December 23rd.
I have said before that this was the special day Ruth and I got to spend together through the years. I just have feelings of contentment when I think of that day and what it meant each year.
On this 23rd, I was doing many of the same things, just without her. I spent time shopping with the kids that day, and some time alone. Alone can be good. Lonely is not. This was good. A bit more melancholy than the day before. A quieter day. Pensive, maybe. But not really sad per se.
December 24th.
This was the first birthday we celebrated without Ruth. Won't happen again until April. But it was also the first birthday celebrated in China. So many things were tempered by being here and being with extended family for all these celebrations.
I made our traditional birthday dinner (with a little help).. K'Leigh still breaded the chicken, like she had with Ruth. I let Jane make the mashed potatoes, and Marianne made the cake and the vegetables. But I cooked the chicken fried chicken and the gravy. I will say that my first attempt at gravy beat the pants off Ruth's first attempt.
Hers had to be sliced with a knife and laid on top of the chicken fried steak. Kind of like dinner jello, just thicker. The day I ate that.... that.... ummm, stuff, I honestly made that smile that says, "this is great, honey" all the time wondering if I was going to keep it down. It didn't taste so bad, but the consistency was...well...interesting.
The following was from something I wrote down about that evening.
“I am sitting here listening to Sara Groves. Putting some things in stockings. Now I am missing her. Man, those were precious times. Anticipating their excitement in the morning. Knowing things they didn't. Kids always figure some things out. And then we knew there were some that would blow them away. That was so much fun. And watching movies while we were building a bicycle, dressing the dolls in dresses and capes, setting up playsets, and hotwheels tracks. Trying to slip things into each other's stockings without the other one seeing. Succeeding most of the time. Snuggling and wrapping and taping and stuffing gift bags.
And each year it was different gifts, but always fun to think about what they would say the next morning. Whether it was a prosperous year or a year where most of the gifts came from Goodwill, it didn't matter. It was still Christmas morning.
We'll see how tomorrow goes. Usually it starts with everyone on the bed with us. Which was great when they were small and there were lass of them and we had a king sized bed. But last year when we had two that were over 6' tall and 7 of us topped the 100lb mark, and we had a smaller bed. It didn't break, but it sounded kind of different when you laid down after that day.
Then it was into the living room. Stockings first. Oohs and Aahs and nuts and an orange and an apple and hotwheels cars for everyone. And other fun gifts for everyone.
Then it was an orderly (for the most part) dispersal of gifts. I hand out each gift from under the tree, trying to keep everyone fairly even so they are kept busy while making sure that one kid doesn't just sit there with nothing to do. Then the showing of what everyone got. Finally I open mine. And then we eat some interesting breakfast usually consisting of chocolate, summer sausage, crackers, chocolate, cookies, crescent rolls, hot chocolate, maybe some eggs and pigs in a blanket.
Followed by nap time for Ruth. Each Christmas morning about 10 she was out for a couple of hours. Residual sleepiness from the late night before, combined with a deep contentment at having another really cool family Christmas.
Then the kids would go out and break something and cry about it, then get over it and go see what their friends had broken.
And K'Leigh would look out the front door each Christmas morning to see if Santa actually brought the pony this year. And each year my heart would sink knowing there was no pony. Maybe next year.
So this is a tough spot. But the rest of the last few days have been so great! Should I feel guilty? I don't, but it almost seems unfair to be having such a good time.
I did my last minute Walmart shopping just like every other year on Christmas Eve. And enjoyed it.
I'll let you know how tomorrow goes. Probably like most other Christmases. Except I don't think she'll look for the pony.”
Another good day though.
But, then comes Christmas....
December 25th.
Jonathan woke me up at about 4:30 in the morning asking if we could open presents. Good grief, he's 18 for cryin' out loud. Actually it just seemed like 4:30, because it was dark outside at 7:30 and I had only gotten 4 hours of sleep. I had, it's tradition you know, been up until 3 a.m. wrapping presents again.
Oh yeah, one of the tough times was about 1 a.m. I thought, hmmm, there should be a Christmas movie on while we were wrapping presents and getting everything ready for Santa to come. But it was just me. That was a lonely time. Nobody to encourage (or be encouraged by) to get it all done before we went to bed. No one to make out with, while the kids were asleep. Well, we usually did that for a few minutes anyway. We had to do something to stay awake.
