Goodbye, Sweet Girl

Tiny Everleigh went to be with Jesus today. The injuries from the accident were too much for her little body to sustain. Her young momma remains on Earth but is also in the arms of Jesus because He promises to never leave her. Please lift up our family for comfort and peace in the days ahead.

Dancing and Leaping in the Cemetery

It all began innocently enough. My mom asked us to meet her for lunch but first, she needed to tidy up my grandparents' grave site and water the flowers hanging there. Since the cemetery is such a beautiful location, we decided to picnic in the lovely grassy area nearby. Oliver and Emily helped water the flowers and didn't mind dripping a little on themselves as it was a scorcher of a day. Of course, our conversation held memories of my precious Mama and Grampie--memories that brought happiness, in spite of the missing. However, we found more joy than we expected as we chatted in the heat that day.

Oliver had noticed that someone had set up a sprinkler over their family grave stones and we thought that was clever since we'd just traveled with jugs of water from the tap several sites away. He and Emily were sweating from running with the dog and he asked if they could dip their toes in it. No one was around to ask and we figured there was no disrespect in a little cooling off. "Just don't step on the graves themselves--please walk around them," I warned. 

Mom and I were deep in conversation, when we suddenly began to hear squeals of delight and turned toward the sight of Oliver leaping through the sprinkler in his bathing suit! For a moment I wondered how on earth he'd even brought it, but remembered we had the suit in the truck from an earlier swimming visit at a friend's the day before. Somehow, in a minute or two, he'd gotten changed and plunged into that oscillating water! We laughed so hard at that boy! Thankfully, he danced and leaped through the sites and not on them. Bravely, Emily finally joined him and then, my mom :) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting back into that truck dripping cool water instead of sticky sweat meant I drove the half an hour home with happy children. I took photos because my camera is usually with me and I remember things best visually. And this? I needed to lock this one tight in my heart's file of joyful moments. It was a reminder that although there may be sadness in the cemetery for a time, a believer truly finds their hope in the fact that their loved ones are with Jesus and will be met again one day. And for that? Fountains of glee spilling all over those grave stones--especially the one marked: "We are not here, we are with our Saviour." 

Remembering Linda

The sky was cerulean and a light breeze blew through our hair as we stood huddled under the towering oak by Linda's grave. The pastor spoke words of hope and encouraged us to lean into God and each other in the coming days. I glanced around at hands held and bodies close and knew that his exhortation would be an easy continuation for us. Pastor Paul held his Bible open, the source of wisdom for each one of us in attendance, including my dear sister-in-law. He breathed Psalm 46 like it was life--and it was. I lifted my eyes to the playground just beyond the fence where we were posed. It was so still and quiet. The only sound was birdsong, the gentle swishing of leaves above and the occasional sniffle of thankful but grieving family members. The playground... how fitting. Linda was such a playful person. I couldn't remember one family gathering where she wasn't laughing or telling a funny story or someone else was telling of some joke she'd played on an unsuspecting soul. I found out later that others were looking to that playground with these same thoughts.

I wondered how anyone could survive the devastation of cancer and all it robs us of without knowing the loving arms of God surrounding them; the Creator whispering hints of home. I wished there was a person in the park to hear these words of comfort, someone who needed it perhaps even more than we did. Within a minute, a mom with her toddler arrived and quietly played while our tiny ceremony carried on. I couldn't help but think that one precious life had just left this world and that little girl was just entering. I lifted her and her momma up in prayer. 

The pastor concluded with verse 10 of that Psalm and I quoted with him in my mind, "Be still and know that I am God." That's exactly what we were all doing, I was sure. We began to sing the Doxology, and as our voices floated through that lovely cemetery overlooking the playground, we laid astilbe stems on Linda's casket, and I was overwhelmed by how much God was sustaining our family. 

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;    

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. 

We walked back to our vehicles a little sadder, since this part of the day is always the most difficult. Linda knew this and so she made certain in her long notes about her funeral, that we'd end with a celebration, not the burial. Sustaining grace once again.

Not long after, we settled in reserved pews at the front of the church for the service. We took up six rows with the size of our family--blessings in numbers. Several of us from the family sang, "Your Love Never Fails" by Chris Tomlin, on the stage. My brother-in-law, sister-in-law and niece sang, "I Am Not Alone" by Kari Jobe. Linda's siblings shared humorously about growing up with their sister, and her children lovingly related stories of their mother with their dad standing beside them. Those brave, funny and sweet kids drew tears to my eyes. Pastor Paul spoke again and compared our sorrow to that of the storm Jesus' disciples had experienced in their boat. He began to tell of Jesus' power to calm the wind and waves and in that very moment, like a real object lesson straight from heaven, torrential rains pounded the roof of the church. Thunder roared out of nowhere and was suddenly gone as he counseled us to trust the Lord with our lives. Many were moved at the timing of it all. 

