Relationships

Teach Your Children

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Hello, dear readers!

Occasionally, I’ll take a devotional I’ve prepared for a women’s event, make a few edits, and use it as a blog post. This is one of those times. It’s a bit longer and not as tidy as usual, grammatically. Still, I hope you can imagine yourself being part of the group listening to this message on one of my very favorite subjects, passing our faith on to future generations.

As you’ll see, I alternated between reading Scripture and making comments.

24/7

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise (Deuteronomy 6:4-7).

Moses’ directive to teach our children may feel overwhelming because it covers every part of our day. But it is doable! Because God is present and pertinent to every moment of our lives. As many of you know, I love to garden. When I’m outside, many of Jesus’ parables come to life – God’s care for the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, how branches can’t survive much less bear fruit if they’re not attached to the vine, the importance of good soil if you want your plants to flourish. And then there’s the vast diversity of plants and animals that God created.

When my grandson Joshua was still a toddler, we made a pact that he would teach me about animals, and I would teach him about plants. It’s worked out great. Not only have we both learned from each other, but many of our conversations include comments about God. We wonder why He made roaches. (Most days, we think they were part of the curse!) We look forward to seeing how everything will fit together when all the plants and animals take their proper places on the new earth. And, when Joshua starts talking about predators, and I lament creatures killing each other, I often quote Isaiah 65:25: “They will not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain,” says the Lord, followed by, “I can’t wait!”

Abundant Evidence

You may be thinking, “I’m not a gardener. I don’t particularly like being outside, especially during pollen season!”  But listen to this verse from the first chapter of Romans:

For (God’s) invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So (we) are without excuse (Romans 1:20).

That verse certainly speaks about creation – all the world around us, the heavens, oceans, mountains, plants, animals – but God also created us, and, as Psalm 139:14 states, we’re fearfully and wonderfully made. So, we can talk to our children about how wonderfully God made our bodies. We get well when we’re sick. Cuts and broken bones heal. And how about the miracle of sleep? We’re unaware of the world for hours at a time and then wake up again. I think that’s amazing!

I’ve been blessed this year to be the troop shepherd for the American Heritage Girls troop that meets at our church. Each week, when I prepared the devotional, I found Scriptures that related to what we were doing, regardless of the week’s focus. Subjects ranged from our identity in Christ to architecture to world cultures and aspects of our Oath and Creed. The latter features characteristics that we’re trying to develop in our lives so we’re more like Jesus, things like compassion, honesty, loyalty, perseverance, and helpfulness. In the last devotional for the year, I told the girls I hoped they’d been able to see how God’s inspired Word applies to all of life.

Spiritual Legacy

Give ear, O my people, to my teaching;
incline your ears to the words of my mouth!
I will open my mouth in a parable;
I will utter dark sayings from of old,
things that we have heard and known,
that our fathers have told us.
We will not hide them from their children,
but tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might,
and the wonders that he has done.
He established a testimony in Jacob
and appointed a law in Israel,
which he commanded our fathers
to teach to their children,
that the next generation might know them,
the children yet unborn,
and arise and tell them to their children,
   so that they should set their hope in God
and not forget the works of God,
but keep his commandments Psalm 78:1-7

My beloved maternal grandfather, PaPa, was a kind, gentle man of faith who served as a deacon at his church.

We’re commanded to tell the next generation about God and His mighty deeds – personal stories recounting how God has worked in your life and been faithful to you and your family. Most of us would say we want to leave a material legacy of some sort for our offspring. However, a spiritual legacy is even more significant because it has eternal value. It’s part of the treasure Jesus commanded us to store up in heaven, a treasure that can’t rust or decay or be stolen (Matthew 6:19-21). I know my grandparents were Christians, so my grandchildren are at least the fifth successive generation who’ve been told the mighty deeds of the Lord. I pray that our family’s heritage of faith will continue until Jesus returns, regardless of how many generations are yet to come.  

