A Monumental Task

In anticipation of moving to a smaller home, I have been trying to give away and throw away and recycle (Yes, of course, Susan) and in any case reduce the amount of things that we have acquired.

Stored in our basement was a large box of cards that I have had for twenty-three years. Most people would say if you have not looked at it in all of those years, don’t even open it. Just get rid of it. But I couldn’t. For twenty-three years, from time to time, I have thought of that box and intended to go through the cards one more time before I toss them.

Twenty three years ago on May 4th, my first husband died at age thirty-nine. Our sons were ten and twelve years old at the time. Because my husband was young, and because it was a very public death—Dale was a social worker and murdered while at work by a disgruntled employee and also because he was a good man and very respected and left two sons, we received many cards. I do not know how many but I do know that on one day we received over 100 cards. I have a laundry basket full of cards.

At the time, I read the cards but some days I read them quickly. I always intended to go back when things were not so busy and read the cards carefully and give them the attention that they deserved. And now it has been twenty-three years.

I told my second hubby, Bob, that I would not move the box but I was going to take the time to read the cards. I am in process. It is a much longer process than I expected. Many random thoughts come to mind as I read.

• Inexpressible gratitude overwhelms me. My heart is full of appreciation and love and gratefulness—to God—to Dale—to family and friends and to people that I did/do not know.


• Prayer makes a difference. Many people prayed for our family. James 5:16 says, The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective. My sons both love God and serve Him as do their wives and children. Thanks to all of those people—friends, family, acquaintances and strangers that prayed for us. To God be the glory!


• I have regrets. I am deeply sorry for not finishing my thank you cards. I just got so far behind and discouraged that I never got them finished. And people were so very good to us. I deeply regret my neglect!


• These cards were chosen with care. I started reading the cards with a resolve to read every word—to ponder the cards and appreciate the effort it takes to choose a card. I know that the cards were chosen with care. Some of the cards brought tears to my eyes. Various people underlined a word or words in the cards emphasizing hope or concern or comfort.


• Names from the past keep surfacing. There were so many people that I had not thought about for years. Some of the people that sent cards have died. I received many cards from dear friends of our parents and aunts and uncles and the generation just older than me at our church. Even a few much younger than I, have died. I was amazed as I went through the cards at the number of people that are in heaven with Jesus and perhaps greeting, working with, and praising God with Dale. It was wonderful to think on them and their influence in my life, in Dale’s life and ultimately in our sons’ lives. The cards had a big ripple effect of memories.


• Simple acts of kindness make big impressions. A card was signed “from Gregory, your custodian.” Many people mentioned that Dale always smiled at them. One was from the couple that sat behind us in Sunday night church for eight years and watched us as a family sitting together—from someone that enjoyed watching Dale garden and fix his car while her son, a neighbor boy, looked on. Another who said that only one time had she ever given a personal prayer request aloud in church and Dale was the one that prayed for her request.


• When prompted to act, do it. There were so many letters from friends—from when Dale was a little boy and a high school friend and a friend from graduate school. There were letters from children and two younger cousins of Dale’s still in their twenties wrote notes and sent money. And there were multitudes of letters from co-workers some that knew Dale well and some that only worked with him on one case. There were personal letters from government officials—our state representatives, people impressed with Dale’s integrity and work ethic. There were letters from people that heard the story on the radio. There was a letter from a boy that wished he could have been on Dale’s baseball team because he was on Dale’s team last year and he was a nice coach. My second grade Sunday School students wrote notes and drew pictures. Some made me smile at their innocent tender expressions. One little boy drew a picture of man laying in a coffin and just simply said, “Dear Mrs. Rowell. I’m sorry. Love, Brent” Friends of friends sent cards and wrote notes. How often I have had good intentions and not followed through! Many wrote that it was hard to write a note but they did it anyhow! Some even sent more than one card.




My mother-in-law and I share a love for Dale. I needed to talk to someone during this project and called the best of all people—Mom Rowell, Dale’s mom. Oh my, she is sweet and how wonderful to still have her. I asked if she would like me to keep the cards for her to read but wisely she declined. She told me that she has stacks of cards—birthday cards, anniversary cards, sympathy cards, that she has kept and that she needs to read through and then discard. At age 95, she needs to get started. She says that every year after age 70 is a bonus year because the Bible says that generally people live to age 70 and some to age 80. (Psalm 90:10) She says, “I’ve had lots of bonus years.”