Hugs were abundant these past few days. Three well-attended visitations and a funeral later, we'd been squeezed by a lot of caring and prayerful people. More words of wisdom, more faith, more hope, more assurance. As I ravenously gobbled up a sandwich after the service, my eyes feasted on the gift of community lavished on us. I'd married into the Dutch world and it initially took some getting used to. Nearly twenty-one years later, I do nothing but praise God for this hard-working, dependable group who never drop the ball when it comes to love and support. The Lord has rewarded their faithfulness to Him with a strength of spirit and a certainty of His reality. I'm grateful to be one of them, doing my best to dote on my grieving brother-in-law and his children, and my parents-in-law. And more hugs abounding.

I held my girl on my lap and talked about death and hope and the joy of heaven. She understood that the coming days would be the tough ones for Aunt Linda's immediate family... resuming life as usual... kind of. She quite decidedly announced she was going to fast for her cousins so that they would be okay and happy. I told her that was a very loving thing to do for them and that I know God will answer her prayers because that's His desire for them too. And as days turn into years, I will keep the memory of my beautiful sister-in-law alive and remind my children about her hilarious personality and how we loved her. I will tell them how our gracious God granted us four years with her after her initial diagnosis of stage four cancer. And they will remember how God gave them an aunt they'll never forget. 

 Hanging together at the funeral home.

Practicing our song.

Waiting for a cue from Terry, who was playing the piano.

Watching the beautiful video of photos of Linda growing up, getting married, having children and living life.

Linda's two sisters xo

Cousins make everything less difficult.

Linda's two sisters xo

 Saying goodbye.

Rubber chicken on her casket? Yep, her kids knew her well :)

Sibling speech--funny, real, and loving.

 Found a crazy bunch of kids at the funeral :)

Bailey's sweet supporters.

 Post-funeral family time. Always laughing, even through the sadness.

 More amazing family.

 God is sustaining our joy and giving peace. May He be felt among us and through us in the difficult days to come.

(The Scripture that comforted Linda in her last months...)

Jesus said to her, "I am the Resurrection and the Life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die, and whoever lives by believing in Me will never die. Do you believe this?"
John 11:25,26

Thoughts on Easter

I lifted the spoon to her mouth and she smiled. I'd made her some chickpea salad and she approved. I was thankful because besides tucking her into bed and feeding her, I didn't know how else to humanly help her. However, I am grateful that my sister-in-law's Creator cares more for her than any of us in the family do. Her life has been lifted over and over to the Lord in supplication for healing. Now, she is spiritually suspended in prayer because, with the myriad of people who love her, I suspect prayer never ceases on her behalf.

 

This was the first Easter we didn't gather as a family on my husband's side of the family.

***

I got the text early in the morning that my mom's brother had passed away. He'd been in the hospital for over two years and was never quite well enough to make it home to recover. We reunited as a family at the funeral and I was reminded once again how important family is to God. It's the safe place He created for people to feel loved when perhaps they're not finding it in the world. That was Easter weekend.

 

It was the first time my family didn't celebrate with dinner at my Mom's either.  

*** 

My dear friend's eleven year-old daughter lay in the hospital with a tumour in her leg. Seven months of intense chemo and surgeries is what the doctors stated would be her lot. They weren't prepared for the excruciating pain and illness they'd witness in their little Ella, their only child. Mom, Dad and daughter living in a small hospital room for weeks was almost unbearable as the bone had snapped right then and there and she was placed in traction.

 

This year changed everything for this precious family. 

 *** 

I watched as our friend hung on the cross heaving and acting the part of his Lord in our church musical. Knowing it was Steve didn't deter me from the powerful reminder of the torture Jesus endured for my forgiveness and how He was resurrected to give me eternal life. Easter lives in my heart daily. It's not a weekend, it's not a dinner, it's not even family. I am alive and free because of Jesus. I am forgiven and can face all my tomorrows because of His great love. Easter didn't happen for us on the traditional day it's set for, but that doesn't matter. My uncle's recent passing to his eternal home, my sister-in-law's life, and little Ella's future are all in the adoring hands of their Saviour. Easter makes hope possible. It makes joy possible in the midst of sorrow. Easter makes suffering bearable because it is short-lived. This does not minimize pain or struggle, nor does it mean God doesn't heal. But, it allows me to believe that because there's so much more to life than this tiny planet and this finite amount of time, I can rest in knowing Easter makes all the difference.