Overflowing with Thankfulness

Going back to Deuteronomy chapter 6, we see the following warning:

“And when the Lord your God brings you into the land that he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give you—with great and good cities that you did not build, and houses full of all good things that you did not fill, and cisterns that you did not dig, and vineyards and olive trees that you did not plant—and when you eat and are full, then take care lest you forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery (Deuteronomy 6:10-12).

We’re in danger of forgetting that God is the source of all good gifts, aren’t we? When things are going well and we’re thriving, we tend to think it’s due to our actions and that we’ve got it all under control. One way to combat that wrong thinking and to share our faith is to openly and frequently praise and thank God for His many blessings, acknowledging that all we have and are is from Him and encouraging our children and grandchildren to do the same.

Furthermore, we, too, were enslaved until God rescued us from the bondage of sin. The fact that He transferred our citizenship to the kingdom of His beloved Son is reason enough to rejoice and give thanks every day (Colossians 1:13-14).

The Danger of Misplacing the Word

This spring, we’ve been studying “What a Royal Mess“ in Bible study.[1] The lessons take us through Israel’s history, focusing on the ups and downs associated with some of the kings of Israel and Judah. Often, it was a mess because many of the kings were evil and led the people in worshiping other gods. After God gave the Law, He gave further instructions, including this message for Israel’s kings:

And when he sits on the throne of his kingdom, he shall write for himself in a book a copy of this law, approved by the Levitical priests. And it shall be with him, and he shall read in it all the days of his life, that he may learn to fear the Lord his God by keeping all the words of this law and these statutes, and doing them (Deuteronomy 17:18-19).

Fast forward several hundred years, Josiah is on the throne in Judah, and Hilkiah, the high priest, found the Book of the Law in the temple when renovations began. When he read it to Josiah, one of the few good kings, Josiah tore his clothes in dismay because he realized God’s people had been far from obeying its contents. To say Hilkiah found the Book of the Covenant implies that it had been lost and certainly not kept on hand, much less read,  by the kings who preceded Josiah. It’s no wonder the people had gone astray without God’s Word to guide them. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the generation that misplaces God’s Word for the next generation. 

This sobering reminder takes us back to where we began, emphasizing the importance of one generation telling the next about God, His Word, His abundant blessings, and the need to obey Him. We must practice seeing and sharing how God, His ways, and His glory are apparent in all aspects of our lives. The more we practice seeing, the more we’re able to see.

Another beautiful thing about sharing with our children and grandchildren is that in reminding them, we’re also reminding ourselves, creating a delightful process of growing together. I hope I’ve given you plenty of ideas and reasons to do so. 😊

[1] Susan Tyner, “What a Royal Mess, A Study of 1 and 2 Kings,” (Lawrenceville, GA: CDM, 2023)

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.

Gifts in Disguise

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
James 1:17

The Backstory

Many of you are longtime friends and blog followers, familiar with some of what I’m about to write. Please bear with me as I set the stage for other readers needing these initial details to better understand this post.

I lost my 39-year-old husband to a heart attack in 1997. Ray had a degree in horticulture. The lovely garden he designed and tended on our small suburban property was part of the legacy he left for me and our two elementary-aged daughters. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I would need to learn how to care for the plants or risk losing a precious connection with him. Thus, the seeds were sown for my interest in horticulture, which would develop into a passionate pursuit, including a desire to return to school to study plants. 

In a beauty-from-ashes scenario, I realized my dream when I enrolled in the horticulture program at a local technical school two days after my 30-year career with a large corporation ended when they eliminated my job.

Study Buddy

Six months after I lost my job, I became Grammie when my first grandchild, a beautiful baby boy, was born. Joshua was my study buddy from his earliest days. I’d point out different plants as we strolled the neighborhood, repeating their names to my little passenger. I wasn’t sure how much he was absorbing, but the repetition was a great way for me to study.

As Joshua grew, our plant discussions expanded. He has a keen eye for detail and an impressive capacity to retain information. I eventually told Joshua about his Grandpa Kuipers and how his love of plants inspired my passion for horticulture.

