Grandma Ruthie
Who is
at the Table?
Who
sits at my table, who eats of my bread?
Is it
only “the worthy” whose hunger is fed?
Who is
handed the menu and offered the fare?
To
whom do I say, “No, you can’t sit there!”
The
table is spread with a glorious feast.
Are invitees
“the highest,” excluding “the least?”
At the
banquet in heaven, which will happen someday,
Will
my “rejects” be seated, while I’m turned away?
Things I would like to do with Bill one more time:
*ice skate
*sing a duet
*cheer him on in a race
*walk to church holding hands
*fall asleep holding hands
*ride in the car
*take him a freshly baked cookie
*crawl in bed together
*wake up together
*tell each other about our day
*discuss an issue and reach a decision
*work in the garden
*talk while he empties his pockets onto the dresser
*sit in the bathtub and talk
*sit in the double recliner
*give him a bare …whoops…bear hug
Isaiah 49:15 says that a mother might forget her child, but God cannot forget us. This is a great comfort to me, as I know how impossible it is for me to forget my children and grandchildren.
When my daughter Janelle was about 4 or 5, she was hanging out
in our bedroom while my husband and I were getting ready for the day. He and I were discussing various things, and
at one point, I said, “I just realized that I have no major projects planned
for the month of January.” In addition
to routine events on my calendar, I normally had something I planned to work on
each month, and it would be written at the top of the calendar page. As soon as I finished saying there was
nothing major planned, a sweet little voice said in a sad tone, “January 6th?” That was her birthday, and she apparently
feared I was forgetting it. In fact, it
was written in red on my calendar.
Although I never forgot any of my children’s birthdays, a
friend has shared with me, that the year he turned 13, no one in his family
remembered. No one said anything all
day, but he was sure it would be remembered at suppertime. He expected a cake and a present. But, there was no recognition of the special
day. After supper, he went to his room
and cried. How hurtful it must have been
to be forgotten by those closest to him.
This summer my youngest granddaughter (age 5) gave me a map
and guided me on a treasure hunt. She
had placed a snack-sized plastic bag filled with sparkly items in a special spot
for me to find. After I found the
treasure, she said, “I want you to put the map on the refrigerator, so you will
never forget me.”
Oh…my heart! How could
I ever forget you, you precious little doll!
Amazing that the God of the universe remembers each of us
individually. He knows the number of the
hairs on our heads (Luke 12:7). That is something I don’t know about the people
I love!
I expect to spend a couple of days this week in a hurricane
shelter. God will know where I am. He has a plan for my life. He will not forget me.
Today in the shower, I was not singing. I was talking to the Lord about how grieved I am at the loss of my voice. Essential tremor first robbed me of my singing voice, and it is now working on my speaking voice. I am actually looking forward to dying, because when I get to heaven, I am going to be able to sing again.
I listed off for the Lord (as
though He didn’t already know) all the places I have sung.
Church services (no idea how many
different locations)
Funerals (from a big church
balcony, to a cappella at a grave site and places in between)
Weddings (not sure of number, but
in at least 3 states)
Band stands
Dinner meetings
Street corners (almost got
arrested)
Prisons
Nursing homes
Mental hospital
Chicago Public Television
World Flower & Garden Show at
McCormick Place
Nursing school graduation
Walking home from college
Rocking my babies
Silly songs for kids and
grandkids
Working around the house—cleaning
bathrooms, vacuuming, folding laundry, painting
Driving in the car
Campfires
Christmas caroling every chance I
could get
Besides solos, I sang in duets, trios, quartets, ensembles,
little choirs and big choirs.
I sang a cappella, or accompanied by taped music, piano, organ,
guitar or violin.
When I sang, I felt as though there was a direct connection
between my heart and my voice. My
sincerest and deepest feelings could come flying out of my mouth. I want to be able to praise God in that way
again. Now I stand in church during
congregational singing trying my best to produce the sound I can hear in my
mind. Once in a rare while a couple of
the old notes will come out. Mostly I quaver
and croak…and sometimes, I cry.
Trees bend before your breath,
Water surges on the shores,
Sheets of rain pour from above,
The wind ferocious roars.
Nature wreaks its havoc,
On structures built by man,
Collapsing as it wishes,
Defying human plan.
