That Dreaded Club!

No one wants to join it. It is suddenly thrust upon a person. You fight it, you resist it, but you are part of it nonetheless. The Widow’s Club.

Only those who have previously joined this Club can truly relate to the new-comer. What makes it more difficult for we who are long-time members is remembering; reliving the moments when we were thrust into the Club kicking and screaming. We know her pain. We grieve for her. Along with her family and others who love her, we want to alleviate her sorrow, but experience tells us that’s impossible.

My friend and coworker, Le Ann, just joined the Club. One moment she was hearing “I love you” from her husband, Mike, then after an unexpected trip to the ER, he was gone. A healthy, strong man with a kind heart. His life ended so abruptly. In her sorrow, it may feel like the end of her life, as well.

Her family and friends offer condolences. We want to help but feel helpless. Sadly, it’s her journey. We come alongside with hugs, empathetic tears, practical help, words of comfort or no words at all. We pray. We weep. That’s all we can do. Still, we grieve for her. We want our friend to be happy again. But it’s going to be quite a while before she’s “back.” Sure, she’ll laugh again. There will be brief moments where she forgets she’s a widow. Then the truth will come crashing in and take her breath away. 

She will continue running her business and serving faithfully on staff at church. But the part of her heart that belonged to him will not heal quickly. Deep abiding marital love doesn’t end when a life here on earth does. She will cling to the hope of the promises of God that she will one day be reunited with him. And she will come to learn that God does still have a plan for her future.

She is a woman of grace. She has learned to lean on Jesus. She will continue to lean, because she knows He is her only true source of comfort. He will give her the grace to go on and to keep trusting in Him whose love for them both brought them together in the first place; for their joy, for His purposes, for God’s glory.

I thank God for the hope of eternal life, where all things are made new. Mike knew His Savior. His story is complete.

Le Ann is starting a new chapter. I pray God will fill her with peace, hope, and sweet memories of her beloved.

    

Be encouraged by Isaiah 25:8-9:

         “He will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove his people’s disgrace from all the earth. The Lord has spoken.

              In that day they will say, ‘Surely this is our God; we trusted in him, and he saved us.
             This is the Lord, we trusted in him; let us rejoice and be glad in his salvation.’”

END

The Blind Man's Path

“…He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake…” (Psalm 23:3 NASB)

While sitting in traffic waiting for a red light to change, I noticed a middle-aged blind man crossing the street at the signal.  As he walked, he tapped his white cane left-right, left-right in search of obstacles that could trip him.  Before reaching the other side of the street, however, he encountered a pothole and lost his footing.  I watched as he strained to keep from falling.  After regaining his balance, he was clearly disoriented as he turned away from his course and headed into oncoming traffic.  Instinctively, I quickly rolled down my car window and loudly hollered two words:  “Go Right!”   Immediately, and without a moment’s hesitation, the man turned to the right.  Within a few steps he safely reached the sidewalk.  My heart sang, “Thank you, Jesus” as he went on his way, out of danger.

Aren’t we sometimes like that man?  We start out heading in the right direction when suddenly a small pothole throws us off our spiritual course, the path of righteousness.  A seemingly insignificant pothole called fear or anger, curiosity, loneliness, lust, insecurity, or even boredom can draw us away from the route our heavenly Father intends for us to take. 

Three things struck me about the blind man that day:

First, his life was at once devoid of peace when he wandered off his intended path.

In the same way, we are prone to worry and apprehension when we abandon the peace and protection of the right path.  While we may think all is well for a while, we won’t be able to avoid the consequences of any unwise choices made going our own way.  Often, if we wander too long, we will notice our growing ambivalence toward the things of God.  The peace of God is found on the path of righteousness alone.