A Passion of His Own

Little boys have lots of interests, and Joshua is no different. Only time would tell if he’d tire of Grammie’s plant discussions and tagging along on her horticulture excursions or if the seeds planted on those early stroller walks would bear lasting fruit.

Last spring, I asked if he would like to go to The Pocket with me. I couched my query amidst some disclaimers. It would require a 75-mile drive to reach our destination, a small but flower-filled area. Though small, it would take me about two hours to complete my leisurely stroll and admire the numerous specimens. Despite my stipulations, Joshua quickly accepted my invitation.

Some folks might be able to traverse the wooden boardwalk in less than an hour, satisfied that they’d seen enough. Others, like me, want to take it all in – hike up to the waterfall, as well as make the loop around the boardwalk. Joshua proved to be one of the latter. Any doubts I had about the genuineness of his enthusiasm disappeared before we left the gravel entry road and made it back to the paved highway when he exclaimed, “I love this place, Grammie! Can we come back next year?”

Not only did we go back this year, but we made two trips to my, now our, beloved wildflower mecca. And Joshua is becoming quite the botanist, collecting plants, growing oaks from acorns, and learning about the art of bonsai from reading one of his Grandpa Kuipers’ books.

From Study Buddy to Plant Protege

Last week, we went to Opryland as part of Lyla’s 10th birthday celebration. I’d only been once before, and that visit was years ago, so I’d forgotten about the extensive indoor gardens. Although we had several activities planned during our brief stay, Joshua requested a “plant walk with Grammie” soon after we arrived.

As we took that walk the next day, I was again overwhelmed by the blessing of Joshua and our shared love of plants. It’s not hard for me to imagine Ray smiling as Joshua and I crouch together, examining a plant and extolling the One who created such a vast array of beautiful specimens for us to study and enjoy.

More Than We Can Imagine

Sometimes, we don’t get what we want, or it doesn’t come in an appealing container, beautifully wrapped. However, God often gives us good gifts in unexpected packages. Isn’t that the way it was with His very best gift?

A baby in a manger wasn’t the gift God’s people were expecting or longing for. They wanted a powerful ruler who would free them from oppression by overturning the Roman government. Instead, God gave them what they truly needed: a Savior who would free them from a master much more sinister than the Roman rulers. They were slaves to sin, dead in their trespasses, unable to free themselves. So were we (Ephesians 2:4-6).

Because of that gift, planned before time began, we know God will never withhold any lesser thing from us and that He is able to work all things together for good, even the darkest things, even if it doesn’t appear good in the moment (Romans 8:28, 32).

The abrupt end to my 30-year career certainly didn’t look like a gift the afternoon I handed in my computer, building pass, and credit card and exited into the gray January day, befitting the occasion, but what a gift it was!

And the sweet baby boy born a few months later who’s grown into a handsome young man whose plant knowledge is quickly catching up to mine? A gift beyond what I could have asked or imagined (Ephesians 3:20).

I treasure memories of my godly, plant-loving husband. I cherish the gift of loved ones in my life now, and I look forward to the day when the family circle will be unbroken through all of eternity because of God’s unimaginably perfect gift. Joshua and I will be able to stroll the heavenly gardens with Ray, exulting over the beauty of the new earth, no longer marred by sin (Revelation 21:1-4; 22:3).

In the meantime, I pray we’ll be expectantly vigilant as we enter the new year, assured that God’s good gifts are all around us if we only have enlightened eyes and hearts to see them (Ephesians 1:17-18).

Selfless Giving

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in 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.
Philippians 2:3-7

Welling

My daughters gave me an early birthday present a couple of weeks ago – dinner followed by Amy Grant and  Michael W. Smith’s Christmas Concert. After listening to their music for over three decades, we sometimes say it’s our Christmas soundtrack, so it was delightful to see them in person.

