“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle.” -Psalm 56:8
What an amazing thought; that the God of all Creation would care enough about me to collect and keep track of my tears. When I consider my life, lots of stubbornness comes to mind. Like LOTS. In fact I think that was one of the largest traits mentioned on a recent DNA profile. So embarrassing. But instead of keeping my sinfulness and shortcomings close to His heart, He considers those covered by His Son. All because I’ve trusted the sinless spotless lamb of God. No collection in a bottle there. Instead, Psalm 103:12 says, “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.”
Tears collected and kept close. Sins cast far away. Oh how He loves us!
Isn’t that a funky word? Kinda like Craisins which is the word for raisins which are actually cranberries. If you’re like me and didn’t know, cremains are the remains of loved ones who’ve been cremated. Well, I don’t guess they’re all loved. But the ones I currently am in possession of sure are. As you know, David passed away almost three months ago. We had decided together that we’d be cremated and that it would be nice to have our “cremains” scattered at one of our favorite vacation spots near the ocean.
“I’m not sure that’s legal,” David wondered as we spoke of these things years ago. “I think I’d rather have my ashes mixed with paint and sprayed onto the motorcycle so I can keep on riding.” For good measure he added, “Make it a glossy black, but don’t cover up the flames Nic ghosted in on the gas tank.” I shook my head at my crazy man and replied. “I’m not gonna have to worry about it. I’m going first anyway, so just pick a place at the beach and sprinkle me into the waves. You’ll probably want to stand up wind though so you don’t end up wearing me home.” He got a weird look on his face then somberly said. “Don’t you dare die first. I can’t stand the thought.”
So annyyywayyy… here I am, three months later without the strength to travel to the beach or anywhere else for that matter. I don’t want to task this adventure to our daughters, so I ordered a small wooden box for the cremains. It’s really pretty with a tree carved in one side. I decided I could live with my beloved’s cremains sitting on our bedroom dresser. No biggie. Then I found a nice little nameplate and had it personalized with his full name, dates, and the salutation he put on all his school correspondence to parents and such. “In His care,” was especially fitting. When it came, I opened the package with reverence, looking forward to seeing this sweet tribute to the man who loved me so well. Look how great it turned out.
Oh well. Somewhere in Gloryland, David is getting the last laugh. Or should I say “Sparky?”
I don’t typically think of hymn writers as comedic. However, listen to this line from William Cowper’s famous hymn, God Moves in a Mysterious Way.
“You fearful saints, fresh courage take, the clouds you so much dread;
Are big with mercy and shall break in blessings on your head.”
Is that a funny line or am I just losing my mind a little bit? He’s right though. The very thing we fear will often render the best blessing. Hold fast dear friend. That big ol’ dark cloud that’s been following you for days is about to burst. Showers of blessings will blend with all those tears you’ve shed in private to make something beautiful.
From Psalm 43:
Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. When you go through deep waters I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. … For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, Your Savior. … You are precious to me. You are honored, and I love you.
The God Who created us, Who loves us so dearly, never ever wastes pain.
One of the greatest treasures during this time of grief has been former students sending words of comfort. One student wrote a long letter describing a happy memory in David’s Bible class. I will treasure it forever. She used phrases like, “gentle, quiet, and fatherly smile” to describe him. I don’t know how things work in Heaven, but I hope he got to hear those beautiful words about his time as a teacher. Sometimes he wondered if his twenty years in the classroom meant anything at all. This beautiful note would confirm that his time mentoring was not for nothing. I also got a text from our niece who was one of his students. Here’s her recollection:
“Here I am, off to fight it out with ornery people in court again. You know Uncle David told me in 6th grade that God would use my argumentativeness for good… one day. But he said it wasn’t now. In other words, I needed to shut up.”
This child was so driven to make good grades that she was probably explaining to him something he didn’t want to hear about a test score or such. But he was right. All that determination came in handy as she is now a lawyer, championing the rights of the elderly. However, while she was in his classroom, he wasn’t having it.
I think the sweetest compliment I heard was during our “Funeral Party.” A young lady hugged me with tears in her eyes as she whispered. “He gave me so much grace.”
May the same be said of us all.
“He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths bring honor to His Name.” -Psalm 23:3
Us as chaperones at one of the Junior/Senior Proms.