There is still sadness. I miss Dale. He was good. I loved him. He loved me. I wonder how life would be different had he lived. I wish that I could marvel over our kids and grandkids with him. We used to stand at the boys bedroom door on our way to bed and marvel at how cute and wonderful were the sons that came from our genes! God chose the best genes from both of us! And now I marvel in the same way over our grandkids. I am reminded of the blessing of being Dale’s wife. I am still amazed that he chose me. What a joy to be married to a godly man. Over and over, people commented about his easy, ready, friendly smile. His countenance reflected Jesus.




Renew a right spirit in me. I want to do a better job of “Paying it Forward.” I want to smile more and not be so preoccupied that I forget to be friendly. I want to serve more and be kinder. I want to send thank you notes and sympathy cards. I want to serve others. I want to be a better neighbor and wife. I want to live better and be more responsive and obedient to the quiet nudging of the Holy Spirit in my life. I want to reflect Jesus.

I’ll put away a few letters for my grandchildren. Maybe someday when they are older, they will want to know what Dale was like. There is a story in Joshua about the children of Israel crossing the Jordan and God instructing them to build a memorial, one stone for each tribe, serving as a reminder for future generations of what God had done for their ancestors. I will keep twelve cards. These will be “Stones of Remembrance.” I made a stack of cards that touched me with the stories of Dale. Right now, 108 cards have made the first cut.

To Dale, I would quote Philippians 1:3, I thank my God every time I remember you.



By the way, thank you to Rebecca and Donna—my two most faithful blog readers. You have been supportive for all of these years! Thank you! I found cards from both of you . . . do you want to read what you wrote?

My times are in Thy hand

My first husband, Dale, died twenty-one years ago today. When I think about it, I can still get chills over the horror of that day.

I always wonder what to do with the anniversary of my first hubby’s death? I certainly don’t want to go to the cemetery and be by myself. I don’t feel like I need to cry or be sad. I have no need to relive the shock and fear and grief. Yet, I do want to remember Dale in some kind of quiet manner. One thing that seems good is simply to be with others that knew him and loved him. We don’t need to talk about Dale. We don’t need to look at pictures of him. It is good just to be with his family.

Today, I had a wonderful day. With encouragement from hubby Bob, I took a 2 ½ hour drive to go and spend time with Dale’s dear mother. I do so love her! We just chatted about life. That was all. That was enough—but there was more! Dale’s sister, Judy and friend, Duane and Dale’s Uncle Wayne and Aunt Lurelle met us for dinner and we sat and laughed and talked and just enjoyed each other — sweet fellowship and camaraderie!

After nearly everyone else had left the restaurant, and we were preparing to leave, my son Brad called on my cell phone. Since there really was no one else in our section, I put the phone on speaker and we all enjoyed Brad. He told us a story or two about his kids. At the end of his conversation, he spoke directly to Grandma Rowell, thanking her for raising such a good man and father. He said, “We were sad that he was with us for such a short time but we are so glad that we had him for awhile.” It was quiet for a moment as I noticed tears on each face around the table. I said, “We are still here, Brad, it is just that we all have something caught in our throats.” We all chuckled and said our sweet good bys.

But there was more good to come. Just as we were arriving back at Mom/Grandma Rowell’s home, the phone rang again and this time it was son, Andy. We talked briefly about Dad and then moved on to some other topics. Grandma and Andy and I had such a fun, informative, enjoyable, happy conversation.

And that is what it is all about. Just a few moments to be with those you love is all that is necessary for a special remembrance.

And tonight as I go to bed, I thank God for Perfect Timing. The phone calls came at such good times today. But that isn’t really all that I am thinking of. I am reminding myself as I look back that I can trust God for the future. Though I never really understand, I will trust in God.

Yes, my times are in Thy hand. Psalm 31:15

I also was reminded of these
favorite verses from Isaiah 55:8-11.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.

As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,

So is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”

Lessons in Praise

Part of our Bible study yesterday included this story from Acts 16:22-25.

The crowd joined in the attack against Paul and Silas, and the magistrates ordered them to be stripped and beaten. After they had been severely flogged, they were thrown into prison, and the jailer was commanded to guard them carefully. Upon receiving such orders, he put them in the inner cell and fastened their feet in the stocks. About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them.

Here are some pertinent quotes that Ann Garnett shared in her lecture that particularly spoke to me.

When praise is the last thing that comes naturally to us, and we choose to worship Him anyway, we’ve had the privilege of genuine sacrifice of praise.
Beth Moore, To Live is Christ

It‘s all right if your praise comes out of
a life that has struggles,
a life that still falls short of the glory of God,
a life that has defeats and requires confession
and a life that slides into emotional low periods.
This is part of being human in a fallen world,
waiting for the magnificent future
God has planned for us.
31 Days of Praise

Since the death of his daughter, Maria, Steven Curtis Chapman added this 4th verse to his song, Yours. I will also include the chorus and ending stanza.

