Letter to God - My Grief and Christmas

Good morning, God.

This Christmas season has continued to remind me that grief comes in strange and unexpected ways.  It’s been two months since Shannon died, and I’ve heard from so many about the pain that the holiday season can bring.  I braced for the worst and instead found many small, significant moments where I missed Shannon!

I anticipated tears during the ‘decorating’ phase of Christmas but they didn’t come.  It was a year of simplicity.  I didn’t bother with ornaments on the tree or many of the small knickknacks which usually adorned the house.  I went out by myself and got a tree and Ben lent a hand in getting lights on it.  I set out all the toy soldier Christmas sets.   A few lights went outside.  Through it all I came to realize that Christmas decorating had become a solo exercise over these past years.  I decorated while Shannon napped.  The difference this year was that I didn’t feel pressure to go all out.  I could keep things simple.  I had a poignant moment while I set our mistletoe off to the side (not a lot of kissing the house this year), but that was about it.

I anticipated a rough time in making the Christmas cookies, but this too had become something I’d done on my own.  I made a few favorites that Ben and I didn’t want to miss and avoided some of the more annoying ones that Shannon so loved (she had a thing for cookies that were a pain to make).    Now Ben and I have a 9x13 pan of fudge to polish off!!

Wrapping presents proved a bit annoying.  Shannon had always wrapped the presents for the family (except for my presents to her, of course).  This year that new responsibility fell upon me.  I’m no ‘present wrapping artist.’  The main goal is to cover the present so people can’t guess what it is, right?? In that I succeeded brilliantly.  I missed Shannon in the process, though more in a ‘I wish she could be here to help’ kind of way.

Writing the annual Christmas letter proved interesting as I realized that some people receiving it only heard from us at Christmas and would not know that Shannon had died.  After receiving a number of Christmas letters addressed to ‘Pete and Shannon’ I felt a bit guilty sending a letter usually filled with cheer to announce a death.

This December I grew tired of seeing jewelry commercials with their constant portrayal of happy couples embracing and looking lovingly into each other’s eyes.   You can’t watch football in December without it.  They left me with a quiet sadness that I no longer had that special someone to kiss on the holiday.  The feeling never lingered for long.

I prepared for a really hard time in opening presents on Christmas Eve, a time when Shannon and I would sit side by side and give each other lovely gifts.  I got through it without tears, though my pile of presents felt ‘skimpy’ without that special something from her (and I missed seeing her face as she opened something from me).  We had some poignant moments as I gave Shannon’s mom the necklace that Shannon wore at the funeral, her sister Shannon’s favorite ‘magic warming blanket,’ and her dad a little toy soldier nurse set from Shannon’s collection.  I had bits of sadness, but not a lot of grief.

Surprisingly the moments that hit me the hardest in the Christmas season came during some of my favorite Christmas carols at the Christmas Eve worship service. Words that I usually sing with great gusto stuck in my throat as tears quietly streamed down my face:

Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exaltation.

Sing , all ye citizens of heaven above.

Glory to God in the highest

O come let us adore him.

Shannon now joins those citizens of heaven above, singing the same song!

Holy infant, so tender and mild,

sleep in heavenly peace.

Shannon now sleeps in God’s peace.

I came into the Christmas season expecting to be crushed by the weight of grief.  It didn’t happen.  Instead I found many small moments of quiet longing.  I’m constantly reminded that grief can’t be planned or expected.  It comes on its own schedule in its own way.  For me there have been brief moments where it overwhelmed me.  There have been many more moments of quiet sadness where I miss the woman I loved so much.  And, surprisingly, there have been moments of relief as some of the weight of caring for someone with cancer (and the expectations she had) falls away.  I get to make my own choices and chart my own path.  

Merry Christmas! 

O come let us adore him,

O come let us adore him,

O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!

Letter to God - The Coming Darkness

Dear God,

Boy have I had a lot of fun this past month!  It’s like a weight has lifted and I’m free. So many things were not possible when caring for a wife with cancer.    Now I have a sense of freedom to be able to get together with people and do things I haven’t done in years.

-          I got to go to Chicago to a Northwestern football game with some old college buddies.  I haven’t seen some of them in over a decade.    

-          I’ve gotten together with people to watch football games on TV.  Shannon enjoyed watching the Vikings, but stayed too calm.  It’s been fun to properly ‘help’ the team from afar (I know they can hear me!).

-          I’ve been amazed at the number of people that I’ve been able to get together with and share a beer.  I’m a social creature so connecting with so many has been wonderful.  I’m also finding some very good brews in Rochester.

-          I even got to go on an epic road trip with Richard to a toy soldier show in Washington DC.  In four days we covered 9 states, toured the Gettysburg battlefield, and even got to have lunch with my brother Jim in Detroit.

People continue to ask, “How are you doing?”  With all these fun activities underway my response has been a very genuine, “I’m doing well.”

Tomorrow afternoon a new adventure begins.  I learned that I have hit the ‘use it or lose it’ portion of my vacation for 2016.  This is a first for me.  I always enjoy every minute of my vacation in a year.  This year, however, a couple vacations were cut short because Shannon didn’t feel good (or because of radiation).  So I now have a couple weeks of vacation around the holidays.  My brain keeps telling me that this will be amazing and awesome.  I’ll have time to do some fun things.  I’ll catch up on things around the house.  I’ll be able to relax and enjoy life.  I'll sign on with Netflix and watch movies.

My brain says it should be fun, my gut doesn’t quite agree.  After two months of fun with many people (and some great things happening at work) life will come to a screeching halt.  Instead of filling the days with people and conversation I will spend it at home.  Ben will be around and we’ll do some things together, but I don’t expect Ben to drop everything and hang out with dad for a few weeks.  He has friends to be with.  It’s his senior year, he needs them!

God, I have things to do over this vacation, things I haven’t gotten to since Shannon died.  Shannon has a whole hobby room full of things that I need to sort through.  Many memories are in there.  After she went on hospice she actually apologized for leaving me so much to sort through!  I have books to find homes for.  How many cookbooks does a person need anyway?!  Keepsakes are important, but I have no need to keep every little thing she owned.  

So while most people are wrapped up in the Christmas season of joy and hope, I will spend time in the past.  I will hold many reminders of the woman I loved.  The busyness and fun will end for a while.  For the first time since Shannon died it’ll be me and my thoughts.  I know this is a part of the healing process but I’m not looking forward to it.  It will be a lot more of the darkness of Advent than the bright light of Christmas. 