Some bow before you trembling,
Others in defiance stand,
But it matters not to you, who are
Both horrible and grand.
Our love was held in a priceless artifact,
Exquisitely and skillfully formed.
It was so full that it spilled out.
We wished we could bottle it and give it away
To those who didn’t seem to have enough.
When the hand of death snatched you away,
It was not the beautiful pitcher that broke.
It was my heart that shattered.
Countless pieces, sharp shards,
Piercing me at every moment and movement.
Can the broken be mended and restored?
Artisans reassemble broken pottery,
Filling the cracks with liquid gold.
The damaged piece leaves their hands
Stronger and more beautiful than before.
Will the divine potter, master craftsman,
Reassemble my heart, remake me?
Can I emerge stronger and more beautiful?
More conformed to the image of His Son?
Can my heart be mended with gold?
A vlog of the same title can be found on youtube: @ruthchapin8805
Being in a sexual relationship is sometimes referred to as “sleeping together.” But, there is a great deal more to sleeping together than having sex. When you fall asleep in someone else’s presence, you are allowing yourself to become unconscious along with them and totally vulnerable to them. You are signaling, “I trust you completely.” There is something extraordinarily intimate about this mutual vulnerability.
It seems to me that it is a sacred thing to end the day by
crawling into the same bed. Whether
there are any words spoken or prayers murmured, there is a sense of “we are in
this together. We have made it through another day of both difficulties and
accomplishments.” For the one who
believes in a personal God who guides us through life, there is a sense of “we
are here together in His love and kindness.
We are not only holding each other.
We are being held by the hand of God.”
I have been pondering that having my husband go into cardiac
arrest as we slept side by side can be viewed in two very different ways.
I could be tempted to think of this as death’s cold hand
invading our sacred space. We went to
bed together secure in each other’s love and expecting, as we always did, that
God would protect us through our time of vulnerability. Did the specter of death attack while we
rested in security and oblivion?
The alternate view is that the hand of God reached into the
sacred space and stopped my lover’s heart.
What better time and place to take him than when we were resting in our
love for each other and God’s love for us?
Picturing his passing in that way takes away some of the painful sting
of death. My sweetheart moved from one
sacred space to another even more sacred…the presence of God.
Either way brings tears.
I have a choice between tears of sorrow or tears of joy. In truth, my tears are a mixture of both
grief and gratitude.
I am writing this in the middle of the night having awakened alone
and calling out my love’s name, but also with an awareness of God’s amazing love
and care.
I have recently been pondering the difference between youth and old age as regards the desire for an intimate relationship. When living in a retirement center, it isn’t uncommon to see people who have lost their spouses pair off with others. Sometimes, there are relationships that seem to be of the boyfriend/girlfriend type indefinitely . Other times, a remarriage occurs rather quickly. What influences the pace?
One could ask the same question regarding relationships between
the young. I think it is quite apparent
that youthful relationships are largely driven by hormones. The sex drive can be unbelievably
strong. Once it has kicked in, it moves
in only one direction. If there is not
increasing physical intimacy, the relationship ends.
I think the primary driver among us old folks is
loneliness. After living, perhaps over
50 years, with a spouse and sharing so many experiences together, life without
a companion becomes very lonely. An
older widow, who was clearly lonely and acquired a “boyfriend,” told me that
love was just as great the second time and did not have the complications of
hormones. A widower I know was quite clear
that he desperately needed a companion after his wife’s passing. He quite quickly developed a friendship with
a lady who could fill that role.
I am aware of some late in life second marriages that were
likely motivated by loneliness and ended in disaster…heartbreak and divorce. Similarly, youthful relationships in which
sex is the primary motivator can end in disaster. So…what is a proper motivation?
As I see it, neither sex nor loneliness should be the primary
reason for entering an intimate relationship.
Sex was not my primary motivator the first time, and loneliness will not
be the second time, if such a thing occurs.
I am not denying that both sex and loneliness may be elements in an
attraction, but neither should be the overriding reason for someone who is a
believer in Christ and desires His purposes for his/her life.
