“It broke our hearts to lose you, you did not go alone, for part of us went with you, the day God called you home; Our family chain is broken, and nothing seems the same, but as God calls us one by one, the chain will link again.” Thinking back to when Marie went home with Jesus, those words could have expressed part of my feelings. Even though it has been more than a year since she passed into eternity, I miss her tremendously and think of her many times throughout the day. I am so glad to know where she is and some day I will be re-united with her. How about you?  Love, Dad

“Embroidery Of Earth”

August 15, 2011

Our Daily Bread is hosted by Les Lamborn

READ: Isaiah 41:17-20

I will plant in the wilderness the cedar and the acacia tree, the myrtle and the oil tree. —Isaiah 41:19

Near one of the most majestic sites in God’s nature is a botanical garden of awe-inspiring beauty. On the Canadian side of Niagara Falls is the Floral Showhouse. Inside the greenhouse is a vast array of beautiful flowers and exotic plants. In addition to the flora my wife and I observed, something else caught our attention—the wording of a plaque.

It reads: “Enter, friends, and view God’s pleasant handiwork, the embroidery of earth.” What a marvelous way to describe the way our Creator favored this globe with such jaw-dropping beauty!

The “embroidery of earth” includes such far-ranging God-touches as the verdant rainforests of Brazil, the frigid beauty of Arctic Circle glaciers, the flowing wheat fields of the North American plains, and the sweeping reaches of the fertile Serengeti in Africa. These areas, like those described in Isaiah 41, remind us to praise God for His creative handiwork.

Scripture also reminds us that the wonder of individual plants are part of God’s work. From the rose (Isa. 35:1) to the lily (Matt. 6:28) to the myrtle, cypress, and pine (Isa. 41:19-20), God colors our world with a splendorous display of beauty. Enjoy the wonder. And spend some time praising God for the “embroidery of earth.” —Dave Branon

If God’s creation helps you see
What wonders He can do
Then trust the many promises
That He has given you. —D. De Haan

Creation is filled with signs that point to the Creator.

Knitted Together

Posted: 16 Aug 2011 11:01 PM PDT

“You knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Psalm 139:13, NIV

“Knitted together” is how the psalmist described the process of God making man. Not manufactured or mass-produced, but knitted. Each thread of personality tenderly intertwined. Each string of temperament deliberately selected . . .

The Creator, the master weaver, threading together the soul.

Each one different. No two alike. None identical.

Each thread tenderly intertwined, each string deliberately selected, knitted together! Praise God!

August 2, 2011

Our Daily Bread is hosted by Les Lamborn

READ: John 14:1-7

Where I am, there you may be also. —John 14:3

A few years ago I had some tests to screen for cancer, and I was nervous about the outcome. My anxiety was magnified as I thought about the fact that while the medical personnel were well-trained and extremely competent, they were also strangers who had no relationship with me.

After awakening from the anesthesia, however, I heard the beautiful sound of my wife’s voice: “It’s great, Honey. They didn’t find anything.” I looked up at her smiling face and was comforted. I needed the assurance of someone who loved me.

A similar assurance lies ahead for all who have trusted Jesus. Believers can be comforted in knowing that when they wake up in heaven, One who loves them greatly—Jesus—will be there.

The Book of Common Prayer expresses this Christian hope: “After my awakening, [my Redeemer] will raise me up; and in my body I shall see God. I myself shall see, and eyes behold Him who is my friend and not a stranger.”

Do you have trouble facing mortality? Jesus promised to be there when we slip from this world into the next. He said, “Where I am [heaven], there you may be also” (John 14:3). What a comfort for believers to know that after death we will be awakened by a close Friend. —Dennis Fisher

What wonders await us in yonder fair land!
The face of our Savior, the touch of His hand,
No tears and no crying, no sighs or despair,
For Jesus is waiting to welcome us there. —Kerr

To see Jesus will be heaven’s greatest joy

This was so appropriate. Mom experienced this July 16, 2010 early that morning.

