Time

It’s December 1st, and I thought it was about time (see what I did there?) to write a little something.

One of the benefits or burdens – I can’t quite decide which – of the retirement lifestyle is that I can’t quite seem to manage my time as well as I’d like. I either get too many things on the calendar (and then forget to check said calendar) or I’m bored out of my mind. When I was working I had a morning routine and pretty much knew exactly how long it took to get ready for work and be on time or even a little early. For the life of me now I can’t seem to get anywhere on time and it bugs me! I hate being late! (My dear husband on the other hand thinks being a minute or two – or five – late is perfectly acceptable. )

So, I’m working on my new normal. You’d think I’d have it down by now. It’s been over a year. *sigh*

The last couple of weeks I’ve spent a good deal of time working on a sermon I’m preaching tomorrow. The text is Matthew 1:1-16 and I’m preaching about the women in Jesus’ genealogy; why they are there and what it means for us. I’ve never been moved to tears by a genealogy before. In fact, (confession) I usually skim or skip them altogether. But the historical record of Jesus’ family is a moving tale of beauty and brokenness. I hope I can communicate the story adequately. I’m trusting the Holy Spirit to work in spite of me.

One of the things that I’ve been reminded of as I’ve studied is the way God views and uses time. There are two Greek words used for our word time; Kairos and Chronos. Kairos basically means “at the proper time” and is not limited to a day on the calendar or a time on the clock; this is how God views time. Chronos is the way we measure time – in minutes, hours, days. While we’re stuck with this limited view of time, God is not. This is a frequent frustration for us humans – particularly Americans. We’re all about productivity and getting things done – on time. God is also at work constantly “getting things done,” only instead of on time (the way we see it) he works IN time.

Tomorrow is the first Sunday of Advent. This week is all about hope. Too often our hopes are limited to the immediate. We want the healing, the freedom, the rescue, the redemption NOW. We’re frustrated with God’s Kairos view of time.

I like what Pastor Tim Keller says about time,

“You cannot judge God by your calendar. God may appear to be slow, but he never forgets His promises. He may seem to be working very slowly or even to be forgetting his promises, but when his promises come true (and they will come true), they always burst the banks of what you imagined.”

As we enter into the Advent season – the season of waiting – let us remember that God’s timing is always perfect. Galatians 4:4-5 says, “But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children.”

One day we too will be free from the constraints of time (Chronos.) We’ll be able to see how God was at work even in our darkest and most painful and confusing moments. In the meantime we’re learning to trust his timing. One of my favorite worship choruses says,

I will look up for there is none above You,
I will bow down to tell You that I need You,
Jesus, Lord of all.

I will look back and see that You are faithful,
I’ll look ahead believing You are able,
Jesus, Lord of all.
JASON INGRAM, MATT REDMAN, WADE JOYE, MACK DONALD III BROCK, CHRISTOPHER JOEL BROWN

You can trust His timing.

Late Summer

I’ve got a peach cobbler in the oven, and my favorite candle burning. It just feels right. No, I’m not anxious for summer to bid us farewell. I know our Pacific Northwest weather well enough to know that though it feels a bit fall-ish today, summer will flirt with us for at least another four weeks. This little respite of cooler weather and rain cleared the smoky skies and gave the firefighters a little help with the forest fires that have ravaged our region for the last few weeks.. Feeling really thankful that the top news story this week hasn’t been about terrible air quality. I stepped outside one morning this week and took a deep breath of the clean, rain-washed air and thanked Jesus out loud right there where my camping neighbors could hear me and everything.

I loved summer when my kids were in school. For us it was the best of times. Dad was home, the schedule was laid back and flexible. Neighbor kids in and out of each other’s houses and yards nearly every day. Kick the can till dark, then dark hide ‘n seek after that until somebody’s mom finally said, enough. Swim lessons. Camping. I don’t remember feeling particularly anxious for the kids to go back to school and get out of my hair, although I do remember some pool dates and lunches with friends to celebrate the first day of school.

Late summer to me is about abundance. Peeling peaches so ripe that the juice runs down your arm. Blackberries warm and sweet right off those out-of-control vines. New crop apples, crisp and juicy. Tender, sweet corn on the cob. New school clothes. Freshly sharpened pencils. New boxes of crayons, new backpacks, note books and packages of college-ruled paper. Fresh hair cuts. The excitement and anxiety of a new school year. June, July, and August are good, but September brings a fresh start. To me it almost feels more like the New Year than January.

