Blessings in the Midst of Trials

Lori was buried today.  On March 21, the thirteenth anniversary of my mother's death, the sister of my college roommate breathed her last and went to be with the Lord.  Last night and today, hundreds of people gathered at the funeral home and her church to remember her life, cry for their loss, and support the family.   I was privileged to play the (wonderful grand) piano for the service; it was an honor not only to serve the family and congregation, but also to work with the talented and experienced singers and string players, and to praise the Lord with "Amazing Grace," "It is Well with my Soul," "Blessings" and "Revelation Song."  The personal tributes and the sermon inspired us all to emulate Lori's joy, peace and love.   She knew Jesus Christ in a very real way, and her life reflected His Spirit in her work, play and relationships before her diagnosis, and in her trust and hope through the last five months of illness and decline.

Reflecting on the many small blessings in the midst of this very big trial, several of Lori's relatives and friends, as well as her pastor, declared their confidence that God was present and at work throughout.  From Shelley's ability to quit her job and come three or four days every week to care for her sister, to the timing of Lori's last breath - just days after her husband took a leave of absence from work, and with every member of her family plus friends able to be present - to myriads of little circumstances, they could see the Lord's love and grace in the midst of trouble.

The parallel to a loving parent training a child came to my mind.  There are many "big trials" we have to put our children through - from weaning to walking to driving to leaving the nest, and dozens more.  Sometimes they want to go through the troubles to get to the prize, but often they don't and we have to use some measure of discipline, force or discomfort to get the job done.  When we're good parents, we reassure the children that we are with them - physically and/or emotionally - as they go through the necessary hardships.  But they have to go through them.   These thoughts comfort me when I think about my mother's death; perhaps they comfort others too.

The Latest Cat Saga

For a couple of months, we've been complaining about the cats.  In August 2011, Philip got two kittens from the Christopher family, naming them Toby and Tico.  Turned out Toby was the girl and Tico the boy, but that didn't bother him.  In fact, he was inspired to build a scratching post,

a cat house and a catwalk around the roof of the garage.  They were sweet and cute and playful and spent some time indoors (a first for our farm family), and Toby started showing signs of expecting more kittens in the spring.  While we vacationed in California, she gave birth - possibly to only one kitten, possibly to more who didn't live.  Inbreeding, I suspected.  Naranja, an (obviously) orange kitten, was sweet and cute and playful.  Philip had lots of fun with him, as Tico had disappeared in a tomcat sort of way (he showed up once with a bullet in his leg, but once he could hop and leap about with only three legs, he was gone again).  Soon Toby looked like a pregnant mama once again.  We were not thrilled.

A few days before David's wedding, Naranja started acting very strangely, having what looked like seizures or choking.  Within ten minutes he died in a crying Philip's arms.    We buried him, consoled by the kittens to come.  While we celebrated with the happy couple in North Dakota, the kittens arrived - five of them!  They were sweet and cute and playful, but there were so many.  Philip manfully named them all - Huck, Rex, Smoky, Gypsy and Padfoot.

 We dealt with the litter training and taming - they really were fun.  By bringing them to a 4-H meeting, we managed to give away two of the females, leaving us with Rex and Smoky, males; and female Gypsy.  Philip decided he wanted to keep one kitten and Toby; we decided they would be fixed, so no more kittens would be spawned.  At first we planned to keep Gypsy, but Rex soon endeared himself to us as a calmer, friendlier cat, so we settled on him.  Alas, it was not to be.

On Wednesday, Pete and I returned from a meeting at church to find the dogs barking at Rex.  Whether Rex was being a male and bristling, whether the dogs smelled something else on him, or whether there was some other explanation, we don't know.  Pete drove to the mailbox, and when he parked in the garage, he heard Rex meowing under the van.  Did the dogs shake him and break his spine, or did he race under the vehicle and get run over?  In either case, he had no control over his hind section.  He didn't appear to be in pain as he quietly lay in the laundry room, and died about an hour later, as Pete was preparing to put him down.

Philip and I cried over Rex, and realized that we really don't want to see the cats dead, as we had been joking about.  We're not complaining about the cats now.  How often we take things for granted, when nothing is for certain in this life.  Thanks be to God that He is certain, and so is the next life!

You Never Know

Two weeks ago, one of the posts on Faceboook informed me that Lori Wilson had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the worst of all cancers.  I called Shelley, my college roommate and Lori's sister, a couple of days later; Lori was at the U of M getting a second opinion and information about her options.  Now Lori is back home, able to eat, full of faith, but facing an almost certain death in a matter of months, apart from a miracle.  Her daughter and fiance moved their wedding date to December 8 so Lori can attend.  She will never see a grandchild, a fiftieth wedding anniversary, a parent's funeral.  I can't imagine how distraught her parents are.  She's 50.

This weekend we celebrated Dad Stadem's 85th birthday in Sioux Falls with 4 of the 5 children, 14 of the 18 grandchildren, a niece and a great-nephew with their families.  His joy, and all of ours, overflowed as he watched an Augustana football game, received compliments and reminiscences, feasted on several hotdishes and a Norwegian birthday cake, listened to "Happy Birthday!" sung by his congregation, sipped coffee and munched on quick breads during coffee hour, and heard "God Didn't Give Me Much" sung by his family in the second worship service.  (That song isn't what the title implies!)

Why does one see all his children's children, and one see none?  We don't know; it's in God's hands.  But I want to hug those I love, live each day to the fullest, and "grow in faith, love and obedience to the will of God," because you never know how many days are left.

Funeral Thoughts

Linda Petersen, age 68, died last week and we attended her funeral on Tuesday.  Family and friends filled the church to mourn for this active, feisty lady who loved animals and cared for them and her family members constantly.  Her three children, in-laws and three grandchildren will miss her greatly; she and her husband, Matt, invested much time, money and energy in their lives.  My heart breaks for Matt, because he retired in January and they had planned exciting travel and hobbies.  Instead they fought lung cancer for the entire time and now he faces his retirement alone, having lost his mother and mother-in-law in the last six months as well.

Linda had many woman friends, including my mother before her death (Linda played piano for many of Mom's singing gigs), and she designated eight women as her pallbearers.  She also asked that I "jazz it up" on the piano as I accompanied the congregation on "Precious Lord, Take my Hand."  I did my best, and a few of the women appreciated the effort and thought it was enough.  Our former pastor gave a beautiful tribute to Linda's wisdom, and our current pastor a meaningful sermon on God's grace.  Our kids helped in the kitchen for over an hour and a half while I visited with old friends who had come to support the family; one was Gordy Chalmers and his wife, Claudia (Matt's sister), with whom I toured France on the high school trip.

Camy, Linda's oldest daughter, is almost my age, and, living close, has had to be the strong one- working six days a week in her shop, caring for Linda's animals, helping her own children as usual.  She assured me that she has found time to cry and grieve; I pray she can feel God's arms around her, because as a divorced woman, she cries alone for the most part.  She has started teaching Sunday School, which will bring her out to Svea weekly so we can stay connected.

I pray and trust that the Lord is continuing to work out His purposes in and through Linda's death.