Memories

My wedding ring went to the shop a few weeks ago.  It just needed a small repair, but it was going to take up to a month, and I didn't want to be without a ring for that long.  I'm pretty proud of the man whose name I share and I'd prefer the whole world knows I belong to him, which meant I needed to rummage around in a closet and find my grandmother's ring to wear in the meantime.

My grandmother's ring.  The ring I used to watch her twist around and around her finger.  The ring she would let me try on when I played "wedding."  The ring she left for me in a box lined with blue velvet, my name written in her wild cursive on a torn piece of notebook paper and stuffed in the lid.  My grandmother's ring.

By the time I inherited it, I was much more mature than the little girl who used to pretend she was getting married.  I was in fact married with a ring of my own.  I also thought it was a little funny looking, not trendy at all.  I put it in a safe place and didn't think about it again.

But, something happened when I took it out of the box lined with blue velvet.  It wasn't funny looking at all.  In fact, it was a tad bit trendy.  And what's more, it was beautiful.  It was still small and worn and not a bit shiny.  But, it was beautiful.  Because it was hers. 

And for the last few weeks, I've caught myself staring at her ring on my hand.  Staring and remembering.  My grandmother has been gone for fifteen years, but I can still hear her laugh when she told one of her funny stories.  I can still taste her cherry cheese pie.  I can still smell her powder.  I can still see that ring, twisting round and round on her finger.

Today, I got the call that my own ring is repaired and ready for me to pick up.  I'll be glad to see it on my finger again.  But, I'll put my grandmother's ring away differently this time.  Because the older I get and the more I stand in one place and feel time rushing past me at a rate I can't control, the more I treasure my memories and the people I thought would be in my life forever, but rushed right past me to a place I can't see.

So the memories in a box lined with blue velvet will be waiting.  Maybe for my daughter.  Maybe a granddaughter.  But, they'll be waiting.  For someone to hear the stories of the laugh and the cherry pie and the powder and the ring.  The ring twisting round and round and round.

(in)courage Guest Blog: Hope For Marriages

I visited my eight-year widowed grandmother this weekend. It still shocks me to see her without my grandfather by her side. They were a matched pair, a perfect set, now waiting for the beautiful day they will be reunited. And she limps along with a smile, but with the gait of one who is missing half of herself.


I came home to wave at my one-week widowed neighbor. The grief is still too new, too raw to process. For how do you even decide alone what to eat for breakfast when you've been making decisions together for sixty-four years?


And then yesterday I heard the tale I've listened to so many times, told with tears running down the face and exhaustion in the eyes. The details change a little depending on the teller, but the stories are all pretty much the same. How the marriage started well, but has slowly died and is heading to the place beyond hope of resurrection. How wounds have been inflicted and trust has been broken. How love was taken for granted and priorities were shifted. How they wish it could change, but just don't see how.


And I can't help seeing those two women while I listen. Two women who would give anything to be held once more by the man whose socks once littered their bedroom floor. The same two women who will tonight go to bed alone instead of beside the snore that kept them awake for countless hours. The two women who now have only themselves to cook dinner for.


What would those women say in this moment?


To read more, log on to (in)courage, where the author of Treasure the Ordinary is a guest blogger today...

To read more on marriages, click the "Love Spark" label to the right for 14 days of encouragement on bringing life to your marriage.

Hope For Marriages

I visited my eight-year widowed grandmother this weekend.  It still shocks me to see her without my grandfather by her side.  They were a matched pair, a perfect set, now waiting for the beautiful day they will be reunited.  And she limps along with a smile, but with the gait of one who is missing half of herself.


I came home to wave at my one-week widowed neighbor.  The grief is still too new, too raw to process.  For how do you even decide alone what to eat for breakfast when you've been making decisions together for sixty-four years?


And then yesterday I heard the tale I've listened to so many times, told with tears running down the face and exhaustion in the eyes.  The details change a little depending on the teller, but the stories are all pretty much the same.  How the marriage started well, but has slowly died and is heading to the place beyond hope of resurrection.  How wounds have been inflicted and trust has been broken.  How love was taken for granted and priorities were shifted.  How they wish it could change, but just don't see how.


And I can't help seeing those two women while I listen.  Two women who would give anything to be held once more by the man whose socks once littered their bedroom floor.  The same two women who will tonight go to bed alone instead of beside the snore that kept them awake for countless hours.  The two women who now have only themselves to cook dinner for. 


What would those women say in this moment?


I think they would say it's worth it.  Your marriage is worth it.  It's worth fighting for.  It's worth hurting for.  It's worth sacrificing for.  It's worth healing.


I think they would say that the best marriage you'll ever have is the one you have right now.  I think they would tell you to seek God and not be afraid to change where He tells you to change.  I think they would whisper in your ear that a lifetime spent with an imperfect person you have chosen to love is too sweet to throw away and that with Him, all things are possible.


And I think they would tell you not to waste time with unforgiveness, for time is precious, and when it's gone, it's gone.


I think then they would hold you close, bow their heads, and pray for you to have resurrected hope.  And they would pray until you could say, "Amen...so be it."

Grief Unlike the World's

The moment I have been dreading since we moved into our home nine years ago happened this weekend.  Our precious 85 year old neighbor died.  First the phone call, then the visit from the grieving son, and then the telling to our children that their elderly playmate was gone.


It was their first true loss, the first time they learned what it meant to want to hold a hand, to hear a voice one more time, and not be able to.  It was a long time we sat together and cried, the sounds of grief coming and going like waves lapping. 


And slowly, the words came.  How we always pictured him taking care of his yard, his farmer's hat attempting to shield his weathered skin.  How thankful we were that he once rescued our third born wandering close to the street in his diaper, coming over later with a new latch for our gate.  How he had laughed watching boys sling mud in the moat they built with their own hands.  How we would treasure his gifts, the pocket knives that spoke of manhood to hungry boy hearts.  How we wished we could turn back the clock to see him one last time.  How we would miss the light in his workshop.  How we didn't understand.


Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words. (I Thessalonians 4:13-18)


And we spoke of hope.  And we spoke of the joyful expectation we now carry of seeing him again, healed and whole.  And we spoke of praise, for He is good, and it is when we hurt the most that our hearts must praise the loudest.


And we waited until each one could give voice to their praise, holding and rocking in between. "I love you, Jesus.  I praise You, for You are good." 


My children woke this morning with new wisdom.  They are discovering what it means to treasure the ones you love and to make each parting a benediction.  They are learning what it means to care for the orphans and the widows.  They are beginning to understand that it is in the sacrifice of praise that faith comes alive.


And they now know what it means to look forward to the day when we shall once more be neighbors with those our hearts miss.