Nineteen months ago my world stopped moving. I’m Suspended. Now orbiting the earth but with little visibility to it’s meaning. Sitting on my apartment deck, 100 yards from the Atlantic, the earth seems stable. Waves lap the sand in rhythm like they have since He set the boundaries of the deep. The tide ebbs and flows as sure as the sun rises each day. Faithfully.
How different God’s world is than mine. I can’t comprehend it. Oh, I am marching on with vigor, thrashing and grasping for meaning each day. And I can feel the scar tissue forming over my wounded soul. I see and hear the questions of others as they face similar wounding by this world’s shocking reality. But I’ve little to offer but a prayer. I hope that is enough. Its all I can muster.
This morning’s question dripping from the roof of my mind…Is Jean watching me? Glad I didn’t get hit by a car on my bike early this morning. Sad Anna didn’t get to run her marathon today because of the ankle, but Oh so proud? Is she rejoicing with (or persuading) the Angel that Jesse is going to get his dream Boise job? … that Bo and Prairie get Uncle Jesse to play with? Is she smiling at Fred’s fatherly smile. Rejoicing in Momma Amy’s tender love for her children? Is she silently waiting, sleeping away her memories of pain on this side of heaven? Does it even matter? I just don’t know.
The stable sure God of the Atlantic Ocean must know. He must. And is content to
lap the sand in silence. Faithfully.
James 1:12 says:
“A man who endures trials is blessed, because when he passes the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him.”
How will I know when I have endured the trial of losing Jean? How will I know if I have passed the test? What is the crown of Life that God has promised to me. Such mystery. Such unknown, unknown territory.
This trip to Florida for work I was praying through this verse, trying to connect the dots. The dots of this unknown territory. Jean endured trials. My trivial trials pale in comparison. The confidence in God that jean portrayed in a growing way til the very end was what set her apart. She was willing to face death straight up, longing for her life to endure but yet knowing she could not. Surrenduring up her family, her friends, her life on this earth reluctantly but in the end willingly. She lived with solidity. Faith. Her frailness near the end shouted out the glory of her endurance.
“We are bought with a price, therefore Glorify God ” is what the word says.
Jean lived as though her life had been purchased by God and she was living out to the last breath that calling. It was a simple calling. Love God. Pray. Hear God consistenly. Love the man he had given her. Love and cherish her children. Love and cherish her grandchildren.
Desire that the family would be together, un broken, committed to each other relentlessly. Give a peice of herself to others in need, especially children daily. Care more for others than for herself. And everything else will be. These foundational rocks of her character, drove her by distractions that most of us get caught by, caught in. Well at least I do. So this Memorial Day in memory I will surrender my life again. Thanks for the memory Jean.
Why is it that every time I come to the East Coast of Florida I need to see the sunrise? God always reminds me that this fast fading flower’s time on this earth to bloom is shrinking.
The blow… that comes when we hear of death knocking on someones door. Rocks our souls. It just never makes sense. And I am glad it doesn’t. This broken world is a stealing, heartless, void, a thud, crashing indiscriminately into the very souls of men. Without regret or repentance.
I launched facebook on the flight to Fort Lauderdale tonight to find the news. A friend who also is often on a bike early in the morning, chasing wheels across Kansas City, posts that his bride has been given the cancer diagnosis. It’s early…but it is. Another obvious sign that the fallen world cares not for life but has partnered up with the evil one to steal kill and destroy as long as we are not all the way home but are stuck on this side of eternity.
A family, whose dream began with two lovers dreaming dreams crashes into the reality that dreams are fuel for the future but in no way do they create it or will the future to behave a certain way. The dreams all have to die eventually. Or maybe they don’t but for everyone, but they did for me.
It hits me hard tonight, not because this is something new, a revelation, but because when hope rises up inside of us, it creates an illusion that all is well again. We forget that the world is a broken shell, groaning to be free. I am feeling that hope these days. And in the midst of feeling hope… here we go again…the crushing blow.
How can I help? Is there anything I can do? What do you need? We’ll pray for you. The words tonight seem so shallow. But then again. Talking with God on behalf of those God has placed in our lives to love… I know that is wholly right and worthy.
Calling out tonight for your grace God to fill J &A and their little ones. Somehow make your face known in the gray.
Seems like my mind’s reflections always seem to start with ” What was I doing a year ago today”.
