Monday, May 29, 2017

The Long Wait



“Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.”
(Isaiah 40:31 NKJV)

            For three years, I waited for lavender blooms on my crepe myrtle. The first spring green leaves sprouted on bare limbs. I searched for buds when other trees flowered. Anticipated beauty. Nothing.

            Because the tree grew taller and stronger, I hoped for a beautiful display of color the second year. Once again, no blooms appeared on the tree near my patio.

            As the third spring approached, green leaves covered long branches. Within weeks, lilac flowers finally festooned my tree.

            Before producing a colorful display, the tree had to grow tall and strong. Though disappointing for me, the wait produced a beautiful gift.

            We wonder why God doesn’t end our pain. Why He allows problems to continue. During those unbearable seasons, He may be giving us time to grow, become stronger, and flourish.

            Because of my slow journey of pain and grief, I understand the heartache of loss. I see distress in soulful eyes. From my own time of trials, my story offers comfort and hope to those who endure their own pain.


Loving Father, you give us strength to go on and not give up. Amen

Monday, May 8, 2017

Remembering Losses with Love



My little children, don’t just talk about love as an idea or theory. Make it your true way of life, and live in the pattern of gracious love. (1 John 3: 18 The Voice)

            After being hit with a storm of grief on Alan’s birthday three days ago, today I remember my dad’s death four years ago. Time passed quickly and slowly at the same time. Missing them makes it seem like yesterday. But the years passed in an instant.

            Over the years, Dad worked hard to provide for his family. When I was a child, he painted tall barns, houses and three story schools to stretch his meager teacher’s salary. He knew poverty. As the youngest of eight, he faced life without a mother at an early age.  
Her death forced the older children to take over the household. They learned perseverance and bonded in love to survive.

            That determination stayed with him. When I took him to doctor’s appointments or hospital stays, Dad pulled out his list of surgeries and medications. But with each setback, he pushed himself to return to normal and his sports—track, softball, and basketball—as a decorated senior. Medals, from events all over the United States, covered one wall of their garage.

            But after a stroke and complications from prostate cancer, he didn’t bounce back. Continued procedures didn’t fix the problems but caused more misery.

            At a family meeting of children, grandchildren, and spouses, we calmly discussed advantages and disadvantages of continuing more treatments.  We knew the difficult decision would have no long term positive outcome.

            “Do you know where you are going?” someone asked.

            “Yes,” he answered, “to heaven.”

            Then he looked at Mother, his wife of almost sixty-eight years. As a team, they loved each other and overcame many obstacles. He looked out for her as leukemia attacked her body. When she regressed, he visited her in the nursing home multiple times a day to be sure she was taken care of. When he also needed assistance, they moved to Ken and Kim’s home.

            As he pondered the decision, Dad let us know she would be provided for financially. He knew our family would continue to care for her. But he didn’t want to leave her.

            With a strong voice, she said, “I’ll be ok.”

            Only then did he reply. “Then I don’t want any more treatments.”

            What a heart breaking decision for all of us. However, their love and determination offered comfort. Dad immediately joined Mother in hospice care even though outwardly he seemed to be doing pretty well.

            Only a week later, Dad died. Never had I imagined he would pass before Mother or Alan because of their terminal illnesses. 

            The love they expressed the day of our family meeting filled my heart and made the transition a little easier. A few months later, a reminder of their unselfish love comforted me as Alan and I faced a similar situation. 

            Alan also declined further treatment as his condition worsened. During the first part of his time in hospice, he diligently worked to make sure his affairs were in order. Even though the process tired him, he wanted his passing to be as easy for me as possible.

            The unselfish love the three of them exhibited radiated to their families, friends and continues to shine.


Heavenly Father, thank you for the love and precious lives of my parents and Alan. Help me to show your love even as I grieve. Amen