In many ways my life feels more like late summer than autumn. Though there is a hint of change in the air, everything seems ripe and sweet and good. And I’m thankful.

For as long as Earth lasts,
        planting and harvest, cold and heat,
    Summer and winter, day and night
        will never stop.
Genesis 8:22

Time

My original plan for this blog was to post twice a week. I even had a list of subjects and some rough drafts in the pipe so I could stay on top of it. Yeah, you can see how well that has worked out.

I haven’t written anything except in my private journal for weeks. There are lots of contributing factors – laziness and insecurity top the list. But there is another, better reason: time. Specifically, time spent with family and friends.

I think my last blog post was the week before Memorial Day. Since then we spent a couple of days at the Great Wolf Lodge

drove south 6 hours to celebrate my brother-in-law’s retirement,

came home and packed to go 7 hours the other direction to spend two weeks with friends in NE Washington while my husband painted their house and cabin.

Those two weeks I was mostly without internet access, so I wasn’t even on social media much. (Which by the way was a blessing.) Instead, I hung out with my friend and enjoyed a little farm life.

We came “home” (Home is wherever we park our trailer – for now that’s in Lewis County.) to appointments and more paint jobs for David. I spent the next two weeks playing with grandkids, taking a hike, helping out at a musical theater camp and enjoying the weather. Since my last blog there have been two wedding anniversaries, one birthday and baby girl learned to crawl. 🙂

Retirement has forced me to think about time in a different way. It’s easy to lose track of even what day of the week it is. Time can just slip by while I read or watch a movie. On the other hand, I can go to lunch or dinner with a friend and not be continuously watching the clock. Time doesn’t always equal “productivity” now. Instead, time is an investment in savoring relationships, in reveling in nature, in being “in the moment.” It’s one of the things I love most about this stage of life. So, forgive me if I don’t “produce” one or two blogs a week, or a month, I’m probably out spending time on what matters most to me.

While we were on our little Eastern Washington sabbatical, we watched the 1994 movie, I.Q. starring Meg Ryan and Walter Mathau. It’s one of our favorites. There is a scene where Edward (the romantic hero in the story) meets Katharine’s (the girl he’s in love with) uncle (who happens to be Albert Einstein) and his three brilliant friends. Einstein’s friends are having this existential argument about time, so they ask Edward, “So young man, do you think time exists?” Edward proceeds to tell about a story he read in Popular Science Magazine about twin brothers. One brother traveled in a space ship into space at the speed of light. The other brother stayed on earth. The astronaut brother returns years later and is still young while his brother is now an old man. Edward asks, “Which one do you think is happier?” The scientists all agree that the young brother must be happiest. Edwards says, “No. It’s the one who stayed on earth.” He goes on to explain, “The twin who stayed has had a full life and he’s had experiences and love and pain and he has a family and friends, and the one who left – well – time has just passed.” (If you want, you can watch the clip. The part I like starts at about :50 and goes to 1:47)

I don’t know about you, but I want to really live the remaining time that I’ve been given, I don’t want time to just pass.

For everything there is a season,
    a time for every activity under heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.
Ecclesiastes 3:11

 

 

 

I’m Sticking With Jesus

I’ve half written a couple of blogs this week, but can’t finish them right now. My mind has been too preoccupied with news items from the Church world. Let’s just say the last few days (weeks, months, years…) in many ways haven’t been our brightest and best. If you are unaware of some of the drama of recent days, I’m not going to give any details except to say, we’re a mess. We’re as divided as our country. We’re riddled with sinful actions and attitudes which we have justified, excused, covered up, glossed over and dismissed as “not that bad.” We’ve rushed to reconciliation and restoration when there has been no repentance. We’ve traded political power for compassion for the weak and oppressed, and justice for those who have been wronged. Some of you might be saying, “So, what else is new?” I might be tempted to agree with you. Except…

Jesus.

When I read the Gospels and when I read the rest of the Bible through the lens of Jesus, I have hope for the Church He started. I have hope not only because of what I read or what I believe to the core of my being, but because every day I see Jesus walking around in this dark world, in our country and in my neighborhood through ordinary, imperfect people. Jesus is still at work on this tired and broken old planet.

