I’ve been thinking a lot about Heaven lately. For a number of reasons, but I like to think that it’s simply where my thoughts should go.
Driving home from the Willamette Valley the other day I was struck by the beauty of where I am blessed to live. Oregon is incredibly beautiful and on this particular day it was positively shimmering.
The sky was a clear, deep blue with a few white puffy clouds dotting the sky. The vibrant and varied shades of green covered everything from grassy hill to distant mountain. Spring blossoms were like exclamation marks of color. It was late in the afternoon and the low hanging sun cast long, deep shadows making the bright colors pop all the more. As I surveyed the landscape, I asked God, “How can Heaven be more beautiful than this?”
At that very instant, a big juicy bug went SPLAT against my windshield right in my line of sight. I’ve been laughing ever since.
Yes, God. I get it.
My son died 11-27-2006. Today is 5-27-2007. Six months.
I’m not big on anniversaries. I’ve often forgotten my own (Now, now – Tim has too!). I don’t remember most birthdays without the aid of a calendar. And really, I didn’t realize this date until I saw it just moments ago. But half a year has passed, and so quickly.
Nathan’s wife, Lauren, and son, Jack, are leaving in a few days to spend time in Sarajevo, Bosnia. Six months. It seems like so long from this end. Really it’s just a blink.
Six months to retrieve the boat. The small fishing boat that capsized and sank, throwing Nathan and Matt into the cold water. The water wasn’t so cold this time. It was stormy and murky six months ago. It was still and crystal clear this time.
My husband shared his experience diving and retrieving the boat on his Facebook:
So…we brought the boat home…with much effort and emotional difficulty…but with a sense of peace…and resolution. It seems we have said goodbye a thousand times since Nathan’s death, but once again I am touching things that no one has touched since Nathan touched them and each time is a new goodbye and a new apology for me.But now, its done.
It took six months, but when we were ready God made a way. God continues to make ways for us. His faithfulness and grace continue to overwhelm me. How He has worked through us to minister to the hearts of others amazes me. How He has provided our every need humbles me.
So I’m wondering…what will the next six months bring?
Loss and joy. Grief and laughter. Smiles and tears. I have been deeply amazed at how these things so frequently go together in this season of my life.
Yesterday we, my husband, my daughter, and myself, attended the memorial service for our beloved friend Irma. Our friend and brother Darren lead the service, his low booming “this is God” voice resonating. His love for Irma fueled his passionate telling of her final message to us, “Do all for the glory of God” and “if you are just a Christian, then you’re not doing enough. Live your faith by pouring your life into other people.”
I looked around the room at women who were once strangers and who are now among my most treasured friends. In every case, it was Irma who brought us together in some way. Through bible studies, teas, building friendships. In every case, we were greater women of God because of Irma’s devotion to us. Each is involved more deeply in ministering to the hearts of women because Irma first ministered to us. That is a Godly legacy worthy of a crown, don’t you think?
I have a dear sister, Melinda, whom I had not seen in several years. Circumstances had separated us and I have been missing my friend so much. Periodically I sent notes and cards to her just to let her know, “I’m still here and I will always be your friend.” I hoped that God had directed the timing and those messages had reached her when she most needed to know that there was someone praying for her and loving her, even if from a distance.
I prayed so hard that Melinda would be at the memorial and as the room emptied I saw her across the room. I pointed to her, she pointed to me, and we met in the middle with an embrace of reunion and neither of us could let go. A foretaste, I think, of the reunion we’ll have in Heaven.
For several minutes, as we continually reached for each other and embraced, it was a jumble of grief, joy, tears, laughter, comfort and encouragement. What a gracious answer to prayer to be reunited with my sister.
I shared with Melinda a story from just a few weeks ago. I have felt God leading me to more deeply connect with the women in my church and community. I started a Titus 2 group, part Bible study, part relationship/mentoring. We’re working on beginning a weekly women’s Bible Study. So I’ve been moving in that direction, but I sense that there is more. I confided in my husband that I wanted to be a Melinda. Our church needs a loving, compassionate person at the door, greeting and welcoming. Someone who would be ready with a smile, an embrace, time to talk and pray with whoever walked in. Someone who would be willing to chase people into the parking lot just to make sure they knew they were welcome and appreciated (there’s a story there).
Melinda heard that and said, “you can do so much better” than being like her. She proceeded to tell how she was trying to be a JoDana. Going beyond meeting to more deeply connecting, taking time to build relationship and truly know and be known.
Neither of us knew how deeply we had touched each other nor encouraged one another’s walk of Faith. Both of us acknowledged Irma’s encouragement and empowerment in who we had become as women of God.
And the legacy continues.