So I was feeling a bit contemplative. Not sad really. Just... a bit... detached? I don't know. Excited about the kids seeing gifts in the morning.
Anyway, Jonathan came in at 7:30 and we all gathered on the bed, that was another tradition. No one got to open presents until we all got on the bed. And then we made sure everyone had contacts in. (Another of Ruth's gifts to the kids, poor eyesight). Then we all went to the living room and sat for a minute. Not awkward really, well maybe just a little. And I started a brief discussion about Ruth. We talked for a few minutes. We were sad she wasn't there. We knew things would be a bit tempered without her, but still there was excitement about opening presents. And more than just opening our own, we were watching the others open theirs. Excitement not about what we got, but about what we gave.
After the 'snowstorm of wrapping paper', we played with toys and ran remote control cars into the tables, chairs, sisters, anything that got in the way.
Traditional Christmas breakfast didn't happen. No 14 flavors of cheeses and summer sausage and pigs in a blanket and other familiar fare. Hey kids, whatever is on the table is for breakfast. Dig in. Bethany was singing an old Bill Cosby song. "Daddy's great. Gives us the chocolate cake" Well, leftover birthday cake from yesterday. And other traditional Christmas fare. Pringles, Peanut butter and jelly, powdered milk, Hershey's kisses, granola bars, and peach juice.
But a great thing that day was going to the north to Jane and LeRoy's for Second Christmas (kind of like "second breakfast" except funner).
We had a Christmas feast of Turkey and Ham and dressing, green bean casserole, sweet potato pie and all my kids at lunch. Amazing. Then we gathered around the tree and Wesley read the Christmas story, traditionally read by the youngest reader. He read it while trying to eat chocolate and lick his fingers. He has incredible diction. You could hear every syllable.
And the whole time we are all looking at the tree and all the gifts under that thing. (The story was something about Jesus and Mary and getting born and being given one name but being called another. Those gifts were just so distracting.)
Oh my goodness. It was another snowstorm of wrapping paper. And guess what? More remote control cars! I seriously think we got 14 remote control cars between us.
David read a hilarious version of when the house in Blossom, Texas almost burned down. And he was on the toilet.
We even went shopping on Christmas day. Almost everything is open.
I had way too much chocolate. Man was that awesome.
Another tradition at their place is watching "The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever". Which was fun 70's entertainment. At least for me until one scene late in the movie where they are in church and the organist is playing hymns. One of the pieces in the movie is "Wauchet Auf" by J. S. Bach. That was the song that Ruth processed down the aisle to at our wedding.
That song.
It is glorious. And majestic. And simple. And classy.
An unexpected tough time. But a sweet remembrance. That song has always provoked emotions. Deep content, quiet exhilaration. Especially since it became such a significant song. Tied to more than an event. A happening.
Completely caught off guard. It blind-sided me. That song brought amazing feelings to the surface. That emptying feeling came over me again. Leaves me tired emotionally. Drained is an interesting word. Like something seeping out. I wanted to be away, be alone, but I didn't want to make a scene either. So I just stayed there. For the next couple of hours on and off I was reminiscing, remembering Ruth in so many ways. Not constantly, but I would often drift back there to those memories. Maybe not memories of places and things, but memories of feelings and emotions associated with the places and things. I am doing a terrible job of describing this.
Maybe it makes this day more special. A backdrop against which the glories of today shine forth. Wonderful day.
Not the morose heavy-hearted day people told me it would be. It was still Christmas, and we still celebrated a birth, and we still sang songs and opened presents and loved being together. I'll take days like that any time.
December 26th.
The other bookend day of our Christmas week.
Our first date was January 26th, 1981. And the 26th of every month we would recognize it.
Dozens of those 'anniversaries' I would get her a red rose in a bud vase. We had so many stinkin' vases in the cabinets. I would even reuse them sometimes, just take them back to the flower shop and have them give me a re-fill.
I'll say that this day was not as easy as the others. A little more subdued. None of the days were depressing, far from it. They were glorious, grace-filled days. But this one was a more reflective day. No one to give a red rose to, or even threaten to give a red rose to. (She told me stop, that it was expensive, but I think she liked it).