That’s why I’m sticking with Jesus. I’m trying as best I can to keep my nose pointed right between His shoulder blades and following so close the dust of His sandals is all over me. I get off track. I read too much Twitter and listen to too many “experts” and then I wake up and come back to simply following Jesus and loving the people He puts in my path as best I can.

I love what Bob Goff had to say about this in a recent podcast.

“…we’re all amateurs at this and we’re trying to make our way forward. We’re trying to not just listen for loud voices, but listen for true voices. And say hey, at the same time, I’m not gonna say truth is this variable, but I think we’re looking at eternity through a knot hole, and we’re reporting back as accurately as we can everything we see, but I have to continue to remind myself I’m looking through a knot hole. I think I’m seeing all of it, and I’m indeed seeing 100% of everything I can see, but it ain’t much.

So, that just causes me to be just a little bit more humble. When I’m having an opinion that I want to tell God about, He keeps asking about my heart.”

So, how’s your heart? For that matter, how’s mine?

Oh, I can hear the “Ya-buts” coming. I know them. I’ve said them. You go right ahead and “Ya-but” yourself to death.

I’m sticking with Jesus.

The Incomparable Value of Friendship

People give me a bad time about the number of “friends” I have on Facebook. OK, we all know that in Facebook world, “friend” can have a different meaning than it does IRL. (In Real Life)  My IRL friends list is significantly smaller than my Facebook list – or maybe I should say it is different. One of the blessings of living in a small town for most of my life is that I do have a lot of IRL friends. Many of those Facebook “friends” are really more acquaintances, or associations than true friends. However, I have to say, some of my Facebook friends have become very dear to me, though we have never met in person. IRL friends come first, but I try not to discount the Facebook “friend” thing too much.

I love people and love to make new friends and deepen old friendships. Maybe you remember (if you’re old like me) the grade school song,

“Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.”

Friends old and new are priceless treasures and the time and space to spend quantity and quality time with friends is one of the best parts of growing older. I had to laugh at a recently retired couple when the wife remarked, “He’s always going to lunch, or golfing with his friends these days. I didn’t even know he HAD friends!” When you’re working 40+ hours a week, it’s hard to dedicate much time to friendships.

Floating the Kettle River with two of my dearest, long-time friends. Girlfriend get-a-ways are a priority for me!

True friends are often the ones who have been with you for the long haul. I’m blessed to have a circle of friends that have been a huge part of my life for 30+ years. We’ve laughed (a LOT), and cried (more than a few times) and we have a storehouse of memories of all our adventures together. We’ve had misunderstandings and offenses, we’ve disagreed and asked for and received forgiveness. I have counted on these friends to hold my confidences, tell me when I’m being a baby or a jerk and love me at my best and my worst. I am thankful.

When I think of true friendship, I can’t help but think of the men and women who were in the circle of friends my parents shared. Watching these friendships gave me not only an appreciation for the value of friendship, but a front row seat on how to do it well. Most of those dear friends are having a grand time in heaven right now, but I love getting to hug and talk to the few (fewer every day it seems) who remain. Each time I get to be with one of them, we share treasured memories of picnics and after church “fellowship.” We talk of baby showers and birthday parties and weddings and graduations. We hold the departed friends in sacred memory and are thankful for the years and memories that hold us together.

Loneliness and social isolation can be a major factor in the deterioration of physical and mental health as we age. Although I believe friendship in marriage is important – my hubby/friend and I are having a blast on our retirement adventures – the sad statistic is that one of us will probably go on to our reward before the other. It’s important to keep cultivating healthy friendships outside the marriage relationship, too. Friendship is always valuable and always important, but maybe even more so as we age.

“In general, the role of friendship in our lives isn’t terribly well appreciated,” said Rebecca G. Adams, a professor of sociology at the University of North Carolina, Greensboro. “There is just scads of stuff on families and marriage, but very little on friendship. It baffles me. Friendship has a bigger impact on our psychological well-being than family relationships.”

So make new friends, treasure old friends, and work at cultivating true friendship, in real life. You’ll be happier and healthier. And who knows? You may even live longer!