Several songs into the concert, Michael announced he had released a new Christmas album, his fifth. (How did I not know about this?) He performed several songs from the latest release throughout the evening, but the initial one, “Sometime Every Christmas,” touched me the most. Michael barely made it through the first two stanzas before it evoked in me what the chorus described:

I’m thinking about the holiday
And the sands of time
Years pass like pages of old family
Photos in my mind

Faces and the places
How Decembers used to be
A little loneliness and longing
It rises up in me

Sometime every Christmas
Can’t say where or when or why
But some moment or some memory
Takes me by surprise
And something in the season
Wells up in my eye
Sometime every Christmas
I cry

My “sometime” isn’t confined to a single episode during the Christmas season, which is full of countless traditions associated with loved ones who are no longer here. Usually limited to the momentary welling Michael referred to in this poignant song, there are times when my emotions overtake me and welling quickly gives way to weeping.

Such was the case a few days after the concert when I came across a note from Mom.

Weeping

I’d been working on setting up my Dickens Village, a beloved part of my Christmas celebration ever since my late husband gave me the first few pieces 34 years ago. Ray gifted me a few buildings and accessories each year until he passed away seven years later, and I’ve continued to add to the display ever since.

Ray also started a village for Mom. Dad and I added to her collection until it became difficult for her to set up the display. I offered to do it for her. Instead, one early December day, she said, “Come upstairs with me.” I followed along as she slowly trod the stairs and stopped outside the closet where she kept her Christmas decorations. When she opened the door, I saw she’d taped a note on the shelf where the boxes holding her village sat. “HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY! I want you to have these so you can put them out when you do your others! Love you! Mom xxoo.”

I keep the buildings and accessories in their original boxes, which I store in multiple plastic tubs. Sentimental me kept Mom’s note. It resides in one of the tubs, but I somehow forget about it from one year to the next. Thus, it caught me off guard when I opened one of the containers the week after the concert. In that moment, I was no longer standing in my living room. Whisked back in time, I was with Mom, outside her closet. Her eyes shone with anticipation as she opened the door to reveal the surprise. Her joy in giving such a special gift radiated through her petite being. The scene replayed in vivid detail, though the event occurred nine years ago.

No welling of tiny tears when I read the note penned in Mom’s familiar handwriting. Full-body sobs overtook me as the note reminded me of all I’d lost when she went Home. Mom was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. Selfless and generous, she delighted in serving and giving to others. I often think of her when I read Philippians 2:3-8. Mom humbly put others’ interests before her own. Though her humility would never have allowed her to say, “Be imitators of me as I imitate Christ,” as the Apostle Paul did, nor did she hold herself up as a godly role model, she set a beautiful example for me to follow, nonetheless. Though I often fall short, one of the greatest compliments anyone can give me is to say some aspect of my character is like Mom’s.

Rejoicing

I enjoy listening to music while I’m working on my village. In a perfectly timed moment, as my sobs subsided, the Josh Groban song, “Thankful,” heretofore unheeded, arrived at the line, “We have so much to be thankful for.” Though I was by myself, I replied aloud, “So true, Lord! I have so much to be thankful for!” including the blessing of a godly mother, fond memories of Christmases past, and children and grandchildren with whom to share treasured traditions.

Advent is a time to contemplate the greatest gift ever: Jesus, God’s only begotten Son. Utterly undeserved, yet freely given, because God loves us (John 3:16)! Such a marvelous present belongs at the very top of our thankfulness list. The fact that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us makes all the difference, now and for eternity (John 1:14)! Jesus, the spotless Lamb, came to live the perfect life we could never live and died the death that belonged to us so that we can be dressed in His robes of righteousness, to stand in God’s holy presence clean and unafraid. How incredible!

Though we can’t grasp what it cost the Father and Son to bestow this gracious gift, may our hearts swell with gratitude and our eyes well with thankful tears, not just at Christmas but all year long, as we remember what Jesus has done for us. And, like Mom, may we endeavor to follow His example of humble selflessness.

Chief Cheerleader

/ Patsy Kuipers / 6 Comments

If God is for us, who can be against us?
Romans 8:31b

My daughters run. Mary, my eldest, began cross country in 8th grade, while Jessie, my youngest, ran the middle distances. They’ve remained diligent in their running endeavors. Mary has completed three marathons and several half-marathons. Jessie, too, has completed several halfs. Both have competed in countless 5ks, 10ks, and 10-milers.