I’ve walked the valley of death’s shadow
So deep and dark that I could barely breathe
I’ve had to let go of more than I could bear
And questioned everything that I believe
But still even here in this great darkness
A comfort and hope come breaking through
As I can say in life or death
God we belong to you.

The glory is Yours, God
All the honor is Yours, God
The power is Yours, God
The glory is Yours, God

You're the King of Kings
And Lord of Lords

And its all Yours, God, Yours, God
Everything is Yours
From the stars in the sky
To the depths of the ocean floor
And its all Yours, God, Yours, God
Everything is Yours

All the greatness and power, the glory and splendor and majesty
Everything is Yours
Yeah, it's all Yours
We are Yours
The glory and honor is Yours, everything is Yours

It's all Yours, God
My life is Yours, my heart is Yours
My hands and my feet are Yours
Every song that I sing
It's all Yours, all is Yours
All belongs to You
Our gifts are Yours, God
All our dreams are Yours, God
All our plans are Yours, God
The whole earth is Yours, God
Everything is Yours

She shouldn't ask. . .

Our widows group is meeting tonight. The women are mostly in their 40’s and 50’s. Actually, I am the only older one having just celebrated a birthday. It was so nice when I could say that we were all in our 40’s and 50’s. Also, I am not a widow technically. Since I remarried, I lost that title. They voted to keep me in the group--probably because I was the original founding member--or because we often meet at my home for dinner. We do not have a name for our group. It is a bit odd. All of us still stumble over the “widow” word. In my email communications, I just say things like, “Hi friends, just a reminder that we are meeting at 6:30 p.m. for dinner. . .” and in that way avoid using the title. All of this is background so that you will know that this next conversation is not about us.

An older group of widows—in their 70’s and 80’s also meet regularly. They do have a name for their group. When I heard it, I thought it was quite cute—The Owls.

Sarah: So, Lois, what do you think our name stands for?

Lois: I don’t know. What?

Sarah: Come on, guess!

Lois: I don’t want to guess.

Sarah: Oh, come on. . .

Lois (hesitantly and carefully): Old Widow Ladies?

Sarah (with a horrified expression): Of course not. . .Overcoming Women’s Losses

Oh my! Of course!

Dale's Tribute

Dale Rowell

December 12, 1948-May 4, 1988

Written and delivered at the funeral
by Dale Frank May 7, 1988

I'm going to miss Dale Rowell. Very few people have come into my life who so completely modeled what a Christian man should be. For 15 years I watched this man live out his commitment to Jesus Christ and he never missed a beat.

It seems we have far too few men like Dale. His priorities were set in stone. And he didn't have to tell me what they were. Year after year he consistently demonstrated those priorities.

His number one priority was to please his Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. There was never any doubt about it. Dale loved the Scriptures and loved to be involved in the Lord's Word.

In 1987 Dale made a commitment to read through the Bible in one year. And he did it. I knew he'd do it. When he set his mind to something, it got done. I can remember how pleased he was about that. For years Dale consistently memorized God's Word and encouraged others to do the same through the Bible Memory Association. He and Brenda coordinated that effort in our church. It was just one of dozens of jobs Dale took on at the church.

No glory, no fanfare, not a lot of commotion;
Just a good job--well done.

To me Dale was one of the best Sunday School teachers in the church. Tomorrow when I come to church and go downstairs, I'm really going to miss seeing him there. Sunday after Sunday he would be moving briskly through the hall with an armful of material that he had carefully prepared for his 4th and 5th grade classes. The thing that made Dale special was that he really loved the children. He thought about his class during the week also. Sunday afternoon might find him playing soccer with them. He might call or drop a card to a youngster who had been absent.

Once again, not a lot of fanfare,
Just a good job--well done.

Running a close second was his commitment to his family. There was never any doubt about it. Dale's love for Brenda and the boys was so incredibly obvious.

What a thrill it was for Dale to save and plan to take Brenda and Andy and Brad on a 3-week vacation through the West. And he made sure they didn't miss a thing. I can still hear him enthusiastically tell of all the interesting experiences they'd had as he showed me the pictures.

He was also ready for a great season as one of Andy's baseball coaches. A couple of Sunday's ago he was talking about the team and I told him it was probably just good coaching. He laughed and said, "Nah!" I can still hear his enthusiasm as he looked forward to spending that time with Andy. He took every opportunity he could to be with the boys. Last Christmas the call went out for volunteers to help build the set for the Christmas play. I knew Dale would be there. You could count on it. But he didn't come alone. There, right next to him, was Brad. They had their tools in hand and were ready for work. It was one more way Dale could spend time with Brad and at the same time perhaps teach him another skill. By the end of the evening Brad was easily handling the electric drill and driving screws into the lumber.