The seeds of good deeds become a tree of life;
    a wise person wins friends. Proverbs 11:30

A friend is always loyal,
    and a brother is born to help in time of need. Proverbs 17:17

The heartfelt counsel of a friend
    is as sweet as perfume and incense. Proverbs 27:9

 

 

Once a Mama…

A couple of years ago I actually thought about starting a blog with this title and focus. It seems there are 21 zillion “Mommy Blogs” out there that are geared toward the young mom in the trenches, but there’s not much out there for the rest of us. We may not be changing diapers or dealing with the terrible twos; we’re not fighting homework battles or adolescent attitudes. We’re not anxiously watching them go out the door to kindergarten or high school or their first date or college and wondering if we’ve taught them enough, given them enough, loved them enough.

Scratch that last part. We still wonder that. We are still the Mamas, and you know what they say, “Once a Mama – always a Mama.”

It’s Mother’s Day weekend. I’m thinking about my own dear Mama who has been gone since 2004 and how she “mothered” us till the day she died.  She didn’t know any other way to be. I’ll confess, as an adult, I sometimes rolled my eyes or even resented her mothering. Though her mothering felt a little embarrassing at times, there were many more times that it was invaluable. I sought her advice on how to cook a turkey, and how to get a stain out of a white shirt. She taught me how to make the flakiest pie crust and the most delicious buttermilk pancakes. I asked her how she “knew” everything we were doing when we were teenagers, but only spoke up when she felt it absolutely necessary. I took mental notes on how she loved our Dad and how to be an excellent Grandmother. Some things I needed to know right away and some things I tucked away for future reference. For sure I wish now I’d asked more questions and watched more carefully. I think I miss her more with every passing year. I wish I’d asked her how to be a better Mama at this stage of the game.

You’ve probably read the children’s book, “I’ll Love You Forever.” (If you haven’t, you should!) Even though it’s unrealistic, (and a little creepy) with Mom driving across town with a ladder strapped to the top of her car to climb in her grown son’s window to rock him and sing to him, the sentiment is real. “As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be…”

My own four babies have grown and flown and have babies of their own, and though I don’t have the hands-on privilege of mothering now, I’m still their Mama – and it will always be so. As much as I know that being a young mom is a difficult job, there are things about mothering at my stage of life that are harder. When your kids are young, you have a modicum of control over their choices and behaviors.  When they are adults you have none. Not one tiny bit. You have no control, but you still feel responsible. You want to pat yourself on the back for the great job you did as a mom when they make wise choices and “succeed,”  and and you want to blame yourself when they don’t. You feel when they are doing well and you feel every heartbreak, slight and disappointment. No matter how old your kids are, you still feel like a mother. Like it or not, your job as Mama changes. You get to advise and warn, but they don’t have to take your advice or warning. You get to encourage and support, and you get to – in fact you’d better – pray. Always. It’s not just the only thing you can do at this stage, it’s the best thing you can do.

I’ve never liked the analogy of “cutting the apron strings.” A wise friend once said, “Never cut what you can untie.” I think that’s a much better way of looking at it. And don’t put away the apron, Mama – leave it on with that tie hanging within reach, just in case those grown up babies lose their way – or their minds – for a time and need something sure to hang on to. Because, once a Mama, always a Mama.

 

Listen to your father, who gave you life,
    and don’t despise your mother when she is old.

So give your father and mother joy!
    May she who gave you birth be happy.

Proverbs 23:23 & 25

The Baton

 

Last week, I attended our church’s annual conference for its ministers. It’s one of my favorite events of the year. I always come away inspired and challenged and thankful to be part of the Assemblies of God ministerial family. Conference really is like a family reunion – a family that I’ve chosen and so glad I did.

This year;s conference was especially meaningful. Two things aligned that have made me particularly thankful for the faithfulness of God in my life.

Annual Conference includes inspiring worship services and challenging messages, relevant workshops for church leaders, and a business meeting – elections, by-laws revisions, reports and such. But two of my favorite parts of Conference happen on the last day.

Each year on the last day of Conference there is a memorial service to honor the ministers and their spouses who have passed on during the previous year. There are pictures and brief histories and tributes to the men and women who have given their lives in service to Christ and his church. This year, two of the Pastors from my home church were honored in this service; Pastor Robert Beckman who was my pastor when I was a little girl, and Pastor Don Brown who led our church when I was a young wife and mom and who eventually hired me as worship pastor and encouraged me to work towards ministerial credentials.

Pastor Brown became the pastor of Bethel Church (the church I’ve been a member of my whole life) in the summer of 1976. David and I had been married just two years and were expecting our first child. Pastor Brown and his dear wife Glenda pastored Bethel Church for the next 14 years. Pastor Brown dedicated each of our four children and baptized the two oldest. He was a man of great vision, passion and energy. He became a mentor and friend and had a profound impact in the life of our family during some very formative years.