Though David’s only been gone about seven weeks, I’ve started seeing someone. First it was Andy. He’s a nice enough guy. But the fact that he can’t keep his uniform pants outside his zip-up ankle boots really bothers me. Somehow one or the other is always hiked up over his shoes all willy-nilly. So I moved on to Lucas. Lucas McCain otherwise known as The Rifleman. Now the house is not so quiet. And that big ol’ rapid fire rifle makes me feel safe. He’s got the cutest son named Mark. I was curious if the actor playing Mark, Johnny Crawford, had gone on to star in other shows. I got sucked into a rabbit hole on the web and never did find out. I did see that before The Rifleman, Johnny was a Mouseketeer. It saddened me to see that he died in 2021 of Alzheimer’s. Hard to imagine. As I was looking at facts about actors playing different parts on the series, it didn’t take long to figure out that they used some actors in numerous episodes. One guy was simply listed as “reoccurring bad guy.” In one episode he’d be a hobo, then the next he’d return as a bank robber. It’s funny to me how they used to recycle their actors back in the day.
I have a reoccurring bad guy. He visits often. Sometimes he whispers very negative thoughts making me feel terribly inadequate. Other times he shows up as a bump in the night. Mostly he tries to push his agenda that things will never get better because my true love is gone. He makes my heart hurt and my weaknesses look overwhelming. Though he takes on different roles he is still the same old bad guy. I think his real name is Fear. And I don’t love him.
Years ago I was telling our daughter Stephanie about my lack of brain cells as I try to write something worth reading. In fact I may have called myself a doofus. She quietly replied with words I’ll treasure forever. “Mama, I don’t know where those words are coming from. But they are NOT from the Lord.”
Paul wrote to young Timothy good solid words of wisdom. “God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” -2 Timothy 1:7. I know I’ve used that verse several times lately. But it is the Truth that God is reminding me of in my current season. It is also my weapon against my own reoccurring bad guy.
When I feel fearful and hopeless and unlovable and even a good bit crazy, it’s good to know this precious promise of God. What a weapon! Better than a rapid firing rifle with twelve rounds!
David’s been gone for a little over a month now. Our daughter Stephanie shared this with me the other day. I thought it was so good. Here. I’ll let her tell it.
“I remember when I was little, we would go to the beach and play in the ocean. The rule was that we could not go out past our waist unless Daddy was in the water with us. When Daddy got in the ocean we could go out deeper, and being the oldest, I got to go out farther than my sisters. I remember my toes barely touching the sand at the bottom, watching the waves roll in from the deep. The waves looked so big and scary! Daddy told me, “Don’t run from the waves. They will crash right on you and pound you into the bottom. Instead go towards them. Face them head on and you’ll float right over.” To a ten-year-old, that sounded like good survival advice, but to my fully-grown-self, it sounds like a life lesson. Face it. Don’t run from it. Lean in, rise above, and enjoy the ride.”
Throughout her life, Stephanie has leaned into a lot of adventure. Probably the scariest is being a pastor’s wife. This past weekend, she graduated from college again with her Masters in counseling. We are so proud of her, and especially of her desire to help others who are struggling. She knows stuff! So thank you Steph! As I enter this new season in my life, I’m not sure I can do it. It’s very scary. I’ll do my best to lean in, rise above and maybe even enjoy a bit of the ride.
A thunderstorm rocked our house last night. It was so close and so loud that my kind neighbor Carrington sent me a text. “Ms. Lynna, you okay?” “Yes dear.” I replied. Her answer came quickly. “Okay, I’m always here.” I smiled at my phone as I thought of this young single mother who reached out to me in the middle of a terrible storm. It felt good to know she was near. I thought about the neighbor between us who is also a widow. Her comforting phrase to me several times now has been, “I’m only steps away.” Both these women were here only a year ago when there was a terrible shooting just the other side of Carrington which took two lives. Each could have found a different place to live, or could have given in to the fear that clawed at us during that terrible time. But they didn’t. Instead, they often extend comfort to me in my new season of living alone.