My memories of Dale and Brenda in the newly married Sunday School class 15 years ago was one of a couple really in love with each other. And the last time I saw them together it was just the same.

Not a lot of fanfare, not a lot of commotion.
Just a good job--well done.

His third priority was his friends. It would take hours for me to recount the ways Dale and Brenda helped others. Dale knew how to do so many things and he loved hard work. Many times his friends were the beneficiaries of those skills and that hard work.

Well, I could go on and on about Dale. He was quite a guy. Yes, I'm, going to miss him. But my loss is heavens' gain. I can just see him now with that wonderful smile on his face and with that great enthusiasm he's probably asking God--

"What needs to be done around here?"

Not a lot of commotion. Not a lot of fanfare.
Just a good job--well done.

"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'" Matthew 25:21 & 23

In His Likeness. . .

There were other things to do this weekend. My sister, Lou, had invited me to vacation with her in Hilton Head. She said it was a walkout onto the beach with my own room and TV.

Our church members were invited to participate in a program that I totally believe in and enjoy called Carefest. I was sorry to miss that also.

There was only one place though for today—with my Rowell family. Actually it is the family of my first husband, Dale. Twenty years ago on May 4, 1988, he died, at the age of 39 years. I wanted to be with others that still remember. I wanted to hear his name. I wanted to hear a new story. I wanted to see him reflected in the faces of his mother and his siblings—yes, even after twenty years!

Mom Rowell no longer resides in the home where Dale was raised or where she and Dad moved after the kids were all married. She lives in an apartment in a beautiful retirement community. Even so, I love the familiar furnishings and pictures on the wall, the hutch with the family pictures. Mom, at her kitchen table or in her chair, creates a wonderful sense of “home” and “coming home.”

Returning to Wheaton, I made a mental list of each of the family members in attendance:
Dear, practical brother Paul.
Sister Joy—so aptly named!
Sweet sister, gentle Judy.
Articulate brother David—knowledgeable in so many areas.
Little niece Annie—now a mother of two sons—who was loved by Dale.
Sister-in-law D’Ann—who helped me understand, enjoy, and appreciate what it meant to be a Rowell by marriage.
Uncle Howard—who Dale admired and enjoyed.
Mostly of course, Mom—loving, trusting, accepting, wise, reflecting Jesus in every way.

The day was not all that I had hoped. How could it be? There were no new stories of Dale—maybe after twenty years I have heard all of them. Even so, it was a good day.

As Bob and I neared home, I thought of the two Rowells that most reflect Dale to me. They look nothing like each other yet it is uncanny how much each son reminds me of his father. I love their walks, their postures, their facial expressions. I love to see them with their wives, their children, their friends. I love their determination, their smiles, and their work ethic. I even appreciate that, like their dad, breakfast cereals will work for any meal. I love their servant hearts, their playfulness, and their loyalty. They are very good men. Dale would be so proud of them. Gracious God, thank you for these children—living images of their heavenly Father and their father now in heaven.

A Lesson that Stuck

In Bible study this morning, Beth [teacher/leader/author/speaker and also a blogger] via the video asked, “Have you ever had a lesson from God that stuck?” She explained that it was something that we might have learned maybe a year ago, 10 years ago, even 20 years ago that stuck. Beth’s lesson was, “Grace is given according to need.”

As she explained how God taught her that lesson, it was hard to keep my mind from wandering a bit because, yes, I knew what she was talking about. First of all, her lesson is also a lesson that God taught me. I remember when, where, and various times that I have been reminded of that same lesson.

Briefly my mind wandered to another lesson that stuck. I thought of a lesson that God taught me a long time ago and it blessed my heart again today.

Dale had died in May and that December, the boys and I went to Florida at Christmastime. It seemed good to do something different. Several of my extended family were also there in Florida. We had a good vacation enjoying the sun and warmth as well as a day at Disneyworld. Several times I told others that I wanted copies of their pictures because I had forgotten a camera. On the way home from Florida, we stopped briefly in Indiana and one of the relatives went to a one hour camera store and got two sets of pictures so that I could take a set home. I glanced through the pictures quickly and was disappointed. I had 48 vacation pictures and the boys and I were only in three of the pictures. We left shortly after that for the four hour trip home. The boys soon fell asleep and I complained to God. I told him that the job he had given me to do was too heavy. It was too hard. I had just been with relatives and even there we were not the focus of anyone’s camera. I and I alone cared and loved my boys. (Yes, of course, I know that is not true. I was just having one of my self-pity moments.) I complained to God for awhile in that manner. Finally I was silent and it was quiet in the car. Then as distinctly as if God had spoken audibly, I heard Him say, “Brenda, I love your sons more than you do.” Whew! What a relief I felt! That quiet steady assuring voice totally lightened my load. I was awed. God had heard me and given me comfort. I savored those words and repeated them over and over in my head. I turned on the radio listened to Christian praise songs the rest of the way home and arrived rejoicing!