My granddaughters, 9-year-old Lyla and 7-year-old Emma, have taken after their mom and Aunt Jessie. Starting with tot trots and moving up to 1-mile fun runs, they’ve now completed several 5ks. That’s a long way for little bodies and relatively short legs, but they’ve made it.

I don’t run. Running didn’t agree with me when I was in my early 20s, and it sure doesn’t agree with me forty years later. I suppose I could run if something were chasing me, but I prefer walking. However, this lack of enthusiasm didn’t deter me from attending my daughters’ races as often as possible. I took my role of head cheerleader seriously and still do.

A nearby town hosts a series of 5k races each year. Once a month during race season, I take up my post on my cheering corner to exhort my runners on to the finish line.

The town where Mary and her family live hosts an annual Turkey Chase. This year marked my second time at this particular race, so I’m not as familiar with where to stand to best encourage my runners. Nonetheless,  I positioned myself at what I hoped would be a promising location and waited for my people to appear.

Jessie was the first to come into view. I cheered her on, took a couple of photos, and turned my attention back to the hill as she rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. Lyla was next to appear. She was walking as she crested the hill, but as soon as she heard my, “Go, Lyla, finish strong! You can do it!!” she took off with a burst of energy I couldn’t have mustered at the start, much less the end of the race.

I expected to see Mary and Emma close behind. Minutes passed. I peered as far as I could down the course, anxiously scanning each group of runners. But still no Mary and her happy little sidekick. Finally, fearing I’d somehow missed them in the throng of runners, I turned to “Find My Friends” to check for Mary’s dot. I hadn’t overlooked them. They were still out there. More minutes ticked by, and I moved further down the sidewalk so I could see them as soon as they turned the corner and started up the big hill.

Finally, they came into view, moseying along. I had no doubt Emma’s legs were tired, and mama bear Mary was sticking with her cub. I mustered my loudest voice and yelled, “Go, Mary! Come on, Emma!!”

Like a shot of adrenaline, my words had the desired effect. No more strolling for Emma! She was running at top speed and flashed a big smile my way as she barreled by, shouting, “Hey, Grammster!”

Likewise, Mary upped her pace, and they dashed to the finish line where the rest of their adoring fans (Jessie, Lyla, son-in-law Justin, and grandson Joshua) were waiting to welcome them. Even from a block away, I could hear Jessie yell, “That’s my sister!” when Mary crossed the finish line, arms raised in victory.

We all need cheerleaders, don’t we? Those people who’ll believe in us no matter what and encourage us to keep going. My husband Ray and my mom were those people for me. Death silenced Ray’s voice 26 years ago and took Mom from me almost three. Yet, after benefitting from Ray’s encouragement for 16 years and Mom’s for six decades, I still feel their love and am sustained by their belief in me.

I don’t consider it a stretch to think they’re still cheering me on. After all, Scripture says we’re surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, faithful saints who’ve followed Jesus’ example and shown us how to run well (Hebrews 12:1-2).

The introductory verse above begins one of my favorite passages:

If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? . . . No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:31b-35; 37-39).

Not only is God our biggest cheerleader, He’s ensured we have everything we need to finish our race. Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, is seated at the right hand of God, interceding for us! We will be victorious because Jesus ran the perfect race and secured the victory with His precious blood. No trial or hardship or calamity, nothing, not even death, can separate us from His love. In fact, death is merely the portal through which we pass to eternity in His presence with our loved ones.

Dear readers, I pray you have at least one person standing staunchly on your cheering corner. Equally important, who might need your encouragement? Is there someone in your circle whose trot has turned into a trudge? Maybe your voice is the very one they need to hear cheering them on.

Epilogue

Several months ago, it became apparent that my dad’s earthly life was drawing to a close. I assured him he was almost Home and that Mom would be there to greet him. As we waited for the undertaker to arrive in the wee hours of July 12th, Dad’s hospice nurse asked, “Did he tell you he’s been seeing your mom?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. I told Dad she’d be waiting for him.”

