I'm not so sure I like this idea very much.

Kev broke the news to me that Ron Kinley passed away during the night. His children posted the announcement on Facebook, and there were miles of condolences. What a great man. He was a Pillar, a man whose devotion to God and His Kingdom was every bit as great as that of the Bible ancients.

Ron and Kay were tremendous godly influences in our lives. We housesat for them shortly after we were married and were treated to a beautiful old South Hill home very close to an acres-wide park. Kay left for Boston to stay with their oldest daughter who'd just had a baby. Self-employed, Ron would make long weekends to fly there to be together. One evening toward the close of our sitting job, Ron came home and asked what smelled so good. He joined us in the kitchen where I showed him the Filipino dish I'd made for supper. He'd already eaten, and in his typical dry humor, said, "It's great that you showed me you can cook just when you're leaving."

They were spiritual parents to so many, involving themselves in the youth, college, and young married groups at church, and we were grateful members of the latter. Kay arrived home the day before we were to leave. Our room was on the second floor near theirs, and when we heard their continued murmured conversation, we got up and walked to their doorway.

We ended up discussing spiritual warfare and freeing people of demonic possession. I was 21 and didn't come from a background where those things were talked about, much less acted on. I marveled as I listened in wonder to stories about the victories they'd participated in as one soul after another was freed from the torturous, hideous bondage of the demon world. I could not wrap my mind around their boldness and courage to be involved in such dreadful battle. Finally, I asked, "Why aren't you afraid when you're doing something like that?" As if they'd answered that question a hundred times, Kay replied immediately and matter-of-factly, "Because we know that He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world," and Ron finished, "Greater and more powerful than anything or anyone at any time ever." I will never forget that declaration and the unflinching, undivided belief with which they made it. It was a life foundation for them that went soul deep, rooted in who they knew their God to be--THE Lord, THE King, THE Almighty.

Ron was intelligent, wise, kind, generous, and talented. He always made me laugh. It was fitting for him to take a role in the church play one year as Ananias, the guy God sends to heal Saul, ultimate terminator of Christians. It was a musical, and in response to God's directive, sings this line, "I-I'm not so sure I like this idea very much!" He sang it in such a boisterous-meets-W-C-Fields kind of way, and it was hilarious. To this day, that line pops up in my head when I have to do something I'd rather not.

I would rather not have to say goodbye to such a great, godly man. Death stinks, and I don't like the idea of it very much. But I know it is defeated, and I trust God's wisdom and plan as I thank Him for the gift of having had this wonderful saint in our lives.

Kev and I hold Ron and Kay in highest esteem, and we will never forget their impact, model, and standard. That stellar degree of integrity, both personal and professional, is a rare and precious treasure in this world. He leaves behind a remarkable legacy, a testimony to what God can do with a heart fully humble, trusting, and yielded. We breathe prayers over Kay and her family as we toast Ron, a man after God's own heart, feasting now in the Presence of purest Love and Life. Shalom.

not right meow

          Goober is emaciated.  I googled his symptoms this last winter and deduced that he has either a thyroid problem or diabetes.  He’s hyper, drinks a lot, is very vocal, and has only gotten skinnier, no matter how much he eats. I tried feeding him raw ground beef (one of the suggestions online), but he lost interest. I tried feeding him canned food, but that wasn’t very much, and he started leaving even some of that in the dish. Now I’m taking some dry food, adding hot water and 1/3 of a can of canned food, and letting it soak to soften it and flavor the dry stuff with the canned. I’ve been doing that for a couple of weeks, and he finishes it by the end of the day.

Seems like he’s always pulled out patches of his hair, mostly mid-back, but lately he’s taken to pulling it out in his front left armpit and back left hip at the thigh joint.  It freaked Jylle out to see it.  I saw him walking around the backyard just now, and he looks terrible. When I pet him, I can only bear to pet his head. The rest of him is just fur-covered bone. He looks like a feline skeleton example from an animal teaching hospital.