The other favorite part of Annual Conference for me is the Ordination service. Ordination is the public affirmation of the call of God on the life of a minister. Ministers must be licensed and actively involved in ministry for at least two years prior to ordination. It is a service that is both solemn and celebratory. This year our youngest son was ordained.

Proud parents (and grandparents!) at Nathanael’s ordination.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that the memory of Pastor Don Brown’s life and ministry was celebrated on the same day that Nathanael was ordained, or that Nathanael is now an associate pastor at the church – the church where he was nurtured in the faith as a child – that Pastor Brown led with such vision and passion.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. I can’t think of a better village to help raise children than a healthy, vibrant, community-minded, gospel-centered church. I’m thankful for my church; for faithful pastors, Sunday School teachers, children and youth pastors, camp counselors and a great big wonderful spiritual family who affirmed, corrected, led and loved my kids alongside their Dad and me. Don Brown was one of those important people who faithfully ran his race and has passed the baton on to the next generation. We should be mindful that one day we will do the same.

Preach the word of God. Be prepared, whether the time is favorable or not. Patiently correct, rebuke, and encourage your people with good teaching.
2 Timothy 4:2

As for me, my life has already been poured out as an offering to God. the time of my death is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.
2 Timothy 4:6-7

 

Move It!

In January of 2017 I made the decision to get my body back under control. My weight had ballooned past my highest pregnancy weight by at least 15 pounds. My joints hurt, my feet hurt, I was tired, I hated the way I looked, I was uncomfortable in my too-tight pants but too proud to go up another size…or two. I wanted to  play and run with my grandkids, I knew we were looking at retirement and the thought of David (my husband of 43 years) going off on hikes while I sat in our trailer or some coffee shop was not appealing to me.

I’ve never been an athletic person. I tried running. Hated it. (I never achieved anything close to a “runner’s high.”) I did join a gym and went to a Rep Reebok class faithfully for a couple of years, and when I moved to Longview, I joined Planet Fitness. But gradually,  getting up and getting dressed and driving to the gym gave way to sleeping in or being too tired after work, or some other excuse. I wasn’t going to the gym and I’m just too cheap to pay the membership for nothing – even if it was only $10 a month.

The weight loss program I chose was mostly about retraining my brain and my habits related to food and did not include exercise. In fact, the program discouraged strenuous exercise at first because of the reduced calorie intake required by the program. I was OK with that because I didn’t feel like doing anything anyway.

As the weight came off, my energy gradually returned and I tried a few different activities to start regaining some strength. One of the side affects of being overweight and inactive for the last few years was a significant loss of muscle tone and what was left after the weight came off was, let’s just say, less than attractive flabby skin. It was like I woke up one day in my Grandmother’s skin. Eew. I knew I had to do something.

I can’t count the number of exercise videos and DVDs I’ve purchased over the years. I just can’t stick with them for any length of time. I did try one that was recommended by a friend, and I liked the exercises, but the way the instructor talked all the way through it drove me crazy. During the summer months I swam and walked as much as I could. It was gratifying to be able to walk without being out of breath and to feel some strength returning.

But then the weather changed. And Halloween. And Thanksgiving. And Christmas. By the time we left for our trip in January, I was up about eight pounds and feeling really disgusted with myself. I went back to my eating program and when David wanted to go for a walk or a hike, I went, too. Rain or shine. To my relief, the weight came back off.

Then we went to Disneyland for a couple of days.  Even though I wore good shoes, by the end of the first day, my right hip was hurting. By the end of the second day it was killing me. We did do a lot of walking, and I don’t know for sure what caused the pain – maybe it was walking on asphalt – but I knew I had to do something or I was going to be limited to short walks or no walks for the rest of the trip. Not good.

I started researching exercises for hip pain. (Pinterest is a veritable wealth of resources.) I found several sites with stretching and strengthening exercises for hip pain. Among them were some yoga moves. I did a little research and found that yoga is wonderful for older adults (I’m coming to terms with that description…) to help gain strength, balance and flexibility.

Since February I’ve been turning on Pandora to my Classical Relaxation, Keith & Kristyn Getty, or Sara Groves stations and doing stretches at least 3 times a week. I don’t “empty my mind” or chant , but I do pray and breathe and thank God for a body that will move and recover and let me do the things I was made to do.