I can’t seem to escape my history. Don’t want to either. My heart’s intuition is that “yesterdays”, cherished and carefully examined, build a safe passage to our “tomorrows”.
I believe Socrates said something about the “unexamined life is not worth living”.
I am examining now.
Apr 5, 2014 found me trudging the sands of Palm Beach, seeking beauty from the morning sunrises. I was safe in the shelter of Jesse and Anna in Florida a year past. They were carrying their Dad. Gratefully.
I’ve spent the past weekend with Jesse in Washington DC. I’m still seeking beauty. Even though my body was operating on central time, I woke in time to see two sunrises explode over the famous, but yet to bloom cherry blossoms in our nations capitol. Easter brought us into the glory of the Holy Spirit, sparked by early morning bike rides to catch the sun rising, then set afire by the Easter vigil at the church of the Resurrection. Beauty at sunrise is easy. Natural. Words not necessary. And the vigil set my 35 year church experience on end. A community, united, bent on celebrating with power, the gospel narrative. I’ve never seen or experienced anything as moving at Easter in “the church”. I think I’ve been a baptist too long.
The cherry blossom’s. They thirst for more light. For full spring. For winters clock to expire. They trust the warm sun to build them a safe passage to blossom into their reason for existence. Beauty.
I hope I am there too. Longing to bloom again.
Loneliness is gonna be filled by something. It’s a simple truth. The scriptures say blessed are those who hunger and thirst… for righteousness. Loneliness is both a hunger and a thirst. It is an ache that pierces the soul. I feel it’s dull pain daily. The stabbing pain, the shock of losing Jean, well …. it’s rare these days. But… loneliness. It lingers.
Filling the hole, the desire of my heart, sweeps me to my knees. Knowing several widows and widowers and their hearts ache, their loneliness, has been part of the process of healing for me. As I hear their stories and their loss… I usually stand in the fear of God… The fear that arises when I know that His job isn’t to protect me from pain or loss. It is a common statement in the church to hear that God’s presence is enough. I know tis true but… feeling it all the time….now that is another thing altogether.
My neighbors car alarm went off at 12:43 a.m. Haven’t been able to get back to sleep. That’s when the loneliness monster leaps onto the end of the bed and seems to dig holes inside of me. Holding on, trying to suck the vitality of the Spirit of Jesus from my veins.
That battle, of desperate loneliness, is “the battle” for me. Even in the last days of Jean’s life, hearing her very labored breathing in the bed beside me was like a bird singing.” Everything’s okay with the world. ” We were together. In it together.
All hell could break loose but we were together.
I returned from Idaho this week. I spent an hour Wednesday morning walking around the block with Prairie Jeanius. Every step little Prairie took was a reminder God was with me.
I am like Prairie, learning to walk the road of loneliness, of singleness, all over again. One small step at at time.
1 Corinthians 1:8
He will also strengthen you to the end…
I began a new book today. From Job – the mourning father to Pauls first letter to the Corinthians. Fresh year. Fresh start to it.
I peered deeply into God’s powerful strong hands while I watched Jean pass through the veil. He did keep His promise. He carried her. To the very end.
So I start a new chapter of the rest of my life of sorts today. Don’t we have the opportunity to do that every day? Why not I wonder. ?Whatever happened to “forgetting what lies behind, pressing forward to what lies ahead?
I realized the proverbial first year had dropped off the calendar for me when my iphone showed 4:23 a.m. 3/18/2015.
Gratefully I had toasted this new year in well by closing out the worst 12 months of my life with a salmon/salad/and David Arthur dinner with Patrick and Lindsey Largen. (P&L).
Most readers will not know P&L. They were youngsters (probably 21ish) when we met. Patrick slept on Kirk’s couch at a KSU college apartment. Messy. And Lindsey was in love with messy, gifted Patrick. He was hopelessly (and thankfully) in love with sweet Lindsey too. Makes for a good story at 21. These two have followed after Jesus wholeheartedly from 21 to 37. Now raising two beautiful children, they are pouring into the souls of others. I’m grateful to be a member of their “poured into” club. Life has turned our roles upside down. And I’m still smiling this morning, as I ponder their counsel.