So five days have passed. And they were grand, rewarding days.
People said this would be a tough time. They could have been right, but this time I think I got it right. I asked if His grace was only sufficient in other times and not in potentially terrible times. From what I have found about His character, His grace is always sufficient, and we can have great days even when it doesn't seem like we should. Didn't David praise quite a bit for someone being hunted down by an angry king? Just wondering.
Easy? No. Magnificent? Definitely. Will tomorrow be great too? One thing I have learned about me through all this, is that I never know what tomorrow will be like. And I am ok with that. I just know that He is good. I'm ok with that, too. And he can handle whatever happens, even if I can't. And I'm really ok with that.
Feels like I should celebrate Thanksgiving again. I'm so thankful for everything he has done with us this week. Really really thankful.
Kevin
January 23 2009
I have washed back and forth over the issue of why all this happened, or more to the point, what was God doing all the time while Ruth was dying.
So, here it comes, the place where unshaking trust and honest questions come face to face.
At the risk of offending both my Calvinist AND Armenian friends, I am coming to some answers that seem dichotomous; And somehow having the ability to see both sides and come out on the other side trusting God's goodness above all else.
So, here goes...
I fully expected her to walk out of the icu unit after she died. I really did. I was just waiting to watch God do something so crazy, yet indelibly consistent with his behaviour. When he leaves his mark there is no doubt who it was.
So I expected her to peek around the corner and ask me to grab her a more modest gown, preferably pink, and definitely not brown.
And then we would fill out paperwork on a reversal of death certificate, pay bills, grab a bite to eat and head back to the guest house where we were staying, and laugh the whole time. Amazed and thankful, and humbly grateful, yet downright giddy at the opportunity to get to know and be known by such a good God.
It didn't happen.
Rather disappointing.
But even then, I didn't rant and rail. I remember I was a bit cheeky and told him he made a mistake in my estimation. He let one of the best of us die. She still had a lot to give. She had more glory to lay at his doing, not at her own. She was constantly giving him glory for how he used her for his purposes. And I asked 'why?'. A small 'why'.
I still wonder.
I love having such a diverse circle of friends. And there were a lot of them that reached out to us.
People's comforting words tended to run two courses. One response pointed to the comfort found in trusting God who knows and plans and makes things happen for his glory, not necessarily our understanding. The other response told of the comfort found in trusting God who sees what happened and hurts with us and uses awful and wonderful things for his glory, not taking us from life to be with him, but certainly receiving us when we get there.
And both understandings of God still allow that he is all powerful. One makes. One allows. Both can change plans. Both can bring back.
But we know there aren't two Gods. There is just one. And the question we tend to fight over is which one is he?
At least I have fought over that in my own mind.
An analogy taken irreverently from one of Ruth's cooking escapades got me to thinking.
I am the egg. And all the water in the pot has been boiled out. I feel scorched and dry and brittle. And I look around the pot and there isn't much left. There are friends in the pot. They feel much the same way. But most everything else is gone. Except for two very important ingredients.
But I am not an egg. I am a man. And Ruth is gone. And life is sometimes scorched and dry and brittle.
I almost said something this morning. I have always told people I wouldn't change the things that have happened in my life, because God has used them when I work with kids. Students have said they are going through certain things, and I can almost always respond, "I have been there. I know a bit about what you are going through", instead of just "Wow, that really stinks." It has been an incredible way to be used. I am so thankful for that.
This morning I almost said I wouldn't change the fact that Ruth died, because God can use that too. But, I am not there yet. Almost, maybe, but not yet.
Where I am is so hard. Not so much the tough emotions; intense sadness, guilt, loss, inability. Those are expected. I have tried hard not to run from them, but instead to sit with them, experience everything for what it is. I'm not sure as much healing would have occurred otherwise.
What's hard is not knowing which ones are going to surface any given day; minute; thought.
Just so tired of this. Ready to be whole. I don't mind the scars that will be left. Scars can come in handy. Good reminders so I don't try to just "move on". I hate that phrase. It connotes leaving something behind. There's a time for that for some experiences. This is not that experience. This goes with us, it is supposed to. It doesn't have to rule us, but it does need to be part of the traveling company.