Jen replied, “When I was with him the other day, he asked me if I saw Thelma. I said, ‘No, John, it’s just us,’ but he assured me she was there.”

I’m equally confident that Mom, Dad, Ray, and a bevy of other relatives and friends will be waiting as I near the finish line, elated and exuberant, ready to welcome me Home. As I run into Jesus’ arms, I hope to hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant!” And, after hearing Jessie’s proud pronouncement over Mary, I can imagine Him adding, “That’s my sister!” affirming my forever place in His family.

Precious Moments

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Teach us to number our days and recognize how few they are; help us to spend them as we should.
Psalm 90:12 TLB

I was ambushed in a parking lot recently. Don’t worry, it wasn’t a carjacking! My granddaughters and I had almost reached our destination, the dance studio where they take classes each week. As I rounded the last corner, I saw three men gathered around an eye-popping teal-blue Maserati. I had no chance of fending off the tear-producing reaction that overtook me. I recognized a scene Dad had experienced countless times as admiring people approached him requesting an up-close look at his GT-R. The connection wasn’t the problem. The fact I couldn’t tell him about it was.

One of my friends has described me as a grief veteran. Having been widowed since age 38, I know you never stop missing departed loved ones. I also know it’s the little things that can sneak up on you. Birthdays, anniversaries, and the like – you know they’re coming and can prepare for the attendant feelings. My husband Ray managed the indoor gardening department at a local Home Depot. There are still times, over 26 years since his passing, that a wave of emotions will sweep over me when I’m strolling the aisles and see all the associates in their orange aprons.

Having grown accustomed to such occurrences,  I acknowledged in Mom’s eulogy two years ago that my unique connections with her would most likely get to me. Haircut days are the hardest. I always scheduled our appointments back-to-back, and then we’d go to Starbucks to chat while we enjoyed our favorite beverages. Now, when I drive to the salon, the empty passenger seat mocks me. I went to Starbucks after my first appointment without Mom, but I haven’t since – no need to have another vacant seat glaring at me.

I knew it would be the same when Dad passed. We always talked about sports, mostly golf and college football, with a bit of baseball thrown in. Sunday afternoons would find me pulling up the leaderboard for the week’s golf tournament and, during the season, the latest football rankings. I still check the rankings, but oh, how I miss having Dad to mull them over with.

And then there are the stealth attacks, like seeing the guys talking to the owner of the Maserati. I’ll be going along fine when Bam! The enormity of the loss hits all over again, fueled by the knowledge that I can no longer share the experience with Dad. A similar situation arose last week when I finished reading a novel by John Grisham, one of Dad’s favorite authors. I’d barely closed the book when tears started to flow. I’ll admit the satisfying ending would have provoked tears in all-occasion crier me, but others streamed down my cheeks because I wanted to discuss the details with Dad, confident he would have remembered the storyline even though he read the book several years ago.

But there would be no such discussion.

I suppose we could look at these emotional ambushes in a negative light, but I’ve come to appreciate them as enduring ties to my loved ones, each a distinct link in a tender fetter that binds us together. Sure, our lives occasionally contain highly anticipated events, dream vacations, and the like, but the little moments, woven together over time, make up the essence of our lives. Remembering that encourages and comforts me since simple moments are more attainable than expensive events, at least for most of us.

The moments – and memories – become priceless when we share them with those we love.

One recent afternoon, grandson Joshua and I worked together to divide and repot some of Mom’s aloe vera plants. Seeing we had two dozen baby plants, I commented, “If these little guys make it, we’ll have plenty to share!”

Joshua added, “We can give them to people who loved Mama and love succulents.” Then, after the briefest of pauses, he exclaimed, “Wait! Everyone loved Mama, so we’ll just figure out who loves succulents.”

His statement began a pleasant reminiscence between us as we talked about Mom’s beautiful spirit and her kindness and love toward everyone she knew. What a blessing that Joshua got to experience her love. Our conversation reminded me of my tender feelings toward my dear PaPa, my maternal grandfather, whose love I still feel even though he’s been gone nearly 60 years. [1]

I pray I’m forging similar links with my grandchildren – playing in the dirt (i.e., gardening), drinking tea, taking leisurely strolls through their neighborhood – and making sure they know how much God and I love them!

