Three Hundred Thirty Days

    Yes. It has been three-hundred thirty days today since we each said “I do”. Is life just as magical as it was since the first hundred days? Yes. 

Instead of celebrating yearly anniversary dates—we’ve only had one so far—our first date, we celebrate days! It might be our tenth month anniversary of our wedding. It might be the first time we said “I love you” to each other. It doesn’t matter. It’s that we’re together in the now.

Are there times when little nigglings of fear creep into each of our thoughts? Yes! But we openly speak of it rather than stuffing it down into our subconscious. We pray that God will grant us many years together. But we know each of our lives are in God’s hands, not ours. We must trust in the God who loves us more than we love each other or ourselves. So we do just that. We trust. 

We both know the awfulness of death and separation from a loved one. We both know the precious comfort of our Lord and Savior, Jesus to be ever-present in the worst possible times of loss. 

We say goodnight to each other as we drift off to sleep. “See you in the morning.” Jim will say.

I say. “You better be here!” in a teasing voice, yet serious about that admonition.

Jim still wants to make me a perfect cup of coffee and each morning when I take my first sip, he asks, “How’s the coffee?” If I don’t say it’s perfect, he will muse how he can make it better.

Three-hundred thirty days. Thank you God, for bringing Jim into my life! He is perfect for me and I believe Your choice for me. At this time. On this day. Until You bring each of us home to You. We will enjoy the time we have together. 

Happy 330th day, sweetheart!

Mountain Climbs and Other Thoughts

It has been just over a year I made my eleventh climb up Mt. St. Helens. Ten times I summited with my late husband, Bill. This time, my special climbing partner was someone new. Jim.

In the past, Bill was always the leader for the climb and was gifted in leading many expeditions. He made sure everyone was as safe as could be. Last year, our climb leader had a very different leading style than Bill's. We were pretty much on our own. At one point, we got off the trail and found ourselves among even larger rocks and cliffs. We soon found our way back and the rest of the climb up was uneventful. At the top my daughter, Erika and her two sons, Andrew, age 14 and Caleb nearly 13 were waiting for us. We snapped our cameras marking the day. Ate our lunches and rested, knowing soon we would need to start our descent.

Going down is really almost more difficult that going up. Your quads are shaky and tired. Your ankles are wobbly from the constant balancing that must be done to battle against gravity and the rocky ground. While we all started down at the same time, Erika, Andrew and Caleb got ahead of us and soon it was just Jim and I.

When descending, I was in front and at one point, I heard a gasp and a loud thump. Jim was on a narrow ridge and he turned around, forgetting his back pack added extra bulk and the pack hit the rock wall beside the trail. Jim lost his balance and fell six feet to some rocks below. We sat for a few minutes and I silently prayed Jim was not seriously injured. After a few minutes rest, he seemed better and we continued our slow climb down. Later, he told me he had a dinner plate sized purple bruise on his backside to prove it was a substantial fall.

It was early evening when we arrived at the climber's bivouac. The warm fall day turned into a chilly, fall evening. We were grateful for the warm car and plans for a hot bath to soothe tired muscles and a good hot dinner before bed.

I've been thinking about that climb which took place just over a year ago. I realize life is similar to mountain climbs. There are the wonderful exhilarating sights at the top. There are long days slogging up to the summit. Just as in life, we experience wonderful highlights as well as lots of dull trudging up the trail and hard work. Sometimes we feel like we're all alone. Like when Jim and I were off track and he fell. Other times, we have excellent leadership and in life we truly sense God's presence and comfort.

Shouldn't life just be easy and trouble free? That might be what we'd like. Or would we? It's those hard times that we truly depend on God to help us through the rough patches. And make us stronger. The rocky slopes. The loss of balance and mishaps that happen to everyone. I'm glad I have those experiences to look back on. They remind me when life is not so easy who I can depend on. The good times are the times we can bask in the sunlight and just enjoy, knowing it won't always be.

Right now, life is good. But I don't  know what's around the corner and will trust in my Savior to be my guide--whether the climb is easy and uneventful. Or difficult where we feel alone. I'm so glad my life--and the events surrounding my life--are in my Savior's hand. He is there in the highs and lows. May you, too, sense the loving Savior--at the top of the mountain. And the trudge back down.

Jim and Shirley at the summit

On top with Andrew, Jim, Shirley, Erika, Caleb

Another view of Mt. Adams

Traveling. With a partner. So much better!

I've traveled a lot in the past five years. With my late husband, Blair. Sometimes with a friend--or two. Sometimes alone. Since Jim and I married just ten months ago, we've traveled together. I like this way the best.

Here's why it's better:
In the airport, there's luggage and bags to leave while you go to the restroom.
There's a partner to hold your stuff while you get your pass, your ticket, your water, your food.
There's someone else to spot the signs--gate numbers, street signs, restaurants.
Someone to hold your hand on take offs and landings.

It's a whole new adventure to share with someone who loves you. Today, we used the metro in Washington DC for the third day and felt so very confident. We trundled our luggage onto the fast moving train, looked for the Amtrak signs and got in line. "There's track 26 to New York." I said to Jim. While waiting in line, I saw a young college student, a retired woman traveling to Connecticut, a Hasidic Jew with a large black hat and side curls. A tall African American who looked like he was a basketball player.

