Tears of Gratitude

Since Bill’s passing almost 3 months ago, I have shed many tears in grief and a few in loneliness, but also some in gratitude.  I recognize ways in which God has provided for my needs for comfort and support.  I have been grateful for the reminders of Bill’s great kindness as I have read notes on sympathy cards describing ways in which he touched the lives of other people.  This morning, I shed some tears of gratitude as I thought about the ways in which God is using Bill’s death as friends and family try to honor both Bill and God Himself through their actions in Bill’s memory.

I am sure I don’t know about everything that has been done, but here are some things I do know.  Delta Lake Bible Conference Center has received at least one donation in Bill’s memory.  Three individuals have made donations to the Gideons for Bibles to be placed in Bill’s memory.  There have been about 10 donations to the Northern New York Community Foundation to honor Bill.  Chapin Living Waters has so far received about 40 donations totaling over $11,000 for Bucket Kits.  These kits allow subsistence farmers in developing nations to grow crops even during dry seasons, so that they can feed their families, and sometimes have enough to sell.  There are places where these kits make the difference between eating and not eating.  The funds donated are going to be used in cooperation with Healing Hands for a project in Africa…most likely in Zimbabwe, although details are still being worked out.

Additionally, 45 kits were recently hand delivered to Tanzania as the Lord used several people to accomplish this.  Chapin Living Waters received an email from a man in Tanzania inquiring about the kits.  A man who had become aware of the need while on a safari in Tanzania was willing to pay for the kits.  A runner friend of Bill’s who had driven several hours to attend Bill’s Memorial Service mentioned to the CLW office manager that he was going to Tanzania.  She asked if he would be willing to take kits.  Since CLW is in northern New York and the man is from the Finger Lakes region, a volunteer drove to Syracuse, NY, to meet him with the 45 kits.  He packed these into 3 suitcases and took them to Tanzania, where he delivered them to the man who had made the inquiry.  As I thought about this and the ways in which God orchestrates our lives, I shed some tears of gratitude.

I did not want to lose Bill, but I have a strong sense of God’s hand in our parting, I know he arranged our meeting 56 years ago.  I have to believe he also arranged our parting, and that it is being used for God’s glory and to accomplish His purposes.

Psalm 56:8…You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.

A Prayer and a Promise

I was still a child when I began to pray for Bill…before I knew him.  Soon after inviting Jesus into my heart and life, I thought about the fact that if I were ever to marry, there was somewhere in the world a young boy who would one day be terribly important to me, and that he was facing the struggles of growing up as I was.  I prayed that God would protect him and help him to grow into the man God wanted him to be.  I prayed that we would meet in the right time and way.

As I grew up pretty much dateless, but being a careful observer of my friends’ relationships, I came up with three criteria, which I believed were God’s directives for me.  The man I married had to be a committed Christian, he had to be at least as intelligent as I was, and he had to have a strong enough personality to handle my strong personality.  These characteristics were in no way a demand on my part.  I believed them to be God’s leading.

At the age of 21 when I could count my actual dates on one hand, I came to grips with the idea that I might never marry.  It was possible the person for whom I had been praying might not exist.  There certainly were men in the world with those characteristics, but maybe no one was in God’s plan for me.  I promised God that I would not “settle” for something less than his plan for me, and that if that plan was for me to be single, I would be the happiest single lady on the planet.  I would not be sad or bitter.  I would be joyful in the life He planned out for me.

I met Bill about 3 months later.  I don’t know at what point I stopped praying for the nameless boy, and began instead to pray specifically for Bill, but that did happen.  When I realized it, I knew it was significant.  Here too was someone who met the criteria and brought a whole lot of bonuses to the relationship…wonderful things for which I had not thought to ask.

Now he is gone, and I don’t have to pray for him, because he is with Jesus.  But, what of my promise to be happy “single?”  It occurred to me this morning, that it is time to make good on that promise. I am sure I will continue to have times of great sadness, but I refuse to be bitter or angry at God.  I will have a positive attitude about my life.  I will find meaningful activities.  I will be joyful in my relationship with God.

Fifty-six years later, I have a chance to keep my promise, and I will.

Rejoicing Chuckles

Bill and I met in the summer of 1966.  It was on Sunday, July 31^st to be specific.  The 31^st falls on a Sunday again this year, so memories will flood.  I was only around for about 3 weeks after we met, as I was scheduled to sing at a wedding in Maine and another in Illinois before returning to college in early September.  During that brief time, Bill and I developed a remarkable friendship.  We probed one another’s minds and hearts with intense conversations.  It is noteworthy that this involved no physical contact….no kissing or even handholding.  There was no commitment to a “relationship.”    That being the case, there were no promises of letter writing going forward.