Dear reader, I don’t know who you may be missing today, but I pray you’ll find comfort in remembering sweet connections that bind you and your loved ones together while we await a joyful reunion when Jesus calls us Home (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18).

In closing, I offer one of my favorite Dietrich Bonhoeffer quotes concerning grief:

There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us, and one should not even attempt to do so. One must simply hold out and endure it. At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort. For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled one remains connected to the other person through it. It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness. God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve—even in pain—the authentic relationship. Furthermore, the more beautiful and full the remembrances, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy. One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain. (Emphasis added.)[2]

[1] You may enjoy reading about PaPa in “Eating Apples – encore,” Archives, July 2022.

[2] Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, vol. 8, Letters and Papers from Prison (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), letter no. 89, page 238.

Running on Empty

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

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

Distracted

We had barely settled into our rental house for a week on beautiful Hilton Head Island last September when we started to wonder if Hurricane Ian would cause us to cut our much-needed vacation short. I’d checked the weather forecast before I left home but didn’t connect the predicted rainfall at the end of the week to the storm churning in the Gulf of Mexico.

Although Ian’s track continued to evolve, the possible scenarios included another landfall along the South Carolina coast, still packing hurricane-force winds and copious rainfall, after it moved across Florida. We agreed the risk wasn’t worth staying and decided to return home on Thursday, two days early.

I felt we’d made the right decision, but once we did, I became restless and unsettled, unable to concentrate on any one thing for long and disappointed that our family time would end so soon. About mid-day on Wednesday, I checked the gas in my car and was relieved to see I had enough to drive at least two hundred miles before refueling.

Any relief I felt was eclipsed a few hours later when I decided to get a head start on packing the car. The back hatch wouldn’t open. When the key fob didn’t work, I tried the release on the dash – nothing, not even a beep. Then, with a sinking feeling, I realized I’d left the accessories on when I checked the gas.

The battery was dead.

A Call for Help

My AAA membership has come in handy over the years – flat tires, keys locked in the car, dead batteries. I submitted a service request and waited, then waited some more. It was night, the storm was approaching, and we were staying in a gated community at the southern tip of the island. No one was responding to my SOS.

As the minutes and then hours ticked by, I berated myself for being so incompetent. The demeaning accusations picked up steam. “You’re old and stupid! You can’t even hold two thoughts together. You could barely keep up on the bike ride. No one wants to be around you. It’s only going to get worse!” And for good measure, “You know that book you’re trying to write? You’re not going to finish it. No one wants to read it anyway!”[1]

On and on, the taunting thoughts continued. I was powerless against the pummeling.

A New Day

Midnight approached. I canceled the service request and crawled into bed, where I tossed and turned, wondering if I’d get off the island the next day.

I rose early, weary and worried, but someone responded within minutes when I placed the service request again. A cheerful AAA rep showed up about an hour later. When I told him I keep my AAA membership to protect myself from my absent-mindedness, he replied that he sometimes locks his keys in the car. His reassurances continued, “Enough people do things like that, leaving their lights on and running out of gas, that I can make a living helping them, so don’t feel bad!” His kind assurances put a bandaid on my wounded soul.

He tested the battery and found it registered a pitiful 5% power, enough to jump, but he advised me to run the car for at least half an hour before turning it off. I let Bonnie[2] run for an hour for good measure, even though it meant using up half of the gas I’d been so excited about the day before.

Bonnie started right up when we were ready to leave later that morning, but none of her accessories worked. Her heart was pumping, but her brain had shut down. It took almost 75 miles for the audio and navigation systems to recover, but one by one, the components returned.

A Red Flag

The depth of my despair at my humanity was a huge warning sign. I used to lock my keys in my old CR-V once or twice a year, yet I’d laugh off my inattentiveness when I called AAA to report my latest foible, “Yep, it’s me again. Same address as before, too!”[3]  

My inability to combat what I refer to as “old stuff” flashed a warning. Not only did I not have the strength to fight the lies with truth, but I also started to withdraw from my bewildered family – old stuff plus an old defense mechanism. 