I pray for mercy everyday, that one day we’ll just never see him again. I pray for him too, that it’ll be instant and painless, like maybe just dying in his sleep—but way out in the wilderness somewhere so we don’t have to bury him. Yes, I pray for a very thorough mercy.

Just watching him out back, he ventured into the tall grass, and suddenly I thought Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s going out to some mystical burial ground like the elephants do. Maybe this is the last time I’ll see him. G’bye, Goober…

          When I went to the garage a minute later though, there he was, all high-pitched meowing and head popped out from the top of the garden bench so it’s the first thing I saw when I opened the door. I fluffed up his breakfast with the knife I keep out there and set it in front of him, then closed the door. The day will come when he won’t be there to feed anymore, and a legend will have passed on. He really has been a great cat for us.

           (A tip of the hat here to Doug Demmert who gave him to us, even though he tricked me by saying this kitten was a tabby when clearly he was a solid gray. Dropped him off at our house in a box when we were gone. He was from a barn litter, so he was absolutely terrified and tore around the house like Taz until he finally fell into an uncovered heating duct. We let him stay there all night because it was super late, and we were exhausted. In the morning, Kev unscrewed the ducting mount, and we slid him down into the box. He never did stay in the barn though, always the garage. Goober, Garage Cat and Mouser Extraordinaire.)

I walk around ants so I won’t squish them. I relocate tree frogs to keep them safe from the too warm temperature of the hot tub. I cried when I hit a rabbit and when I saw a deer get hit. I’m not an animal rights activist—I just have compassion toward them. It's a decent thing to respect life.

Death is so not where it’s at. Sounds inane to say, but I hate death. It’s just not the way it’s supposed to be. Everything about it is wrong. Every dealing with it is depressing, and I mentally turn away from memories of past business with it.

It’ll be six months on July 21 since I lost my mom. I used to take a big inhale everyday of her pajama top that’s precariously sealed in a grocery bag in the washroom. I don’t do that very often anymore. I also used to say Hi, my Mom, at the picture on her Costco card that’s on my dresser. I had to stop doing that because it made me tear up. Both those things I thought would bring me some small measure of comfort, tiny as they are. They don’t though. Even seeing her picture pains me.  She died, and I am suffering her death.

This is not new—death’s been around since Genesis.  It’s new to me though. Death sucks, and that’s all there is to it.

Okay, maybe there’s one good thing about it. It’s the doorway to Life. Here, we live and strive and balance and walk and sweat and work and cry.  There, we truly live. We know life as He’s provided in a world where there is no death. Maybe there’s one more good thing about it. It’s knowing we’ll pass through that doorway too, and in the meantime, we know we have people there who’ll jump into our arms when we get there. It’s the faintest measure of hope and peace to me personally right now, because honestly, I just want my mom back. Since it’s idiotic to go there though, I discipline my thoughts to be reminded of the hope we have in heaven.  And that is only ours through death.

Having read Heaven Is For Real, I feel safe in believing there will be animals there, something I’ve thought my whole life. I have loved every animal I have ever had, and I have given thanks to their Creator for the marvel of their innocence, beauty, and affection.  If they bring glory to Jesus, then why shouldn’t they be a part of that eternal plan…

Finish strong, Goober.  We’ll see you there some fine day.  Give my love to Gulliver, Muttnik, Midget, Sham, Scooter, Bear, Fallon, Parker, Gadget, and Jake.  *paw bump*

the deeper beauty

Birdie: Love somebody from when you’re nineteen, one day he’s the same as ever, next day dead. So many tears they seem to wash something out of you. They leave this emptiness.

Odd: Loss is the hardest thing, but it’s also the teacher that’s the most difficult to ignore. Grief can destroy you or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone, or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time--so much meaning it scared you so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together, or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything. It was the why of life. Every event and precious moment of it.

The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time. You’re driven to your knees, not by the weight of the loss, but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there. But one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it is to disrespect the gift of life.

