A Pocket Full Of Promise

The calendar reads April but my days are all a blur.  It's been 3 1/2 months since Dad died.

My siblings and I have been working diligently on cleaning out the house.  47 years of memories are packed into every corner of their home; making the job at times seem endless.  Boxes of forgotten memories from years past were opened and rediscovered.  Wood working projects dad started remain unfinished where they stood in his workshop.  Never did we think a pile of sawdust on the floor could make us cry.

Grief does that.  It has a knack of taking something simple and seemingly unimportant and breathes a different kind of life into it.  Like the potato masher I found on the kitchen counter.  A simple kitchen utensil used in homes every day.  Yet I picked up this potato masher and held onto it tightly.  Dad had made mashed potatoes for our Christmas Eve dinner.  Mashed potatoes that never made it to the Christmas Eve table; they remained in the front seat of his car after the accident.  This potato masher was one of the very last things he held.  And now, this potato masher held great importance to me.

On this day in April we were on the final room of the house.  We worked clearing out one room at a time and today the last room sat quietly waiting.  Their bedroom.  The sacred room in any marriage.  47 years of love and heartache and laughter and life happened in that room.  And there I was standing in the middle of this sacredness.

My siblings would be there soon enough, I was early.  I dreaded cleaning out this room not because of it's condition, but because I knew it would be one of great emotional difficulty.  I stood there not knowing where to start.  Dad's work clothes hung where he left them on Christmas Eve.  Taking in a deep breath, I pick up his work shirt.

Really God?  This is my life story?  First mom at Christmas last year and now Dad this Christmas?  Why is THIS my life story?  Did Dad's death have to be so...violent?  I don't get it God.  I really don't understand.

This conversation with God is one I've had many times.  Immersed in emotion while standing in their room, I figured it would be another good time to ask Him these questions unsure if answers will ever be given.  Yet, I ask and if I'm honest, at times, demand.

I reach into the pocket of Dad's shirt and find an old pocket calendar from 2010.  I can't help but wonder why Dad is carrying around a calendar that is 5 years old.  The edges are worn and the pages are frayed.  I see the grease smudges from his mechanic hands.  Knowing I will have to turn each page in case there is anything important hidden in them, I take a deep breath.

The pages hold nondescript notes; I run my finger over his handwriting.

Jesus?  Tell Dad I miss him.

Oh look, here is mom's social security number written on a loose piece of paper.  This was just like Dad to keep her social security number close by just in case.

God, I'm not sure my heart can handle all this heartache.  I can't believe I'm having to go through his pockets.  Why God?  Just...why?  

What's this?  I unfold a piece of paper that was tucked in between two pages.  It's a handwritten note by Dad.  The words pierce my heart and I begin to weep.

"Where you are today is no accident.  God is using the situation you are in right now to shape you and prepare you for the place He wants to bring you into tomorrow.  Trust Him with His plan even if you don't understand it."**

I am stunned.  Had I not just been asking God these questions?  Had I not been wrestling with these very things?

God, did you just reach down from heaven and put that there for me?

My tears fall freely.  It is undeniable I was meant to find this note on this day.  God answered my questions.  Although I do not know the 'why' this is happening in my life, I do know God wipes away my tears and helps move me toward tomorrow.

Dad's days were perfectly numbered by God.  Although his death was a shock to our family, it was not a surprise to God.  When we walk in the Valley of the Shadow of Death I remind myself of this.  I'll see Dad again and God promises to walk each step with me until then.

The days aren't as difficult as they had been.  I still have Dad's note.  It now hangs in a frame in my living room.  Sometimes I look at his handwriting and wonder if God opened heaven that day and dropped that note into Dad's pocket for me to find.  God gave me exactly what I needed when I needed it.  An encouraging note, handwritten by Dad, reminding me of God's love, hope, and promise.  A promise Dad now experiences.  Forever.

