Remembering Lynn

Wilma Lynn Roberts, 1944

When I received the call yesterday that my cousin Lynn was dying, I was thrown momentarily into shock. While I had not seen her in a little over a year, our last visit had been such a delightful one that it was difficult to think of her in any terms except how she was that day.

My sister and I had made the 100-mile journey to the retirement center where she lived last spring, and took her for an outing. She picked Red Lobster when we asked where she wanted to eat, and afterwards we took her over to her old house, where we sat and visited in her comfortable, familiar living room before taking her back to the tiny but homey room where she now lived.

It was a good visit. Lynn was her usual cheerful self—fun-loving, cracking jokes, teasing, but also talking seriously about things that were important to her. She talked of her family and what each one was doing. Make no mistake, she knew exactly where everyone was and what they were up to. Her pride and joy in each one of them was evident, as always. She was overjoyed to have spent the day with us, and we shared good conversation before leaving for our drive home. It seemed at the time that she would be with us for years to come because her health was reasonably good and her mind was sharp, especially for an 82-year-old.

So the news yesterday that she had taken a very sudden turn for the worse was a shock to us. We drove immediately the thirty miles to the hospital where she had been admitted. She was sleeping restlessly, and seeing her in that hospital bed, unaware of our presence, was a difficult sight to grasp. Before we left, Lynn was awakened by the nurse on duty, and we got to speak to her briefly. She knew who we were, and seemed to understand what we were saying and tried to make conversation with us. The comprehension was evident in those beautiful blue eyes of hers, even as she faced her last few hours. She left this earth and set foot in the next life six hours later.

So many memories surge through my mind when I think of Lynn. She was nineteen years older than I, and married just a few months after I was born. Consequently, her children were my peers, and I knew her only as their mom for a long time. They filled that cousin role far more than she did. But as an adult, we became friends and even though I was seldom around to visit with her, she welcomed me each time I came as if I were the very person she most wanted to see.

Lynn related to people that way. She was a warm lady, always welcoming and wanting people to feel at ease in her presence. As a child, I remember my family spending so many holidays and gatherings at her home, and she obviously loved to entertain. She enjoyed people, children in particular, and I have no doubt that those youngsters in her classroom at Farwell Elementary were blessed beyond measure by her care and commitment to building their character.

A few years ago, my sister and I arranged to go spend the day with Lynn one Saturday in October, and since it was Halloween, we stopped and bought masks along the way. When we stopped in her driveway, we put on our masks, grabbed some bags to use for Trick or Treat, and rang her doorbell. When she opened the door, we shouted “TrickerTreat” as loud as we could and stuck out our bags. She howled with laughter, and we stepped inside and gave her a mask of her own to wear. We have a hilarious photo (see below) of the three of us sitting on her couch, grinning and wearing our Halloween masks. It was the sort of thing that tickled her, and we had a great time that day.

It is inconceivable that she is not here anymore; I was not finished being with her and enjoying her company! There were more things I wanted to talk to her about . . . more times I wanted to catch that twinkle in her eye or ask her more stories about our Linn grandparents. Isn’t that the way it always is? Those who are the most special people on earth are those who have never worn out their welcome! We simply are not finished with them yet, and we mourn when they leave us.

But for Lynn, if we believe what we say we believe, this is the best of times! She believed in God her whole life, and long ago committed herself to Him. She learned stories about Jesus from her parents, and taught them to her own children. She “walked the walk” in ways that proved to all who knew her that she had found the secret to a godly life, and was not about to let it get away from her. She knew where she was going after death, and I believe was looking forward to being there. I can imagine her big blue eyes are wide with joy and awe as she takes in the sights of heaven, and reunites with loved ones who are already there. And for that, I am a little envious. I will miss her here, but I will be laughing and singing with her someday in her new home.

Thank you, Father God, for sending this special one to live on earth and love us, and for the opportunity to love her back.

A Birthday Worth Celebrating

Many wished me a Happy Birthday earlier this week, and I am happy to accept the wishes and prayers on my behalf. The thought I had on the morning of my birthday was that, while I don’t feel I deserve to receive any special honor for just having been born (!), it feels good for people to acknowledge my birthday as a day to be thankful for.

