The Lesson Of The Lilies

I thought the Easter Lilies would bloom and die back. But God had a different plan.

The day my husband graduated to heaven started out just like every other day. Because of his advanced Parkinson's Disease, he generally slept late and somewhere around mid-morning I'd check to see if he was awake and wanting to get up. That particular day he looked up at me, gave a small smile and said, "yup."  I asked, "Are you sure?" and he replied with another "yup." I had no way of knowing those would be the last words he'd ever say.

I called for our live-in nurse to do the necessary tasks to get Jim washed, dressed, and ready for breakfast. Meanwhile, I set out to do my own work. No more than a minute had passed than I heard her call for me to get a bucket as Jim was throwing up. I ran into the bedroom, saw him sitting on the edge of the bed vomiting, and handed the nurse the small bucket I always kept handy. To no avail. I watched in horror as Jim first passed out and then died--despite the nurse giving him mouth to mouth resuscitation and my being on the phone with 911--telling them to hurry.

Within a day, friends and neighbors began dropping by to share their condolences, bringing all manner of food and flowers with them. We rejoiced over Jim's life and talked together over his love for Christ and his unwavering belief that heaven was his true home. We thanked the Lord for taking Jim so quickly that he felt no pain and for the fact that he was now with the Lord he loved so much. I was so grateful that his feet no longer shuffled when he walked or that he was horribly stooped because of poor muscle control. I thanked the Lord that Jim was now whole. And I sobbed the whole time I was doing so.

Unknown to me, I had gone into shock. Days were fuzzy and even now, a little over a year later, I still can't remember much of those first few months. My daughter and grand-daughters took care of every thing that needed to be done. All I did was sign the checks. And even though friends and family took turns staying with me, much of my time was spent sniffling, sobbing and participating in a meltdown or two.

Those who watched interpreted my actions as needing to see a counselor pronto. For some reason, there is a strange myth that hangs around the edges of a Christian's death. It states that those who know the Lord and are left to grieve should be happy and content, for they know where their loved one is. Yet I grieved--fully and wretchedly, even though I knew the Lord was beside me, encouraging me to let out my grief so that I be healed of the trauma and the devastation of being so suddenly left alone.

Since Jim was a Korean War veteran, I chose to have a military funeral. I wanted a family graveside service; my kids wanted a church memorial. We did both. I wanted closure as fast as possible and even though I knew Jim was with the Lord, I couldn't stand the thought of his body laying in wait while all the family made plans to get together.
 

Jim joined the Navy at 17, with parental permission, knowing he would likely end up in the Korean War. He served aboard the USS Whiteside AKA 90, an Androma class attack cargo carrier that earned 4 battlestars during the Korean conflict.

After the graveside service, I came home to grieve until there were no tears left. Between breakdowns, I found things to do. The two beautiful Easter Lily plants that had been given to me were still showing off their blooms so I set the pots in an outside planter for all to see. I figured I'd plant the bulbs when the flowers and stems died. But that never happened.

Without my even noticing, the shaggy, forelorn stems began putting out new leaves atop the old ones. How odd, I thought. I've never seen that happen before. The next time the lilies caught my eye, each old stem had new leaves sprouting from the stem top. Intrigued, I asked a flower-seller friend of mine is this was usual and the reply was "no."

Every lily stem had dead leaves, which I'd left attached so I could photograph their strange appearance. My good neighbor across the street, thinking she was doing me a favor, stopped by one afternoon and removed nearly all the brown leaves, trying to make it more presentable. I caught her just in time.

Intrigued, I now kept a close eye on those lilies, watching how healthy they were, sitting there atop what still looked like dead stems. Then came the day I saw miniscule buds begin to appear. I watched them grow bigger and longer, then swell so large they began opening their inner beauty to the sun. What a glorious sight. What had once been two small potted lilies was now at least a dozen, and nearly all in gorgeous bloom.

One day as I was coming home from the grocery store, I passed by the plants and marveled at what they had become. I told the Lord how lovely they were and thanked him that they still lived, even though the original stems appeared so dead. "It's like they never died but just kept on living," I said to God as a passing comment.

As I opened the front door to bring in the grocery bags, a thought came so strongly to mind, I knew it was the Lord. I looked back at the lilies and marveled. God had used them as an illustration to give me joy and help me further heal. My heart swelled with praise to God. The lilies had appeared to be dead and yet they lived. Just like Jim.