Thankfully, I didn’t withdraw from God. As I cried out to Him, I acknowledged the tough losses and monumental changes of the past two years had depleted me. I didn’t want to add to others’ burdens by complaining or asking for help. Through it all, I kept going, determined to be strong for everyone who was depending on me.

I realized the thing that finally pushed me over the edge was going through Mom and Dad’s things and selling their house. I hadn’t experienced recurring, guilt-infused dreams like those I had years ago when I gave away my late husband’s clothes and apologized profusely to him when he reappeared in my sleep. Even so, there are times I’ll think about a specific item or envision everything set up for the estate sale, and I feel sad, guilty, and conflicted. Did I do the right thing and make the right decisions? Should I have kept XYZ instead of giving it away?

Weak and Vulnerable

In my early 30s, I began counseling to work on deep-seated misbeliefs I held regarding myself. It was hard, often painful work, but I persevered. My counselor lauded my efforts and progress, yet she cautioned me to remain vigilant lest I slip back into old thinking when I’m tired or stressed.

Lions are patient and skilled hunters, habitually pursuing weak or solitary prey. It’s fitting that Satan, the enemy of our souls, is portrayed as a roaring lion prowling about, seeking someone to devour. He’s also the father of lies, constantly twisting the truth to ensnare and debilitate us (John 8:44).

Some of you may think my description of the self-talk I subjected myself to is hyperbole, “Surely you didn’t believe those things, did you?” Others will know precisely what I mean, having experienced similar battles in trying to overcome lies embodied in messages planted in your soul long ago.

Take heart! We don’t fight alone.

Refilling the Bucket

Despite the pain and discomfort of those few days, I’m thankful the Lord used something as mundane as a dead battery to show me how drained and depleted I’d become. Like Bonnie, my heart was pumping, but I didn’t have enough energy to do much more than trudge through each day.

Fortunately, I didn’t stay muddled in despair for long. I reached out to my longtime counselor and scheduled an appointment. Likewise, I told several trusted friends how I felt and asked them to pray for me. Unlike the initial call to AAA, the responses were immediate and affirming.

The Spirit within us reminds us that we’re beloved children, members of God’s family (Romans 8:16). What a blessing that we can turn to our brothers and sisters for help, to walk alongside us, and speak truth to us until we’re strong enough to tell ourselves again, to hear and believe the testimony of the indwelling Spirit.

Epilog

I drafted this shortly after the events occurred last year but felt too vulnerable to publish it. When I reread it after returning from this year’s beach vacation, I knew I needed to polish and post it in case it might resonate with one of you. If you find yourself weak and weary like I was, dear reader, don’t fear asking for help. Jesus came that we might have abundant life and the Truth will set us free. I pray you will find rest and restoration in Him.

[1] I dedicated a couple of hours each day we were away to working on the manuscript, but made negligible progress.

[2] We’re among those who name vehicles since we tend to keep them a long time and they become part of many family commutes and adventures.

[3] I usually locked the keys in my car at my daughter Mary’s house, leaving them on the seat as I juggled my lunch and supplies on days I stayed with my grandchildren.

Orphaned Widow

/ Patsy Kuipers / 12 Comments

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

A New Reality

They’re gone.

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

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

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

Cheerleader and Protector

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

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

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

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

Widowed First

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

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

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

Motherly Love, Fatherly Protection

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

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

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

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

Sojourners

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

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

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

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

Faith Connections

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

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

Ending and Beginning

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

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

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

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

Grandboy Blessings

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

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

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

Spiritual Links

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

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

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

Parable of the Bulbs

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

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

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

“Really? Tell me your parable!”

He did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Legacy and Longing

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

Eating Apples – encore

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

Cherished Memories

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

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

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

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

A Godly Man

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

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

Abiding Love

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

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

A Promised Reunion

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

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

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

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