I began to notice that on the days I did 30 minutes of stretching before we took one of our hikes, I was able to walk without pain. If I didn’t – I felt it almost immediately. That pretty well convinced me that the yoga stretches and positions were working! Since then I feel stronger and I think my posture is even better!

And hiking. My husband has always loved hiking and I think I finally understand him better. I may have even experienced the “high” from exercise that I’ve heard about all my life. In the last few months I’ve hiked further and more strenuously that I ever thought I could. And – I LOVED it! I can’t wait for the weather to cooperate so we can explore all the trails here in the Pacific Northwest. I might even be tempted to go on a short backpacking trip. I said might…

So here’s my challenge to you — MOVE! Do something. Add a few steps to your day. Make some small changes to your diet – or some big ones. The average life expectancy for a woman in her mid 60s is 86.5 years old. That’s just the average! I’ve got a lot of living yet to do! So do you!

Dear friend, I hope all is well with you and that you are as healthy in body as you are strong in spirit. 3 John 1:2 NLT

So now, may the God of peace make you His own completely and set you apart from the rest. May your spirit, soul, and body be preserved, kept intact and wholly free from any sort of blame at the coming of our Lord Jesus the Anointed. 1 Thessalonians 5:23 VOICE

 

 

Sneaker Waves

A few years back, David and I were spending the day at one of our favorite spots on the Oregon Coast, Hug Point. Hug Point is named because of a rock cliff that juts out, creating a little sheltered beach. When the weather is fine, we like to take our chair and a lunch and our books and just sit in the sunshine and watch the waves. The point provides a wind break. It’s a beautiful spot. When the tide is out, you can walk around the point (or “hug the point”) to see a beautiful little waterfall.

This particular beautiful summer day, the tide was out, so we decided to leave most of our things there on the beach and take the short walk around the point to the waterfall. We were just about to round the point when a sneaker wave hit. Sneaker waves are just about like they sound. The sneak up on you! They don’t look any different from the shore than any of the other waves, but they just keep coming. We made a mad dash back for our things, but the wave got there before we did so we were chasing books and bags and magazines down the beach for a few minutes. Nothing was lost, so it’s kind of a fun memory, but we don’t leave our things on the beach anymore – no matter how far out the tide is.

This isn’t the blog I planned to write today. I actually wrote something else earlier this week, but then Barbara Bush passed away.

Mrs. Bush’s passing has hit me hard. I’ve been weepy every time I’ve thought about it. Her death was a sneaker wave.

When I threw out the idea for this blog on my Facebook page, more than one person said I should write about the grief of losing a parent. In the past five or six months several of my close friends have suffered the death of their mom and/or dad, and the world has lost  the dearly loved and respected Billy Graham and now Barbara Bush. It’s not that these deaths were unexpected – they were all in their eighties and 90nineties – they lived long, full lives. Many of them had been suffering with illness in their body or their mind. We didn’t want them to linger in their suffering, we may have even felt their passing was a “blessing,” but it is still so hard to let them go.

My Mom has been gone since 2003 and my Dad since 2014. Barbara Bush was born the same year as my Mom – Billy Graham the same year as my Dad, and that has made their deaths feel more personal somehow. I’ve found myself grieving the death of these famous people in a way that has surprised me. I wouldn’t have said so publicly of course, but I’ve been a little irritated when people acted like they lost their best friend or a family member when someone like Robin Williams or Heath Ledger died. It seems a little overly dramatic to weep and carry on over the death of someone you only knew because they were famous. Yet, here I’ve been this week, swallowing down the lump in my throat and wiping away tears every time I think about Barbara Bush and the Bush family.

Grief is a sneaky thing. You don’t always know what will send you spiraling back into grief until you’re in it up to your neck. Like ocean waves that come up unexpectedly and sweep people out to sea, grief also comes in waves. There is the initial wave of loss, and then years can go by with only gentle memories and an occasional longing for the one you lost. Then something seemingly inconsequential happens and you are engulfed in grief as if the loss were happening now. They say there are seven “stages” of grief, but they are not necessarily sequential and you can and go in and out, and back into the different stages at any time or you may experience entirely different emotions as you grieve.