In marrying Bill, I had a deep assurance within my heart and
soul that we could accomplish more for Christ and His kingdom as a couple, than
the sum of what we could/would accomplish as individuals. For someone who is genuinely Christian, that
should always be a large element of the decision to enter an intimate
relationship. For a believer, God
Himself is part of the intimate relationship.
If He is not in it, trouble will ensue.
We tend to expect too much of an earthly companion, if our relationship with
God is not primary. Intimacy with God
takes the pressure off intimacy with another person.
So…young people, make sure there is a great deal more to the
attraction than sex, AND we old people need to be sure there is a whole lot more
to a relationship than relief from loneliness.
I was awake during the night tossing and turning and thinking about my dear husband Bill. Many images came to my mind, and I thought again about the energy he exuded as he tackled life. He was a person who didn’t sit still even when he was “sitting still.”
Not many people enjoy shoveling snow or weeding a garden, but
he seemed to get genuine pleasure from these activities. I can picture him carrying his bucket of
weeds to the compost pile with a bounce
in his step. I can see him stomping the
snow off his boots with a look of accomplishment having shoveled the sidewalks
and driveway. I don’t think I ever saw him trudge wearily.
One of my earliest memories of this type of behavior comes
from our dating years. The summer of
1967, I was working 11 pm to 7 am at a hospital. He was an early adopter of computers for data
processing back in the days of mainframes.
He had to rent time on a local computer during the hours when the
business which owned the computer wasn’t using it. That meant he had to run his reports at night. If his night to rent computer time coincided
with a night I wasn’t working, I would go with him and read while he
worked. When his reports were completed,
he would print them out. The old
printers were noisy, but they made a rhythmic sound. He would dance to the rhythm of the printer
with a gleeful expression. I couldn’t
resist laughing and that encouraged his display of enthusiasm. He vibrated with energy and the joy of life.
I have missed the energetic aura that surrounded him. I recently reread sympathy cards and noticed
that one of his employees had written that he always knew when Bill had entered
the factory, because his energy could be felt.
That aura was apparent until the day he went into cardiac
arrest. Right up to the end, he was
approaching everything he did with vigor…well, there were a few exceptions to
that…things he had put up with for years, that he was just plain tired of. But, that did not include pickleball, a sport
he had just recently taken up. A lady
who played with him remarked, “With Bill, every game was the Olympics. He went after every shot!”
Seeing him comatose, totally unresponsive for 8 days, I knew I
could not keep him here. He had made it
clear he didn’t want to be kept in a vegetative state, and I knew it was
incompatible with the way he had approached life. He wanted to run right up to the gates of
heaven.
I like to picture the joyful exuberance he is now experiencing
in heaven. God did not make him to sit
still, so I expect he has been given an assignment that brings him joy. He danced through life and right into
eternity. I expect he is still dancing.
Recently my five year-old granddaughter along with her parents and siblings visited me at my cottage. The very first day, she was very anxious to take me on a treasure hunt. She had hidden some treasures for me, and she had drawn a treasure map. The map was very crude…she is after all only five…and I would never have guessed where the treasure was from the map alone. She took my hand and guided me in the general direction. She also gave me the hint that the treasure was in a round building. She pointed out that on her map there was an X in the middle of a circle.
There are only two circular buildings on the campgrounds…the
Main Tab (which means tabernacle and is where religious services are held) and
a Gazebo which is a lovely spot with hanging baskets of flowers.
She steered me in the direction of the Gazebo, and there right
in the middle was a Ziploc bag containing items which would be treasures to a
five-year-old. Shiny objects of various
types filled the bag…beads and coins and fake jewels. She was very pleased that I had found
it. I was relieved we had gone on the
treasure hunt before some other child came along and found the treasure, since it
was in plain sight.
As we returned to my cottage, she said, “I want you to put the
treasure map on your refrigerator, because I don’t want you to forget me.”
How could I possibly forget her! I would have to be in a state of extreme
dementia to forget any of my grandchildren!
But, I did put the map on the frig along with other grandchild
created items.
Reflecting on this, I have thought about the fact that God
never forgets His children. He doesn’t
have a refrigerator on which to put our pictures or drawings, but He has carved
our name in the palms of His hands (Isaiah 49:16)
I have a ring with the birthstones of my children and
grandchildren. It reminds me to pray for
them, but carving our name in His palms is a step way beyond that. I could become senile and forgetful, but God will
not…cannot. What a comforting thought!
