What You Think When Your Friend's Daughter Dies by Susie Finkbeiner

Today we have the awesome privilege of hearing from a guest poster and friend of mine from college, Susie Finkbeiner. Her new book, My Mother's Chamomile, comes out in a few days. Or you can check out her previous book, Paint Chips, that is available now.

**

A few years back, we got a call from a friend. It was the kind of call that you pray you never have to make. Ever.

He’d called to tell us that his infant daughter had died.

My toddler slept quietly in her crib. I knew she was okay. Still, I needed to check on her. Reach over the side to touch her face. My pregnancy swollen belly pushed against the slats.

I begged to be spared the kind of suffering our friends had that day.

Our friend gave my husband the details of the funeral. My husband asked if they needed help arranging things or setting up chairs or a dish for the luncheon.

“Just be there,” our friend said.

I’ve had hard days in my life. That day counts as one of the hardest. The day of the funeral. But it didn’t come close to the mother and father of the baby.

I try not to let myself imagine how difficult it was for them.

I could do nothing for them. How do you comfort someone who lost a child? What do you say? How many casseroles could even come close to helping ease the suffering?

Nothing could or would make things right. Nothing I could do, at least.

It bothered me for a few years. My inability to say the right thing, do the right thing. Guilt hovered over me when I saw them. Because I couldn’t make things better.

I didn’t have the power to fix the terrible thing that happened to them.

It wasn’t until a year ago that I understood: Compassion isn’t about fixing. Mercy doesn’t take away the problem. Comfort is not the remedy.

Compassion is the desire, mercy is in the doing. They are both the road toward delivering comfort, or relief.

In my novel “My Mother’s Chamomile”, the Eliot family runs the only funeral home in the fictional town of Middle Main, Michigan. Over and over, they comfort their neighbors in the worst moments, the moments of losing a loved one. They never fix the problem. They don’t bring the deceased back to life. They can’t magically heal the wound of grief.

However, the family offers relief. Comfort. And that mercy comes out of their great capacity for compassion.

Writing this novel forced me to rethink my approach to compassion. Mercy. Comfort.

Comfort is the hug that speaks more than any word in the dictionary.

It’s the check to help pay a bill for someone else.

The bag of groceries dropped off to a family in need.

A phone call. Coffee shared. Prayer whispered.

It’s not in taking anything away. It’s in the relief.

And, sometimes, all you need to do is just be there.

**

Susie Finkbeiner is a wife, mother, and novelist from West Michigan. Her first novel Paint Chips released in January, 2013. Her second novel My Mother’s Chamomile releases on February, 15, 2014. She is currently working on her third novel.

Susie enjoys zoo trips with her family, coffee dates with close friends, and quiet moments to read and write.

Learn more about Susie at www.susiefinkbeiner.com.

The Beauty of a Loved One Dying

I was in Liberia when I heard the news that my Uncle Glen had died. Halfway around the world, my heart filled with sadness as I heard the words over the phone. In the midst of some of the greatest poverty in the world, my heart was stilled by the lost of a beloved uncle and friend. Going to his funeral would be one of the first things that I would do when I returned.

The funeral was a bittersweet experience. My uncle had been suffering with cancer, and I felt relief at his passing. His pain was over, yet he would be greatly missed. He was the sort of Uncle who always made me feel welcomed and special at his house when I would stop by, which I didn't do nearly as much as I should have done.

As I sat there with my own children, wife, parents, and other relatives, holding my little one-year old, I could see those sitting up in the front. His sons. His daughter. His grandsons and granddaughters. And his wife of fifty-five years. My heart went out to them, for in my grief I knew that their grief was greater. I wished that I could somehow magically heal the pain and sadness, but all I had to give was my presence, a hug, and kind words.

Just after that funeral, my high school librarian and friend faced the loss of his wife after forty-three years of marriage. He posted on Facebook, "When the LOVE of your life is in the loving hands of aides and nurses of Home Hospice, all seems so irrelevant. Every moment is MOST important. Life has its journeys, even the final one."

