(I have several posts that didn’t get published before we left on a quick trip to Ohio. This was written a week ago – and isn’t exactly edited like I would like, but I do want to get it out because I have another story about a toothpick and a visit to Urgent Care!)
It’s been a rather tough week for this Delaware Grammy. In addition to looking like a zombie, I have this chest cold that causes me to cough and cough. Apparently, I pulled a muscle or dislocated a rib when I fell. In case you didn’t know, these two maladies do not mix well. There have been days when I’ve been clutching my side, stifling the cough and wishing for a rib belt or a girdle or something! I’m not sure it would help, but at least I would be doing something. Thankfully, the protest is subsiding somewhat, but the cough continues.
There has been grief this week. Around 1980, a family came to our church in Plain City. They lived at Dayton, Ohio at the time, and Certain Man and I decided that, rather than have them trek the 60 miles back after church and then miss the evening service, they could crash at our house and if they decided that they wanted to attend the evening service, they more easily could. Paul and Catherine Mast had four children: Iris was 8, Rosie was 6, Cathy was 4, and P.J. was 2, and many were the Sunday afternoons that our children played together. We moved away in 1983, but I watched from afar as Iris married the handsome young man we knew as Archie (Arthur Lyndaker) and they moved to Red Lake, Ontario, Canada where Arthur headed up the AquaChink Wilderness training camp, and Iris helped out wherever she could. She and Arthur had five children, and then several years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer. She fought valiantly and there was a time when, looking on from a distance, it appeared that she had won. But we all know the insidious nature of this disease, and it returned with a vengeance. Last week, Iris went home to be with Jesus. Cancer claimed another body, but her indomitable spirit is with her Savior. I promise you, she is there, whole and more alive than she has ever been. But she was only 50. A beloved wife, daughter, mother, sister, grandma. The Promises are veritable, but right now the loss seems too hard . . . and it’s not even mine to claim!
https://youtu.be/I3OzDBviY-Q?si=PMNR2egeAd22CPb8
We’ve had heartbreak in our out of state family this week. The story isn’t mine to tell, but the hurt sits heavy on my heart with an impact that exceeds the bump on my head and the wrench to my side. “Surely He hath borne our grief and carried our sorrow . . .” This, I believe, This, I claim! For broken dreams, for reversal, for loss, and for decisions made by people I love that have drastic consequences, for family members whose health is compromised through no fault of their own, for surgery on an 11 year old knee, for the prospect of treatment for Ellie’s leg involving lots of discomfort, for fractured marriages and neighbors who grieve.
It’s been more than a bit difficult to live in grateful praise. I’ve not given up, but I’ve had to do some searching.
This past Sunday, (Today’s edit, this would have been September 3rd) as I came out from the Sunday School classroom where I had stopped briefly on my way in, I found a bag on my bench and the familiar writing on the card that is my cousin, Donna’s cheerful trademark. Donna sees to it that the sick and afflicted, the mourners and those who rejoice with new love and new life, all get the most appropriate and creative cards and gifts.
I couldn’t wait to see what the bag held! Listen you people! Donna did a fantastic job of choosing! She knows me pretty well, so I know she pulled from that knowledge to get me what she did, but this hurting heart was instantly feeling better.
Not only are these some of my favorite things, there was another hurt ministered to that Donna had no way of knowing about . . .
On July 4th, through hot and voluminous tears, I had written this to Daniel’s late sister, Lena-
“I broke your cup. It was one of my favorites. My mama always said not to cry over spilt milk. And I’ve made a practice of not grieving over things, but this was the one thing I had of yours that I used almost every day. And I almost never took it off its hook without thinking about a sister-in-law who was beyond special. I miss you so much in these hot summer days that you loved so well. The other day I sliced the first round ripe tomato from our garden for your brother’s scrambled egg sandwich and I wished I could’ve shared it with you. I have made gallons upon gallons of sweet garden tea this year, and I never strip tea leaves and mix up this tea without thinking of our Lena girl who loved garden tea with a passion. Our neighbor cut their hay the other week and the smell wafted over Shady Acres and I remember you driving the tractor for Daniel to get the hay in. The smell of the hay brought those short memories back in ways I could not shake. I’m as committed as I’ve ever been to the fact that our Heavenly Father is the blessed controller of all things, but I still wish you wouldn’t have had to leave so soon . You are forever in our hearts and memories and often in our words as we say things that you would say. We never play a game of Shanghai without recalling your aggressive desire to win. It was one of the places where you really would cut off your nose to spite your face. Thank you for the gift that you’ve given us in so many happy memories that bring laughter and warmth to our days. It’s been three years, but I still sometimes still have to stop and remember that you’re not just off on one of your jaunts. It just seems like maybe , you’ll come in the door with your stuff, and all will be right again.”
But it won’t happen, and I cannot rely on that to set things right again. The memories will linger, as unpredictable as Lena herself, and if, on a hot summer day, I find her lingering in the corners of my heart, I will be glad. She loved us so well . . . and I am grateful.
Delaware Grammy 