For Kathryn
Here's my newspaper column for this week.
It seems I have gypsy blood in me. I’ve been walking a nomadic path for decades, for as long as I can remember. My father retired from the Air Force when I was 17; I married a soldier when I was 25. I’ve been across more time zones than the number of years my teenage son’s been alive.
One thing I’ve learned is how to say good-bye. Oh, I don’t do it well. I’m selfish by nature and the loss of companionship breaks my heart every time. The years of bitter experience, however, have taught me life lessons that have shaped almost all my relationships.
When you know your time with someone is limited, you love well. You bond quickly, searching intently for those things that unite you with another. You say thank you at the end of each day for the gift of a few special moments. You overlook slights a little more easily. You cling to the good. You look at a person with eyes that transcend time; in a single glance you see your first meeting with him, you appreciate the friend he is today, and you smile at the much too soon to be memory of his presence.
I’ve not been in Cookeville very long. But I have met some incredible people in the last 6 months. One of them is a dear woman whose heart brims with love for those around her, whose life overflows with the power of God’s Spirit, whose faithfulness spans decades. She is my inspiration. She quietly and joyfully serves others, ignoring the protest of a body struggling with physical pain, and her smile and encouraging words bring cheer to those of us floundering along this pilgrim way.
Kathryn has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Sunday at church she asked for prayers and for forgiveness from any she may have hurt over the years. Maybe there were some present who were nursing wounds, I don’t know. I haven’t lived here long enough to know the history of personal injuries. But I think that’s a God thing. Those sins of which we’ve repented, He doesn’t remember either. Nor could I see on the faces of those around me, any memory of pain. Only tears of sorrow and empathy flowed.
As we began Communion, the brother designated to preside over the Lord’s Table, a widower, shared some of his own suffering. He mentioned Jesus’ cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He talked about feelings of grief and forsakenness. His words comforted those who sat listening with bruised hearts. I was reminded once again of the 22nd Psalm, the one that begins with these very words of despair. I remembered how it ends:
“They will proclaim His righteousness to a people yet unborn – for He has done it.”
He has done it. He brought salvation through the suffering of the Chosen One. Speaking through the prophets centuries beforehand, God the Father told us that He would do it. While He lived among us, God the Son told us that the day had come, that He was in the very process of doing it. Today God the Spirit breathes through us that it has been done on our behalf. It is the good news that makes all our own trials bearable. It is the only thing that gives purpose to our lives. It is our victory. It is Kathryn’s victory.
My prayers are fervent on this woman’s behalf. I know that God is a God of miracles, of healing, of restoration. I believe He worked in the days of Moses. I believe He worked in the days of David. I believe He works powerfully today as well. He is and always has been the Great Physician. If it is His will, I know that He’ll heal her, and so I’ll continue to pray in faith. I realize, however, that my understanding is so very finite, and that He may very well have something else in store for her. But because I am the way He created me, I will continue to be like the persistent widow from Jesus’ parable.
My prayer is not just for healing. This is in God’s hands, so if it’s not to be, I have other desires for this beautiful woman who opened her heart to a lonely newcomer in her midst. With each passing day may she feel God’s presence more acutely. May her physical suffering be minimal. May peace that passes all understanding be hers in abundance. May an increasing desire to see her Lord face to face fill every fiber of her being.
Right now my friend is living Thursday, Maundy Thursday, if you will. She and all of us who know and love her are crying out that this cup pass from her. If Good Friday is indeed in her immediate future, may God give her the strength to walk through it. But the most glorious thing is that no matter what the days bring, Sunday is coming. Christ made sure of that centuries ago, not just for Kathryn, but for each of us who wear His name. The powers of hell and death will not prevail. They are temporary at best. God and His Kingdom are eternal.
I have one last lesson to share. The military in some ways is a small world. There have been numerous times that we’ve run into people with whom we had previously been stationed. It’s such a great feeling to move to a new place and find you already have a friend there!
You see, good-byes are not necessarily forever. Praise God.