God, I know you are in the midst of all these memories. I haven’t had many moments of tears lately.  That’s about to change.  Intellectually I know that I won’t be alone.  You will be there with me.  Help me to feel your presence.  Help me to know your love.  Shine a glimmer of light into my darkness.

O come, O come, Emanuel!

Letter to God - A Wedding Ring and Facebook Status

Good morning Lord,

This morning I am holding two seemingly contradictory thoughts in my head.

-          I am now a single man

-          Shannon will always be my wife

Twenty-two years ago I made a vow to Shannon that ended with ‘’Till death parts us.”  That brutal reality has come to fruition.  One month ago this morning Shannon took her last breath.  Death has parted us.   I am no longer a married man.  That is a strange thought.

Shortly after Shannon passed away I looked online to see the ‘protocol’ for wearing a wedding ring after the death of a spouse.  Not surprisingly it doesn’t exist.  Some spouses wear their wedding rings the rest of their lives.  Others put them away.  At the time I thought that one month seemed about the right amount of time to continue to wear it.  This morning it's one month.  It seems appropriate to take it off and acknowledge my new reality.  I am no longer a married man.  Wedding rings serve as symbols of a lifelong commitment.  I have now removed mine.  The commitment has come to an end.

Last week I checked on Facebook to see how they listed my marital status.  Shannon’s Facebook page has been set to a ‘memorial’ account, so I thought that perhaps they would automatically list me as a widower.  They don’t.  Facebook assumes that I am still actively married to Shannon.  This morning I will change the status to ‘single.’  ‘Widowed’ is an option, but when I think of widowed I think of an elderly person who will be alone the rest of their life.  That’s not me.  Shannon and I had many conversations about the fact that I would remarry and life would continue.  She had no desire for me to ‘pine away’ for her.  Life moves forward.   No timetables exist for such things.

I am a single man.  It’s an odd feeling but it’s reality.

Yet I’m not single in the way I was single as a teenager.  Shannon will always remain my wife.  For twenty-two years we shared everything together.  My relationship with Shannon Marie Reuss changed me from a geeky 20 year old into the man I’ve become.  She encouraged me, supported me, loved me, lived with me, journeyed through cancer with me.  That can never be taken away or forgotten. 

Last night in conversation I found myself referring to ‘my wife Shannon.’  To do anything else would be to deny the love that we shared.   She has gone from this world but not from my heart.  While the day may come when this changes to ‘my first wife Shannon,’ the title ‘wife’ will accompany her until my dying day.

God,  I had no idea how much work it would be to try to figure these things out.  Thank you for walking with me on this journey of discovery, hope, and grief.

Letter to God - The Isolation of Cancer

Dear God,

I’m coming to realize what an impact cancer has had on me over the past 11 years.  It took Shannon’s life.  It also isolated me from the world.

Before cancer arrived in our lives Shannon and I were out and about.  We had friends to play cards with.  We cooked together.  We had a huge garden, spending our evenings canning beans and freezing corn.  We went on daily walks, hand in hand.  We sat on porches and chatted with neighbors.  We went camping regularly.  We did most everything together and loved every minute of it.

When we found out she had cancer we had to stop those things while they blasted her with chemotherapy.  As soon as that awful time ended we got right back into card playing and gardening.  The cancer returned a second time and we had less time and energy for things.   We didn’t realize it at the time but our life in isolation had begun. 

It didn’t hit all at once.  Life changed a little at a time.  We got together with people less often because Shannon didn’t have energy for it.  Sometimes just going to worship on Sunday was all she could handle.  Shannon slowly lost the strength to help with mundane things like laundry, dishes, or cooking as most of the household tasks fell to me.  We hired housekeepers to do the deep cleaning, but someone had to have things ready for them to come.   My days off became a long list of tasks to accomplish.  I grew exhausted.

Shannon constantly implored me to ‘get out there and have some fun.’  I did my best, getting together with Dave for a beer or with Eric at the lake, though as time went on even that became difficult.  To have a social life I had to leave Shannon behind.  For a while it wasn’t a big deal, but as she lost energy I felt like I was abandoning her.  My deep love for my wife kept me near her as much as possible.  My time with others slowly slipped away. 

Little by little cancer isolated me.  When not at work I plugged away around the house while she rested.  That’s what became normal.  I used the little free time that I had to be with her, still walking whenever possible, but now avoiding contact with others.  The goal was to get her some exercise and get her home.  Standing and chatting took too much out of her.  My one ‘selfish’ activity was running (and it kept me sane).

God, it’s only now, looking back on things, that I see how cancer stripped away so many things that I loved to do.  I’m a social creature and don’t do well when by myself for hours on end.   Life has been hard.

Now that Shannon has died life has changed dramatically.  In the past couple weeks I’ve done more things with friends that I’ve been able to do in years.  I get together for a drink after work.  I watch football with guys.  I head off to run in far away races.  I have a social life again.  It’s been amazing.

God, I admit that part of me feels guilty that I’m enjoying life.  Shouldn’t I be pining away for my deceased wife?  On the other hand I’m finally doing what she’s implored me to do for years.  “Get out there and have some fun.”   

Cancer took away so much.  You remain.  Shannon has new life in You.  I now have new life as well. Thank you for the hope You provide.

A Letter to God - Leaving the Door Open

Good morning God,

This morning I woke up at 5:00 (I’ve done a lot of that lately).  Exactly three weeks ago my wife Shannon left me went to be with you.  How can it only be three weeks ago?  It seems like a lifetime.

I’ve struggled with how I feel I ‘should’ grieve.  I never wanted to be ‘that guy’: the guy who stuffed his grief down deep and pretended to move on, the guy who kept himself busy so he didn’t have to think of his loss, the guy who didn’t cope well. 

Before Shannon died I imagined myself pining away for her, missing her at every turn, struggling to believe that she had died.  I’ve been surprised to find my brain fully capable of comprehending the fact that she is not here.  It’s like I finished reading a really good book.  I enjoyed it while it lasted but I knew that eventually I came to the end and it’s time for a new one.   Perhaps all the work Shannon and I did over the years to ‘live in the moment’ is coming to fruition.  I’m in the moment and the moment doesn’t involve a wife to live with and laugh with.   It’s a new reality.