Proverbs 18:10 says “The Name of the Lord is a High Tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.” That verse has always reminded me of our principal in the school where David and I worked for twenty years. His last name was Hightower and he was our three a.m. friend; the one we always knew we could call in a crisis. His wife Becky, who also taught at the school began to recognize the growing need to help children with dyslexia. So she trained to become an advocate/teacher/safe place for these little ones who often get overlooked. How fitting is the name Hightower for this couple.
The July 26, 2025 devotional in Our Daily Bread really stood out to me. The writer pointed out these things about God being our safe place. I loved it.
Trouble reminds us we need a safe place to stay
His Name represents the entirety of Who He is
Taking refuge in Him means choosing His help over everything else.
I have a lifetime of reliance and trust in Him; time after time He has been faithful
Psalm 27 comes to mind as I think of the Lord’s great love and protection. “The Lord is my light and my salvation- so why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger; so why should I tremble?”
Ohhh the messes we’ve been in and the troubles we have seen. Praise God He has always, always been our safe place to run.
Our power went out one morning and was off about three hours. I don’t know why. Praise God our little house is pretty air tight because this is no time to get overheated. The day after it came back on I realized the milk in the refrigerator was mostly frozen. I shook it up and had a glass. Mmm. Not bad. But I wondered what was up with that. Later as I went to get water from the container with the filter, also in the fridge, it was frozen too. The little spout thing where you push the button for water to come out was frozen shut. Then I remembered.
Last time the power went out, our refrigerator automatically resent to a colder temperature. David figured out how to fix it and since I, being the helpless little woman that I am, except for the little part, never checked to see how he fixed it. So I summoned my hidden inner DIY-ness and investigated. It took me a minute but I found the command center for our cute little fridge. [Side story: it is a retro looking red which I found on sale a few years ago when our old one died. I love it but it is not house broken; thus the need to sop up the space under the lower storage drawer every week or so. That may also explain the great deal I got. But that’s a riveting story for another day.]
Annyyywayyy… The temperature control panel is digital with numbers one through five. Hmmm… I wonder which way is colder? As I pondered this before my cute red fridge, it dawned on me to get my readers. Being able to see is always a plus. Ah HA! Above the number one, it said ‘colder.’ So naturally I punched the five and hit SET, because I didn’t want colder. I wanted something maintain-ish… like don’t-freeze-my-celery; Just-keep-things-from-spoiling-mode. Later, as I checked once more on the water pitcher situation, things were worse…. as in frozen-er. More frozen. What the what? So I set a few things out to thaw at room temperature and fetched my readers again. They are never with me when I need them. I don’t know why. But with them on I could see that above the five was the word COLDEST. So apparently I went from COLDER to COLDEST with one punch of a tiny button. The question is, WHO WOULD LABEL A PANEL THAT WAY?
So there’s actually no moral to this story. I just thought it was funny. Well, until a glass bottle of ginger ale which was buried in the back froze and busted. But I’m learning. David handled so many things around the house that I took for granted. Just makes me miss him more. Because somebody needs to come clean this mess up.
The refrigerator from Gehenna… or somewhere hotter, OR HOTTEST.
A few years before David passed, he let me know he did not want a funeral. I remember cocking my head at him as I informed. “Well it won’t be for you. You won’t be there.” He nodded quietly then gently replied. “No… but you will. And I don’t want you to have to go through all that.” It was one of the most thoughtful things I’d ever heard. He was trying to save me the grief of picking out a casket, making arrangements, enduring visitation, and the next day attending a funeral plus a traditional graveside service; all the while, numb with grief and exhausted from losing the love of my life. Of course he didn’t know at the time that he would go first. We always thought it would be me since I’ve been the puny one. But the Lord had different plans. So when David went gently into his Savior’s arms four weeks ago, I had a decision to make. I knew our children were not going to be happy without honoring their dad somehow.
Thankfully they stepped in with a compromise. So together we planned a “Funeral Party.” Grace Bible Church opened their Fellowship Hall to us, then jumped in with both feet to make it happen. The Ladies of Grace, aptly named, provided a spread of finger foods that only a bunch of Church ladies know how to do. Pastor Jason piped in music over the speakers. His wife Michelle made handouts with David’s life story and his picture. She included the obituary I wrote about him so folks who’d lost touch with us would know where we’d been the last 50 or so years. Time flies and all that. Our three girls gathered pictures of David and the family. Stephanie compiled them digitally so that over 160 shots scrolled on a loop. Amanda and Hannah arranged photos on those black science project boards and placed those around. Suddenly David’s life was being remembered exactly as it was: full of laughter, fun, and faithfulness to the God he served, plus his family. Precious memories indeed.