I find it curious that in the last month I have described two ministries simply by the names of these two women. In describing the role of mentor, teacher, encourager, what I hoped to be for a group of women, I said I wanted to be an Irma to them. In describing a ministry of hospitality and gracious welcome, I wanted to be a Melinda.
Is our heart, our gifting so obvious that our very name becomes synonymous with the gift? Are we pouring our lives into others’ in such a way that the mention of our name carries with it the legacy of our ministry?
That is what is on my heart these days. I have seen the power of holy legacy in the lives of two amazing, passionate servants of the Most High. I wonder, what will my name be synonymous with? What will yours?
I’m always amazed by how God works. I know I shouldn’t be. If anything He is consistent.
I had the privilege and responsibility today of ministering to a group of grieving women. Their leader, Irma, passed away Sunday and she had asked me to talk to her group about grief, death, and Heaven. There were a lot of tender hearts there today, including my own.
But I love God’s timing and how He miraculously and perfectly arranges people and circumstances. You see there just happened to be a gal visiting from Bandon, OR whose friend just happened to participate in this weekly women’s Bible study. The woman, Cindy, just happened to join her friend’s study, and she just happened to be grieving her own loss – a family member who had recently died. And I just happened to be talking about the very thing that she most needed to hear.
I spent a lot of time with Cindy afterward – sharing, listening, crying, and praying together. Her heart was touched and she was hopeful and encouraged (praise God). What a blessing to me to be in a position to minister to this woman – a stranger who is my sister because we share the same Father. I wouldn’t be in this position had it not been for the suffering and loss God allowed into my own life.
Oh, and she just happens to have a friend in Lincoln City who is looking for a church home and a women’s group to join with. I just happen to know a place.
You can’t tell me that God doesn’t care about the details of our lives or that He took His hands off the controls. Not after a day like today.
I should have known.
It is my moments of tenderheartedness, when the tears are so close to the surface, when I find myself seeking God – listening for His quiet voice in my thoughts – when the lifelong protective toughness gives way to absolute vulnerability, when it happens.
God moves.
Last night we were invited to dinner at our friends down the road. Bobb, our host, was one of the men who saw Nathan and Matt in their distress and raced in a kayak to rescue them. Too late to save our son. Later, it was Bobb who took my husband and kids out on the lake to recover Nathan’s soul-less body. His service and ministry to us that day were immeasurable.
I’d not been to their home in daylight – it gets dark early here in Winter. As I walked across their yard I caught the view – a panorama of the place where my son’s earthly life ended. I touched the boat that carried his body. I stood on the dock where they carried him. I see the lake every day, but I don’t see that spot.
I regret I was not very good company at dinner. The tape of that day played over and over in my mind through the rest of the evening and late into the night.
I awoke early. It gets light early here in Spring. My thoughts instantly turned to my kids. The three oldest got together recently in Texas to visit Nate’s wife and son and to honor him. A foursome that could not be shaken, now like a table missing a leg. And the tears began to flow.
I should have known.
The sermon this morning was about what we consider normal – life on planet earth, United States, West Coast – versus what is Normal – Heaven! Where should our attention be? To what realm does our loyalty and citizenship call us? Heaven. Home. My heart is so deeply entrenched there now and my ties to this earth so tenuous. I love my earthly home, but I would so easily let it go.
Then I received a phone call. My good friend called to tell me our sister in the Lord, Irma Garlick, entered the gates of heaven this morning. My heart rejoiced for her as it broke for her husband and sons. Her body was ravaged by cancer for so many years, her heart was so eager for Home. She is There – whole, ALIVE as never before, experiencing the Joy, Peace, Grace, Love of Home.
I gave her a message to give to my son. We’re so proud of you. We love you. Your son is amazing, your wife is courageous. And we are eager to see you soon.
I’ll be spending the next several Tuesdays ministering to the women of Irma’s Bible study. We’ll be talking about life, death, grief. Mostly we’ll be talking about Heaven and the joy set before us.
When my son died I trusted in God’s promise that He works all things together for good for those who love Him. I believed that even Nathan’s death would result in God being glorified and people’s lives being changed. Anji sought me out after the deaths of her mother, mother-in-law, and father within 3 short months (a non-believer who was seeking comfort and answers). Lauren faced her fears and uncertainties and stepped out boldy in faith. Countless people have stepped up to serve and minister in ways that surprised and emboldened them. My marriage has been made stronger, deeper, more loving and supportive than ever. On and on.
I am grateful that God continues to tenderize my heart. That He breaks me and then blesses me – often at the same time. So I will continue to fall into His arms. I will remind myself often that I don’t need to be tough or strong, just soft and quiet. I need to listen to Him and continually turn my heart toward Home.
