I walked back via the perimeter road to clear my head. It’s a tough day when a coworker has died. I didn’t know him well, but he always greeted me by name and had a smile on his face, even when he was mad.
His friends told me today that was because he knew someone was about to hear from him; we all chuckled about that as we processed our loss. Eight weeks ago, he was healthy but for a stomach ache.
“Cancer, stage 4,” and he knew then it would soon be over. He declined treatment; took care of business for his wife, and with his Maker. Conversed with his friends, settled matters for his adult children, and prepared for the end.
A stroke immobilized him Sunday, and Death claimed him Wednesday. We found out later his expectant grandson was born before J died. Small blessings in times such as this. We all agreed today that in the mercy of Providence, neither J nor his dear wife had to bear a lengthy illness.
But his friends will miss him–those he mentored, most of all. “There’ll be some long walks in the woods,” one said, as they come to grips with their grief, “as we remember this good man, and say farewell to Joel.”
He will be missed, by colleague and inmate alike. A man of good character like Joel is hard to find.
This man taught wood harvesting at the correctional facility where I work, and there are men there whose lives have been forever improved for by his guidance and direction. I wrote this just to get these thoughts off my mind, not to be poetic, necessarily.
My paternal grandfather and I share the same first and last name. I don’t remember him well, because he died when I was six years old. What I do recall is that one Christmas his and my presents got mixed up in the family exchange. I was very excited to receive the beautiful outdoor thermometer decorated with bright red cardinals; moments later, I was crestfallen when it was taken from me and given to him. I did not begrudge Grandpa getting that gift, but I was sorry not to receive something so pretty and useful.
Grandpa M was a carpenter, and he passed those skills to his elder surviving son, my Dad. Sadly, they did not pass to me. I am not particularly useful when building or repairing must be done. I have seen some of my grandfather’s work, and it is impressive.
Unlike the memories I have of Grandpa A, I do not recall the sound of Grandpa M’s voice, or any sayings of his. But this I do know for certain: Grandpa M knew the Lord and trusted himself to his Savior. Gram is there with him, and so is Mum. That’s what I know of Grandpa M.
My maternal grandfather lived to age 91. I was in my early twenties and living overseas when he died. I was sad when he passed, but his time had come, and I had seen him before moving to Japan, so there were no regrets on my part for “not seeing him one last time,” or anything like that. Our affection for one another was rarely spoken, but neither was it a secret.
Grandpa lived in Eastern Connecticut until I was about 7 years old. I loved visiting him there. Their yard was sloping, with well-kept grass, surrounded by flowers and graceful trees. During the afternoons, he’d take us for walks down the hill to a corner store, where he’d buy us M & Ms and 7Up and ice cream. When I grew up, I learned he was making a power play for our affections by doing that, trying to ruin our appetites for whatever Grandma was cooking for supper, but at my young age, I knew nothing of such politics. Sadly, Grandma died with I was six. Grandpa remarried soon thereafter and moved to northern Illinois. Visits to him became less frequent, but much more of an adventure.
Grandpa loved the Boston Red Sox, and one time when we were visiting his house in Connecticut, my older brother told me that Grandpa was going to take my Dad and my brother to Fenway for a game the next day. I wanted to go, too, but Dad thought I’d be bored, so I was left behind. It was the only chance I’d had to see the Sox with all three of the men I admired most.
A more treasured memory of my time with Grandpa was his dark green, 1968 Ford Mustang. As a junior high school student visiting him in Illinois, I washed and waxed his Mustang every day. When I visited him in my college years, he let me drive that beauty. It’s a thrill I’ve never forgotten.
Many of Grandpa’s little sayings have stayed with me over the years, and my siblings and I remember him fondly. “Pip, pip!” he’d say on his way out the door. Soft-spoken, with a twinkle in his eye, he’d part with this advice: “Stay out of the rain and hot sun!”
I know, I know. The reality is that I am Thine. But because of that, Thou art mine, and so I can sing this song:
Dear Savior, Thou art mine, How sweet the thought to me; Let me repeat Thy name, And lift my heart to Thee.
““Mine! Mine! Mine! ““I know Thou art mine; ““Savior, dear Savior, “`I know Thou art mine. ` Thou art the sinner’s friend, So I Thy friendship claim, A sinner saved by grace, When Thy sweet message came.
My hardened heart was touched; Thy pard’ning voice I heard; And joy and peace came in While list’ning to Thy word.
So let me sing Thy praise, So let me call Thee mine. I cannot doubt Thy word, I know that I am Thine.
I have a question taped to a desk in my classroom: “Is Zion worth the Valley of Baca?”
It’s a reminder to me of what my ultimate goal is in life, and what lies between now and the finish line. It also speaks to much of what has already happened, and it offers meaning to what takes place in the Valley.