[From the novel Odd Hours by Dean Koontz]


I hear those words "the love your shared sometimes so imperfectly." Tending to dwell on imperfections, the wrongness and lesser qualities of things, or otherwise occupying my mind with downer thoughts, I relate well to the so-imperfectly part. I must not stay there though! The deeper beauty of our time here, our connection with the souls He brings to us, and how to grow into the yielded, abiding life are goals worthy of my entire time and attention. I fall into the untruth that an hour here and there are just trinkets of time--there will be more. While I cannot realistically spend every second appreciating everything so as not to take life for granted, I can call on my "mind of Christ" for the awareness of moments in which to savor the righthererightnow, which essentially is respecting this gift of life. We who know and are known by the Most High God, of all people, can appreciate the profound, elemental relevance of this gift.

Good-bye, Grandma...

My fake grandma passed away yesterday. I called her Grandma, and my kids called her Baba. Mom called to give me the news, and even though she kept saying she just wanted me to know, she talked at length, and I think she needed to speak out some of those feelings and memories. Made me wonder if a person always has regrets after someone loved dies. Seems as if no matter what you did or how much you loved, it wasn't enough to make you absolutely sure you had no regrets... Surely some people have no regrets…? Guess personally, I would.

So many times during those years I thought my mom's head would split wide open and her blood pressure would make her whole body explode because of the intense aggravation. They're both opinionated, set in their ways, "right," and don't like being told what to do. So off they went into town at least twice/week, this hard of hearing, volatile, untamable Filipino, and a wiry, pushy, old Ukrainian moneybag in a big ol' Buick Park Avenue.

I’ll remember her for her great cooking, the lavish spreads she’d put on having cooked everything herself. From the shrimp cocktail to the beet borscht, then roast beef, ham, and sausages, the hearty side dishes of potatoes, cabbage, and simply dressed lettuces, to three kinds of desserts, including pies made with homegrown fruit inside a crust made with lard. The food in her home was greasy, fatty, bready, sugary, exotic, and unfamiliar anywhere else but there. There was always hard candy on the coffee table and in the summer, mulberries and raspberries to pick and eat off the branches.

This is the farm where I learned to drive a huge grain truck while everyone else hefted the shocks of wheat into the back. We spent birthdays and holidays there, and there was stability in knowing that’s what we did. They weren’t my real grandparents, but they were the closest thing I’ve ever had, and I’ll miss knowing she’s there. Does the world always seem a little dimmer when someone you love isn’t here anymore?

This is a relevant song in light of my last current event.

maria chapman

In memory of Maria Sue Chapman

We woke up to this news on the radio, and my whole family feels just sick. We almost lost Jylle this way four years ago, so to actually have it happen--what an unholy nightmare. I went to his website, and there were almost a thousand comments from people who wanted to offer some kind of support and encouragement. Words never feel so worthless and empty than at a time like this.

We're all praying fervently for them. Lord God, please cradle them tenderly in the palm of Your hand... †

Heath Ledger

There was tragic waste of life in the death of 28 yr-old actor Heath Ledger. Death is just that--tragic. Immediate speculation was that the cause was suicide by some kind of drugs. He'd just finished filming his role as the Joker in the latest Batman-related movie, and you probably know the details of his reactions to that--insomnia, the latest sleeping pills, depression, a general disassociation from the Hollywood crowd..... I think they'll find it to be an accidental death. I think he was just at wit's end trying to get some rest, and he over-medicated.

Made me wonder how many other tragic deaths occurred on the same day. I wondered how many people know of mydeathspace.com and the death notices that are posted there weekly. What strikes me is that a death there is only one that had a myspace page prior to demise. How many, m-a-n-y others are there out there who died and have no other place of notice besides the online newspaper or perhaps some other kind of online memorial.....

Just seems like when someone's life is over, something of utter significance should happen in the world--of global proportion--to acknowledge it. A volcano should blow, or an earthquake should go off... The sky should blacken for a time to symbolize the light that's been snuffed out. Just doesn't seem okay for life everywhere to keep going on as usual as if nothing truly life-altering just happened in the lives of the people who loved that someone.

I don't get life.

And I really don't get death. Not today anyway.

