Blended, Mended Family

By Jan-Marie Waters

Like many families today, my husband Wayne and I faced the challenges of a blended family. One of our greatest struggles was with our eldest son. As a young teenager he was resentful and rebellious which caused great mayhem in our home. We tried many avenues of help: individual counseling, family counseling, Outward Bound, hospitalization, residential rehabilitation, therapy, clergy counseling. Sadly nothing made a noticeable difference. Wayne and I spent many tearful nights in prayer --with little apparent result.

Eventually our wayward son moved to California. The little contact we had with him was fraught with conflict and reproaches.

One day, our son could not be reached; not by email, not by telephone. He was just gone. I left message after message. Occasionally, I received a brief call with no information about his circumstances – then, nothing. I was distraught. I began to have anxiety attacks and became severely depressed. Despite everything, I had lost my beloved firstborn.

I knew I had to survive for Wayne and our younger son. I began to pray. I prayed fervently and persistently. Then, one night, I prayed for my son as if he had died. Indeed, he was as lost to us as if he had died. I asked Jesus to take my child to Himself and to love him and protect him for somehow we had failed to do so. I prayed the Lord’s forgiveness for my shortcomings as a parent and for my part in the unhappiness that had plagued our home. I prayed to the Holy Spirit to let my child, wherever he was, feel my love for him in his heart – even though I truly believed that I would never see or hear from him again.

And then, I went on. Our family went on. Life went on. Not easily or comfortably, but it went on. Time passed.

One evening, the phone rang. When I answered, it was our son. I heard, “I have tried to put you out of my life. I even moved to Europe to get away from you. But, for some reason that I don’t understand, I find that I need you in my life in some way. I don’t know why, and I don’t think it will do any good. But, I’m calling you anyway.”

Life began again. We were resurrected as a family. Many conversations, changes, transitions have occurred since that time – too many to share here.

Recently, we spent a week together. All of us. Dad, Mom, brothers, children, wives and girlfriends. Happily, peacefully, hopefully and gratefully together. A family. Thanks be to God!

Pursuit

Rev'd Sarah Bronos

I was not raised in a Christian household although both of my parents were nominal members of the Church of England. When I was born, my mother refused my grandmother’s request to have me baptized.

At age nine I started attending Loreto Roman Catholic Convent School for girls in the town where I lived in the UK. Although I had been asking questions about God since I was five, I knew little to nothing about Christianity. I was very shy at that age and spent most of my break time after lunch in the chapel-- a place I loved to be. (There is still a mixture of the scents of flowers, beeswax candles and scented holy water that can take me right back to that place where I felt so very safe.) I was drawn to the carved wood Stations of the Cross that wrapped around the Chapel walls. I didn’t know the story, but found myself on many occasions in tears as I contemplated the carvings.

At age eleven I was devastated to learn that I couldn’t remain at Loreto, as I was not Roman Catholic. My parents enrolled me instead in St Albans High School for Girls, a Church of England school. Sadly, the divinity mistress discounted the truth of the miracle stories --and indeed much of the Bible. I believed these stories to be true but was ridiculed for those beliefs. But God provided another means for his Word to reach his children. The art teacher read stories from the Bible and asked us to the paint them. (I still have two paintings in my office today that remind me of the faithfulness of this woman. What an impact such a witness can have on a life!)

By the time I was twelve or thirteen my peers started attending confirmation classes. After they were confirmed they were able to receive Holy Communion at the high altar in St Albans’ Cathedral nearby. I desperately wanted to be able to receive Holy Communion but couldn’t because I wasn't baptized and confirmed.

In my early twenties I went to live and work in Paris. While there I was often drawn to churches where I could sit, be quiet and feel safe. When I was 26 I met Pat. Six months later we were married – in a church in a small hamlet in Cornwall. I was still not baptized.

Later, we moved to Miami, Florida. George was born when I was 29 and Katarina when I was 32. It was about then that a neighbor began asking me to go to church with her. It was a very gentle and persistent invitation. There was a stirring in my heart, but also fear. What would people think of me? After all, we’d been living here for quite some time, and I hadn’t attended church. I didn’t fully understand what Christianity was all about. However, I yearned to get back into a church. Eventually on the Easter of my 33rd year, I stepped back inside a church again – and felt like I had come home. Five weeks later on the Feast of Pentecost I was baptized together with my children, and I was confirmed. At last I was able to receive Holy Communion for the first time. What joy!

About a month later my neighbor seemed to have changed – she was more peaceful, more joyful, more serene. I asked her if something had happened. She said, “I have asked Jesus to be Lord of my life.” I still didn’t really know what Christianity was all about since I had no classes prior to being baptized or confirmed. Truth be told, I didn’t even know if I believed that Jesus was anything more than a great human prophet! But I knew I wanted what Carrie had –so I sat down in what was to become my prayer chair. Here I gave this most pitiful invitation, “Jesus, if you are really real, will you come into my life.”