Our church has a pastoral intern this summer, and one of his sermons centered on this topic. He used Scripture to explain Scripture, specifically demonstrating that the Valley of Baca in Isaiah is the Valley of the shadow of death in Psalm 23. Both describe places of trial, weakness, suffering, and hardship; places that God’s people should expect to be, if we are following in Christ’s footsteps. But Zion is God’s dwellingplace, and when we are in Christ, we are God’s dwelling. Zion is the glory of God poured out on his people. If he is dwelling with us, even in the Valley, we have the promises and love of God with us.
March 17, 1987. Dread. Separation. Sorrow. The journey ends. The vows are fulfilled. The marriage is over—“till death do us part.” Hearts are empty. A once-beautiful bride now gone; the groom in grief. The children mourning.
June 20, 1987. Long-planned for. Joy. Happiness.
Expectation. Fulfillment. The journey begins. The vows are taken. Rings are
exchanged. The marriage commences. Hearts are full. A beautiful bride and a
beaming groom, celebrated. Tears of gladness. Yet, some sadness, too.
How does one weather these emotional ebbs and flows in life?
She completed college and moved home to plan her wedding, just as her mother’s
cancer was returning with a vengeance. While her Mum battled that dread
disease, the young woman kept house for her father and younger brother, who was
still a high school student, balancing her own job and her long-distance
engagement; her fiancé was in his final semester and they would both walk at
graduation in May.
She and her mother made wedding plans as best as they could,
not knowing if Mum would be there or not, praying that she would, but the
cancer was progressing very rapidly. It was life-training for her, laying a
foundation for the marriage and ministry that she would carry on with her
husband for more than thirty years. Love, service, compassion, humor. Prayer.
Submission to God. Repentance. Faith. “But to do justice, and to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God.”
This hymn is my prayer today. Lord, my spirit has been restless today. I AM resting in you, but my body is weary, and I need you as my Rock, as my Fortress, as my Anchor. You are my God, and in you only do I trust. Please, God, restore Laurel‘s health to her! Nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done. And let all the glory be yours alone, my Savior. I know thou art mine.
Father, I know that all my life Is portioned out for me; The changes that are sure to come, I do not fear to see: I ask thee for a present mind, Intent on pleasing thee.
I would not have the restless will That hurries to and fro, Seeking for some great thing to do, Or secret thing to know; I would be treated as a child, And guided where I go.
I ask thee for the daily strength, To none that ask denied, A mind to blend with outward life, While keeping at thy side, Content to fill a little space, If thou be glorified.
In service which thy will appoints There are no bonds for me; My secret heart is taught the truth That makes thy children free; A life of self-renouncing love Is one of liberty.
I just shared these thoughts on a friend’s wall. She has been seeking prayers on our behalf, and as I wrote a response to HER friend, I realized that many of you don’t know us, or don’t know Laurel, yet you are praying, anyway, so these comments belong to you, too:
“In truth, our health has been a rollercoaster. We seem to be doing great when I post one update, and then later, we’re down again, so it does get confusing. We appreciate your continued prayers, as Laurel is still critically ill. The improvements of a couple of days ago have not translated into more gains yesterday or today. Your willingness to raise a complete stranger to the throne of grace is a testament to the body of Christ reaching beyond the walls that separate us on Sundays or the distances that stand between us. To God be the glory.”
Joan Anderson Bill, So many prayers for you and yours over the past days to our only fortress and fountain of life…. “Whoever fears the Lord has a secure fortress, and for their children it will be a refuge. The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life, turning a person from the snares of death.” Proverbs 14:26-27 NIV
Pamela Bickmore Hughes It is a privilege to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you before the Throne, my brother. May this new morning bring fresh testimony of God’s great faithfulness and steadfast love for you all!
Rick Stocker Bill, I (Ann) am not on FB but cheat and use Rick’s from time to time. Your posts have proven to me yet again that we believers never stand alone nor do we go through trials for ourselves alone but for the benefit of the Church and for the glory of Christ. How beautiful is His love for us expressed in Christ’s finished work and in His church. We continue to pray for you all. We praise God for your Christ-centered testimony. To God be the glory!
Sylvia Ropp Bill, Our God is deserving of all praise and does work in mysterious ways! The only way I have heard of Laurel has been because of our mutual interest in an actor who before a couple years ago was unknown to me. I have been trying to figure out why this man has had a powerful effect on me and have been praying for his well-being on a daily basis. Now this journey has crossed with yours! God has brought it all together and I am sharing your needs with my church and other friends, even my CPA who did my taxes yesterday and is a prayer warrior!! We are all entwined in God’s plan! You have my continued love and prayers!❤️🙏
C made a Valentine for his Momma today at school. C: “I put lots of hearts on it. Do you think she’ll like it, Daddy?” Me: “Son, when she’s able to look at it, she’ll love it.” C: 😀😊😍
I spent a little more than an hour with Laurel this morning. I told her of your love and support. I prayed with her, and talked to her. I also talked to her doctor. The dialysis is slowly but surely removing fluid from her lungs. In order for her to begin breathing on her own, they will need to dry her lungs out. It may be a week before they can remove her from the paralysis drugs, so she will remain sedated until then. He said that she is not out of the woods yet, but they are seeing some very small improvements in her condition.