**Original quote by Anna Bachinsky

Healed

The calendar reads Tuesday and it's my first run since Mom died. The dark winter morning hides me in it's quiet.  There is no rain and I realize I have no idea what the weather has been like for the last 5 days.

The day after Christmas our bedside vigils began; a Thursday.  The four of us children and my brother in law were there each day and rotating the nights.  Dad never left her side.   Aunt Mari and her daughter, our cousin, Vicki completed the circle around Mom.

My mind wanders in this pre-dawn darkness as I run the route I've run hundreds of times before. I reflect on Psalm 23.

Yea though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death
I fear no evil for You are with me.

Mom walked in that valley for 6 months.  In July after receiving the news the cancer had metastasized, she never once complained. With the shadow of death looming, she knew a shadow is not cast without Light; the darker the shadow the brighter the Light ahead.

And that valley was dark.  For all of us.

Sunday afternoon we were finally able to reach Pastor Henry Numan.  For 17 years he walked with my parents on their journeys through cancer.  Somewhere in that walk he stopped being a pastor and became a friend.  A friend Mom talked to often in her last months.  She never left his conversations without feeling encouraged and given a dose of God's great comfort.

Henry called after receiving our messages and had cleared his calendar to be there first thing Monday morning.  15 minutes later he called back asking if he could come now.  "Please", we responded.  He made the 45 minute commute - through the Canadian border - quickly.

The last few days of Mom's life I had witnessed some very loving moments, ones that will stay with me forever.  Watching Henry with Mom will be one of those forever moments.  Despite Mom no longer being responsive, he leaned over her and quietly repeated her favorite Bible verses.  He gave her words of comfort reminding her of the greatness of heaven that awaited her.

My Dad, brothers, sisters, aunt, cousin and I sat in a circle around her bed; where we had been for the last 40 hours.  After talking to Mom, Henry sat down in the chair near the foot of her bed.  He asked if we could pray.  We bowed our heads where each of us were sitting, I on the floor at the foot of my Dad's chair.

As he said "Amen", we all saw Mom had become pale; only two earthly breaths remained.  Sunday night, December 29 she walked out from the shadow of death and into the Light.  Mom was Home.

Sometime later that evening, Pastor Numan and I had a few quiet moments together.  I told him Matthew 18:20 had come to my mind, For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.  

"Pastor Numan, I can't help but reflect on while we prayed together, Jesus was here.  He tells us this very clearly in Matthew.  And as you said amen, I can only imagine Jesus looking at Mom and saying, 'Come on Kathy, you're coming with Me.' and He took her home."  We smile through our tears at such the thought.

I turn into the neighborhood in which I live.  My body exhausted from the last several emotional days, but renewed by running a few miles alone.  A light goes on in my neighbor's kitchen, the light spilling out into the darkness outside.  I wipe a tear from my eye.  My run is almost over as I turn left onto my street and I head toward home; just like Mom.

Katherine Miedema
September 6, 1942 - December 29, 2013

 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8

A Different Kind of Marathon

Years ago when I started this blog I did so to write about my experiences while running and to give you a glimpse of what it's like to run in my shoes.

Today I share with you a different kind of race.  

A marathon of 15 years run by a woman I am blessed to call Mom.  

She is in the final miles of her race and is beginning to feel that rush we all feel as we approach the finish line.  

A feeling of accomplishment with her hands raised in victory.

She continues to run toward her prize.

 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8

******************************

It was a hot Friday morning in mid-July.  The chair she was sitting on just went cold.  She stared at the nurse crying before her and not certain on what to say.  This was not the reaction she had expected.  The laughter she and her sister were just enjoying now silent.  She glances at her sister; then back to the nurse.

Last week's CT scan told them why the stomach pains had gotten severe.  The cancer had metastasized to her liver.   She knew what that meant.  After 15 years of sitting in the Chemo Chair she had lost enough friends to know what lay ahead.

So this is what it came to.