Jim was the love of my life for more than fifty years. I will miss him everyday that I live and wait anxiously till I see him again in heaven.


"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints." Psalm 116:15

Copyright 2011 by Sandra L Keith, All rights reserved

Top photo courtesy of MS Clip Art

All other photos are the property of the author and may not be reproduced

Me And The Tag-a-Longs

We three sisters spent a lot of time together after we moved to California. For a while, we had no one but ourselves to hang out with and since I already had my driver's license before leaving Minnesota, we'd all pile in the station wagon and head out. This photo was taken in Tijuana shortly after relocating to CA. That was one place our folks wouldn't let us go by ourselves. That was fine with us.  People kept sneaking up behind us to touch our hair--without even asking. Guess they'd never seen real blondes before. Whatever the reason, none of us liked being the center of attention so we stuffed ourselves between our parents and that ended it. Nobody argued with dad. Didn't matter that he didn't speak Spanish. Just the look he gave them drove them off.

I am the oldest of three girls. Dad always complained that he was surrounded by females but as we grew older, we'd chuck him under the chin and tell him that we knew he liked it. He's laugh and say, "I suppose so."

My middle sister and I have always been about as close as twins, being only 16 months apart. The youngest sister, 5 years my junior, was the typical "little sister." For many years, a big pain in the you-know-what. She lived and breathed to tattle on what we two oldest were doing--especially the day we decided to make clay dolls with full body parts. Her little legs ran so fast that day we hardly had time to tear off the offending parts we didn't want mom to see. In desperation we tried locking her out of our room but it didn't work. The door had no key. We did pull and tug on our overgrown wooden toy box and finally managed to get it in front of the closed door. We looked at one another and said, "There, now we can play in peace." That was right before we heard her feet clamping across the hardwood floors and her mouth screaming, "Mommy, mommy, they won't let me in." 

Thus ended our independence as the two Legler girls.

So now we were three and although the youngest was far removed from our age group, mom always insisted we let her play with us. So we two oldest would play paper dolls or put puzzles together or read books to one another. We loved to paint with watercolors and since baby sister thought she could do as well as us, we gave her an old brush and a leftover paint book. We showed her what to do. She liked our books better. So she scribble painted on our pictures. We complained to mom over and over again and all we got for our trouble was advice to play nice.

 I distinctly remember the last time mom came into our playroom to referee. I boldly told her that if little sister colored on our pages again, we'd paint her. She did; we did. Little as she was, she ran off crying, so ready to tattle again. Mom was most upset seeing her baby all colors of red and blue and green and purple and orange and.....you get the picture. We'd painted her good. "Why did you do that?" Mom demanded. Of course you know what I said. "I told you we'd paint her if she bothered her anymore." I got the shame on you lecture and mom took the baby off to the bath tub. Might I say we two oldest never were punished for our colorful body painting. That was the day it dawned on me that if I told someone what I was going to do under certain circumstances, I wouldn't get in trouble. At least I didn't think so.

Sisters 3 and nobody is blonde anymore. As we grew older our hair turned into a muddy blonde none of us liked. So we did something about it. Lady Clairol to the rescue.

We sisters are close. Our parents are long gone but the three of us try our best to stay in touch. We all live within 45 miles of each other and while I had the where-with-all to retire, both sisters continued working. Since they still have jobs, it's not always easy making plans. But while we might not be together in body, we are together in heart and mind. When I'm in the hospital or home recouperating, they drop everything and come alongside me. They'll cook, do laundry, grocery shop, clean the house--whatever is needed and all without being asked or feeling put upon.

 When one sister's husband walked out on her, leaving her with 3 young kids, Jim and I did the same for her. When Jim passed away so suddenly and without warning, baby sister was here within a couple of hours, suitcase in hand, crying with her own grief of losing a brother-in-law who was more a big brother than any kind of in-law. She'd known him since she was the age in the beginning photo--taken about a year before Jim and I eloped. He was part of her life for a long time. I always knew she truly loved him. Both of my sisters did. And he loved them back.