Several other times after that and for various reasons I became frightened for the boys. Each time, God comforted my heart as I remembered and reminded God, “I love them so very much and yet I know that You love them more than I do.”

I have been worrying about my sons again this week. Both of them have a similar need. The boys are adults with families of their own but they are still my boys. So when Beth asked the question this morning, I praised God for reminding me once again, “I love your sons more than you love them.” Thank you, Father! I will trust You.

Take Heart Single Parents

Parenting is challenging. A single parent faces extra challenges in raising children. Often we hear the dire statistics of lower academic performance, social behavioral problems, and other risk factors with children from nontraditional homes. However, if you are a single parent, have a blended family, or adopted children, I want to encourage you.

Something that I had not thought about came to my attention through a video series, Parenting is Heart Work by Dr. Scott Turansky and Joanne Miller. In the Bible we see that God often used children from nontraditional homes for special work. Here are a few examples. I am sure there are more.

Samuel grew up in the temple, probably seeing his parents just one time each year. God used Samuel as a judge and a prophet. He played an important part in uniting the tribes against the Philistines. He anointed two kings of Israel—Saul and David.

As a baby, Moses was adopted by a princess and grew up in Pharaoh’s court. God used Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt to the Promised Land. He also received the Ten Commandments from God.

Joseph was born into a polygamist family—the 11th son of his father and the oldest of two children born to his mother. His mother died when he was young and then his older jealous brothers sold him into slavery when he was still a young boy. God used Joseph to provide for Egypt and the Israelites during a seven year famine.

Daniel was taken from his family as a young boy and grew up in the Babylonian court. God used Daniel as a prophet giving him visions and dreams for the people of his day and for us today regarding future events.

Queen Esther was an orphaned Jewish child raised in Persia by Mordecai her uncle. God used Esther to become a queen and help save the Jewish people from being wiped out of the Persian Empire.

Becoming a parent brought me great joy. As a widow, I was aware that God promised to be the boys’ father. Psalm 68:5 says, A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. I remember one time talking to God while watching my son struggling at a baseball game. I said, “God, you are his Father, don’t you want him to get a hit?”

My mother-in-law quoted James 1:5 to me on more than one occasion when I talked to her regarding parenting. The verse stayed with me. Sometimes in my impatience, I said, “God, I need wisdom here, real soon. Please help me.”

My sons lost their dad at ages 10 and 12. I worried for my boys. I was concerned about them having good male role models. I fretted that the fun person in our home had died. As a single parent, I was often inadequate. However, God is using both of my sons today. They are good dads. They are both involved in sharing Jesus with others and encouraging believers. I don’t take any credit for my sons. Just as in the examples above, it is God that develops children for his work. And yes, even children from nontraditional homes.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Ephesians 3:20, 21

Pondering This . . .

Last night we went to Anthony Lawton’s performance of The Great Divorce at Wheaton College. Lawton, a Philadelphia actor and playwright, adapted Lewis’s story for the stage and performs this one-man play himself. He plays many characters-generally two at a time dialoging with each other. His expressions and actions were convincing, effective, humorous, animated. It was an excellent performance.

I originally thought that I was going to a drama of C.S. Lewis’s life story. I was disappointed when I found out differently and I did not want to go because of the topic of heaven and hell. However, I was so glad that I went. It was more than just a story about heaven and hell. It was very thought provoking.

I think that C.S. Lewis and others as well have warned that this is only a depiction of thoughts. Lewis and other scholars are not saying that this is what heaven and hell are really like. This novel is fiction—a dream. I am going to paraphrase play lines because I cannot remember them exactly. Okay, so much for any disclaimers, here are some of the things that I found particularly interesting regarding heaven and hell.

In hell, whatever the ghosts wanted, they imagined, and it happened but it had no substance and was transparent and of no value to them. Their houses were large mansions of so many rooms but did not keep them dry from the rain that constantly fell.

This is one part that struck me and why I am tagging this post for widows. Heaven was real and solid and indescribably beautiful. But the ghosts were not able to enjoy it because it was so hard to them. It hurt them because it was so real. Heaven usually seems ethereal and spirit like to us. Sometimes we forget that heaven is real. It is good to be reminded of that especially those of us that have a loved one in heaven.