August, September and October were filled with the harshest of chemo therapies.  None of which were working.  Just when she started feeling better, another round in the Chemo Chair would make her sick and brought no improvement against the cancer she fought.  

A rainy Tuesday in November she phoned the doctor's office.  She told the nurse she wanted to meet with the doctor before the Chemo Chair; her decision made.

The doctor told her what any good doctor would tell her - the truth.  She knew her options, after 15 years one knows.  Today she was choosing quality over quantity.  She rises out of the chair and tells the doctor goodbye.

The nurses - her friends - shed tears.  After 15 years they have shared a lot in each other's lives.  Oh she'll stop in to see them, but it will be different.   

She turns to walk out the door.  She walks away from 15 years of doctors and nurses and surgeries and needles and the Chemo Chair and the healing poison that ran through her body.  The door opens and she steps into a different life, a shorter life - yet one she is still grateful to live.

Although her days are fewer in front of her than lay behind her she knows God has only given each of us this day.  God has comforted her, held her and blessed her in ways she would never have known if cancer hadn't been in her life.  And in that she finds much joy.  Despite the hurt and sadness and fear, God has given her much joy.

With dignity she walks through that door.  With gratitude to God she embraces the life now before her.  A life always worth living.

Blessings

It's a little after 5 a.m. and it's dark.  Summer is about to end despite my efforts to hang onto it.  The air is chilly enough to warrant long sleeves, yet I refuse.  Tank tops and skirts need to be worn as long as possible; a rule written in stone in the Cheri's Laws of Running book.  It's a classic.

Today's run is a simple 4 mile run; 2 miles out and 2 miles back.  My legs crave the simple.  Monday night's brutal track workout of ten 800 meter repeats left me spent and excited.  My pace was spot on for each repeat which fuels my confidence for my upcoming marathon.   10 hours after completing the track workout, my girlfriend Corrinna and I are running our normal 6 mile loop.   My legs were shot but we still managed a good, strong pace.  This Wednesday morning, I was having no trouble keeping my 4 easy miles, easy.

A full, blue moon glows in the western sky.  I realize the beauty of the full moon is magnified because of the darkness of this morning; an upside to shorter days I suppose.  

God and I start a conversation.  I pour my heart out onto His ears.  He responds by smothering me in peace.  All around me it is quiet.  The only sound I hear is my shoes hitting the gravel.  My mind quiets.

The sun is beginning to rise over Mount Baker as I turn around at the 2 mile mark.  Birds begin their song.  The view is incredible.  I feel blessed.  

My mind begins to wander and I dwell on the unknown future.

I stop.

I look at the sunrise.

God reminds me I have been given this day and this day only.  I must enjoy the blessings given me on this day.  With the sunrise before me, I make my way toward home.  I quietly open the slider door and walk into my home.  A home full of blessings to enjoy.

The Trail Calls

The marina parking lot is peppered with cars giving evidence to boat owners sleeping on their boats.  The sun kisses the ocean good morning.  The sea is still.  I start my watch; it is 6:33 am.

My pace is easy and it feels good.  For this I am thankful.  I had run a simple 4 mile run a day before and it was difficult, but today, the running felt good.

I wind my way out of the marina and head toward downtown.  I will connect with a trail there and follow it to within a mile of the next county.  Turning into the alley which connects me to the trail, I run by the Farmer's Market.  One or two vendors are starting their day; on my return the place will be bustling with people.

The trail is empty.  My footfalls are the only sound I hear.  As I near the ocean's edge, I see sailboats gently rocking on the sea.  All is quiet at the park except an occasional sea gull.

In just over 4 miles I am at the trail head, "The Urb" as we call it. The trail winds the edge of town for a couple miles, yet one would never know.  The trees hide the roadway and block the sounds of any traffic.  This morning I hear only birds.  All singing praises, and I quietly join their praises by thanking God for such a beautiful run in such a beautiful place.