Grief is the great equalizer. Since life itself is terminal, at one time or another we are all going to have to grieve the death of someone we love. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Live long enough and you will be part of the club – a lifetime member. If your parents make it to old age, it just so happens that the likelihood of losing a parent is greater if you yourself are already in your fifties, or sixties. Consider yourself one of the lucky few if one of your parents is still living when you are in your seventies.

I’m no expert on grief, but I am one of the lifetime members of the grief club. So I say to you, I’m with you. I won’t say “I know how you feel” because everyone grieves a little differently, but I will say you are not alone, and I think there is a small measure of comfort in that. More than that though, for those of us who believe in Jesus, there is hope beyond the grave. 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says,

And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope.

We have hope we will one day see our loved ones again because Jesus promised a place for those who trust him.

Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. John 14: 1-3

Let yourself grieve. You are not alone.

Grieving the Death of a Parent

What to say to a grieving friend

Sandwiched

Gray hair is a crown of glory. Proverbs 16:31

Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him. Psalm 127:3

In 1981, social worker Dorothy Miller coined the term, the “Sandwich Generation” to describe women in their 30s and 40s who were still raising children while caring for aging parents. Since then the term has expanded to include both genders, and the age of the “sandwiched” generation has extended to women (and men) well into their 50s and sometimes beyond.

My Grandma Green – my only living grandparent – lived with us most of my childhood until her death in 1970. In my memory, that was the best thing ever for several reasons: I loved her, she was my ally, we had lots of visits from Aunts, Uncles and cousins, and she made the best pies, cakes, cookies, and cinnamon rolls on the planet. Later, the only comment my Mom had for those years was something like, “DO NOT take me into your home when I get old. Put me in a nursing home!” Evidently Mom’s perspective on having Grandma living with us was different than mine.

My Mom didn’t live long enough for us to have to “care” for her much. Mom was just a few weeks shy of her 79th birthday when she died, and she and Dad pretty much took care of each other without a lot of help from us.

My Dad on the other hand lived to see 93 and was dead-set on living in his own home. He was adamant about NOT going to a nursing home. (Evidently he had a different take on the years Gram Green lived with us as well…) The last few years of his life required a high degree of caregiving; most of which fell to my little sister who moved in to care for him when she still had teenagers at home (at first) and was working full time. My brothers and I were also still working and had kids in high school or college – my oldest brother was/is raising two grandsons. While I know my sister cherishes the time she had with Dad and we all tried our best to relieve the pressure by helping out, the truth is, those years were really hard for my sister. Statistics show that the child closest in proximity to the aging parent is most likely the one who will bear the lion’s share of the care of that parent and that was true in our family’s case. It was a sacrifice on many fronts for my sister and I don’t know if we could ever thank her enough for those sacrifices.

We don’t really want to face our own mortality. When my Mom died, my Dad was a “young” 84 year old. He was strong and healthy, but he was extremely lonely. He and Mom had been married 63 years and none of us realized how much they depended on each other. Dad was lonely, but stubborn. I think in the early years after my sister and her kids moved in with him, he thought he was helping her as much as she was helping him, and there is probably some truth in that. But, as Dad aged and his memory began to slip things got exponentially harder. If he had known the kind of care he ultimately required, I know he would not have been so insistent on staying in his own home. Unfortunately, by the time Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s or dementia, it was too late for him to make voluntary decisions about his care. None of us kids wanted to see him in a nursing home and so we made the best of those last few years, but it would have been so much easier if we had had an advance plan that we knew he had approved for those last five to ten years.

Dad has been gone for a few years now, but the memory of those last few years is still fresh; the sweet times, like when he held his great-grandchildren in his arms, and the not so sweet times that illness and dementia produced.

No doubt about it, many of us will face or have faced the “sandwich” years. In fact, as I’ve been writing this, it has occurred to me that my own kids might be in this situation in just a few years. David is 69 and I’m 62. Our oldest grandchild is 11 and the youngest (so far) is just 6 months. Do the math. Yikes!

It’s important to make a plan, to have that hard conversation about the future – with our parents and with our own kids. (More on this in an upcoming blog.) It’s important to honor our parents, but it is also important to have a plan for self-care so that we don’t lose our own health and sanity during those years.

Have you had a conversation with your parents about their elder care?

Have you had a conversation with your kids about your own later years?

No time like the present!

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life. Psalm 143:8

Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisors they succeed. Proverbs 15:22