At moments the tears still flow but in many other moments I am learning what it is to ‘read a new book.’  I’m reengaging in my work.  I’m having creative conversations with folks around Shannon’s business (ok, there’s another weird thing…it was always ‘my wife’s business’).  I’m getting together with people to watch football and chat (something I haven’t been free to do in years).   I admit that sometimes I feel guilty for enjoying myself too much.  Shouldn’t I be pining away??  People still come with their long faces and ask, “How are you doing?”  I want to give some deep, poignant answer, but the reality is that at most moments I’m doing just fine.  Perhaps I’m fully in denial, but I’m finding ways to move ahead into this new life.

Yesterday one of Shannon’s best friends sent Ben and me a package.  Laura had taken quite a few of Shannon’s ‘Beauty Each Day’ photos and turned them into a book.  The note with it struck me deeply.  Laura lost her mother a while back and she shared some words that Shannon had offered to her in her dark days:

A doorway doesn’t need a door---it can be a giant window to what lies behind and what goes on next.  You aren’t expected to shut it firmly behind you and not look back, or think about what is in the space behind it.  You can leave it wide open and cautiously move ahead while keeping all that is behind you fully in view.  Even as time goes by and you venture off to the doorway into the new space, you can return to the doorway between any time you like, and bask, and reflect, and ponder.

God, I have walked through that doorway.  Last Sunday night at our Bishop’s Theological Conference we had a service for the remembrance of the saints.  I stood in that doorway and lit a candle in Shannon’s memory.  The tears flowed.  This morning in worship our congregation will celebrate ‘All Saints Day’ (a week behind, but that’s how People of Hope rolls sometimes!).  Ben and I will together stand at the door and remember.  We will receive the reassurance that you have conquered death for your people…for Shannon.  It will be hard, but as Ben says, “Dad, we need to do this.” 

God, help me to keep that door open.  When it is appropriate, bring me to that door to look back and remember.  At other times, lead me into the new life you provide.

Thank you for allowing Laura to share Shannon’s words with me.  

Letter to God - I'm Here

Dear God –

Nearly two weeks after my wife passed away this isn’t what I expected.

I expected to have times of intense grief.  I prepared to be overwhelmed every time I thought of Shannon.  I was a bit concerned that I wouldn’t be able to function very well.  Even though I’ve intentionally spent time remembering Shannon (spending most evenings opening sympathy cards), that hasn’t been the case.  There have only been a few moments of tears.

I thought I would have many thoughts connecting Shannon with the readings from Revelation I heard at the funeral, moments of contemplating her with that heavenly choir conquering death.   I’ve done this with my mom Edee for most of my life.  Somehow my brain can’t wrap itself around the fact that Shannon is there.  It doesn’t seem real.

I thought I would constantly forget that she wasn’t in the house with me, that I’d always think I had her to talk to, that I’d feel her presence.  I haven’t.  It’s been pretty obvious that it’s just Ben and me. 

I part of me expected that I’d energetically move on.  After weeks (and years) of taking time to care for Shannon with her many health needs I’m free to go out on new ventures.  I was a bit concerned that I’d just move on and forget to grieve.  There have been moments when it’s felt like a weight has lifted, but overall I’ve lacked much energy.  Right now the future seems a bit overwhelming.  There are exciting aspects of it, but it’ll be a lot of work to get there.

I want to enthusiastically embrace the love that people have shown for me through cards and conversations.  In some ways it’s been great to know that we’re not alone.  In other times, as Ben mentioned last night, “I just want to live life and not have people always remind me that I should be grieving.  I want to remember mom, not her death.”  People seem to expect an intense response when checking in with me.  I guess I haven’t had the intensity to give.

It’s hard to explain.  My emotions have been numb.  They don’t get high or low.  When people ask, “How are you?” my reply is quite truthful: “I’m here.”  That’s about all I can say.  God, I want to feel swaddled in your love.  Frankly, I don’t.  I feared that I would feel distant and angry with You.  I don’t.  I’m not filled with great hope or overwhelmed with deep despair.

Today, I’m here.  That’s about all I can say.  I pray that You are here too.

Letter to God - A Glimpse of the Sunshine

Dear God,

Slowly but surely a light is shining in my soul. 

It’s been a soul crushing week.  I will never forget the suffering that Shannon endured in those last days, her chapped lips a testament to the desperate thirst she felt.  Her stomach couldn’t handle the fluids she craved.  I will never forget her frail body struggling with those last breaths or how tiny she looked as the mortician carried her out the front door.  I will never forget the utter pain and loneliness that I experienced in those hours and days. 

God, you found ways to break into my darkness.  At the visitation, after the initial surge of emotion at seeing her body, you brought me wave after wave of people showing your love over me and my family.  I walked away exhausted but surrounded in care.  The funeral brought your words of hope, expressed through song, liturgy, and proclamation.  I received the reminder of your victory over death, of your love which can never be taken from us, of the community of the saints that Shannon now lives with.  “They will thirst no more.”  I will never hear those words the same again.  The entire service proclaimed your love and power.  Thank you.

The commendation nearly did me in.  It felt like a final good-bye, entrusting Shannon to your loving arms.  Ben and I stood embracing each other giving that last farewell.  Tears flooded over me then and still fill my eyes just thinking about it.  Shannon is gone from this earth.  She rests in your care.  Nothing will change that.

As a pastor I’ve always told families about the blessing of the funeral lunch.  On Wednesday I experienced it myself.  After the agony of the funeral it became a step in healing.  We told stories of Shannon’s life.  As Ben said afterwards, “I’ve never hugged so many people in my life.”  Again, your love flowed through the support of so many people who came to be with us.  Thank you.

Yesterday I woke up to the first day of the rest of my life.  For the first time in weeks Ben and I had the house to ourselves.  I puttered on projects.  I cleaned my desk.  I went for a 5 mile run.  God, yesterday hope started to shine once again.  For years every time Shannon would go on a new chemo regimen we would have to figure out what the ‘new normal’ would be.  It’s time to find that new normal for myself. 

Yesterday felt like a weight had been taken from my shoulders.  It began to dawn on me how much work it’s been to be the primary caregiver for someone with cancer.  On the spur of the moment I called a friend to get together for a beer.  I invited someone to come over to watch a football game on Saturday.  These are things I haven’t been able to do in a very long time.  I’m growing excited for the future.