Gratitude:

  



1791. getting together the following week and her hiding places for eggs :)

1792. blonde beauties

1793. scouring for eggs together

1794. how these two still snuggle their big kids

1795. family friendships

1796. her faithfulness in visiting her brother before he passed away

1797. shaking and doing whatever one can to get the eggs

1798. the way he's always interested in the kids and what they have to say

1799. never too big for an egg hunt

1800. how she's kept that basket for about 9 years!

1801. teaching little ones to collect

1802. his love for toddlers and babies

1803. catching a sharing moment?

1804. the way they had the whole place combed in a matter of minutes

1805. stealth mode 

1806. for pretty spring cakes (my mom asked for it :)

1807. how it only took about 5 attempts to get a photo with everyone looking and smiling

1808. for hope and joy in the midst of trying times

Loss and Hope

The ice storm blew in with a fury the day after a tiny woman lay in a hospital bed curled like a delicate leaf. Branches cracked and broke and we mourned the loss of our ancient, prized trees, stripped of their glory and strength. She, hunched with bony limbs, lost her dignity and vigour as a blizzard of  pneumonia and weakness assaulted her one hundred year-old mind and body. We gazed out the window, powerless to stop the death of our landscape's privacy, pride and beauty. And the lovely, wise and kind woman who had nurtured many, breathed her last and we were powerless to keep her with us.

We had held her hands in that cramped room and wept over her attempt to rise up out of that bed in her discomfort. Our precious Oma faded rapidly and it was so difficult to watch as she had just squeezed us and called us by name with a smile a couple months earlier at her birthday party. I surveyed the fallen trees and couldn't push away the blast of comparison between my missing boughs and her absence.

Our trees remained encased in ice for days, and Oma was encased for burial. My husband dragged away branches and cleared the ground to evaluate the damage. He shook his head as he stood in the doorway in his clompy rubber boots, and pulled off his gloves. It seemed there was irrevocable damage and there'd be a great deficiency after the ice melted. I thought about my mother-in-law and her siblings who'd face the deficit of their mom.

 

A power outage hit far and wide--the shutting down of life in many respects--and a couple of days later (Christmas Eve Day) we stood around Opa's nearly twenty year-old grave. We sang, Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow as we lowered Oma next to her husband. Another branch cracked above me and I heard a crow caw in the distance--lonely, cold, empty sounds that reverberated how we'll feel the loss of her. My little boy looked up at me with brimming eyes and I fought my own in the minus twelve degree temperature.

 

"Now I have officially lost all of my grandparents," my husband sadly whispered.

 

Across the crowd of family, my father-in-law's tears flowed like ice thawing after the proper niceties of the earlier family greeting time. Mom, wiped her own as they lingered a moment by the graves. All at once, I missed my Mama and Grampie and thought that the world really needs them and Oma. I pined to my husband that I needed the sun to see the goodness of all this death. What I really needed was the Son.

 

  

 

 

   

  

But then, the sun did come out and just as cousins, aunts, uncles and caring friends had encouraged, "She's finally home", the weather agreed with this truth and suddenly, the cold, cocooning, life-binding ice morphed into crystals and diamonds strung from the tips of limbs like costly jewelry. Hope was renewed and moods were improved. Although we knew all along that Oma's death was welcomed by her, the previous day's power outage and searching for candles and sadness over her passing was replaced by an awe of the elegance around us. Instead of feeling a lack and dropping our heads at what was lost on the ground (and in the ground), we were forced to lift our eyes upward at the sparkling beauty that comes after the tempestuous tearing away. Our Oma is dazzling in the light of Jesus who has taken her by the hands and lifted her up out of that bed and into His glorious presence. What is left behind is a family that is a little closer to the knowledge of how precious the death of His saint is in His eyes.

 

The twig above me dripped with the thawing. I snapped pictures and smiled as I imagined the warmth of heaven and how Oma will never again experience a cold world. She said she wanted to be home for Christmas and her prayer was answered. As we celebrated Jesus coming as a baby to earth, she celebrated meeting Him face to face. More ice slipped into water droplets and new hope defrosted my heart. 

 

 

Farewell, sweet Oma, until we meet again.