I decided I would not be the first to write.  If there was to be a relationship, he needed to make the first move.  I waited only 2 weeks before receiving a letter from him, in which he admitted that he had first decided not to write, but then changed his mind. It was a sweet and thoughtful letter, and he signed it “Love.”  I knew he was not saying he was “in love,” but that he loved me deeply as a friend.

I responded, and when I heard back after my first letter, he said that he had laughed the whole time as he read it.  He went on to explain that his laughter was not because it was funny, but rather that it caused such delight because of my choice of topics and means of expressing my thoughts, that he experienced “rejoicing chuckles.”

I am thinking about the beginning of our relationship now, because I have been rereading our letters to each other.  In another letter, he signed his name “R. Chuckles.”  I am remembering the delight we both experienced at finding someone with whom we could talk about anything…someone who genuinely cared about our ideas and feelings and who filtered what we said with understanding rather than criticism.

I have “rejoicing chuckles” as I think back on knowing each other for 56 years and being married for 54 of them.  I am so sad that he is gone, but so grateful for the delight of the mutual support we experienced.  No matter what we were facing, we knew we could rely on each other.

 I can laugh through my tears, and those are rejoicing chuckles.

In God's Time

If you were anywhere on earth,

I would search until I found you.

I have already looked for you,

In the places you have inhabited.

 

But then my thoughts go to

How I found you to begin with.

I did not search for you.

I just stayed on the path God planned.

 

And we found each other surprisingly,

Seemingly as a coincidence.

But we came to believe, it was

The guidance of a divine hand.

 

What am I to believe now?

If our meeting was God-ordained,

What am I to think of our parting?

Was it a mistake…horrible and unintended?

 

“Shall we accept good from God,

And not trouble?” said Job.

Did God plan the joyous meeting

And not the painful parting?

 

In God’s time…

Meeting

Parting

Reuniting.

Achan's Sin

Achan’s Sin…and Mine

             (Joshua 7)

Have I squandered and hidden away,

That which is yours by right?

A bar of gold, a pile of silver,

A garment of radiant light?

 

Have I buried under my tent,

A holy, sacred thing?

An item intended for worship

A trophy for my king?

 

Has my sin impacted others,

Leading to their defeat?

Will confession undo the wrong,

As I come to the mercy seat?

 

From Achan’s sin came destruction,

His family’s death by stoning.

My sin by the grace of God,

Is cleansed by the blood’s atoning.

Looking for You.

After May eighth, you were not in the apartment in which we lived the past year.  Your clothes were still in the closet.  Your to-do list was on your desk.  Under your laptop, I found the Mother’s Day card you had planned to give me.

I spent five days by your side in a cardiac unit and three days in a hospice.  I held your hand and talked to you.  You did not respond.  I don’t know if you were still there or not.

I went to our home at the retirement community, but you were not there.  It was empty and still.  There is a large stack of never used jigsaw puzzles next to your desk.

I flew north and drove to the city in which we spent most of our married life.

I drove past our former homes, but I didn’t see you.  I knew you had not been there recently as the bushes were not properly trimmed.

I arrived at the cottage, but you weren’t there either.  It was cold one morning, and I had to start the fire in the pot-bellied stove.  You used to get up and start the fire, and then crawl back in bed with me as we snuggled to stay warm.

Your cousin’s wife died, and I went to the memorial service without you.  You were not there to visit with your cousins and reminisce about your childhoods together.

I went to the cemetery where we buried your ashes.  I told myself I was going to think about what type of headstone would be best.  Of course, I thought only of you, even though I know you are not there.

I stood there and wept.  I watered a plant that remains among the dying floral arrangements.

I wept again.

I know you are in heaven and that you are free of pain and problems.

I also know you are not here…not anywhere so that I can see you or talk with you.  You are not out on a run or away on a business trip.  Since meeting you 56 years ago, I have never gone this long without some form of communication with you.

I weep again…

and again.

What is a widow?

What is a widow?

*much more than a box to be checked on a survey

*someone I didn’t expect to be

*a member of a club practically no one wants to join

*a person who feels like she has lost a body part

*someone whose sleep patterns are altered

*a person who is struggling to find her purpose

*someone who has a gaping wound, an aching space that can’t be filled

*a person who has no appetite and no desire to cook

*someone wondering, “Who am I now?”

*a person who rarely cried before, but now cries daily

Having talked with several other widows in the past 6 weeks since I became one, I can state that all the above are true of most of us.

Most of us hesitate the first time we have to check “widow” instead of “married.”

Most of us have an enormous sense of loss, as though part of our very selves is missing.

If our spouse died during the night, we may awaken every night at that time…as though an alarm was going off.

We wonder why our husband is gone, but we are still here.

When eating alone, we choke down food, because that is what we are supposed to do.

We have a bond with other widows that we never realized would exist.  We understand each other even without words.  The bond is bittersweet.  It is comforting, but not something for which we previously wished.

We are living in a strange new world.

We are living.