I'm so ready to feel normal again. To choose to be selfish as opposed to being incapable. To feel free to laugh all the time, and escape my introspective vacant stares that I have become accustomed to. Looking at nothing, for something. But often I don't even know what I'm looking for. Like when I misplace my keys and forget what I was searching for.
Normal will be different. That's ok. And I think it will be much better than the unwelcome surprises my emotions keep springing on me. Please let it be so.
Speaking of different, right now it is perplexing to be confronted with my old ways and my new traits.
I like the new facets. I am different. And better in ways. I like the newing me. I just really want to get out of the refining fire. I am ready for the cooling, gentle shaping process.
But if I rush it what will I turn into? Something less than I could be probably.
So the pot is all boiled down, but there are two of God's characteristics that remain, two that I know that I know that I know.
I know now better than ever before that God is good. I can't explain it, don't know what majestic sermon I learned it from, can't even really describe the passion I say that phrase with. Unshakeable though. It has been constant from the day she died.
Friends are worth investing in. Much more than work, or interests.
To take an example from my experience: I have learned a lot about myself on the basketball court. Some good things, much I am not proud of. Many areas where I need to let God work on me. Character is shown for what it really is on the inside when you lay everything out there and face the pressures and frustrations and elations of competition. I know too much about my integrity, my selfishness, my desire for community and teamwork, my intensity, my breaking points. It has revealed great material for God to use to shape me into his man.
So basketball, and music and reading and working on cars and learning have all been great to help me grow and be grown…
But friends, family, people we invest in and allow to invest in us (Pauls, Barnabases and Timothys). Those are vital. They go through the fire with us. They give big tall hugs. They are waiting at the airport when we go home or come home. They do things we can't do for ourselves. They listen and don't commend or condemn without leave. They hold us with God's arms and comfort us with God's tears and love us with God's love.
These two things abide with me in the pot. That's it.
God is good and God is love.
It's nothing new. Older than dirt. But it's somehow truer now. More real. Like the velveteen rabbit.
And all that other stuff I worry about, expectations, appearances, advancement;
Even whether God planned or allowed Ruth to die.
They all pale compared to the glory that remains.
After all these years, I feel I actually know less about God. But what remains can be trusted. Implicitly. God is love and God is incredibly good.
I'm not just counting on it. I’m living on it. And living in it.
February 11 2009
What follows is not some maudlin attempt to emotionally flog myself, so that I might somehow feel better. Nor is it a plea for pity or affirmation. Before this even started, as I was preparing to open this door, in a time of personal worship, the healing words “Forgiven” and “Complete” came.
Good thing, too. This has been harder than I wanted, but not than I needed. Those words are making this bearable.
Loved by her. Loved by God. Forgiven by both. Those are Truths guarding the way through the door I am about to enter. A doorway to a frightening reality.
It is a reality I would just as soon avoid. It is one of the most painful looks in a mirror I have ever taken. I did not want to see myself like this, nor did I want anyone else to see it.
I fight defensiveness so much. I just wish I won more of the bouts. The following excerpt came as I was writing the first response to the first entry in “What did it cost Ruth to stay in this marriage”. Unrighteous indignation reared its ugly head right from the start. great.
“(As I was write this, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my scalp tingles, I feel angry, and hot on my chest. I am so defensive. I want to scream my innocence. It is so hard to state her side with no rebuttal from me. I am roiling in amazing depths of emotions. The urges to fight and flight are both straining at the harnesses.)”
I hope I have been honest, not defensive. Because this is not about me, it is about her and what price she paid to stay with me.
-------------------
I asked three people closest to her to tell me what it cost her to stay. They relayed discussions they had with her concerning our relationship. I have listed those issues and then responded to each one.
I want to thank them again for walking me through this particular night of grief. It is dark, and I could not do it alone.
I then reflected on the many ways I had hurt her through the years and the ways she forgave and gave into our relationship.
Here is one of several of the entries.
“She noted that the reality of marriage never measured up to the fantasy of marriage.
She invested in marriage even when she knew it would never be as good as she wanted it to be. Like continuing to work on a piece of art or writing when you know the end result is not going to be as good as it could be. She gave up her ideals for a more sober reality. She gave and gave and gave into a marriage to make it better.