On the boat watching the wake,
I see the spray of water,
Droplets sparkling in the
sunlight,
Are thousands of dazzling
diamonds.
I dream I am a queen,
Riding in my chariot,
Driven by my favorite knight,
Leaving diamonds in my wake.
But I am but a woman,
My boat and my knight are gone.
If only I could cast behind me,
Shining pearls of wisdom.
I stand before a holy God,
By
frequent failings marred,
By
persistent sinning scarred,
By
troubles encumbered,
By
enemies outnumbered.
How often
I’ve blundered,
Opportunities
squandered,
With
patience expired,
With work
uninspired.
What will
He do with me?
His glory
encountered,
My ego
devoured.
Will He redirect me?
Will He redefine me?
Will He
be angered
By His
image disfigured,
His
perfect plan altered,
As I’ve
stumbled and faltered?
His gaze
is piercing, but…
With loving eyes, He looks
Through
the crimson veil,
Drawn
from wounds of the nail,
And by His grace, I am…
In Mark 6:7 and 12-13, we read, “Calling the twelve to him, he sent them out two by two and gave them authority over evil spirits.” Following his instructions, “They went out and preached that people should repent. They drove out many demons and anointed many sick people with oil and healed them.”
I’ve read this passage many times before, but this is the
first time I was struck by the fact that the 12 went out two by two. They each ministered with a partner. Sooooooo….who was the partner of Judas, and
how did that go? Did Judas function
empowered by the Spirit of God? Was it
his partner who carried the burden of ministry?
Was Judas’ inclination toward evil in any way apparent to the person who
worked so closely with him? Were they
any less effective than other twosomes?
In Luke 22:3, it says that Satan entered Judas just prior to
the betrayal. However, we also know from
John 12:6 that Judas was the “treasurer” for the group and that he had his hand
in the money bag. This would indicate
that he was not a whole-hearted follower of Jesus from the beginning. He was in the habit of giving in to
temptation.
This raises all sorts of questions in my mind. A big one is how one goes from being a person
who preaches repentance and a person to whom God gives the gift of healing to a
person who will regularly give in to temptation and ultimately betray the
Lord. But, haven’t we seen this in our
times with the fall of well-known and respected preachers and teachers? Do the believers around them ignore the “little
sins?” Do they fail to hold them
accountable?
After spending an extended time in ministry with Judas, did
his partner not see anything amiss? Did
anyone go to Jesus and express concern?
Of course, in the case of Judas, Christ knew what would happen and that
it was a necessary part of the plan for our redemption. So, if another disciple had expressed concern
to Him, He would have told him not to worry about it…that he knew what Judas
was thinking and doing. Actually, I
think women often have better instincts than men when it comes to someone’s
true nature, so it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that a woman in the group
expressed her concerns about him.
God knows and will ultimately judge rightly, but I think we
bear responsibility to hold those with whom we partner accountable. We need to care enough to confront when we
see someone edging their way toward betrayal.
Recently I mentioned to someone that my family did not expect Bill to die before me. They thought that I would die first, and then they would spend the next ten years worried about what Bill might be up to. The person asked, “Aren’t they worried about you?”
Hmmm….probably not. I
think most of my family has always expected me to “manage” no matter what
happens. This included my own Mother, who
got over worrying about me early on.
As a child, I went away from home every summer to a Girls’
Camp which was held during a week in August.
One year, when I was about 8 or 9, there was a major cold snap during
the week I was at camp. My Mother did
not drive, so when my Father got home from work the day following the bitter
cold night, my Mother insisted he drive down to the camp with extra blankets.
When Dad arrived at the camp, I was surprised to see him, and
I explained that I had not been cold at all.
I had gone to bed in my warmest pajamas wearing in addition: socks, a
sweater, my robe (which I think was quilted) and a scarf on my head. My parents found this amusing…and reassuring.
Years later it was time for me to go away to nursing school,
and four years after that, my brother went off to college. My Father was perplexed. He said to my Mother, “We took your daughter
700 miles away from home, and you never shed a tear. We took you son only 200 miles from home, and
you cried all the way home!”
My Mother replied, “I knew Ruthie could manage.”