We’re we exhausted by the end? Darlin’ we were exhausted before we started. But joy, what joy. God sweetly held us together and made us strong for the funeral party. No one felt pressured to say nice things or give a eulogy. The pictures said it all. Since it was not labeled a funeral, folks dressed comfortably as best I could tell. I know I did. Lots of hugs were exchanged and care was given. Students he taught and coached, friends we hadn’t seen in years, our pharmacist! Oh! so much love was poured out. Best of all, a faithful man was honored. It was in fact, the best party I’ve ever been to.
Taken one year earlier for our 50th anniversary flyer. Little did we know what the 51st year would bring. So thankful for this picture. I was so weak that day that I had on a nightgown and just covered it with a shawl. Praise God for giving us so many good days together.
We have the most beautiful hydrangea bush I’ve ever seen. This year it’s been on its best behavior. Giant blooms which start out a light green, turn pink, then violet and eventually a gorgeous deep purple, Oh! It gives me such joy. So many times I’ve tried to root the bush. I’ve tried Root Tone, stems in a jar of water, placing a brick on a low limb while pushing the still attached shoot into fertile soil… all the things. Last year I thought I had one off-shoot take root. I babied it until I thought it was strong enough, then carefully moved it to a better place. A short while later, it gave up the ghost. But my heart took courage when my daughter brought a cutting from my mother-in-law’s big white snowball bush. That was another favorite we’d been trying to root since Nina’s passing. It too keeled over shortly after the transplant. Fast forward to this summer. Two little shoots struggled upward in the flowerbed to the side of our wheelchair ramp. I could hardly believe my eyes when Hannah pointed them out to me as their heads poked up above the coneflowers and black-eyed-Susans. If they would just hang on in this southern heat, maybe next year they’d be strong enough to bush and bloom. It gave me hope. Hey. A girl can dream!
Fast forward again to the day we planned to bring David home from the hospital to begin Hospice care. I stepped outside on the ramp as we waited for the ambulance transport and nearly rested my hand on the rail where a snake lay sunning itself. I stumbled backward into the house as I sputtered and choked on my own spit. Stephanie, who was here to help with her Dad, came running. Together we looked out the glass door to see that the snake still made itself at home on the handrail. If there’s anything David hates worse than snakes, I sure don’t know what it would be. And the transport people would be wheeling him up that very ramp any minute. Not the homecoming I had planned.
Out a different door Stephanie flew as she grabbed a hoe and knocked that slimy demon onto the ground. Like lightning, Slimy Demon shot through the undergrowth. Stephanie was not having it. She chopped at that wicked reptile with all her might. I was so proud. Except I was hoping and maybe even praying a little that she didn’t whack off my fledgling hydrangeas. It’s crazy what we think about when confronted with the unexpected. Finally, the chopping stopped. Slowly, she returned the hoe to stand guard at it’s normal place, then came in to hug me. There may have been a few tears. It had been a hard morning. The car had also died on the way to sign him out that morning. But she did it! Her daddy was on his way home, even if it was just for a few days before he was transported to his true Home. At least while he was here, he did not have to worry about snakes or the car or anything else that he would normally protect his favorite girls from. And I forgot all about the babied hydrangea sprouts.
My grandson Jesse got rid of the snake carcass. The following week progressed in a blur until David was truly called Home. It was a bittersweet time with family and friends gathered for meals and hard good byes. Then everything got quiet.
This morning, three weeks later as I watered my plants, I noticed. Both cuttings look to be thriving. It’s hard, but I’m trying to take joy in that. Life goes on… until it doesn’t. At times we can be brave and feel such victory. But sometimes not so much. I’m learning. God does not expect me to be brave all the time. There is a time for every purpose under Heaven. And I’m finding, that when I draw near to Him, He really does draw near to me. Best of all, I will see my Beloved again before too long. In the mean time, the sorrow is very real. But! “I will not sorrow as those who have no hope.” -from 1 Thess. 4:13. The same God that David and I have served and trusted all our lives, will carry us safely Home.