It cost her herself.
She gave her Self to be married to me.”
March 11 2009
Been thinking lately about what it’s like now. 6 months
down this road. There are some really great aspects to life right now. And a lot of things that just stink.
And in much the same way as life has gone lately, so will this letter.
I’ve said this before, but I miss holding hands. I see people walking arm in arm, hand in hand, and there is an emptiness, like I dropped my ice cream on the ground. And the ice cream stores are all closed now.
There is a list of things that really can mar a day. Here is part of it.
The other half of the bed is still made up every morning when I wake up.
I have to do all the household management things by myself. Groceries, paying bills, calling people. No one to share that load with.
No one to talk through kid-raising situations. It’s not ‘How do We deal with this?’ I make all the choices and live with all the consequences. The single parent thing is tough.
I still try to call her. Just to tell her about things I’ve seen.
It hurts every time I see her class on the playground. Or in the lunchroom. Or standing in line.
I see her pictures every day, but I don’t see her.
There are more. Always more.
But living is not always gloomy.
There are times when I feel like I’m going to make it through all this. And not just barely, but abundantly.
So much grace and so many blessings. Big and small.
Little things like…
I don’t have to share the bathroom with anyone.
I can leave the toilet seat up.
More closet space. Much more closet space. I never knew there was this much closet space.
I choose the menu, the movies, the restaurants, the curtains.
There is enough hot water in the shower every day.
I can leave my stuff all over the place if I want to.
No one has taken my pillow in a long time because they liked it better than theirs.
Funny thing is, I chose the curtains she wanted. I put the toilet seat down. And most amazing for those of you who have known me longest, My room is spotless. Every day. Clothes hung and folded, put in their place. Bed made. Books lined up. Toys put away. I’ve thought maybe this is a way to feel some control, but I have actually come to like it. I know what many of you are thinking.
And yes, maybe I have gone crazy.
I don’t have to wait for her anymore, and there is no standing around while she wraps up a conversation with someone for an hour.
I can have carpet again. (Long story)
Then again.
Sometimes it’s cold at night and my only option is getting up and getting another blanket.
No more nighttime duets. Just me and the guitar now.
There is an entire library of inside jokes that will never be laughed at.
I am still saddening friends who have not yet heard of her death. I have told that story way too many times.
No one yet understands me so completely, or reads my moods and knows what to say, or do, or not say, or not do.
There are attainable dreams that will never be fulfilled.
The golden anniversary was going to be grand.
Our home is not as warm, or loud, or funny as it should be.
And yet,
Our place has been used for big dinners with friends and family. (She put down a deposit on an enormous dining room table. We have used it numerous times now)
Every day I marvel that I am privileged to live in China. It’s full of language I don’t understand, culture I am appreciating more and more. Amazing food. Such a variety of things to see every time I walk out the door.
I live near mountains for the first time in my life. I can go up and look down on a city of 6 million people, and see the Xiao Qu where I live.
I can be anonymous in the midst of thousands of people. (An introvert’s dream)
I have family who live in town. We go to their house most weekends and spend the night before we go to fellowship the next morning.
I once again get to lead worship for a group of people who are committed to answering this call on their lives.
I get to teach some of the most amazing students I have ever met. At any time I can hear up to 7 languages in a day. These kids don’t just know about places around the world, they have lived in many of them. I learn so much!
I still get to go to work and my boys are there too. Family together, able to see each other several times a day.
I am getting to coach again. And take guitar lessons from a talented guitarist.
I am learning a new language. (Slowly)
I have friends here who have become close more quickly than I could imagine. I feel cared for, invested in, loved.
There it is. What typical days can look like now. Ups and downs and in betweens.
Still trying to figure out what living will look like from now on. All I really know is what today is like and what yesterdays were like. Tomorrow is more of a mystery than ever before.
But it doesn’t have to be as bad as it has been. And it can be better than it was. Learning to just sit here. See what is brought next.
I’ll say it again. I don’t think I know as much as I did before. But what I do know, I know more deeply.
He is good. And he loves me.
And I can live in that. And be sad in that. And grieve in that. And rejoice in that. And laugh again in that.
He is good. And he loves me.
That’s been enough for 6 months now.