Four days ago, I attended the “Welcome Home” party for a tiny baby who died 57 minutes after she was born. Her parents had chosen to carry her to term, knowing she would not live for any substantial length of time. After her birth, they chose to celebrate her shortened life, and in gratitude for God's gift, they shared her with all the extended family during those 57 minutes. Instead of a funeral, they gave her a party to usher her into the Lord’s presence, and it was filled with references to the joy she brought them just in that short time of being with her, and how honored they were that God chose them to be her parents.

I was struck at her service by the thought that so often, we work hard to be loved and appreciated, based on our own merit. We believe our value comes from what we have accomplished: how well we do our jobs, whether we are good parents, how much money we make, what our title is, what university degrees we have attained, what awards we have been given, our reputations, our bank accounts, how many people are on our Facebook and LinkedIn pages, what brand of electronic gadgets we have . . . the list goes on and on. But the takeaway from that memorial service for baby Brylen Rasco was this: God loves us and we are loved by others for who we are, not what we do. 

The sanctuary of the church was packed, but not a single person other than those most intimate family members and friends even saw little Brylen alive. And she did not live long enough to establish a personality with character traits nor a life with deeds that would gain her any merit. She was simply loved because God created her; God loved her and valued her enough to send her here even for that short period of time. Nothing else gave her worth. There was nothing Brylen earned or did to deserve the love people felt for her. Yet the sanctuary was filled with people who did love and honor her.

As I sat in the Welcome Home service, I realized that it’s the same for all of us, not just for Brylen. We are all valued creations of God just because He gave us life. And I think surely my friends and family have celebrated my birthday because He created me, not for anything I’ve done ~ because I surely have not brought fame or notoriety to myself through great deeds. And thankfully, I don’t have to! It is enough just to have been given life, and to use that life to celebrate God’s goodness.

Thanks to everyone who celebrated with me and Brylen this week. If you are still trying to earn your way to the approval and love of others, and if you are hoping you can earn God’s love, STOP IT! Don’t go there! It’s a lie, and it absolutely does not make you a person of worth. You already have that, just as Brylen did. Her worth existed without having lifted a finger to do one single thing to deserve it. So does yours!

(click below to read Brylen's obituary)

Brylen Danielle Rasco

Siblings Day

Siblings Day

Recently we celebrated National Siblings Day. I don’t remember ever hearing about that holiday before, so someone probably thought it up since April 10 of last year! Regardless, it is still not a bad thing to celebrate.

Siblings are those relationships that you didn’t ask for. Well, maybe you did ask for a brother or sister when you were a little kid, but you really didn’t know the implications of your request! For most of us, we were just born into a family that gave us brothers or sisters and we had no say about it ~ no chance to choose. Which is probably good, since at that age we might not have chosen very wisely.

My parents brought me home and introduced me to my sister, and while I don’t remember that day, I suspect we were pretty taken with each other. We still are.

To be honest, we fought a lot and frustrated each other a good bit when we were growing up and sharing a bedroom. With our age difference, we were on two different playing fields. I kept violating the rules on her field, and we were surely a source of frustration and disappointment to each other on many occasions.

But time has created a memory gap of all those times, and I remember mostly good things from those ten years when we slept under the same roof. She was always the one I looked up to and tried to emulate. If she did something a certain way, I copied it. If she had a favorite song or movie, I adopted it for myself. She set the standard for me in all things, and even as a young wife and mother, I still watched to see which way she stepped before taking my own tentative steps into adulthood.

Sometimes I rebelled and determined to go the opposite direction from her just to prove that I could. But in the end, she has influenced me in all things from the time we were just kids until the present.

I’m glad God picked her to be my sister. When she was only eight years old, she rose to the occasion and worked hard to be a good big sister. She still does. Our bond is tight, and despite the other relationships in our lives that come and go, she will always be my big sister. I love her, and I know God chose her just for me.

If you have a sister, call her right now to tell her you love and appreciate her! You may not always have that chance.

Of Grief and Loss

In my lifetime, I have experienced many occasions of loss. I lost a grandmother at a very early age, followed by deaths of other relatives, and even a few classmates, before I ever graduated from high school.