Yet as I explained this new hope to my friend over that delicious beer I found the tears were right below the surface.  It’s going to be a long journey to find that new normal.  I’ll miss Shannon terribly.

But for now, Lord, I give thanks for moments of peace.  My faith has always focused on your power to conquer death.  You have done it once again!  I pray that in the emotional roller coaster ahead you would continue to bring a glimpse of your sunshine.

Letter to God - In the Pain

Dear God,

I would have thought I would be ready for this.

For 11 ½ years I have known that the cancer would eventually take her life.  For the past five weeks as she enjoyed the care of hospice I have known that her time had come near.  Together we wrote her obituary, planned the funeral, and even went on a road trip so she could see the church and funeral chapel where the funeral and visitation would be held.  You would have thought I’d be ready.

I’m not.  

Someone came to the door the other day and I nearly said, “Hang on, let me get Shannon.”  A woodpecker decided to come perch on our deck door and I almost yelled down the hall for her to come and see.  God, I can’t believe she is gone.  My brain somehow knows it but by whole being wants to wake from this bad dream and have her sitting by my side once again.

I thought I’d prepared things, but nothing prepared me for the utter pain in my soul.  Thoughts keep flooding my mind, thoughts of things I will never do with Shannon again: walking in the woods (hand in hand), planning the next venture for her business, watching our son run a race, enjoy her karaoke set-up, the list could go on and on.   God, I loved her so much.  How can she be gone?  How can it be that I will live the rest of my days without my best friend? 

I’m trying to cling to words of hope.  I know that she rests in your arms now, but I want her in mine.   I don’t want any of this to be happening. 

I know that tonight at the visitation and tomorrow at the funeral you will surround me with your love through the arms of many, many people.  As a pastor I’ve walked with many families through this dark journey.  This path is different.  It’s my own.  Words can’t describe how hard this is. 

On Sunday I lost my wife.  Ben lost his mother.  Life will not be the same.  God, I reach into the darkness, hoping and praying that you are there, clinging to your promises.  

Pete

Today's Prayer - At a Loss for Words

Dear God-

Some days I come to you and know exactly what I’m asking for.  Today is not one of those days.

For 11 ½ years I have prayed that you would heal my wife from cancer.  I rejoiced with you when the treatments worked well and she felt good.  I lamented when the cancer grew and she felt lousy.   Her health always hit the top of my prayer list.

Now, over a month into hospice, I don’t have any idea what to pray for anymore.  

A part of me wants as much time with her as I can get.  We’ve had the blessing of some wonderful time together in these past weeks.  We’ve been able to plan the funeral, write the obituary, and think together about what life will be like for me after she is gone.  It’s been a blessing and I thank you for that.  A part of me prays for more days…more conversations…more love.

But another part of me struggles to see her body wasting away.  Eating is nearly impossible.  She can barely even drink without throwing up even though she’s incredibly thirsty.  She has lost so much weight that she is down to skin and bones.  The pain is growing again so we’re increasing the medications to take care of it.  She sleeps most of the time.  God, it’s hard to watch someone you love struggle so much.  Last Sunday in worship there was a focus on lamenting and we had the opportunity to write prayers on the wall.  I found myself writing, “Come sweet death.”  

See what I mean?  These requests don’t fit together.  I want Shannon to be at peace.  I want all this suffering to end.   I want to have as many days with her as I can.  

So this morning I come in prayer, not knowing what to say.  I guess it’s not a day to ask for anything.    For today, these verses from Romans 8 will have to suffice:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

Holy Spirit, intercede for me today.  I’m at a loss.

Pete

Letter to God - A Morning of Hope

Dear God -

This morning I woke up with a strong sense of peace.  I can't explain it.  My wife has a short time
(days...weeks) to live.  The cancer ravages her body and she has barely eaten in days.  I watch her grow weak before my eyes.  Yet, strangely, this morning I have words of praise on my lips.

A week ago Shannon was in the hospital and I thought the end had come near.  She was in extreme pain and couldn't keep anything down.  They drugged her up to get it all under control which made her pretty loopy.  I wondered if I would ever have a normal conversation with her again.  I had to tell the doctors to give her a 'Do Not Resuscitate' arm band.  My soul ached.

But then things improved.  They got the medications under control.  She started thinking clearly.  We've able to talk and make plans.  We're getting details for the funeral pinned down and her obituary written.  She has chosen the clothes she wants to have on in the casket.  This morning she excitedly peeled the garlic for some salsa I'm making.

Yesterday we went to Rochester so she could see Good Shepherd Lutheran, the church where the funeral will be held (we are members at People of Hope which is nowhere near large enough to hold her funeral).  Shannon had never seen the church before and she was pleased with what she saw.  We then went to the funeral home so she could see the chapel where the visitation will be held and she marveled at the stained glass windows.  I assumed these would be highly emotionally charged things.  They were not.

I'm trying to figure this out.  I've had many times where the tears flowed, but for now life seems good.  Shannon is still feisty but knows that her days are short.  We're taking each of them as a gift.

I suppose the initial shock of hearing 'Your wife has a short time to live' has worn off.  We're living in the daily reality of her mortality.  What had seemed overwhelming now seems normal.

Yesterday someone dropped off some cleaning supplies with a note that included this verse from Romans 8:
If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.

 God, I know that much grief lies ahead, but for now I'll just revel in that promise.  Whether Shannon lives or dies, she is the Yours.  I am Yours.  Ben is Yours.  Thank you for the peace and hope.

Another Letter to God - A Little Hope

Good morning, God,

It’s me again.  Remember me?

This morning I did something that seemed quite normal.  I woke up, opened my book of daily Bible readings, and reflected on a few verses.  As I’ve done most of this year, I looked for some words that stood out (today it was ‘set you free’ from Romans 8:1-5).  My aim has been to have these words percolate throughout the day.  In some ways, just another morning devotion.  I muttered a few words of prayer.  A little time spent with you.  Not that amazing, really.

The bookmark in the book opened to September 11^th, a day that for me will always be ‘ the day my wife Shannon was told she didn’t have long to live.’  Since that day I’ve had little interest in sitting with you for a morning devotion.  I have known that you remained by my side but I haven’t felt like engaging in a conversation.  I’ve attended worship but have felt like I was just going through the motions. 