And dear widow friends, I also liked thinking about this. The people or “solids” in heaven, some were robed and some were naked but not less adorned. They were ageless but with glimpses of frolicking youth or wisdom. I have imagined what we will look like in heaven. I know we will have new bodies and that we will be recognized. I wonder how old we will be. . . but heaven is timeless.

Hell and Heaven are retroactive so to speak. “This moment contains all moments.” We will see heaven as a glorious extension of earth and it will all fit into place. I love that idea.

The ghosts that took the bus to heaven had the option of staying in heaven. In fact, messengers were sent to them to encourage them to stay. However, almost all were not willing to give up every control and become empty of their self and surrender and gain entry into heaven. One man wanted to go to heaven but not on charity—only if he could earn it and get what he fairly deserved. One woman did not want to give up control of someone. The heavenly helpers instructed the ghosts from hell that they could accept heaven and all of its joys and become solid people but they would not be able to keep even the smallest and most intimate souvenirs of Hell. I found myself really wanting the ghosts, pulling for them, to just give up their efforts and useless stuff and enjoy wonderful real eternity. I was reminded that we cannot hold on to anything—not our rights, our plans, our health, our wealth, even people. This is the particular part that was thought provoking for me. What does that look like practically for me? How do I empty myself of self? I have been thinking about that often since seeing the drama.

The following Jesus teachings came to mind:

Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? (Mark 8:34-36)

When Jesus heard that, he said, "Then there's only one thing left to do: Sell everything you own and give it away to the poor. You will have riches in heaven. Then come, follow me." This was the last thing the official expected to hear. He was very rich and became terribly sad. He was holding on tight to a lot of things and not about to let them go. Seeing his reaction, Jesus said, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for people who have it all to enter God's kingdom?” (Luke 18: 22 -25)

Matthew 13: 45-46, is a short story about the kingdom of God. This story is told as The Precious Pearl in one of my very favorite children’s books, Stories Jesus Told by Nick Butterworth and Mick Inkpen. The story tells about the merchant that gives up everything, his money, his house, his three fridges and freezers full of food—everything except his felt hat with the floppy feather because it is his favorite—to get the wonderful white pearl. Finally he has to give up even his favorite hat. Here is how the story concludes:

Hooray! The pearl is his at last. Jesus says, ‘God is like the merchant’s pearl. It costs everything to know Him. But He is worth more than anything in the world.’

Three cheers for step grandmas!

My niece Dawn and hubby Rick are celebrating the birth of their sixth child—a girl! We are all so very thrilled about this new little Madelyn Kay born on January 22nd. With four sons and one daughter, Ellie, soon to be nine years old, we just thought a girl would be so nice. However, Dawn and Rick decided not to find out the sex of this little one until she was born. Dawn’s theory was that if they found out early that it was a little boy, they would be disappointed. However, once the baby is here and healthy, they would fall in love and it wouldn’t matter if it was a boy or girl. And then she came. And she is female and darling and beautiful and dearly, dearly loved! You can see for yourself.

If this baby would have been a boy, his middle name would have been Walter after Grandpa Great—Dawn’s grandpa, my dad. Ellie is named after my mother’s name—Elizabeth. My mother died 24 years ago and my father remarried nearly 19 years ago. Since the baby is a little girl, Dawn and Rick decided to give her the middle name honoring my stepmom-Katherine. It is an honor to have any child named because of your name. (One time a family named their son, Bradley, after my son because he was so admired by their other children.) I just don’t think it happens very often though that a stepmom or stepgrandma gets honored by a namesake. This is something very special for Kay but also for me and for all other steps. Congratulations Kay for being who you are and thank you to Rick and Dawn for showing such sweet honor.

I do have to tell one sweet story about one of my stepgrandsons. Grif is now almost 12 years old so this happened a long time ago when he was in kindergarten. I had picked him up from school and we were having lunch together. He said, “Grandma, did you know you are not my dad’s mother?”

“Yes, actually, I was aware of that. Your Grandma Dee was his mother but she is in heaven now with Jesus and I am your daddy’s stepmother.”

Grif looked absolutely horrified! “Well” he said, “You’re not evil or anything.”

“Thank you, Grif. Not all stepmothers are evil. I know it seems that way because Cinderella had an evil stepmother but not all stepmothers are evil.”

After thinking just briefly, Grif gave me a happy smile. “You’re right, Grandma, not all stepmothers are evil. Actually you are nice!”

“Thank you, Grif.”

Grief Thoughts and PS I Love You

Disclaimer: Before I write about this movie, I do want to say that the movie is rated PG13 with good reason. I certainly do not endorse many things in the movie nor do I see them as healthy grieving. Read the reviews before you see the movie. Also, what I write will spoil the movie for some of you. You know who you are so read no further.