Tricia

I went into a store that I frequent 3-4 times/year and saw not one, but two of the proprietors there working, an older lady and her grown son. I hadn't seen the daughter for a long time, and I asked the lady, "How's Tricia?" She bent in a little closer and asked, "I'm sorry, what?" I repeated, "How's Tricia? your daughter...?" and I pointed to her picture on the wall. She stammered a bit, her eyes unsure, and then she said so very quietly, "Oh... I guess you didn't hear............ Tricia died." I couldn't have been more stunned if she had suddenly slapped my face. "When.........?!" I could feel tears forming, and I was helpless to push them back. "About a year and a half ago." She said it with such a sense of compassion for me.

She asked how I knew her, and I told her just from the store and then seeing her in town sometimes during the ski season. I was weeping by now. She asked if I knew she was sick, and I didn't. I told her I loved how approachable she was, how she always asked about my kids, and just how pretty she was. She replied, "Yeah, that was the great thing about Tricia. She always remembered everything about everybody."

Apparently, she contracted a debilitating lung condition when she worked in a dry cleaning business a few years prior. She battled it, but it finally killed her. She was 32. "She has a twin, so if you ever see someone who looks just like her, don't be shocked," her mom told me with a tender smile. Her son stood nearby, a blank look on his face as he kept his eyes on his mom. Unable to control my grief, I apologized several times and left the store in a full-on cry. It came on bigger than life, and I couldn't stop sobbing until I was almost halfway home. My eyes were red and puffy, I'd run out of Kleenex, and my mind went sepia.

There were all these questions! How long did she suffer? Would I have gone to her funeral if I'd known about it? What did she love? What did she hate? Who was her best friend? Whose wedding was it in that picture with her in it on the wall that I just pointed to? What was her favorite color? song? ice cream flavor? Was she saved? When was her birthday? Am I even spelling her name right? Why can't I stop crying? I don't even know her last name, and I'm grieving like I've lost my sister.

I still don't really know why my response was so intense, why I felt such a profound loss for someone I didn't even know. She never talked about herself--she always asked about me. I do know that I can experience a great affection for people rather quickly. My emo scale is off the charts most days, so I operate in impossible highs and lows. All I know is that Tricia is someone I really wished I could've known and been friends with, and I wish I would've let her know how she'd endeared herself to me. She blessed me while she was here, she touched my life and made it a little warmer. So I will miss you, Tricia. You made a difference.

Post Script: I wrote a letter to her and posted it on her headstone in the lower right corner there. I know I did it for me, and it really did help to write it, to go to the cemetery, find her, and spend some time there. She was a beautiful soul whose fragrance I only appreciated after it was too late to tell her.

Jake

My daughter's horse died yesterday. It happened so fast. It must've come on in the night. I whistled so he'd know it was feeding time, and he got up. But he'd been lying down with his leg out in front in an odd position. He didn't finish his Equine Senior, and things went downhill from there. I got him dried off and double blanketed, which stopped the trembling, but he was definitely in pain. While we waited for stool sample results from the vet, I went to town. On my way back, I called home, and my husband told me that Jake was gone. He found him in the orchard, right where we left him. J & I prayed that we'd be able to bury him so he wouldn't have to stay there through the night. Fifteen seconds after we prayed, R called to tell me the neighbor was there with his backhoe! "The LORD is faithful to all his promises and loving toward all he has made." ~Psalm 145:13 (NIV) It hurts a lot, but we know we're grateful for all the grace & mercy He's shown through all this.

Sahib seems anxious and sad. I spent some time with him last night, again first thing this morning, and again now mid-morning. I don't know that it helped when a neighbor's horse whinnied, and he answered it. He stations himself in the nearest corner of the pasture where it's the closest he can get to the field where both Jake & Gadget are buried. I wish I could become a horse so I could help him understand...

I am deeply thankful for the gift of friendship, which blesses me always with the fragrance of Christ. My friend, Joan, was there for me when I needed her. Our neighbors were there for us in our moment of need as well. And my Friend granted a merciful quickness in taking Jake, allowed us to do what we could to ease his leaving, and supplied the All that we need to get through something like this. I cannot imagine the crushing grief of watching a loved one wither and die slowly.