So now without my sweetheart, I manage. For years we faced every difficulty in life
as a team. We managed together. Now I face life without him. Fortunately, I have Jesus by my side.
I am not always happy with life as it is now, but by the grace
of God, I am managing.
There are things I probably should no longer read or see.
This morning, I saw a headline about a 16-month-old girl who
was left alone in a playpen while her mother took a vacation for 10 days. When she returned, the child was unresponsive
and either died or had died. I
immediately started to cry. I really
should stop clicking on and reading such articles as it breaks my heart and
results in immediate tears. I don’t
leave my plants for 10 days without arranging for someone to water them! I would not leave a child that age alone for
10 hours, much less 10 days. I would
likely be checking every 10 minutes or less.
My mother was this way near the end of her life. I thought it was because of her recent
stroke, but I don’t know that it didn’t happen before that. I just knew about it, because I was caring
for her after the stroke. We couldn’t
let her watch the evening news. If
anything came on that stated or implied that children were in danger, she would
burst into tears and cry out “the children, the children!” This was at the point where she couldn’t
carry on a conversation and often spoke gibberish.
Shortly after the war in Ukraine began, I saw an image on
television that still plays in my mind.
A young boy, perhaps about 10, was walking down a road with devastation all
around. He was completely alone, no
adult near him, and he was carrying a black garbage bag. I assumed the bag contained his
belongings. He was staggering along the
road crying as he went. This image keeps
coming back to my mind and causes tears to well up in my eyes. My only comfort is that I hear the Lord say, “the
hairs of his head are numbered.”
I don’t know if it is old age or the fact that my emotions are
more raw than ever before since the loss of my husband. Then again, I’ve had these feelings at other
points in my life.
I know it’s not Christmas, but I first heard this song in the
late 60s before we had children, and it brought tears to my eyes then, as it
expressed the desire for all children to be cared for and loved.
Sandler and Young, I Sing Noel
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4R06T14Qac
Today, as I was missing my husband, I thought of the many
times when something difficult seemed to happen while he was out of town or
tied up at the office. Many of these
incidents were uncomfortable and best forgotten, but one is rather amusing and
made me smile.
We did not often have mice in our big old Victorian home, but
on one occasion, we found evidence of the presence of a mouse. Bill set a trap and caught the critter. This happened just before he was scheduled to
go out of town on a business trip. There
was discussion among the children about my aversion to mice. This stemmed from my father terrorizing me as
a child by chasing me while holding a dead mouse by the tail. I have no idea why he thought it was
funny. In any event, my kids wondered, what
would Mom do if there was a mouse while Dad was gone? Our son, who was about nine years old at the
time, declared he would handle it.
Our son was not a macho man.
He was a …well…he was a cute little nerd boy. He loved math and geography and sports
statistics. Eventually, he would start
college at the age of 13, so he was not the type one would expect to bravely
handle a mouse.
A couple of weeks later, my husband was in town, but he was at
work. One of my daughters, who was in
her early 20s, was sitting in the living room and began to scream. “There’s a mouse in here. He’s sitting right here looking at me!”
I was in the kitchen and replied, “You’re not expecting me to
come in there, are you?”
My son was in the downstairs bathroom just off the
kitchen. He came flying out of the
bathroom, stopped at the back door to slip on his shoes, and ran to the living
room. He moved so quickly that the mouse
did not see him coming, and he stomped on it killing it instantly.
Meanwhile, my daughter had her feet pulled up in the chair,
and was shrieking, “I can’t believe he did that! I can’t believe he did that!”
Being squeamish, I didn’t want him to handle the germy mouse,
so I told him to kick it off the carpet onto the hardwood floor, and we’d leave
it for his Dad to handle when he got home from work.
I smile every time I think of my cute but geeky little blond
boy rising to the occasion to “protect” us.
Before I met you,
I believed you existed,
Somewhere beyond my reach.
And when I met you,
My heart beat faster,
Knowing you were within reach.
For over 50 years
We circled and danced
Passionately reaching.
Now you are gone.
And once again, you exist
Somewhere beyond my reach.
And yet, I can’t let go.
My heart and mind keep stretching
Into a soundless void…
Reaching…
Reaching…
Reaching…