Although it does make the passing so much more painful, there is beauty in being in love with someone for such a long time. In those final moments, we are reminded of how great of a blessing the one we love and are about to lose has been to us all along. Sometimes we forget that important truth during the arguments and disagreements - during the ordinary moments of life. We should cherish every moment that we have with the special people in our lives. There is almost nothing more beautiful than loved shared for many, many years. That truth becomes all too real in those final days.

The passing of someone is more painful when the love shared with them is deep, rich, and long-lasting. Despite it being more painful, it is worth it. For some never get to experience the joy of true, genuine, and lifelong love.  

On January 25, 2006, officials went Joyce Carol Vincent's home to repossess it because she was extremely behind on her rent and had not been communicating with them. When they opened the door they found a decomposed body sitting in a chair. Joyce Carol Vincent had been dead for three years. Unopened Christmas presents sat on the floor. She had friends, but no deep connections. She had floated in and out of people's lives for years, and nobody in her life was close enough to her to actually check in on her when she fell off the radar. 

Some loneliness may not be as stark as that of Joyce Carol Vincent's. But that sort of loneliness is the type of loneliness that shows we are not living life the way we should. That we are missing out on something greater. We were designed to be in relationships with God and others. As Christopher McCandless, whose story was shared in Into The Wild, wrote in his journal as he was dying alone in the Alaskan wilderness, "Happiness is only real when shared."

At my uncle's funeral, my one-year old started to get fussy during the ceremony, so we made our way out to the church foyer. On the screen was a slideshow of my uncle's life. Time spent with his family. Vacations. Holidays. Just the normal, daily moments of life. Seeing his familiar smile, you could tell he was enjoying life. In the midst of the slideshow, there was a video. It was the last dance of my uncle with his wife of fifty-five years. And that same smile. As many people do in passing, they get a last burst of energy , and my uncle used his burst of energy for one last dance with his wife. His greatest friend. The love of his life. Happiness. Shared. Life as it was intended to be.

I don't envy my aunt learning to live without him. But she is doing well. She is strong, with a beautiful heart, and will learn to live with that hole left in her heart. The love people share when they are together for 55 years may make the death of one all the more sad, but that life lived together makes the life itself all the more great. There is something incredibly beautiful in dying when you are truly loved. There is something beautiful in truly living. There is something special about living and passing from this life in the Lord. There is beauty in a loved one dying. We just have to see it.

Dying is like an Anchor

Dying is like pulling in an anchor, and we, the dying, are the anchor.  When the process of dying reaches its ending stages, we face all sorts of insecurities because we have lost the artificial purposes we have given ourselves in life.  Our body has failed us.  We are no longer keeping the family steady.  We are incapable of being the support we always have been and find ourselves being supported.  We are being pulled in.   

The pain is still there, but for some, the process of dying can be a blessing.  John Wesley, the man who started what is now the Methodist, Wesleyan, and Nazarene churches, proclaimed in his dying breath, "The best of all is, God is with us."  God is with us, through the storms and through the beautiful sunsets.  He is always here, with us.

As Paul wrote,

When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

        “Death is swallowed up in victory.”
    “O death, where is your victory?
         O death, where is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain. [1 Corinthians 15:54-58 (ESV)].

On a missionary journey from England to Georgia in the United States, John Wesley's boat was rocked by a storm and the mast broke.  Wesley's fellow sojourners from England were in a worrisome and fretful state, but the Moravians on the ship rested peacefully in the hands of the almighty and worshiped God through singing hymns.  This experience greatly impressed Wesley as he wanted what the Moravians had, a peace that could last through the storm.   

It does not do any good to ignore death, to pretend that it will not happen to us.  Our death will come.  Ignoring that will not make our days longer or help us to live better, but our dying should not be a process that paralyzes us in fear.  We need to learn to look death in the face, know that the victory is the Lord's, and continue on living the life He wants us to live.  As Paul wrote, when we do the work of the Lord, our labor is not in vain.  