Secondly, he did not hesitate to respond to my voice

I was fascinated by his trust.  Could it be that he offered up a quick prayer to God for help at the instant he knew he was lost? Our God is faithful to respond to us when we pray for direction.  But are we listening for His answer?  Do we immediately respond to His voice as He guides us back on the paths of righteousness?  The only way to get back on course is by knowing the way.  We discover the way by seeking to hear from Him through His Word and prayer.  Sometimes, as was the case in this situation, God will use people to help us get back on track.  The choice is ours to heed the instruction or not.

Finally, he was safer on the path, than when he was “lost.” 

While off course, he was in danger of being hit by one or several cars.  Once back on the sidewalk the danger was eliminated, and I have to believe he was at peace. 

Questions we might ask ourselves are:  Do we feel safe, peaceful today? Or are we hesitant to commit to the paths of righteousness.  Our fear can keep us from saying “yes” to Him.  Sometimes we turn from following the will and plan of God for fear He may ask more of us than we want to give; we worry He may send us into danger if we wholeheartedly submit to walking His way.  On the contrary, I painfully learned that relinquishing our right to go our own way in exchange for His will always results in a deep down and even bubbling over joy.  We will be confident of God’s pleasure with us for having followed His voice…no matter where He leads us.

Our friend the blind man lives in the dark 24/7.  He must rely on his cane, his senses, prayer, and help from others to protect him from danger.  Even though we have eyes to see, we are no less blind than he if we let the potholes of life veer us away from the paths of righteousness that bring glory to our loving heavenly Father.

Have you strayed off course?  Listen!  Can you hear Him?  He’s calling to you —“Go Right!”

Reflection:

v Have you wandered from the path God intended for you?

v What would it take to get back on it?

v Do you believe He will keep you safe if you obey?

v What can you do to avoid dangerous potholes in the future?

Reading:

Psalm 23:3

Psalm 16:11

Psalm 25:4

Psalm 91:9-12

Isaiah 30:15

Luke 1:68, 79

Romans 11:33

3 John 1:4

Prayer:

O gentle and merciful Father, I do want to return to your paths of righteousness.  I submit myself once again to your plan for my life.  I  trust you to guide my faltering steps and turn me in the direction of your path of peace, for your glory.  Amen

___________________________________________________________________

© copyright 2016.  Sandra Dowling Housley.  All rights reserved.

___________________________________________________________

Suffering for Mercy

“… we also rejoice in our suffering, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, proven character, and character, hope.”  Romans 5:3-4

I used to teach women about the meaning and possible usages of the spiritual gifts God gives his children (1 Corinthians 12-14).  Surprising to many was discovering that their natural-born tendencies were often the same as the spiritual gift(s) they received.

As an example, when I took a spiritual gifts inventory the first time, I was amazed to learn that my top spiritual gift was leadership/administration.  For, even before knowing Jesus personally, it was natural for me to function in those gifts.  Since committing myself to Christ, they are set apart by God’s Spirit for his purposes.  However, my secondary gift of evangelism was not natural to me.  When I met my Lord, it then became my desire to glorify Him by bringing others into the Kingdom. 

I say all this to admit:  I was not born with the beautiful gift of mercy. Some people are born with hearts that break easily for others.  I was not one of them.  Oh, that doesn’t mean I didn’t care (have sympathy), but it means if I had not experienced it myself, I did not always feel their pain (have empathy).

Since my major surgery in August and another in November, I find my heart now breaking for friends, loved ones, and even strangers who are in physical pain.  Because I experienced it steadily for several months, my empathy meter rose dramatically.  I think of those who have little hope that their chronic pain will stop; or those who suffer from life-threatening illnesses.  I find myself praying fervently for people to be relieved of their suffering, even more so than in the past.

My heart needed breaking for what breaks God’s heart.  He doesn’t want us to suffer, but He does not allow our suffering to be wasted, either.  He offers a way to learn from it and grow closer to Him. For that I am grateful.

Our Lord Jesus certainly knows what suffering is.  As I was reading John 17-19 recently, the account of Jesus’s arrest and torture, it dawned on me in a more empathetic way, that he willingly stepped into that scenario knowing that unbelievably excruciating pain was ahead.  He had you and me in mind as he carried his cross to Calvary. Jesus accepted the suffering.  He welcomed it because he kept his eye on the prize.