The older I have grown, of course, the more losses have come my way. Not all losses were to death. Some were job losses, friends who moved away, and other times when something or someone I cared about was no longer part of my world. Grieving comes with any loss, not just death.

Apart from the deaths of family members, I have probably grieved the most over the deaths of pets. Some of you have either never owned a pet or have not allowed yourself to become emotionally involved with one—and if that is so, you will likely not understand the rest of this blog.

My philosophy of inviting a pet into my home is this:

•  I don’t make the decision lightly; I weigh the costs in terms of time, money and energy before they ever set their hairy little paws in my house. (Well, there was one time when I broke that rule and allowed child number two to influence my decision, which culminated in the addition of not one but THREE cats . . . but I digress.)
• I tend to look at my lifestyle and current circumstances and what I think I can handle before saying yes.
• Once I have made the decision to bring a pet home with me, I’m fully invested. I believe that pets are helpless and at our mercy to give them good care, so if I have committed to shoulder that responsibility, I take it very seriously and try to give them an abundance of care and loving interaction so they have a good quality of life.

The time inevitably comes when a pet is no longer able to sustain a good quality of life and has permanently lost its good health. I have had to make the decision on five different occasions to let my pet go and not prolong its life, even though I was not ready to say goodbye. And that is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Last week, one of my adult children had to make that same choice. After almost thirteen precious years with their little furry Oscar (a black and white cat who had been with them almost as long as they have been a couple), the humane thing to do was not fight to keep him alive even one more day. Although they had known over the past couple of years that that day was on the horizon, it descended on them with a suddenness that almost took their breath away. The vet said Oscar was in pain, and it did not appear that anything short of extreme life-saving surgeries and other measures would keep him alive for anything other than a very short time. While his mama and daddy were wrestling with that hard decision, he died in the arms of the vet. And they are grieving.

Is it the very same loss as the death of a parent or child . . . siblings or grandparents? No. But it’s a significant loss just the same, and the worst thing to do is to pretend that it didn’t matter, that it was only a pet—just an animal. It matters. When we expend love on any of God’s creatures, it matters . . . and God is pleased. He knows how much it hurts to lose someone you love. He knows that we sometimes close ourselves off from forming a bond with people and pets because we fear the gut-wrenching loss that inevitably happens on this fallen earth. But part of living the full life means taking the hurts as they come and learning to feel both the happy and the sad emotions. They are all God-given; our heavenly Father created both happiness and sadness, and there is a purpose for both. Yes, loss hurts. But most things in the world that are worth anything cost us something. Loving is no exception. Sometimes the cost of loving is loss and sadness.

I can tell you that each loss of a pet has brought me to great gulping tears, and wrenching moments of trying to find my footing again. Waking up to a quiet house instead of a cat meowing for breakfast. Coming home from work with no wet, pink nose pressed to the window to see if I’m coming, and no greeting at the door. No furry body that leaps onto the arm of the chair at night, looking for someone to scratch its ears. It is a time of grieving and adjusting to a new loss. But the memories of the times spent with each of my precious pets have given me joy in the aftermath. They add to my memories of the past, and those pets have become part of the family stories we recount as we sit around the Christmas table or celebrate birthdays together. Any family occasion where we recall family stories inevitably includes pet stories as well.

A few years ago, as I was grieving the death of my cat of 18 years, I found comfort in the following Scripture as well as this quote from Albert Schweitzer. Somehow they gave me permission to grieve appropriately and not feel foolish for feeling deep emotions at the loss of a pet that I had cared for and loved for almost two decades.

“The godly are concerned for the welfare of their animals.” (Proverbs 12:10)

A PRAYER FOR ANIMALS

Hear our humble prayer, O God,

for our friends the animals.

Especially for animals who are suffering;

for any that are hunted or lost or

deserted or frightened or hungry;

for all that must be put to death.

We entreat for them all thy mercy and pity.

And for those who deal with them,

we ask a heart of compassion,

gentle and kindly words.

Make us true friends of the animals

and so to share the blessings of the merciful.

~ Albert Schweitzer