Looking back, I can see that our parents were right in demanding that little sister be part of we two older girls life. How easy it would have been to close her out and go about our playtime as the two Legler girls. After all, she was so much younger. Little by little, she became our same age. I'm not sure how she worked it, but there came the day when we were all married, all moms, all busy with everyday life and no age difference existed between us. We could all hang out together and have such a good time, no one wanted to go home. A strong bond had formed. We were a rope of three cords and not easily broken. When others criticized one of us, the rest of us formed a tight circle, refusing to let further wounds alight. We defended one another, regardless of what our personal feelings might be.

In all of our years together, we have seldom had a fight of any consequences. Not even after our parents had passed away and everybody informed us we'd all fight dividing up their estate. We determined we wouldn't let that happen and it didn't. We were in agreement that whatever each of us personally desired would be granted. Should we all want it, we'd draw straws. Once we three sisters had spoken our choices, we opened the house to our children to take what they wanted. When the bones still weren't picked clean, we let the grandchildren in. The few things that were truly worth money, we kept in the family. Better to pass it down than sell it.

My sisters are my best friends. I've known them longer than I've known my own children. They were beside me before I met Jim and supported me every year thereafter. We have been each others secret keepers, companions, and story tellers. We know things about each other that we'll never reveal. Yet we joke about some of the dumb things we've done--singularly or as a trio. It doesn't take much to get us laughing till the tears run. And while I sometimes refer to them as the Tag-A-Longs on Jim's and my honeymoon, I have never sulked about them being there. In truth, it sort of set the stage for the rest of our lives. For when the kids are grown and the grandkids are busy with school or jobs, and the beloved husband has passed, it just seems comfortable and right to revert to what was in the beginning. The three Legler girls. Still much the same as we once were except that we no longer paint little sister.

"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companon. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up. Again, if two lie down together, they will keep warm; But how can one be warm alone? Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not easily broken."  Ecc 4: 9-12


Copyright 2011 by Sandra L Keith, All rights reserved
Photos are the property of the author and may not be reproduced without permission

Desert Magic



In any year, with just the right amount of water at just the right time, even the
ordinarily barren foothills leading toward the desert, burst into unimaginable beauty.

 Jim and I were mountain people. We loved the pine-scented highlands, the glacially-carved tarns hidden here and there, skies so blue they oft bordered on purple, the enticing aroma of evening campfires and the skimpy beauty of haze headed skyward. Our children are mountain people too. Snowy mountains. They live to plunge down white slopes on skiis or snowboards, bundled to within an inch of their lives, goggles over their eyes and muffs on their ears and scarves around their necks. So what if it's snowing? All the more adventure. At least for a while. My grandchildren prefer the beach. Accompanied by a surf or body board. Never mind the sand or the many salty swollows accidentally imbibed or even the fact that a shark was spotted just off the coast last week. They ignore the blazing summer sun, endure squinting eyes, and insist they had a ball.

I've personally always believed that God preferred the desert. Just look at the facts. He made so much of it and then dumped it all over the planet--sometimes in huge blobs, sometimes in small caches. It's a land where creatures hide almost all day and hunt by night; where mountains tinted purple grace the horizon, appearing to be only a mile away, yet take hours to reach; where cacti with sharp, deadly spines produce flowers whose petals are as delicate as butterfly wings. Deserts are notorious for scorpions, rattlesnakes, fuzzy tarantulas, pack rats, and coyotes.

Which land would you like to visit?

You might be surprised if I told you how beautiful the desert is at the right time of year. Spring and Fall, it is a magical place unseen by many and known to few. Especially following a winter of inches and inches of well-spaced rains. Come about March or April, what had once seemed flat, brown, dusty, dirty, and barren turns into scenic postcards created by our Heavenly Father and free for the taking. Flower seeds that have lain barren for more than a few years, when watered at the right time, and in the right amounts, suddenly begin pushing up tiny green leaves that grow into large plants displaying  a painter's palette of color gone mad. White, yellow, pink, purple, rose, orange and red. Spiny cactus show off magenta flowers, untouchable because the spines protect them from hands who'd like to pluck to take home.

It is a show to behold. But it lasts only a few weeks. Flowers called "Goldfields" carpet hillsides nearly as far as the eye can see. So does the California poppy, a beguiling orange flower, so plain in itself, yet showing off such majesty when thousands band together that it nearly takes the breath away. So colorful is the desert floor, one no longer notices the dun-hued mountains forming the backdrop or the many  lizards doing some kind of reptilian push-ups on sun-warmed rocks, or the song birds making melody atop a red-flamed ocotillo or a nearly invisible coyote slinking between gray-leaved bushes.