“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame...” Hebrew 12:2

Could the prize for me have been mercy gained through suffering?  I believe so.

As we celebrate our Savior’s birth this month; as we think of the baby in the manger, let’s remember also the God-man on the cross who suffered, bled and died for our redemption.  For you.  For me.  And let’s take time to pray for and show mercy to those who are suffering.

Merry Christmas

Love Notes to A Dying Wife

Journal Entries made by Tom Dowling, Jr. to his wife, Barbara Dowling 

                               (Copied here verbatim from handwritten, yellowing note paper) 

15 Sept 1958

Babs Dear,

I have begun these letters in the desperate hope that someday God will permit you to read them. At this very moment you are motionless in your hospital bed, but in the stillness of your body a battle is being waged between you and Death.

Was it only yesterday – only 24 hours ago - that your face, now swollen and expressionless, was radiant with joy as I photographed you beneath a palm tree at the Paradise of the Pacific, Hawaii?

Was it only yesterday that we sat in the lobby writing postcards to the children and friends at home in California?

It was only yesterday, but these past two dozen hours have passed like years.

I recall how you suddenly stopped writing and put your hand to your head.  “Gee,’ you said, ‘what a sudden headache!” And a short time later you were in a coma.  Rushed to the hospital in Honolulu, you were examined, and the doctor gave you an hour to live. The x-rays showed that a cluster of abnormal vessels had burst in your brain creating a huge clot. It had to be removed.

For 4 hours while you were in surgery, I sat in stunned grief that surely this was a nightmare from which I would awaken and hug you to me.  Hadn’t we both had such bad dreams once in a while and woke up frightened but relieved?  But this is no dream. This is true.

During those 4 agonizing hours my mind was full of pessimism. The doc had said that he wasn’t very hopeful that the operation would save your life.  And when, at length, you were brought into this room, your head swathed in bandages, I wept my relief.

“She came through the surgery, ‘the sullen faced doctor told me,’ but it’s touch and go now.  If your wife gets by the next 48 hours she has a slight chance.  I’m sorry, but you’d better be prepared for the worst.”

Half of the 48 is over, dear one, and you are still clinging to life. I am prayer dry. Every single prayer I’ve ever known, I’ve repeated over and over until the words run together. Never have I felt so close to God; never had I felt His presence more.

I’ve not contacted the children as yet. What could I say? How could I tell them?  My father is caring for them, so I must tell him and them soon, but how soon? What will the news be?  Dear God, let it be that Mommie has had an operation, but she’s going to be okay.  Please God, don’t let it be anything but that!

Sept 16

Oh, how you cling to life, my darling!  Your head and face, battered and bruised from the surgery is still in the pillow. Nurses flutter around you endlessly.

Why, I’ve been asking myself?  Why has this terrible thing happened to you?  From January to June of this year you lay in a bed of pain after a back operation.  And now this vacation in Hawaii, this holiday which I’d hoped would help you forget those terrible months, has turned into an even worse ordeal.

Sept 17

The first crisis has passed, loved one, but there are more ahead.  Your unconscious body is so helpless and I wonder if somewhere in your subconscious you have any idea of what catastrophe has visited you.

Never before in my life have I had more time to think.  It is a lonely watch at your bedside. We are thousands of miles from home and friends, and though the nurses and doctors are more than kind, more than considerate, I have no familiar shoulder to lean on.

I’ve come so close to losing you, Babs dear, so close.  And even now when you seem to be winning your battle for life, the future appears very dark and questionable.

In this silent vigil has brought many values before my eyes.

   

Sept 18

Dearest, today I spoke on the phone to our family. It was one of the roughest things I’ve ever had to do.  But God has furnished children with a protective shell of innocence. They will bear up well I am sure.  In my letters to them I’ll be as cheerful as possible; it will be so hard for them since they are so far away from their beloved Mommie.