It seems I have gypsy blood in me. I’ve been walking a nomadic path for decades, for as long as I can remember. My father retired from the Air Force when I was 17; I married a soldier when I was 25. I’ve been across more time zones than the number of years my teenage son’s been alive.
One thing I’ve learned is how to say good-bye. Oh, I don’t do it well. I’m selfish by nature and the loss of companionship breaks my heart every time. The years of bitter experience, however, have taught me life lessons that have shaped almost all my relationships.
When you know your time with someone is limited, you love well. You bond quickly, searching intently for those things that unite you with another. You say thank you at the end of each day for the gift of a few special moments. You overlook slights a little more easily. You cling to the good. You look at a person with eyes that transcend time; in a single glance you see your first meeting with him, you appreciate the friend he is today, and you smile at the much too soon to be memory of his presence.
I’ve not been in Cookeville very long. But I have met some incredible people in the last 6 months. One of them is a dear woman whose heart brims with love for those around her, whose life overflows with the power of God’s Spirit, whose faithfulness spans decades. She is my inspiration. She quietly and joyfully serves others, ignoring the protest of a body struggling with physical pain, and her smile and encouraging words bring cheer to those of us floundering along this pilgrim way.
Kathryn has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Sunday at church she asked for prayers and for forgiveness from any she may have hurt over the years. Maybe there were some present who were nursing wounds, I don’t know. I haven’t lived here long enough to know the history of personal injuries. But I think that’s a God thing. Those sins of which we’ve repented, He doesn’t remember either. Nor could I see on the faces of those around me, any memory of pain. Only tears of sorrow and empathy flowed.
As we began Communion, the brother designated to preside over the Lord’s Table, a widower, shared some of his own suffering. He mentioned Jesus’ cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He talked about feelings of grief and forsakenness. His words comforted those who sat listening with bruised hearts. I was reminded once again of the 22nd Psalm, the one that begins with these very words of despair. I remembered how it ends:
“They will proclaim His righteousness to a people yet unborn – for He has done it.”
He has done it. He brought salvation through the suffering of the Chosen One. Speaking through the prophets centuries beforehand, God the Father told us that He would do it. While He lived among us, God the Son told us that the day had come, that He was in the very process of doing it. Today God the Spirit breathes through us that it has been done on our behalf. It is the good news that makes all our own trials bearable. It is the only thing that gives purpose to our lives. It is our victory. It is Kathryn’s victory.
My prayers are fervent on this woman’s behalf. I know that God is a God of miracles, of healing, of restoration. I believe He worked in the days of Moses. I believe He worked in the days of David. I believe He works powerfully today as well. He is and always has been the Great Physician. If it is His will, I know that He’ll heal her, and so I’ll continue to pray in faith. I realize, however, that my understanding is so very finite, and that He may very well have something else in store for her. But because I am the way He created me, I will continue to be like the persistent widow from Jesus’ parable.
My prayer is not just for healing. This is in God’s hands, so if it’s not to be, I have other desires for this beautiful woman who opened her heart to a lonely newcomer in her midst. With each passing day may she feel God’s presence more acutely. May her physical suffering be minimal. May peace that passes all understanding be hers in abundance. May an increasing desire to see her Lord face to face fill every fiber of her being.
Right now my friend is living Thursday, Maundy Thursday, if you will. She and all of us who know and love her are crying out that this cup pass from her. If Good Friday is indeed in her immediate future, may God give her the strength to walk through it. But the most glorious thing is that no matter what the days bring, Sunday is coming. Christ made sure of that centuries ago, not just for Kathryn, but for each of us who wear His name. The powers of hell and death will not prevail. They are temporary at best. God and His Kingdom are eternal.
I have one last lesson to share. The military in some ways is a small world. There have been numerous times that we’ve run into people with whom we had previously been stationed. It’s such a great feeling to move to a new place and find you already have a friend there!
You see, good-byes are not necessarily forever. Praise God.
posted by Kaye @ 6:18 AM
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