I expressed my gratitude to them for their care, both their compassion and their skilled medical care. I am grateful for the men and women at our primary care office, too. I saw them today at my own appointment–I am flu-free but have a little asthma flare-up–and they expressed their well-wishes for her.
Please keep praying for Laurel, her father, Christian, Michael, and me. We love you, and praise God for you!
On a somber note, TC, this year my love lies in ICU at EMMC. I will go see her. She may or may not know that I’m there, but I’ll know it. I’ll tell her again how much I love her, and that I want her to keep fighting to live. This year we will mark 21 years of marriage if the Lord grants her the healing I’d like to see happen. But if he doesn’t, then I trust him. Either way, my wife and I belong to him. THAT’s the Valentine love that matters most to us. Thanks for your post. It’s an uplift on a tough day after a tough week. <3.
Valentine’s Day was a bizarre celebration if you were in elementary or grammar school in the 60s and 70s.
I only remembered this morning about the decorated paper bag “mailboxes” we hung up in our classrooms in order to become the recipient of mandatory notes of adoration.
Along with the memory came the recollection that I hated doing that.
This event had to have been contrived by someone who sold greeting cards. It was like being in stuck in a Hallmark re-education camp run by Mrs. Hutchinson who probably deserved a Valentine’s card. Oh, and some breath mints.
Still, we forget. Not our love for that significant special person- but to buy the card, send the flowers, saying the sweet nothings.
If there was a life lesson in all that late night card signing before the big day in 4th grade it certainly slipped the mind of every man I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with in the CAOR (crowded aisle of ruins) that IS the Valentine’s Day card section at every big-box pharmacy across this great nation.
We join the mass male exodus from office and garage bay, usually late in the day on the 14th of February, right after work, while we all look for the perfect card which, by the way, was taken by one of the three guys in America who purchase a card well in advance of the “holiday.”
Add to that a good dose of shameful price gouging which arrives with several of shakes of cheap red glitter coupled with an insincere message which can be recycled year after year on subsequent cases of cards which cost $9.95 each.
Slipping a cellophane sleeve over the front of the card, in order to battle glitter-loss, adds another three bucks to an otherwise horrible poem.
Then we watch.
We watch her open her card. We smile and wait. We wait not for the hug, the kiss, the delighted look in her eye; we wait for her to casually glance at the back of the card as she wonders how much she was valued- just like we do when we get ours.
I sent flowers this year. It was far more expensive and nothing says I love you like 69 dollars flowers which could have been purchased for $11.99 two days ago.
Yes, I added the unecessary vase, red, so that the flowers can be displayed in order for others to believe I thought about this day far, far in advance.
I guess I did…4th Grade, Mrs. Hutchinson, halitosis. It becomes clear to me now.
I just want to let all the guys know I won’t be in in the CAOR this year. You boys are on your own. I’ll miss the camaraderie.
Truth be told, we should probably say the sweet nothings every day and skip the society mandated, socially acceptable trip to the pharmacy today. But only because you should have done it yesterday.
Happy Valentine’s Day. Take your love to lunch, buy them a coffee, give them a call instead of a text. Do something nice. The cards mean nothing if you don’t back it up with action.
But don’t forget the card because there is nothing we can do to save you if you don’t. Godspeed.
Be well,
Tim Cotton
Comments
Bess Leavitt ❤️💔❤️ I can only imagine Bill –I’m sorry today is so tough. I pray you have a blessed visit with your Love despite these heartwrenching circumstances and that you see hopeful miraculous signs of progress today! Tell her we love her too !
Ellen McBride Praying for you as you visit today, Bill.
Shelly Hanscom Praying for you as you visit today. My heart does truly break for you as I know how hard it is to see them there. Sending our love to you both!!
God has rallied his people to us amazingly from our church, our families, our community, and from around the world in action, in expressions of love, encouragement, support, and most importantly, in prayer.
We appreciate your continued prayers, as Laurel is still critically ill. The improvements of a couple of days ago have not translated into more gains yesterday or today. Your willingness to raise a complete stranger to the throne of grace is a testament to the body of Christ reaching beyond the walls that separate us on Sundays or the distances that stand between us. To God be the glory.”
Mack Ames Books and Maine Moose Patrol 