Grief, like childbirth or other life experiences, is unique and different for every single person. Even so, sometimes we are encouraged by another person’s story. When we hear stories of similar reactions or responses, we began to realize that we aren’t crazy and that life will get better. The movie, PS I Love You, made me think back to my grief when Dale died.

I would have loved getting random letters for a year! As it was, I reread all of the letters that Dale sent me for two years while I was in college. I reread them in the first few months after his death and tried to discipline myself to only read a few per day. I was so grateful to have them! It was also a strange coincidence that for Valentine’s Day and our anniversary, I got flowers given to me for the first several years. They were not from the same friends. The givers did not realize how special their gift was to me. One time I was just in a grocery store on Valentine’s Day and they were giving out roses! I pretended that God was caring for me and reminding me that I had been loved.

In the movie PS I Love You, I related a bit to Holly watching old love movies. I had a song on a cassette that I played over and over. It was called, He Who Began a Good Work in You. One line said, You are His treasure and He finds pleasure in you. When you are a widow, you feel like no will ever treasure you again and find pleasure in you. It was good to hear that God loved me and I wanted to believe it so I played the song over and over and when I was alone, I sang the words.

Holly felt Gerry’s presence and then grieved for that feeling when it was becoming dimmer. For maybe up to a year after Dale died, I still felt his presence. I didn’t talk to anyone really about sensing it because I knew they would think it was weird. Much later, I talked to some other widows and realized that they had the same experience. It was assuring to know that I was not crazy.

I liked wearing Dale’s t-shirts as night shirts and I kept his last bottle of cologne and put it on night shirts to smell him and remember him for a very long time—years. I understood in the movie that Holly would want to wear Gerry’s jacket.

I sometimes had trouble receiving and rejoicing over others good news especially pregnancy, or birth of a baby but not always. It hurt my feelings though if friends hid their good news from me because they thought it might be hard on me. I was not predictable.

Fantasy was a relief from the present. It wasn’t anything serious as I always knew reality from fantasy. Before I went to bed, I played a game with myself. I would try to decide if I could have Dale back for one day only this week or this month, which day would I choose? What would we do? What would I wear? I liked to fall asleep imagining the day. I also read novels for escape. I read books from cover to cover because for a little bit while reading, I could forget everything.

I remember how hard it was to do daily chores because no one cared and no one was coming home. There was no joy in cooking because no one thanked me and raved on how good the food tasted. Fortunately for me, a college girl moved into the house with the boys and I needed to force myself to keep going. Still I often felt like I was drowning.

I heard Holly say, “I am old.” I felt old. Everything good in life had already happened to me.

I knew that I needed to grow up. Learn to do things—bills, yardwork, put gas in the car, put a chain on a bike. I felt sorry for myself. It sometimes made me angry. However, afterwards I got a sense of accomplishment.

Like Holly and her mother, I remember feeling like my situation was so different from women that were divorced. At first, I wanted to separate myself from them. It wasn’t long though until I discovered precious friendship in those relationships. Some of my friends that were divorced, best understood my grief. They were also grieving.

Eventually, I began to think that I changed. I was different than the person that I was when Dale died. I was more independent. I could make decisions and I even liked making some decisions. I began to feel more like a person that had abilities and something to offer. I felt more adult and more creative.

If you are a young widow, I recommend this movie. You will find a few areas that you identify with. You will know you are not crazy. You will cry but it will give hope as well.

Ding, Dong, Ditch In Remembrance

Tomorrow would be my first husband’s 59th birthday. He was murdered while at work on May 4, 1988. Our sons were ages 10 and 12 when Dale died. I realized very soon that the anticipation of red-letter days was more difficult for me than the actual special days if I prepared for them. The first year that Dale died, I didn’t know what to do with Dale’s birthday. I didn’t want to ignore it. It would have been impossible to forget it. I was a receptionist and wrote the date many times during the course of my work day.

Dale was a good man—a very good man. He was kind and helpful and had a wonderful easy smile. He was happy to help without being noticed or acknowledged. He knew our mailman and garbage man by name. On garbage days when he was home, he would run along with the truck for a few houses talking to our garbage man and helping throw the garbage in the truck. One day I asked Dale why he did that. He said, “I want him to know that he is a person.”

So in anticipation of his birthday, December 12, 1988, I made plans. I cooked Dale’s favorite meal for our dinner. I baked cookies and made hot chocolate mix with powdered milk—a recipe that I used often—and packaged it with directions in sandwich bags. At dinner, the boys and I talked about remembering Dad by doing something kind for someone without them knowing who did it. We made a list of people to “Ding, Dong, Ditch.” That simply meant that I would drive and drop the boys, the boys would run up to the door and ring the doorbell. They would leave a gift of cookies and hot chocolate and a typed Merry Christmas note and then run down the block behind trees to where I was waiting in the get-away car. I wanted the evening to be fun and also a remembrance.