God, I admit that the last two weeks have very self-focused.  I’m wrapped up in caring for Shannon, a task which I do with relish.  She’s a wonderful woman and I have nothing else I’d rather do, but being in charge of someone whose health is failing takes a toll!   I'm sleeping in a cot in her hospital room.  I’m coordinating a visiting schedule so Shannon doesn’t get overwhelmed with people.  I’m planning a funeral, I’m making sure that her business continues smoothly, I’m trying to get exercise (to keep sane), I’m wondering what life will be like as a single man, especially once Ben goes off to college.  It’s about me.  Things have turned inward.

This morning, as I woke up and lay there thinking (something that happens around 4 or 5 am every day…it’d be nice to get a full night of sleep for a change), my thoughts shifted to Shannon.  What must life be like to be standing at the brink of death?  Here I am thinking and making plans for the future.  She will never see that future.  Her future is with you, not me.

As you know, my faith has always centered around this hope.  From the moment of my mom’s funeral when I was a mere seven years old I have clung to the resurrection with my whole being.  Now that hope is for Shannon.  It’s the only hope we have.  She’s eating and drinking little.  She’s losing weight and energy.  No matter how hard we try to keep her strong our options are limited.  God, your options are not.  I’m not going to beg and plead for a miracle.  I know all too well that death is a part of life.  Shannon will die, but in you she will rise.  She will life with the glorious saints.  I won’t pretend to understand what that looks like, but I do trust that you have it all under control.

So, for this one morning, I’m reaching out to you.  I’m trusting in your faithfulness.   I know that Shannon will be ‘set free.’   Tomorrow the cares of this world may again overwhelm me, but right now your resurrection floods my soul.  Thank you for that.

Today's Prayer

Dear God,

I’m having a bit of a hard time focusing these days so I thought I’d take some time to write you a letter.  This way I can get all my thoughts in one place.

God, my wife Shannon is dying.  Yes, I said that.  My brain believes it (most days), but only sporadically does the reality sink in.

For 11 ½ years she has endured ovarian cancer treatments, but she’s had cancer longer than that.  Before we moved to Minnesota she went to her doctor with all the classic symptoms of ovarian cancer. (bloating, cramping, etc).  She was sent home with a pat on the head and a, “Tut tut, you’re over 30 now.  The body changes.”  Four months after we’d moved to my new call at Peace Lutheran Church she felt a lump in her abdomen one morning.  At first they assumed it was a hernia but sent her for a CT scan to be sure.  The doctor called us back into her office as soon as the results came in.  Cancer.  Ovarian cancer.  The cancer her mom has.  The cancer that took her grandma’s life. 

That diagnosis hit me hard.  My mom Edee passed away when I was seven.  I have few memories of her, and she’s very sick in every memory.  At the time our son Ben was five.  Would the same thing happen to him? 

Shannon endured that first surgery and the heavy chemotherapy that followed and received a clean bill of health.  She’d beaten it!  For about five months we celebrated, but then a scan revealed it had come back.  More surgery.  More chemo.  Another celebration of victory followed a couple months later by a reality that we’ve had to live with.  This cancer wouldn’t go away.  The focus of treatment changed from remission to management.

Some day we’re going to look back on our current cancer treatment options with horror.  Basically, we poison the body and hope it hits the cancer worse than it hits everything else.  It seems barbaric, but it’s the best we have.  It’s like looking at the ‘tools of the trade’ for dentists from 150 years ago.  What made sense then seems downright evil to us today.  For years we have pumped chemicals through Shannon’s body to keep the cancer at bay.  We retained some control.  We planned the treatments based on the time of year.  When summer would come we’d try to have something that required fewer trips to Mayo Clinic and had fewer side effects.  We learned to plan our trips to the lake around when she would feel good.   When one chemo would quite working we always had more in the hopper.  Some made her miserable.  Some were tolerated well.  Our hope was that she’d have enough options for treatment until they could find something really good to take the cancer out once and for all.

Last fall is when things started to unravel.  She had a great summer including three straight weeks at the lake.  We walked a couple miles a day.  We lived in great hope.  But last fall she had a hard time getting her breath on a walk.  The scan showed that cancer had spread to the lining of her lung.  We never expected this!  Unlike breast cancer (and some others), ovarian cancer tends to stay put.  It doesn’t show up in other parts of the body, yet here it slipped over the diaphragm.  This lead to new treatments which proved ineffective, which led to more new treatments.  Her tumors started reacting in different ways: a chemo would do a great job on the cancer by the lung but let the tumors in the abdomen grow.  We’d switch to another drug and the opposite would occur. 

Despite all this Shannon and I kept hope.  We knew we were one good drug away from knocking the cancer back.  This wasn’t a completely vain hope.  We’d seen it happen before.  We knew it could happen again.  God, we’ve experienced your healing touch through all of this.  We’ve prayed and prayed for healing.

Yet in the midst of this hope a knife of pain began to stab in my soul.  I started having moments of doubt.  Was my hope simply a denial of reality?  Every time I explained Shannon’s situation to someone it sounded worse than I expected.  What seemed so ‘normal’ to me usually shocked others. 

For the past months it seems that my entire faith life has centered around Shannon and her cancer.  When I pray she’s on my mind.  When I read scripture I do it through the lens of cancer, pain, and suffering.  When I worship I think of little else.  Last Easter I found myself in tears on many occasions with all the talk of death and resurrection.   It seemed to hit close to home.

God, my life with you has always centered around resurrection.  My earliest memories of faith are of my mom’s funeral and the words of hope that I heard there.  I have always reveled in the book of Revelation with its portrayal of your victory over evil and death.  Frankly, I have missed having the opportunity to preach at funerals and proclaim to the world that death does not have the last word.

Yet the word from the doctor last Friday still hurts.  After 11 ½ year of this, the time for fighting cancer has ended.  The scan showed that in the past two months the cancer has grown rapidly.  We didn’t expect this!  Ovarian cancer has been slow growing and we expected it to stay that way.   I suspected the day would come when the cancer would become life threatening, but I wasn’t prepared to hear ‘You have weeks to months to live.’ 