Sept 20

Letters have been flooding in, dear one.  Wishes from all our friends who are grieved to hear about your illness.

You lie still, so pitifully small and helpless in the bed.  God love you and help you.

Sept 25

The day drags on, precious one, days spent in watching you constantly, hoping to see some movement, hearing some sound. But your nurses and doctors are wonderful.

Sept 30

Beloved:  As I write this, you are again under the knife for the removal of another clot revealed by x-rays.  How fierce your ordeal!  God, help her.  Give her strength. Let her know somehow that I’m with her every moment as are you.

Oct 7

Still you sleep on, precious. For several days now your eyes have been open, staring straight ahead, and I’ve spent every moment talking to you, not knowing whether or not you hear.  But I cannot take a chance on your waking to strange surroundings, to the frightful fear which will certainly seize you when you realize you cannot move.  I must keep talking so you will know I’m here.  And somehow, though I’ve never been much of a talker, I’ve kept up a steady stream of chatter.

God, let her hear me and not be afraid.

 18 October 1958

Happy birthday, my love and happy anniversary.  Today you are 36 and it’s our 17^th anniversary. The word “happy” doesn’t seem in place, but isn’t that the popular greeting?

As I write this, the day is almost over and it’s been a good one, I think. I spent the whole day talking to you. And as I spoke of the joys and sorrows we experienced in these 17 years, I felt more deeply than ever, that you can hear me.  I am more convinced than ever that your mind is alert and keen, unaffected by the hemorrhage, undamaged.

Good night, darling.

  

21 Oct 1958

Darling,

This will be the last letter I’ll write, for now I know without any doubt that you are truly awake.  My emotions at the moment tear at my heart.

This has been a wonderful day – a most wonderful day.  A letter came from our neighbors. And it was sometime after I’d read it before I could control my voice to read it to you.  It enclosed $1200 and told how our neighbors and friends had thrown a “Help a Friend” dance on our anniversary and cleared that amount for us.

Your eyes widened and I know you heard every word. And when I finished reading it and told you about the check, you cried!

My heart is full of joy.  I do not know how long you’ve been conscious, for you still do not move or speak, but I know now that the weeks of one-way conversation were not in vain!  I know that you hear and understand me.  I know that you must have awakened with the sound of my voice in your ear, reassuring you.  My prayer has been answered.  Ahead lies a long and painful ordeal, but with God’s help I’ll help you through it until you are home again.  The future is as dark curtain before us and I cannot plan any program except one. I will help you with love, love, love.

End of Journal

THE REST OF THE STORY -

It’s been many years since both my parents have left this world for their eternal home.  Before his death, my father gave me these handwritten journal entries, written beginning the first day of my Mom’s brain hemorrhage.

Dad used that $1200 to board a plane, with Mom on a stretcher, and a nurse to care for her, to bring her home to her family and friends. 

Mom was admitted to a hospital in our hometown for treatment.  Besides more surgeries, there was little else anyone could do to help her. Her motor skills were destroyed by the blood clot.

She lay in that hospital bed for two years, unable to speak or move, but with a clear mind.  We communicated with her by speaking, touching, watching her eyes, listening to an occasional groan, and grateful for her ability to blink once for yes and twice for no.  Dad was by her side nearly 24/7 for the first six months, until his vacation and sick allowance from his Federal job ran out and he had to return to work.  After that, he spent every evening and nearly all weekend long with her, until she died two years and 4 days after her initial hemorrhage, in 1960.

At the time of her illness, my siblings were Larry (age 15), Maureen (14), myself (12), and Mike (11).  As much as we suffered with them both, we all treasure the fact that we had parents whose marriage faced horrendous pain and loss, yet proved enduring through it all.  My parents’ love for and faithfulness to God and each other was a lesson many do not have the privilege of living.  I did.  I am grateful.  I miss them both.

Sandra Dowling Housley