We did that for a few years—sometimes dropping gloves and mittens to a needy family, one time delivering a Christmas tree and always a few bags of cookies and hot chocolate. Eventually the boys either got too busy with sports schedules or no longer wanted to participate in “Ding, Dong, Ditch.” Then we encouraged each other to do something kind for someone during the day and report on it when we all got together again in remembrance of Dad. I was always touched by their sweet stories. I remember a couple of stories in particular. One year when Brad was driving a truck and he saw a man and woman struggling to take a mattress home. It kept falling off of the man’s car. Brad stopped and offered to help. They loaded the mattress in the back of the truck. The man rode with Brad in the truck to his home and the wife drove the car. Their home was quite a distance away—I think about 10 miles. Brad had an opportunity to share with the man about his dad and why he especially wanted to help on that day. The couple was very grateful.

After Andy was married and lived in Vancouver, he and Amy raked and bagged leaves for someone in their neighborhood. They never were recognized or thanked and it took them several hours. They did it to remember Dad by helping someone else.

Several years ago, I released the boys of remembering Dad in that way. They are adults. Their schedules are very full and I did not want them to feel pressure or guilt over that tradition. Dale has been gone from us a long time now and I believe that there needs to be a stopping point on some traditions or they become burdens. Brad told me that he spends some one-on-one time with his son Jackson either on May 4th or on December 12th telling Jackson about his daddy. I am proud of both of my sons. They honor their dad every day by living as good men.

But Dale was my husband. I loved him. I usually try to talk with Dale’s mom on December 12. I try to remember to send her flowers. Her loss is still great. We both miss Dale. Additionally, I love to do some little secret special act of kindness for someone else. Bob—my husband since 1996, has often joined in and helped me. I have prayed today from time to time today asking God for an idea. I ask God to put someone on my heart that I could have the privilege of blessing. I can’t blog about it or it wouldn’t be a secret. I’m excited because I finally know what to do.

Reneé, This Is For You

My first husband, Dale, died at age 39 on May 4, 1988. It will soon be 20 years since that terrible event that changed the course of my life.

On a Saturday morning in May 1989, one of my sisters-in-law called to talk. In the course of conversation she unwittingly said, “I suppose you are pretty much over it [Dale’s death] now.” I was stunned and mumbled some answer and our conversation soon ended. No, I was not “over it.”

On June 29, 1996, I married Bob, a widower. We are thankful and blessed to have another special love relationship. No one was more surprised than I. We are happy and enjoy each other very much. Even so, a week does not go by without some mention of Dale or Dee or both. We are not over our losses. It is hard to explain.

Here is an illustration that works for me. Suppose someone had their arm amputated. Suppose she got a prosthesis that looked good. Suppose she became efficient at using that arm. Perhaps she became an accomplished pianist, artist, or basketball player. Would we ask that person, “Are you over it?”- meaning the loss of her arm. A prosthesis is bothersome. It needs to be taken care of differently than an arm. Sometimes the stump gets irritated. A spouse that dies leaves a wound with scars. Even after time, we still miss that part of us that died. We don’t fully recover, ever. Yes, we have happy days and joy in our life again but in some part of us, we still feel the loss.

I will tell of two recent experiences of grief for my first husband. Last month we attended a Beatles concert at Ravinia. We were there with three other couples. As the songs began (i.e. I Want To Hold Your Hand) I started feeling sad, even a little angry. I wanted Dale. He was the person that I shared memories with of those songs. That blue feeling lasted a few days before I was able to shed it.

My son, Andy became father to his second son, Jacob, born on September 16th. What a privilege it was for me to go to Andy and Amy’s home and help for eleven days following the birth. I thought of Dale often while with them in North Carolina. I got a lump in my throat as I watched how much Ryan (Jacob’s big brother) loves Grandpa Dale’s toy tractors. I remember when our sons were young, Dale and I would go and admire them often after they fell asleep at night. We would commend each other on how cute, how sweet, and how precious they were. It was such fun and sweet camaraderie to love them together. At Andy and Amy’s home, I could not help but get a few tears at night as I held that dear baby, Jacob—wishing so much to be able to share with Dale.

So Reneé, this is for you. You ask, “Will my crying ever stop? Will I ever get over this? Will I ever be happy again?” Your tears will almost dry up. No, you will never get over it. Yes, you will have happy days again. Blessings, my friend.