Our most gracious Lord does not seem to care about how he is invited in – only that we do so! A deep-seated peace and a sense of being deeply loved descended upon me. This thankful pilgrim’s journey continues “further in and higher up.”[1] How grateful I am for the faithfulness of a friend who never tired of extending an invitation, and to our Lord who never stops pursuing his lost children.





[1] CS Lewis – The Last Battle

Where Two or More of You are Gathered in My Name...

Dede Eshleman

My mother suffers from short-term memory loss. This condition is not surprising as her own mother developed age onset dementia in her late 70s. So we were prepared when we noticed similar symptoms in my mom. Even so, coping with this condition is painful and frustrating for her and her loved ones. Thankfully, she now lives with my brother who cares for her. As my sister deals with the difficulties of mom's condition, she wonders if she will inherit this disease. She even told me, "If I don't know whether they are there or not..." and implied that it wouldn't really matter too much. I agreed with her sentiment...and then a beautiful thing happened that has me thinking differently.

My mom woke up around 11:30 pm on January 1st after having slept about 2 hours. I was reading in the living room at her house, with my 7 year old daughter asleep on the couch. When she came out of her bedroom, I asked, "Is everything okay, Mom?" She stated simply, "Daddy died."

"I know, Mom."

She continued, in that hurry-up voice of hers, "We have to get ready, they're coming."

"Okay, Mom," I said as I stood and walked toward her.

Then I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time. My mom wanted to get ready. Someone was coming. It was important to her to be ready when they arrived. She was scared and anxious, and she knew she needed to get ready. So together we went through the steps of getting ready: brushed her teeth, washed her face, brushed her hair, changed her into slacks and a pretty top, and put on her shoes. Then we sat on the couch to wait.

Then I held up a mirror to her actions and her feelings. I said, "Daddy died. You know you have things to do. You have to go to the hospital. You have things to take care of."

After nodding her head to all of these statements, she said, "Yes, I wish they would hurry up! Get here already."

"Yes, it is hard to wait. I hate waiting too." After waiting a bit longer I added, "Mom, I don't think anyone is going to come tonight. They aren't going to come tonight, because all those things that are important to do, you have already done them. Daddy died when Mary was a little girl. Look at her on the couch, she's pretty big now. When daddy died, you went to the hospital. We all did. You did all the things that needed to be done. We don't have to go and do those things now, because you already did them. Tonight we can just sit here, and we can tell stories about Daddy."

Once again, I held up a mirror to the feelings I guessed she was having. "You feel lonely without Daddy." She nodded her head and held my hand as I cried because I felt lonely without Daddy, too.

Then she added, "and empty and dead inside."

"Yeah," I said, "and empty. And you feel dead on the inside, but you're still living. And you're a little bit mad about that."

She nodded her head again.

"Yeah," I said. After a few minutes of looking out the window together, I said, "I'm glad you're alive, though, because I get to sit here with you and talk and remember how much Daddy loved all of us and how much we loved him." And as she nodded her head and squeezed my hand, somewhere in the middle of all this, I knew I was connected to my mom again even though she had this short term memory loss crap that gets in the way of everything.

My mom knew who she was. She knew she'd loved and had lost her love. In those moments she knew she loved her children. She talked about all of us by name and knew that we all loved her. She knew she loved the tearful me sitting next to her, and the kid sprawled out over there on the other couch.

After awhile I asked if she wanted to go back to bed, and she said, "Yeah, I do, I'm tired." After she was back in bed, glasses on her bedside table, I went back to the couch and my book and cried. Cried silent, deep, peaceful, happy-sad tears.

In the middle of her loneliness, in the middle of her emptiness, in the middle of that dead feeling inside her, we had connected again, we two. And Jesus' words floated in my head, "Where two or three are gathered together in my name, I will be in the midst of them." In the middle of the hurt and pain, we both had experienced God's healing presence...enough to rest in a peaceful sleep...enough to move on.

The Lord’s Joy

Louise Field

My longtime friend Roz, who lives in Illinois, was diagnosed three years ago with stage 4 lung cancer and also with a brain tumor. The brain tumor was removed with gamma knife surgery and hasn’t returned. The lung cancer was more difficult to deal with, so medical treatments continued. A large group of people were praying for her.

Several months ago while in my home in Florida, I was in meditative prayer for Roz. As I was praying, I felt a great joy pouring over me. It was very sudden and wonderful.

Shortly after this event I received her good news via e-mail. The medical report showed the cancer in one lung was gone, and the lesion in the other lung was miniscule.

Wanting to tell Roz in person about the joy I had received during my prayer for her, I waited a month when I saw her at a reunion of college friends in Memphis. I then related the joyful experience to Roz. She too was overcome. The spiritual joy we both felt not only gave us the assurance of the Lord’s blessing but also the consolation of hope.

Thanks be to God!