Seeing Washington DC for the third time has been even more meaningful. We viewed the actual Constitution, Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights. We observed the US Navy's celebration of their birthday--October 9--with a moving color guard, a fervent prayer, and a laying of a wreath for missing sailors who gave their lives for our country. We visited the Pentagon and the 9-11 Memorial. It was sobering to see the benches for each person--184--who died that terrible day. The benches were divided by the year each person was born. The dates ranged from 1930 to the youngest, 1998. It was humbling to see.

There was so much more....Now we're on our way to New York City. I'm excited and a little nervous about visiting the Big Apple. But I won't be alone. You see, I have my partner, my lover, my husband. I am grateful.

Dear Mama, Happy Birthday!

Dear Mama,
It's October 3rd today and time to send you a letter. Oh, I know you don't live here on earth anymore. No, you're in heaven, experiencing much joy. But selfishly, I miss you! I want to tell you the news. You've been freed from your body and were escorted to your heavenly home nearly four years now. I remember that day.....

“I’m sorry. She’s gone.” The caregiver told me. I followed him to my mother’s room. There she was in the chair. Head back. Eyes closed. Mouth open. She could have been asleep but for the stillness of her body. No more quiet, rhythmic movement of her hand that had been affected by the Parkinson’s disease. Her chest was still. She was now breathing heavenly air. The verse ran through my mind. 

Precious in His eyes is the homecoming of the saints.

Rose was home. To her eternal one. She had been content to be here on earth those 93 years....

Thirteen days earlier, she seemed to be signing out. She wasn’t planning her days anymore. She graciously allowed others to decide for her. She dutifully opened her mouth to take in food she was urged to eat. She sat in the recliner in the sitting area with the other residents, the big screen TV blasting loudly. Most of the residents couldn’t hear very well. Mom could, though. 

Canned laughter spilled from the television. A situation comedy was playing. The dialogue was embarrassing for me to hear with my mother there. We didn’t talk about those things so frankly and openly. I was frustrated with the choice of programs.

“Can’t we put something else on”? I asked the Russian caregiver. “I think they’d enjoy something besides this program.”

“Ve let the patients pick their own program.” She said in broken english. That frustrated me, for they most likely couldn’t see the remote control to change the channel or didn’t know how. It’s hard to communicate with someone who is not familiar with the english language. I was grateful for the kind care my mother received, but this bothered me. I was nearly sure neither of the patients wanted to hear dialogue about live-in couples or alternative life-style situation comedies. I didn’t think it’d hurt to help them find another program such as “The Waltons” or “Little House on The Prairie”. The caregiver most likely didn’t even know of those programs.

My mother, Rose dozed off in her chair as we sat there. “Mom, would you like me to read to you or would you rather rest here?” I normally read one of my stepson, Greg’s, Sunday sermons. Today, though, she seemed so tired. I resigned myself to watching her snore and sleep. Rose roused herself from her drug-induced sleepiness.

“Let’s go to my room.”

“Are you sure? It’s ok if we just sit in here.”

“No. I want to go to my room.” She said firmly.

As the caregiver and I helped Mom in her wheelchair to go down the hallway, she said slowly and breathlessly, “I don’t want you... to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“To...read...to me.” 

So I read to her.  Last Sunday’s sermon was titled,  “The Resurrection and the Life” based on John 15. I read to her and she affirmed with frequent "yeses" for the points given throughout the sermon. It was as though it were written just for her--and me. My voice broke as I read to her. I realized soon, very soon, she would not be here on Earth anymore...

I read more. "We look not at our circumstances, but upon God’s promises. For it is God’s word that creates reality, and he has told us what is going on with us. Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

27 "Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world." (John 14:25-27).

I continued to read to her from Greg’s sermon. “I believe – this is in the perfect form grammatically, meaning completion. Belief is not an ongoing tenuous thing, like a radio signal that fades in and out. No, it is a decision elicited by the Holy Spirit in the hearing of the Gospel, resulting in a new birth. You have either been born, or you have not. You have either been born again, or you have not....” 

“Yes.” Mom said in her quavery voice, re-affirming her beliefs again.

“It will be good to be in heaven, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll get to see your own mother again--and dad.” At age seventeen, she had lost her mother as a result of a sudden brain aneurysm, leaving four children without their mother.

“Yes.”

I usually didn’t talk about death with Mom. She had always looked to her future on earth while living, though she firmly believed in life eternal with Christ. I continued, reminding her of what was to come. “And you’ll see my dad, won’t you?” She nodded her head. I sensed, though I’m not sure if she did or not, that this would be the last time I spoke with her.

I bent down to hug her frail, bony body, sitting in her recliner. “Good-bye Mom.” I’ll see you Friday. Remember, Joyce (my sister) will be down to see you.”

“Yes.” She said again. Her words were few that day.

“Good-bye, Mom.”

“Good-bye, dear child.”

......Three days later, I looked one last time at my mother, sitting there in her chair, so very still. No longer here on earth, she was home at last. I’ll see you later, Mama, in heaven!

Mom celebrating her 90th birthday with three of her five children
Left to right: Shirley, Rose, Betsy and Eileen

I miss you, Mama, but I know I'll see you again. It says in the Bible that you so frequently read and taught each of us this verse: Rejoice that your names are written in heaven. (Luke 10:20).I know my name is there, so I'll see you later. Happy birthday!!