God, after the initial flood of emotions I’ve become numb, which is why I’m writing this letter to you.  It just doesn’t seem possible that my time with Shannon is so short.  Sure she sleeps much of the day but it’s like she’s on chemo.  I feel like we’ve been here before.  I’m just waiting for things to improve and we can get back to life.  I have to face it.  There is no getting back to life.  Shannon is on hospice.  The goal is to keep her comfortable.  How can this be?

I want to revel in Your hope.  I want those words of victory from Revelation to inspire my soul.  Right now they do nothing for me.   Some are ‘praying for a miracle.’  I know You can do that.  I also know You usually don’t.  I’m not going to spend these last days pretending that everything will be fine.  Deep down I know that I must face reality.  As a pastor I’ve walked down this road with many families.  It’s time to walk the road myself.   Thankfully I’m not on this road alone.  I have family and friends alongside me.  My brain knows that You are there too, even when I’m not feeling it.  

God, right now I’m not feeling it.  I have to trust in Your promises.  I guess that’s what faith is all about.

Be with me!

Your servant,

Pete

Accepting Mediocrity

A while back I sat through a church conference presentation that I thought would never end.  The presenter had some helpful things to say but the room drifted into a late afternoon stupor .  Hearing someone read bullet points off of a PowerPoint in a monotone proved too much.  The pain people experienced overflowed in the bitter conversation over dinner. 

“What a waste of time.” 

“Doesn't she know that she’s boring?” 

“I came here to learn, not to be put to sleep.”  

Those who knew the presenter stood up for her (following Martin Luther’s words, ‘Defend them, speak well of them, and explain their actions in the kindest way’).  “She’s a good person who loves the church and knows her material.  She obviously didn't have time to prepare.  Go easy on her.  It’s not her fault.”

A whole table full of people talked ABOUT the presenter, but not one person talked TO the presenter.  Nobody would dare do that.  It would be the height of rudeness to tell someone that their presentation was mind numbing!  As Christians we’re supposed to love and support each other, right?

That’s exactly why someone needed to talk to the presenter!   Was it loving to allow her to think she did a great job when she didn’t?  Would it be more loving to talk behind her back or to speak truth in love to her face?  If the presenter truly ‘loves the church and knows her material’ she will WANT that kind of feedback to allow her words to carry the power and insight that can change the world.

Instead, out of Christian ‘politeness,’ people chose to complain among themselves.

Recently I met with someone from an organization that embraces a brutally honest culture.  When they give a presentation people sit in the back to observe.   They take time afterwards to sit with the presenter and offer very pointed critiques to allow the presenter to do a better job the next time.  The person I met with told of his early days in the organization.  He had been assigned to observe one of the icons of their movement as she led a group.   In the feedback time that followed he simply stated, “That was the best presentation I have ever seen.  You have an amazing gift for this and I am fortunate to be able to observe.”  At the end of the feedback session, she took him aside privately and said, “If you don’t have any helpful critique for me you are of no use to me.”

This sounds harsh but every presenter in the organization sought to be the best that they could be.  If they only received sycophantic feedback then they would never have the opportunity to face their weak areas.  They would remain trapped in the same unhelpful patterns throughout their career.  They would never fully unleash all their God-given gifts.

Last year I spoke at a gathering of retired pastors.  The gathering ended with me receiving kudos from many in the room.  “Great presentation, Pete.”  “You have a lot of energy.”  “Well done.”  One response, however, stuck with me, “You yelled the whole time.  You had a microphone, so bring your voice down a bit.  It was hard to listen to you for the whole time.  I eventually tuned you out.”  His response took me by surprise.  My first thought, “How could he be so rude?!”  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he had a point.  He wasn’t attacking me as a person.  He wanted to help me to be a better presenter.  Now, as I speak to a group, I intentionally think about the way I sound.  One person’s honest response changes how I act.  Without it, I would never have known.

Many of our churches have created a culture of accepting mediocrity.   We equate ‘what I do’ with ‘who I am,’ so any critique of my actions becomes a personal attack.  We’re willing to lie and say, “Great job” when we know it was anything but great.  We label someone ‘a jerk’ if they speak the truth…sometimes the truth that everyone else is thinking but is afraid to say.   What if we created a culture of honesty, where in love for one another we could actually talk about ways to improve? 

We’re afraid of that kind of honesty.  The sermon was terrible?  That’s OK, he’s a nice guy.  The council meeting ran way over because the president kept getting sidetracked?  Annoying, but we can deal with it.  One person completely dominated the adult ed conversation, leaving no room for anyone else to speak?  That’s just fine, we just won’t go next time.

I know full well that some people are just mean.  They go out of their way to criticize for the sole purpose of making someone feel terrible.   That’s not what I’m talking about here.  When we’re in loving relationships with each other we can be honest with each other.  We can provide praise when that’s appropriate.  We can offer critique when needed. 

God calls us to excellence in what we do.  Leaders who can’t face any critique will remain limited in their abilities and will never fully use the gifts that God has given them.  How can God’s church boldly proclaim God’s Good News to a world that desperately needs to hear it if we so willingly embrace mediocrity? 

Time for Honesty

On Wednesday morning I heard brutally honest words.  "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."  In a nutshell, as someone placed a cross of ashes on my forehead she told me, “You’re going to die.  Your body will decompose.  You will go back to dirt.”

Not exactly the stuff of Hallmark greeting cards…but an honest assessment of reality.

Nearly every Sunday when I worship I start the service by boldly proclaiming my failures.  Together with the whole community I tell God about my selfishness, my pride, my greed, my anger, and my jealousy.  It’s a no-holds-barred assessment of my life: I have failed God in many ways.

Followers of Jesus Christ have the freedom to express such blunt honesty. 

We live in a world that feels the need to sugar coat everything.   We want to be strong.  We want to be successful.  We want to live happily every after.  These Disney-dreams sometimes creep into our lives of faith.  We can get the impression that if only we believe in Jesus ‘enough’ then everything will go our way.  The pressure is on us to get things right so God can properly bless us.  We need the proper prayers, the proper devotional life, the proper morality.  Do these things and God will shower you with blessings.

It’s a dangerous lie. 

When our faith depends on our good actions, churches become cesspools of hypocrisy.  People dare not show any weakness in faith.  Only stories of God’s amazing power in their lives can be told (and if you don’t have an amazing story, you might try to come up with one to fit in).  Underneath the veneer of a happy smile, however, people hurt.  They doubt.  They struggle.  They don’t want to admit to any problems (other than ones in the past that they have ‘conquered in Jesus’) lest they be looked down upon and judged.  It’s a race to see who can seem the most content in their faith.  “Look at me, God.  I’m awesome.”