The Last Good-Bye

Barbara Rawls

A week had passed since my husband's memorial service. Family members and friends had returned home. Elisa, my youngest child, was at work, and I was alone in the house. It was very quiet as I sat down before a stack of bills. "Where do I begin," I wondered. Most of the bills from Bill’s hospital stay needed to be sorted and submitted to the insurance company for payment. As I sat reflecting on the events of the past month, I felt very alone. Losing my husband so quickly and without warning hadn’t given me any time to prepare for this big change…there would certainly be plenty of time now.

The house was silent, and I brought my attention back to the task at hand. The scent of bay rum suddenly filled my nostrils, and I felt another presence in the room. I turned around and a feeling of warmth and peace swept over me. There was no visible sign, but I knew that Bill was comforting me; no one else I knew wore bay rum aftershave lotion.

It was Bill’s last good-bye. I thank God for this comforting experience.

Suffering and Perseverance

Lillian Williams-Petersen

In February 2012, during a routine check-up it was discovered that my husband Randolph (Pete) had a serious heart condition. The doctor was amazed that he was walking around considering the seriousness of his condition. Test after test (including a halter monitor) concluded that he needed a pacemaker as soon as possible.

Three weeks after the pacemaker was implanted, an infection was detected at the implant site. After 2 weeks of treatment the site was not healing. A decision was made to remove the pacemaker and implant another on the opposite side of Randolph's chest. Once again, his body rejected the pacemaker. In fact, he had three more pacemakers implanted. Each time the same reaction occurred.

After one implantation my husband spent 29 days in the hospital and was under the care of his primary care physician. A consultation team from St. Jude’s and the Mayo Clinic consisting of a cardiologist, infectious disease specialist, and an allergist put their minds together to try to figure out his problem.

At one point his cardiologist said to me that only God knows what to do and that he had asked God to intervene. I told him that I know that the Lord is here with us in this situation. Throughout this ordeal, the effectual and fervent prayers of the righteous availeth much.

Rev'd Sarah, our priest at Good Shepherd, was there with her prayers and support even did research online regarding similar cases. We appreciated her genuine consistent concern. She came to the hospital to give Randolph the Eucharist and presented us with a pamphlet of prayers for the sick. This served as a guide for my and Pete’s prayers each day. We read these prayers together daily.

Finally the team of doctors decided that perhaps Pete was allergic to the materials used in the tubing connecting the pacemaker to his heart. One made of another substance was used--- that solved the problem!

Eventually Pete was released and is now doing very well.

All the praise, honor and glory belong to the Lord our God, maker of heaven and earth.

Sister Visits

Beverly Lassiter

On February 10, 2013, I lost my kind, gentle sister, Jennean. She was the second eldest of the five girls known in our community as the "five Pellett Sisters.” (We lost our oldest sister, Barbara, in 1998.)

Jennean was diagnosed last May with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. It was time for a "sister visit", so off went the three of us to Dallas just as she was being released from assisted care. We picked her up, and checked into our hotel room. During the week of our visit, we managed to pursue many of our favorite sister activities. On reflection, this time together is so very precious for we did not know that it would be our last. Why did I not recognize His gift to us?

Jennean received chemotherapy throughout the summer months to keep the cancer in check. However, in November much to the surprise of her oncologist, a tumor was detected in her throat. The mass was removed. Tests indicated the cancer had not moved to other parts of her body. She then began her second series of chemo treatment in December as a safety measure. However, the therapy was discontinued during her second treatment due to her compromised condition. More time was needed to rebuild her strength.

By the end of December, we decided it was time to plan a surprise “sister visit"--- this time to celebrate her birthday on February 4.

On January 17, Jennean had to return to the hospital. We talked to her many times while she was hospitalized but managed to keep our visit a secret.

On February 1, we sisters arrived in Dallas and went straight to the hospital. As we approached the room, we encountered her doctor. He gave us an update on her situation. He told us that they still did not know the reason for her deteriorating condition, but confirmed emphatically that it was not the cancer. He said it might be some type of infection and was still running tests to determine the cause.

As we entered her room, we could see Jennean’s sweet face light up, but she was much too weak to speak. That night we had the chance to hug her, to feed her, and to talk to her about trivial sister things and family news. She knew we were there to celebrate her birthday, and we stayed late into the night.

By the time we arrived the following morning, our sweet sister had slipped into a coma, never to return. We laid her to rest on February 15.

The weeks following were a blur of emotion. Then at a church service one Sunday Rev’d Sarah made an announcement. She was encouraging members to share a personal experience in their life that magnifies the living Lord. It made me stop and think. I suddenly realized that God’s amazing grace had been bestowed upon my family ---not once, but twice as we made our "sister visits." He had given us the miraculous blessing of being able to say goodbye one last time.

Often times when you are in the midst of losing a loved one, it is hard to get past the emotions of sadness to recognize the gentle hand of the Lord at work.