There is nothing wrong with fighting death and continuing to live.  I have seen many people overcome illnesses and cancers to continue living life again.  But there will reach a point in each of our lives where the living is not much and the fight has dwindled; it will be our time.  We need to face death like the Moravians faced the storm, with a peace that can last even the greatest of trials.  We are being pulled in.

My dog dying, Health and Wealth, and the Apostle Paul

This week I have looked in the face of death and deterioration. 

My dog, Nafai, has diabetes with endocrinosis.  The vet said that it is a medical emergency and that Nafai should be hospitalized and treated or we should consider putting him down.  In order to decide the time to bring him in, we should choose three things that he loves and when he stops enjoying them, that is the time to put him to sleep.  My dog does not enjoy a whole lot except hanging around us, something he is still doing most of the time.  So we will wait until he doesn’t want to hang out with us, no longer wags his tail happily when we come home, or is suffering too much.  So far, he doesn’t appear to be suffering a whole lot although he is not eating much.  He has gone days without eating.

On Tuesday, Ron, a nice man from our church, and I had a battle with the giant Ash tree in my back yard.  The top half of it is dead and Ron heats his house with a woodburning stove; the two together made it a perfect time to cut it down.  But Ash is huge and has put up a tremendous fight.  We were not able to cut it down with the 16” chainsaw.  Then on Thursday Tommie, another nice man from our church, came over and we fought with Ash for two hours, but eventually Ash fell.

Although I love my dog it will be nothing like losing a friend or close family member.  Losing a loved pet or seeing the decay in the world around us are lesser reminders of death, suffering, and that the things of this world are only temporary, but they are preparation for the greater losses.  And greater losses will come.  Look around.  Everyone we encounter is going to suffer and die, unless Jesus comes first.  Courtney, a nice lady from our church, posted an anonymous quote on Facebook this week: “Don’t worry about life, you’re not going to survive it anyway.”

In some religious circles, where the health and wealth gospel is taught, it is really foreign to talk about suffering and the fact that we suffer is blamed on our lack of faith.  I just cannot come to that view through Scripture.  And you should know from my recent messages that I do believe God heals and helps his people prosper.  But sometimes he doesn’t.  

The Apostle Paul knew suffering firsthand.  He was imprisoned multiple times, received forty lashes less one five separate times, beaten by rods, stoned on one occasion, was in a shipwreck three times, adrift on the sea for a full night and day.  He was not kept safe from danger as he says he faced danger from rivers, robbers, Jews, and Gentiles; he faced danger in the city, in the wilderness, at sea, and from fake Christians.  He toiled through many sleepless night, starving and thirsty, out in the cold without shelter (2 Cor 11:23-28).  His ministry was a ministry of hope, glory, and the power of the Spirit, but it was also a ministry of suffering.

And the writer of Hebrews elaborates on the sufferings of the faithful:

“Some were tortured, refusing to accept release, so that they might rise again to a better life.  Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated— of whom the world was not worthy— wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.  And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect”  Heb 11:35-40 (ESV).

If you find yourself suffering, you don't need to blame yourself.  Use that pain to draw closer to God.  In many cases, you can't choose whether you suffer or not, but you can choose how you respond to suffering.  The Apostle Paul suffered.  Many great Christians I have known have suffered.  Jesus Himself suffered.  And you will too.  It's part of this fallen world, a fallen world that we strive to bring into line with God's will, but fallen nonetheless.  A fallen world that we suffer in at times while trying to bring God's perfect kingdom into the here and now as much as possible.