It’s a dangerous lie.

We are broken, sinful people living in a broken, sinful world.  That’s the harsh truth.  We have moments when we doubt our faith.  We have times when we wonder if God is even out there anywhere.  We have things that we do which we know full well are wrong, yet we can’t seem to stop ourselves.  We have illnesses that don’t heal.  We have financial problems.  We struggle to raise our children.  The list could go on and on.

Life is difficult…and then you die.  That’s an honest assessment, but it’s not the whole story.  In the midst of this life of pain, Jesus comes for you.  Jesus brings love, hope, forgiveness, and life.  Jesus knows pain, he had nails driven into his wrists.  Jesus knows rejection, his followers deserted him and his people condemned him.  Jesus knows death.  We’re not alone in this journey through life...and even into death.

It’s time for Christ’s church to proclaim the honest reality of the world.  We don’t have to ‘get it all together’ to have faith.  The only way we come before the throne of God is as unworthy people forgiven through Jesus’ death and resurrection.

I am free to hear that I am dust because of a God who redeems the dust.  I am free to confess my failures because of a God who forgives failures.  My role in faith is not to impress God with my faithfulness so I can receive a blessing.  My role is simply to walk with Jesus, in good days and in bad, in hope and in despair, when my faith is strong and when it’s struggling.  In the end, when my body goes back to dust, this is the God who will redeem me.  In the Bible Job proclaims, "After my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh shall I see God."  I will die and God will continue to act.

I am free to be honest.  God knows me too well to do anything else.

Having a goal...and shooting for it!

A couple weeks ago my son Ben and I reached a goal that is out of the grasp of most people: we

completed a half marathon.  For the past several months I’ve been in ‘training mode.’  While I enjoy running year round, this is the time when I increase the number of miles I’m putting in.  I start with 5 mile runs and weekly increase to 6, then 7, up to 9 miles.  I figure that if I can run 9 miles by myself I can definitely run 13 miles in a crowd.  The training paid off.  On a beautiful day in downtown St. Paul I ran my third half marathon, finishing 8 minutes faster than last year.  I wanted to beat 2 hours, and I finished in 1:53.  Goal completed!

Some of the 500 people running that day ran with a very different goal in mind.   “The Securian half-Marathon is an official Wave 1 qualifier for the Medtronic Twin Cities Marathon.”  That means some the top runners ran this race with a larger goal in mind.  They sought to qualify to start with the elite crowd in a marathon.  I suspect that their training took a more vigorous course, as the top runner finished over 40 minutes before I did.  For every mile that I ran, he gained 3 minutes on me.  Pretty impressive! 

For me, the Securian half-marathon served as goal to shoot for.  For the top runners, this half-marathon served as a means towards a more significant goal.  For them the half-marathon was not enough: they had their eyes on a greater prize.  We ran the same race…we had different ideas of what the race meant to us. 

Different goals…different training…different outcomes

I think the same can be said for faith formation in many congregations.  People come to it with vastly different goals, seeking different outcomes.   Is it any wonder that we have a hard time agreeing on the best way to ‘train’?

• For some, faith formation means Sunday School attendance.  Having many kids roaming the halls of the church building brings satisfaction and hope.  If kids show up, the goal is complete.
• Others want their children to gain a sense of right and wrong.
• Others want their kids to know something about the Bible. 
• Others come with a goal of keeping youth engaged in faith and the church throughout their lives. 

Is it any wonder that when you bring people together with such different goals and ask the question, “What should our church do with our kids,” you get vastly different responses? 

•  Those for whom Sunday School attendance is the measuring stick will go all out to preserve the status quo while seeking to find a ‘draw’ to get kids to show up.  Perfect attendance pins used to be a draw, but they don’t seem as effective as they used to be.  If only they can find a fun curriculum then kids will flock to Sunday School once again! 
• If the goal is to grow kids with a strong sense of morality, some education needs to be coupled with opportunities for to serve in the world.  Once the kids have the proper background (i.e. when Confirmation is complete), then the necessary groundwork had been laid.    
• If Bible teaching is crucial, then the proper teachers need to be brought in to pass on that information.  You’d never expect a parent to teach calculus to their child, so why would you expect a parent to teach the Bible to their kids?  Trained leaders are good…pastors have the most training and are the best!  These Biblical stories can be taught all the way through Confirmation, but that’s enough.  Sure there are deeper levels of learning, but a basic understanding is sufficient.
• If the goal is to develop young people with a vibrant faith, the research overwhelmingly shows that the most effective way to 'produce young adults who are active and engaged in their lives of faith' is through mentoring from parents and other adults.  These parents seek opportunities for inter-generational learning so their children can be impacted by the faith of their elders.  They seek to be empowered in their own faith journey so they can share those experiences with their kids.  “If Sunday School and Luther League don’t develop kids into a life-long relationship with a living God, then scrap them!” they say.

Ben and I trained for a half-marathon.  It was enough for us!  Others approached the event with much loftier goals in their sights (and they accomplished what they set out to do).  It would have been difficult to train together given these vastly different desired outcomes.

Congregations struggle to agree on ways to raise kids in the faith because they come at it with vastly different goals in mind.  Some parents (and grandparents) are perfectly happy with the ‘old models’ because they accomplish exactly what they want them to accomplish.  Others seek much more.   It is difficult to ‘train’ together given these vastly different desired outcomes.

What ‘goals’ does your congregation have for faith formation?  Is it accomplishing what you want it to accomplish?

Rejoicing with the flu

A week ago, I’d had enough!  Five days of a major sore throat and cough led to two days

of pure exhaustion.  I barely had the energy to get out of bed. Frustration mounted, partly because I fely lousy, but more because of my ‘to do’ list.  Last week I had very few appointments on my work calendar, so I’d planned to use the week to push ahead on a zillion projects.  It was the week for me to get everything set up for the year and take care of those niggling tasks which I had been putting off.  Yet instead of energetically charging forward, I lay in bed, coughing and miserable.  In one burst of angst, I railed to my wife Shannon, “I’m so sick of being sick!  I can’t wait for this to get done.  I have things to do!”