In some readings lately, I have been reminded of the Hands of Jesus, hands of incarnation, liberation, inspiration, dedication, salvation, cleansing, healing and making whole. Beautiful, wonderful hands. Then this thought by Max Lucado in his book “He Chose The Nails”, about our asking “where is God?” “We cannot find a place where God is not.”  Then a thought about being independent by Charles Swindoll. “Inevitably, when we stand strong and alone like a steer in a blizzard, looking like we can make it on our own, we easily forget that each life – sustaining beat of our hearts is a gift from God – we’re really not that independent after all. We not only need the Lord, we need each other. That need only intensifies when the barometer of life drops to the bottom of the gauge — when the winds of adversity blow hard against our souls. We cannot make it on our own.” from “Paul: A Man of Grace and Grit”  I want you to know that I really need each of you, and I’m sorry if I have seemed to turn you away. There are many times when I’m really in a fog, but I really need you! Please keep on reaching out in support. Love, Dad

In her 75 years, Mom missed a few birthdays … she probably even forgot her own birthday, at least once or twice.  Nobody’s perfect.  Everyone misses a loved one’s birthday, sometime.

Yesterday was the first 4th of July that Mom missed.  I mean “missed” as in, even if she didn’t celebrate them, she was “there” for them.

She was there for us all, and she knew we’d be here for all of us, when the day came that she would no longer be able to be “there”.  She thought highly of our abilities … maybe too highly.  She may have set a standard that some of us don’t feel capable of living up to, anymore.

I’ve heard, more than once, that Mom was the glue that held our family together.  I tend to think just a bit differently about that.

Glue has many components.  I’d be able to give you a list, if my internet connection were working better … yeah, I’d cheat and look up the components of typical glue on Wikipedia.

I think Mom was an essential element of the glue holding us together.  When glue breaks down over time, as many glues do, the essential elements break down and release their hold — just as Mom did when she released her hold on her earthly life.  She didn’t do so willingly — not exactly.  It’s great to talk of Heaven and her place there being way more fantastic than here, but you can’t tell me there wasn’t some lingering desire in her to stay here, anyway.  That was the essential element binding her to us, and it finally broke down, just as it will for each of us, in time.

Let Me Go

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me, but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
It’s all part of the master plan
A step on the road to home.
When you are lonely and sick at heart
Go the friends we know.
Laugh at all the things we used to do
Miss me, but let me go.

When I am dead my dearest
Sing no sad songs for me
Plant thou no roses at my head
Nor shady cypress tree
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet
And if thou wilt remember
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not fear the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

–Christina Rosetti

I have debated posting this.  There are studies out there that talk about “The widower effect”, saying that spouses who lose their loved ones are at greater risk, even two years out, of dying.  I’m not superstitious, I don’t believe that saying this will have anything more than an emotional effect … but I do worry about that emotional effect.

The sad truth is that Mom is not here with us any more.  This grieves the heart in so many ways, one of which is my great sadness for my Dad.

Tempering that sadness is the fact that Dad seems to be getting along better than I would have guessed.  Yes, he is emotionally frail sometimes; yes, he feels almost beyond tears at the loss of her; yes, he breaks down and cries once in a while, at what would seem the strangest of times.

Yet he has grown.  Let’s not forget, nearly all married men end up with their wives managing the social aspect of the family — married men can be more loners than they realize.  Speaking for myself, I’ve never been good at making friends, and when I married Hazel, I inherited some of her friends — this is a good thing!  My own friends, the ones I consider “real” friends, I can count on two fingers.  I needed the expansion of friendship that marrying Hazel offered.

Dad has recently begun making friends.  He has this really close friend, Harley, who puts up with all his whining, all his bad-hair-days, all his physical shortcomings … yes, this is his dog.  He’s also making human friends, which at times amazes me — I honestly wasn’t sure he had it in him.  He’s reaching out, and I am so glad he’s doing that — he isn’t letting the passage of time simply wash him out to sea, he’s paddling against the current of his comfort zone.  This is tough stuff to do, and I want him to know that I’m proud of him.

Dad, you’re quite an example.  I never realized you were so mature .. guess that’s due to my own lack of maturity.