Losing a Grandma and Struggling with God - This Physical Facade is not Spiritual Reality - Death

I reacted poorly when my Grandma Jessie died. Like most people, I loved my grandma. She used to make the best parched corn, would crack walnuts for me, let me drink out of her old metal cup, pick cherries and raspberries with me, and give me butterscotch mints. Having grown up across the street from her house, I spent a few hours there most everyday. I took many naps on that couch on which this picture was taken. But after a long battle with melanoma, she died. Instead of growing closer to God, which she would have wanted, I hardened my heart toward Him.

I was fifteen when she died. I should have been old enough to handle it properly, but I didn't. Like many people who struggle with God after the death of someone, I had a faith that did not properly understand death and suffering.

My father shared with me a similar story of struggling with God over death. He had prayed for his father to stop drinking, but his father never did. He eventually died of liver problems when my father was twenty-one. From that point until much later in his life, he stopped living his life for God, a God who he felt did not answers his prayers for his father to be delivered from alcoholism.

Death. It's not just a destroyer of life; it can also be a destroyer of faith.

Two Sundays ago, Diane Schuler, 36, of West Babylon, New York, was driving her two children and her three nieces home from a weekend camping trip in Sullivan County when she inexplicably entered the northbound Taconic going south. While we were sitting around enjoying and sharing a meal with friends, tragedy destroyed two families.

The result was the worst accident in Westchester County in 75 years. Killed with Schuler were four children in her car and three men from Yonkers in an SUV. The only survivor was Schuler’s five year old son Bryan. Dead were Emma Hance, 9, Alison Hance, 7, and Kate Hance, 5, along with the driver, 36-year old Diane, and her two-year old daughter, Erin.

In the eulogy, Warren Hance, the mourning father of the three children, stated, “Love your children. Cherish your children. Kiss your children. And do not forget . . .” I cannot fathom his pain, and it’s seems almost shallow to say in his hurt, but Jesus would say the same message to him that he says to us during our struggles: “Stay faithful to me even through the pain.”

When the physical world around us does not equal spiritual truth, we need to never give in to the physical facade. Death will come. Jesus warned that his death would come (John 13: 18-19, John 14:28-29, John 16:1-4). John ended the book with the warning that his death would come (John 21:20-23). They both encouraged people to not lose faith because of death. The physical laws of this world cannot contain God. When Jesus died on the cross, the resurrection was not far behind.

The disciples did not have the hindsight after the crucifixion that the completed Gospel gives. Before the resurrection, physical reality controlled them. They were expecting a physical kingdom that would take over the nations of the world. They were expecting Jesus to be the emperor that united the world under the banner of Israel. They had forgotten that the warnings of Jesus concerning his death and the prayer in which Jesus taught them to pray.

In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus taught them to pray “Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10). His kingdom is partly here and his will is partly here, but it is trying to break through more and more. Each of us should be about living in the spiritual reality, transforming the physical façade around us into that reality as much as we are able. We need to live in the resurrection where the limitations of this world have no hold.

It took the resurrection and the Holy Spirit to give the apostles the boldness to stand firm and bring about about God’s kingdom and his will. After the crucifixion and before the resurrection, Peter denied Jesus despite faithfully following him and adamantly proclaiming him the Messiah before his death. The physical death of Jesus destroyed all of their dreams of what they thought was going to happen. Those dreams were crushed on Golgotha. But the resurrection gave these guys the strength to stand up for what they knew was right no matter what life threw their way. And tragedy would come their way. Church history teaches that all of them, save John, were crucified just like Jesus. John was exiled to the island of Patmos.

Jesus gives us hope, hope to continue on when life seems to say we need to quit. He warned us that life will not be a bed of roses. We need to live in the promise that “all things” will be worked out for our good (Romans 8:28). Better days are ahead no matter what we are facing.

At my baptism in 1988, my Grandma Jessie gave me a Bible and wrote this in the inside cover.

Dear Grandson Regan,

“Lo – I am with you always.”

With the right attitudes and God’s help you can cope with anything.

Train yourself to think spiritually with hope and optimism and enthusiasm.

Shape your life in His love.

Much Love,

Grandma Snyder