The deserted trail, lost in nature is exactly what I need.  Life has been exceptionally crazy, many stresses, and this deserted trail along with my alone time with God is the salve I craved.  No one calling, no one needing my attention, no one asking me anything; with each step I was unwinding.  There are footfalls and birds singing and me.

Shade is plentiful with small sun streams reaching the forest floor.  I am in awe of the beauty.  The trail parallels the ocean and when the trees part I am given the most incredible vistas of an endless ocean.  

I have met only 3 runners this morning, and one was approaching me.  In the farthest part of the trail, I realize my friend Joy is running toward me!  We stop for a minute or two and catch up as quickly as we can.  Injury has kept her away and our running group misses her so.  With a hug, we part ways.

A mile later I have reached 10 miles and turn around to head back into town.  God and I talk; I feel better.  It never ceases to amaze me how much better I feel.  The verse from Matthew comes to mind, "Come to Me all who are burden and heavy laden and I will give you rest."  After running 10 miles I feel rested.

Something up ahead catches my eye.  It is a deer, facing me, and it is standing in the middle of the trail.  I kick my feet in hopes the noise will scare it off.  No such luck.  The deer looks to be about a year old and I wonder if I've got the age right or if mama is hiding around the corner.   The deer isn't moving and I slow my pace and make louder noises.  She isn't scared, but rather, lowers her head and scrapes her hoof in the dirt.

Oh no.

I stop; very well aware she is standing her ground and not going to move.  I know she is not old enough to have babies so I wonder if she is trying to let mama know how brave she is.    Finally she raises her head and stares at me again.  With a jerk to the left she begins to buck her way off the trail and into the brush.  Whew.  I prayed mama wasn't near by.

Mile 14 chirps on my watch and I recognize my friends Dawn and Jackie coming toward me on the trail.  We pause our watches and all talk at once.  Our laughter is caught in the branches of the forest.  Big, long hugs are given and we continue on each in our own direction.

As I leave the forest, I know the hottest part of the course is in the final 4 miles.  I remind myself to run this mile and nothing more.  I feel good and my pace is strong.  Along the water people have started their weekend; they are milling around the park, lazily walking with coffee in hand.  They are loving the ocean view.

The final hill awaits on South Bay Trail and I take it slow and steady.  Shade dots the trail giving relief along the way.  The Farmer's Market is now in full swing with vendors selling their wares and food cooking on the grills.  Surprisingly it smells good - nothing usually smells good at 18 miles.  I turn and head back to the marina.

With a final mile to go, I realize even though I am tired, my solo run has cleared my head.  My legs are heavy, my heart is light.  With my car in sight, my watch chirps.  20 miles of solitary alone time has given me exactly what I needed, yet I miss the high fives from my friends that we always give when the long miles are completed.

Chocolate milk is on ice waiting for me in my trunk.  I lean against my car enjoying ever single ounce of it.  It's been 20 miles since I'd been at my car and I feel more rested than when I had started.  There is something rejuvenating about the created being among creation.  

The trail gave me more than I ever thought it could.  And it silently waits until next time.  Next time when I need to hear the birds sing and my footfalls quietly echo in the branches.

6 Months To Live

The morning, crazy; my patience, shortened. Since opening the office door the phone had not stopped ringing. A Monday morning in which one longs for the weekend just passed.
 
My phone rings, I answer it and a man on the other end is asking me for directions to our office. I relay the simple instructions and find myself annoyed as he repeats every single word. My impatient self wonders if his Google Maps is broken.

A short time later he walks in the office. He hands me a set of blueprints. I take them from him, scan them into our system and hand them back to him. About to send him on his way, he sits down in the chair across from my desk. I glance at the lunch sitting on my desk knowing it will now have to wait.

The man leans back into the chair and tells me about the difficulty of his customer who is building the project from the blueprints I just scanned.