R saved two locks of hair from his mane and tail so J could have a very personal keepsake. We buried him next to Gadget, in the draw right by a lone pine. It's not readily visible and yet just a short walk from the front door.

I'd like to think he's frolicking somewhere up there with Gadget and maybe our other loved pets, full of life and strength and bringing joy to the One who created him.

Death makes me introspective. Will I go quickly? What kind of legacy will I leave? It's said that you live on in the hearts of those who loved you. But after they're gone, then what? No one will remember Jake but us. No one will shed one tear over his death but us. And yet, I believe that there's a place in the eternal plan of the one Creator for all of us, every single creature that ever lived or is yet to be born. Death is not the last word on life. JESUS is the first AND last word on Life. Amen!

my Uncle Al

I gathered the letters I’d saved from Uncle Al and put them in chronological order, then tied a green ribbon around them and set them on the raised counter. Pity that the earliest one I have is from 2000, unless there are others in places yet unknown or unremembered. The last is postmarked May. I must not have saved the rest. It’s only in hindsight that I realize how I might have saved them and been comforted and cheered by his words and warmth toward us. But it’s too late. I would’ve loved to have spoken to him one last time, tell him how much I love him and am grateful for his unconditional love for us, to have seen him one last time and gotten one of those enormous hugs. Kev wanted to call him on his birthday, but I didn’t want to. What a fool! Kev doesn’t insist on things like that unless there’s some good reason, a reason he probably didn’t want to share with me at the time and maybe didn’t even recognize.

Too late—two of the saddest words ever put together… Lord, I’ve wasted so much time, left great voids of zero and worthlessness in my path. Help me to love the simple things in life like Uncle Al did and to treasure family and friends and the time You grant us here. He wouldn’t want me to kick myself this way. He’d want me to say a kind word to someone, hug my kids, hold hands with Kev, to be happy and thankful. And perhaps think of him sometime in the warming colors of a fall aspen, cherish family and friends, and to raise a glass to Life…

Lord, my God, thank You for my Uncle Al. He always remembered our birthdays, our anniversary, all the holidays. He sent us real Wisconsin cheese on a regular basis. It was more than the cheese that I loved. It was the tremendous love & joy behind it. Thank You for his life, for his love for us, his love of laughter, and his zest for the simple things in life. Thank You for his consistent encouragement and the power of his generosity and thoughtfulness.

Wow, I couldn’t go on. Had a little unscheduled meltdown right there… The sound of my own sobs even sound unreal.

Parker

We had to say goodbye to our old dog on the fourth. We all knew the day would come, but that didn’t make it any easier. I sobbed as I pet him while he lay there on the sidewalk. He was obviously uncomfortable, and I prayed hard for some relief. I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. We all took turns saying goodbye and choking back the tears.

His stay in our family came into question when he was one. We put an ad in the paper, and a family almost took him, but declined at the last minute. We even came close to shooting him ourselves when he got our purebred female pregnant so soon after her first litter! It was Joey’s pleas that saved his life. Parker became his dog after that.

I like puppy breath, but he lost his way earlier than most dogs. Bad breath—no, horrible breath—was his hallmark.

His sweetness was utterly endearing though. He truly was the sweetest thing—not a mean bone in his big ol’ body.

He’s buried with his pillow beside a beautiful creek in Newport. Slumbering away these last two years, more and more toward the end, it’s a perfect spot for such a calm—and calming—friend.

This is an excerpt from a poem my dad wrote for us.

I'm sad I have to leave you,
But so glad I was your friend,
You all loved and made me special,
I was happy to the end

My pain became a measure,
telling me it's time to go,
I feel thepain of leaving,
But I know that you do too.

I still find long blonde hairs on the rug from his tail. At first it made me bawl, but now I smile and reflect on the love and devotion he showed me. such unconditional love... We can’t be touched by that without being changed in at least some small way. There’s an eternalness about that kind of love.

d – o - g

G – o – d