You see P&L led worship at Jean’s memorial service a year ago. They have cried and prayed and hoped and knelt beside me this past year. So as we shared stories, laughed, cried, and prayed again last night, they were giving me hope that He will strengthen me to the very end too. They have been able to overcome their own grief, the loss of Jean, to hold out steady hands. Strengthening hands. He’s used people, to bridge the gap when my faith has drooped. O thank God He didn’t leave me alone. He gave me P&L’s and many more friends this past year to hold on to. I start year 2 grateful.
Jobs book 40 and 6 says:
Then the Lord answered Job from the whirlwind:
The good news is that God speaks. Even in the chaos of a whirlwind, a tornado.
Sometimes he spoke through the softness of the hands of my bride. Her gentle ways were the perfect balance for this hard charging mustang.
Since she’s gone, I find myself out of balance. The rhythm of the relationship we shared, kept me from careening off the path. Regularly.
Once when riding my mountain bike in a lightning storm and blinding rain during a race down Mount Crested Butte, I blasted into a boulder in the midst of a steep descent. Bam. Just like that I found myself head over heels, landing in the mud soaked ditch (formerly a bike trail) on jagged rocks amidst the trees and soft pine needles. It took me a while to get oriented and back on the bike.
This season feels like that. The path is narrow. It’s gullied out and steep, fraught with cliffs of danger on every side and unseen boulders, disguised by the murky water in the center of the path on which I’m riding. The thunder blasts away relentlessly as the fierce wind stands me on end. At times the rain of tears blind me. Careening uncontrollably, from the painful extraction of Jean from my side. It’s dangerous out here blasting down the steep slope past death’s mountain.
This year’s been a whirlwind of sorts. Like the tornado version Wikipedia describes.
In spite of the crash into the ditch back in Crested Butte, I finished the race. Shaken and shaking, bruised and battered but not terminal.
And now after the whirlwind,and the blinding rain, I’m praying that year two is gentler to me. I need a soft landing.
The house was dark. I rode home alone.
Thinking, just maybe my body was wrong. Jean might be there.
A year ago, though fading fast. She waited for me at home to appear, to glimpse the fading memory of our life that was past.
Her kitchen ritual included waiting for me with a tasty Jean special.
Some kind of fabulous concoction of scraps left in the fridge mixed with veggies sautéed in olive oil.
We did so enjoy the evening light at home. Lounging on the screened in front porch. Reading, touching, finishing the day. Gentle conversation. Nothing powerful or profound, just a man in love with my beauty. 31 years deep.
Now silence. The kitchen in disarray. The refrigerator bare. The piano room sits quietly begging for attention. I can’t even bring myself to dust it. A year’s gone by but the same sheet music’s there. She left it without knowing it was her last chance to play. No music. No laughter, Nothing to share. The widower sits alone in the same leather chair. Remembering sweetly, a life, lived so full. Now empty. Now longing for Jean’s tender soul.
A years almost passed. Next Tuesday in fact will be a milestone of sorts the counselors say. It’s passing will be a blessing for me. The last year? I can’t wait for it to be a dim memory.
One year out. I sit alone. I can do whatever I want to do. And thats the problem.
The safe guard rails that reign in marriage, reign in a broken man’s propensity to be selfish. I miss deeply the safety of marriage. The committment. The focused love. The daily chance to be chiseled and refined by the love of another, deep and divine.
Its been the longest year in my brief existence. Caught up in a web of grief, distance, and drama. I have circled. Kept circling, even in the darkest hours of the year. The quiet desperation that lingers just below the surface of my life emerges too easily, uncomfortably sometimes. I’ve found value in the humility that admitted desperation brings. In this season , the busyness, the hurriedness has not been able to overshadow the jaggedness, the rawness of desperation. The tentacles of my soul are more prickly today. I hear more clearly the tragic stories of others and try to lean into the desperateness. In hopes that by more clearly getting in touch with it that I will crack my heart open to God and the future I know he has planned for me. I long to hear clearly, to be open to the God who sometimes can’t be found.
Grief’s sharp jagged edge cuts deeply. At the strangest times.
For some reason, flying on airplanes is one of the most difficult times for me.
Maybe its because husbands and wives and lovers get on planes together, joined at the hip. Ready to go, be, and discover together. Their togetherness invites adventure into their lives. And the spectator widower sits alone. Only to catch the scent of what could have been.
So I lean in this morning to Eph 6 and 10.
Finally, be strengthened by the Lord and by His vast strength.
O God I need it. We all do.
I am riding in the shadow of my bride of almost 32 years. 