A bit ironic to say that to someone who has had cancer (and the accompanying treatments) for over a decade. 

I knew full well that within a matter of days the virus would run its course and go away.   Shannon doesn’t have that luxury.  She lives with aches and exhaustion that comes and goes,but she never knows how long they will last.  Some are temporary.  Some hang around for a long time.  Some come back every time a new treatment begins.  I sought to ‘hurry through’ the bad times to get them over with.  She is much better at living life in the midst of it all.

For years I have told Shannon, “Don’t worry about how much you can get done.  If you feel miserable, go back to bed.  Rest and take care of yourself.  Life is more important that a to do list.”  Last week, it was time for me to listen to my own advice.   Every day comes as a gift from God, even days when we don’t get to do what we want to do.

Thoughts of the myriads of people who would choose my temporary cold over their own debilitating pain and illnessess humbled me.  One verse came to mind:

This is the day the Lord has made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

How could I be glad in a day that felt so miserable?  First of all, I could enjoy the blessings of Day-Quil.  I still felt sore and exhausted, but it helped.  More importantly, I had to let go of my expecations.  My dreams of getting so much work done had to be set aside.  I just didn’t have the energy or focus to pull it off.  So instead of trying to slog through work, I curled up in bed with a cat and good book.   I napped when I felt tired.  I sent my son to pick up fried chicken for supper.  I drank hot chocolate.  I found joy in small things.

I went to bed that night with a sense of calm.  Physically I didn’t feel better, but acceptance my reality allowed room for joy.  I still wanted to get over it and get back to work, but for a moment I could pause and simply rest.  The world would still go around if I didn’t get everything done that day. 

This is the day the Lord has made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

I needed that reminder.

Taking the Delorean to 2031 - What will the church look like?

Ah, 1989…the year I drove a 1979 Olds Cutlass Supreme (with vinyl top!)…the year I ran cross country to keep the basketball coach off my back...the year I received my high school diploma…the year my manager at Pamida tried to talk me out of going to college…the year I headed off to Northwestern University to start my journey towards my career as an actuary.  Times have changed!

1989 also brought about Back to the Future II.  Following up on the success of the first movie where Marty McFly headed to the past, this ‘classic’ headed twenty six years into the future, to that far-off year of 2015.  The writers had some playful ideas of the world would look like and in some ways they were surprisingly correct!  Think about what we have now:

1. Holographic/3-D movies – They are now commonplace.

2. ‘Wearable computers’ – In the movie they looked like a clunky version of Google Glass, but let’s face it, the way we use our phones these days we’re pretty much wearing them!

3. Computers that take orders using voice control – Can you say ‘Siri?’

4. News footage recorded by drones – Heck, drones can even deliver beer to ice-fishermen these days!

5. Video Chat – Actually, our version is WAY better that Marty’s!

6. Video games that don’t require controllers – Bring out the Wii!

This isn’t to say they got everything correct.  I’m still waiting for my hovercar and no, the Cubs STILL have not won the World Series.

Fortunately for me, Marty McFly just rang the doorbell.  Why don’t I hop into his Delorean, set the clock to January 9, 2031, and let you know what I find.  Back in a minute with the full report.

Wow, that was amazing!  If you’ve never done time travel, I highly recommend it.

I won’t bore you with the technology advances, other than to say that Star Trek isn’t far off!  As a ‘church guy, ‘ I was most interested to see what Christ’s church will look like around the time that I’m ready to retire.  Here are some highlights.

1. Despite all the pessimism of 2015, Christ’s church will be alive and well – Back in 2015 blogs and articles talked about the many ways that the church was dying.  I found it didn’t die (and with Christ as the head of the church, I doubted it would), but it did look much different.

2. The Christian Church will become a truly counter-cultural movement – By 2031 people will be a part of communities of faith because they choose to do so, not because anyone expects them too.  Frankly, those who make that choice will be seen as a bit ‘odd.’   Christian communities will gain followers, not by preaching on street corners or flooding the air-waves, but by caring for those in need.  Christians will be viewed as servants, not as ‘Bible thumpers.’ 

3. ‘Organized religion’ will have little sway over the political conversations.  The number of elected officials who claim affiliation with a faith tradition will plummet, with church leaders no longer able to dominate the national conversations.  The hot button issues of 2015 (abortion and homosexuality) will be a distant memory as new, secular political leaders come to the fore.     Small, faith based groups will grow increasingly shrill in their discourse, but over time they will become fringe groups and easily ignored.

4. Money collected within the communities of faith will go into serving the community – Members of these Christian communities will get excited about the ways that they make a difference in the lives of the poor, outcast, and hurting. 

5. Very few trained pastors will service an increasing number of communities of faith – With money going to the community and not a local congregation, this shift will become necessary.  The idea that a congregation must have its own pastor will disappear as impractical and expensive.  Most communities of faith will have a local leader with limited training who will not view this as a career but as a calling in the midst of daily life.   The pastor’s role will be to train and equip these local leaders. 

6. Churches will become smaller, more intimate, and meet in people’s homes – With notable exceptions of a few large cathedral style congregations, most communities of faith will no longer have the means (or desire) to meet in church buildings.  They will meet in neighborhoods and community centers.  A community of 50 people will be seen as quite large and may lead to a division into two communities of 25 people each.

7. Local communities will gather out of a need for community, not out of a need for doctrinal purity - People of many different Christian traditions will gather in local communities and will not try to decide which ‘denomination’ they should be.   They will wrestle with hard questions of faith without having to come to a simple resolution.   The need for support and community in the midst of a journey of Christian faith will trump these issues of doctrine.

8.  Denominational affiliations will be quite loose and increasingly irrelevant – The national structures that will be in place will be the ones focused on serving those in need (i.e. Lutheran World Relief).  There will be much more local autonomy, leading to a merging of many denominations into a general ‘Christian Community’ that includes a wide range of Christians traditions and backgrounds.   

The 2031 world I saw looked vastly different from what I’m experiencing in 2015, but the Holy Spirit will still be active and the Gospel will still be proclaimed.  The day of the ‘Christian nation’ will come to an end, but throughout history Christ’s church has thrived when it hasn’t had political or economic clout. 

Bring on the future!  With Christ leading the way, we’ll be just fine!

Oh, and by 2031 the Cubs STILL will not have won the World Series.  Sorry, Cub’s fans…