It was at our own desert, about a two hour drive from home, that I truly discovered the beauty of God's favorite place. I've been across the Mojave countless times, always found it boring (in any weather) and oft wondered why on earth anyone would want to visit or heaven forbid, live there. It always seemed just so much of nothing. Then came the first year our son had gone off to college in a state an airline flight away. I was sad to my bones. He'd been home for Easter and had already gone back. I'd taken to my bed, crying. Jim tried and tried to get me to perk up but to no avail. I still missed my oldest child to the point of depression. But Jim was not one to give up.

"Do you want to go for a ride?" he said.  I answered, "no." "Want to drive up to see your folks?" The same answer. "Would you like to go out for lunch?" Same answer. So it went, on and off for a couple hours while I lay in bed feeling ever so sorry for myself. Jim approached me again, "Would you like to drive out to the desert and see the flowers?" I shook my head no. "Come on, Sandy, you love flowers. I know you'll feel better if you get out of bed and get outdoors. You always enjoy yourself when you're out with nature."

He had me there. So I did as he suggested and although I'm not crazy about the long drive to the desert, I always enjoyed being with my husband, and I began to feel my mood lift a bit. When we finally reached Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, we didn't even have to stop at the Visitor Center to inquire where the flowers were blooming the best. We just followed the line of cars. We had to park in a quite illegal spot so I could get out to take photos, but I didn't care. I was dumb-struck. I'd lived in California since I was sixteen. I'd been to the springtime desert more than a few times. But I'd never seen it like this.

I felt as though God had put on a spectacle just for me. Flowers everywhere, all kinds, all colors, spreading off into the horizon, over every nob and down every swale. I felt surrounded by beauty. And love. It was nearly too much to take in. Creeks seldom seen had sprung forth, their gentle bubbling over sand and rock teasing the air with a soothing song; gentle breezes cooling the back of my neck and pestering my hair out of place; a silly roadrunner passed by, looking for all the world as if it were trying to make the Olympic track team. Or outrun Wiley Coyote. Comic relief for an intense day.

Jim stood quietly beside me. His arm wrapped tight around my shoulder. His wisdom had worked. He knew me better than I knew myself. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. He always had to lean down. He was six feet tall; I am barely over five feet. We always looked like the giant and the midget but we cared not. I put my camera down, noticing I'd already shot a full roll of thirty-six and was sorry I'd not brought more film with me. "Want to walk up Palm Canyon?" he asked. I considered that a great idea. Wild sheep lived up there and visitors often spotted them hiding out in the rocky ledges. I guess they were on vacation that day. We saw naught but birds and bugs and bees.

By the time we returned to the trailhead and walked back to our car, the light was beginning to wane. I stood amidst the flower fields, making small circles as I surveyed the 180 degree majesty of the desert that day. Nearly everyone was gone now and we had this perfect place to ourselves. "I'm not depressed anymore," I yelled over to Jim. He smiled that ear to ear grin that was only his. "I'm so glad you brought me here." He smiled again. I skipped over to where he stood by the car and gave him a kiss. "Thank you for doing this for me" I said. He nodded. "I knew you'd like it."

"Today is the first time I've really understood why God loves the desert," I said--so loud that anyone left alongside the road could have heard it. Jim grinned. "It's really beautiful, isn't it?  He looked at his watch. "Want to catch a bite before we start home?" he asked. "Yep," I replied. "All this happiness has made me really hungry. Do you think Borrego Springs has a decent place to eat?" He smiled and gave me a big hug. "Guess we'll find out," he said.

They did. We ate. Jim drove home. Inside, my heart was singing. I still missed my first-born. But I had gleaned insight today into something I'd not previously understood about the Lord. I thought about it on the long drive back to San Diego. The mountains are beautiful every time of year. So is the Pacific Ocean. Only the desert puts on a spectacle by God's decree. In my heart, I considered today a Command Performance created just for me. How fortunate were those who'd gotten in on my ticket.

"Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." Isaiah 43:18,19

Copyright by Sandra L Keith 2011  All rights reserved.
All photos are property of the author and may not be reproduced without permission