I don’t quite know how to tie this in with the title of my post, except to say … “Missing you, Mom!” … I think I heard the echo of my own words, off the canyon wall, just now.  Or maybe not.

Certain of Eternity
Day 265

You have heard the cliché “Life is short,” but the words do not impact you until you experience the death of a loved one.

“My mom was fifty-six years old when she was diagnosed with colon cancer,” says Dr. Robert Jeffress. “The doctor said, ‘You have four months to live.’ Because she was a noted personality in Dallas, Texas, several TV stations came out to interview her before her death. They said to her, ‘Mrs. Jeffress, how does it feel to know that your case is terminal, that you are going to die?’

“This is what my mom said on that interview: ‘We’re all terminal. The only difference is some of us realize it and some of us don’t.’”

You understand the hard truth of that so-called cliché. What will you do with this knowledge? Yes, life on earth is short, but life beyond the grave lasts forever. Be certain of your own eternal destination.

“He who believes in the Son [Jesus] has eternal life; but he who does not obey the Son will not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him” (John 3:36 nasb).

Lord Jesus, You are my Lord and Savior. Forgive me for my sins and failures. I yield control of my life to You. Teach me how to live for You. Amen.

One Minute After You Die
Erwin Lutzer

You’ll get solid, biblical answers to some of life’s deepest questions in this book, such as, What will heaven be like? How will heaven differ from life here? Can modern man still believe in hell? How can we prepare for our own final moment? What does the Bible have to say about hell, hades, and purgatory? This easy-to-understand book will help you find answers to these complex questions.

Order from the GriefShare HelpCenter

If You Could See Me Now   by Don Moen

Our prayers have all been answered
I finally arrived
The healing that had been delayed
Has now been realized
No one’s in a hurry
There’s no schedule to keep
We’re all enjoying Jesus
Just sitting at His feet

If you could see me now
I’m walking streets of gold
If you could see me now
I’m standing tall and whole
If you could see me now
You’d know I’ve seen His face
If you could see me now
You’d know the pain’s erased
You wouldn’t want me
To ever leave this place
You could only see me now

My light and temporary trials
Have worked out for my good
To know it brought Him glory
When I misunderstood
Though we’ve had our sorrows
They can never compare
What Jesus has in store for us
No language can share

If you could see me now
I’m walking streets of gold
If you could see me now
I’m standing tall and whole
If you could see me now
You’d know I’ve seen His face
If you could see me now
You’d know the pain’s erased (2)

You wouldn’t want me
To ever leave this perfect place
You could only see me now
You could see me now
You could only see me now

I find it true what she said. God’s Word is real life, and it is always right on target. But, you know that good company always does enrich a meal – I notice it more now than I ever did before, especially since my sweetheart passed into eternity. I really enjoy spending time with any of our family, even spur of the moment get togethers. So, keep me in your lives please. I Love each of you. Dad

I posted a short message on Facebook a while ago, it went something like this:  Minimize your regrets.  If your mom is still around, make sure you tell her how you love her.

Over the past ten months since Mom died, I’ve found that regrets are like waves, at least for me:  the swells, the troughs of big waves, even the receding and advancing tide.

In low moments, my regrets weigh heavily upon me; when I’ve slept well, those regrets recede a bit.  This is completely normal.

What I’m finding nowadays, is that regret is completely normal.  I think that in the long run, having no regrets may be a sign of trouble — I think we’ll always have at least one or two regrets.

Learning to live.  Nobody is perfect; at one time or another, we will do stuff that, later in life, we will regret.  To have no regrets is to have no conscience, or no life.

I guess what I’m saying is:  my regrets are my regrets.  If there is something I can do about them, I will … but if it’s for some reason too late, I’ll forgive myself.

It’s weird how someone, after they’re gone, can continue teaching us stuff, ain’t it?  Thanks Mom!

I know it’s easier to walk away, rather than look it in the eye.  But I have given all that I could take, and now I’ve only habits left to break; tonight I’ll still be lying here, surrounded in all the light.  — Dream Theater