’ve struggled to shut the drawer. But more often the mental image has served me well.

The week before and the week after the anniversary of Ray’s death I’m quite intentional about opening the drawer. I think about how we spent our last few days, oblivious to the fact our time together was winding down. I remember the day of his passing with such clarity it could have happened recently, not so long ago. And I recollect the days following, when I had to make decisions I never expected, much less wanted to make at such an early age. My reminiscences are deliberate and purposeful, a way to honor Ray as well as remind myself of lessons learned and affirmed by losing him, such as:

  • The importance of numbering our days aright and keeping current in our relationships with those we hold dear.
  • The need to keep things in perspective, saving emotional distress for things that can’t be “fixed,” no matter how much money or time you invest. (And its corollary: things can be replaced, people can’t be.)
  • The ability of prayer to strengthen and support when raised up by myriad family members and friends on one’s behalf.

I’ve kept a journal for ages. On the night I returned home from the hospital, dazed and in a mild state of shock, I penned these words: “This is the worst day of my life up to this point – Ray, my dear, dear husband and friend died tonight. Even as I write it I don’t believe it. It will probably take time for the numbness to wear off, but when it does, Lord, please enfold Mary, Jessie and me in your love. I don’t understand this and I can’t even begin to imagine what my life will be like without him.” I was right. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like and to this day I don’t understand. But God heard my cry that night and many nights since. He’s been so faithful to me and my family, loving and sustaining us all the years we’ve been without Ray.

Which brings me to another point regarding the imaginary chest: it contains numerous drawers. Although some hold remembrances that evoke sadness, there are many more containing memories associated with great joy. I open those on a regular basis, reliving and savoring the moments, praising God for His goodness and grace. And each year when April 19th comes around, I remind myself I’m another year closer to once again seeing the man I was blessed to call my husband. The reunion is guaranteed because of the broken body and spilled blood of the One who instructed His followers to remember Him, His sacrifice, His promises. And so we wait in hope and assurance.