"Every day is a gift you know. It's just that some gifts are better than others," he says with a smile.

Laughing, I answer him, "One never knows what God has planned for us each day."

Immediately I am convicted. God had given me this day and I was thanking Him with a short temper, little patience and with anything but a servant's heart. Hadn't Pastor Dave just encouraged us to be a servant in the weekend's message? Where was my servant's heart?

"When I have difficult customers like this I wonder why I don't retire." He shakes his head and rubs his left brow. "But I know the Lord's not done with me yet."

I smile and reply, "When I have difficult days, I ask Jesus if now would be a good time for Him to come back." We both laugh.

The laughter fades from his eyes and he says, "May I share a poem with you?"

Taken aback as I had not expected this, I nod giving him permission.

He softly speaks the verse of a child asking his father to mend a broken toy. The father carefully, slowly and diligently works on the brokenness. The child grows impatient; snatching the toy from the father's hands. When the child questions the father as to why it took him so long to fix his toy, the father lovingly replies, "My child you never truly let it go."

With intent focus the man looks me in the eye, "I feel strongly compelled to share that poem with you. I do not know what is broken in your life, but lay it at the feet of Jesus and let Him fix it for you."

Words escape me as I hold his gaze. That very morning I asked God to reveal to me any hindrances I have in my faith. What is broken that God is working on mending in my life? I am shaken as I feel God is talking to me directly through this man.

He leans forward in the chair, "I was given 6 months to a year to live."

He pauses. In that brief moment of pause I am stunned. Had I not but a few minutes ago been annoyed at his interruption of my busy morning?  His words humble me and I feel ashamed.

He draws a breath and finishes, "That was 16 years ago. Every day is a gift."

In silence I sit as he tells me of his fight. He tells of his treatment and the toll it took. He speaks of God's faithfulness. Emotion rolls down his cheek as he recalls marrying his wife 8 weeks after his diagnosis.


          Dropping her off on her doorstep after a date in town, he kissed her goodnight. It had been 2 weeks since hearing the doctor's prognosis and his entire future seems uncertain. He pulls away from her and begins to walk away.

        "Damn you Terry." He stops cold; never before had he heard such language come from her mouth. He turns to face her, unable to hide the shock he feels.

        "Do you not realize I would rather spend 6 months as your wife, than a lifetime as your friend?" He bent down on his knee and proposed that very moment. They were married 6 weeks later.


He pauses to gain composure. Terry smiles and says, "She has been my wife and my friend for 16 years now. What blessings God does give."

The office door opens as two men walk in. Terry stands to leave. "Well I should get going now."

I stand; Terry turns back to face me. "Every day I start my day with devotions and when I pray I ask God to make me a blessing to someone." Tears flow, he does not wipe them away. "Today, you have been a blessing to me. Thank you."

Walking around my desk, I give Terry a hug. "No Terry, today you were a blessing to me." He walks out the door.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I sit at my desk in silence as I watch him drive away. There are words that move you and there are words that can stir your very soul. My soul stirs within me making me aware it is God who spoke today.

I approach the throne with fear and trembling steeped in tremendous peace. I am sitting in a seat of uneasiness as it is a seat of correction. What is God trying to tell me? Of this I am uncertain, yet I know it is loving. Most certainly I am convinced that God spoke to me today and He did so through a man named Terry.

The Green Stone

Walking to the mailbox on a grey and drizzly day, a round, green stone caught my eye.  I picked it up and lose myself in the touch of its smoothness.  The color was so beautiful, so vibrant and so green I had to take the stone with me back to my desk. 

After some time had passed I noticed the rock was no longer it's brilliant shade of green.  A smile came upon my face as I realized it was the rain that made the small stone such a vibrant hue.  So to is God's handiwork in me; this is the hope I received today.  Today God reminded me even though I may feel trodden under foot and rained upon, my essence is still there. 

And at times, it is in the rain that He makes me shine more brilliantly.