The irrelevance of death

As I write this, on Monday, September 29, it’s the actual day of my 80^th birthday. I’m entering into a new decade and a new phase in the adventure that is growing older. It’s hitting me today—80 years old. That’s up there. The thought that occurred to me in the early hours was that, from here on, death will not be a tragedy, but rather a normal part of life. It’s coming closer all the time. That’s natural. People might say, “Too bad she’s gone, but she lived a good long life.” And it would be true.

What a strange combination—celebration and death. But that’s how my mind works sometimes.

Hal and I are memorizing Psalm 16, a passage full of encouragement and bright promise. I encourage you to taste it, too. Concerning death and the future, the last three verses read,

“… my heart is glad and my tongues rejoices;
my body also will rest secure,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
nor will you let your faithful one see decay.
You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

The words about not leaving us in the realm of the dead nor letting us see decay are said to be about Jesus and his resurrection from the dead. But I think they speak of us, too. They tell us that, for God’s faithful followers, death is irrelevant. It’s not the final word. At 80, I may be closer to that big transition, but that’s what it is—a transition from life to LIFE.

I need not be afraid.

Now on to the poem that I come back to every September 29, which, on the liturgical calendar, is the Feast of the Archangels. What a day to be born!

 

September 29
(The Feast of the Archangels)

Every year on September 29
they gather.
Raphael brings the drinks,
while Michael and Gabriel
raid the pantry for caviar and taco chips.
They congregate in the fireside room,
spread the food on the table,
pull out the Parcheesi board,
and take off their shoes.
Then they sing.
They start with the old songs
--Psalm 100, the Magnificat,
"Behold, I bring good tidings"
(a favorite after all these years)--
work their way through Gregorian chants
and Martin Luther to New World
Yankee Doodle, Southern gospel,
and somewhere in the process
they sing Happy Birthday to me.
With voices like whales
or arctic wolves,
strange, far, and wholly holy,
the archangels celebrate.
"Don't be afraid," they tell me.
Planets realign.
The juice of the sun flows free.

Ageless birthdays

 It all started the day I turned one-year-old. My parents threw me a party. I don’t remember any of it, but I love the story they told me. My father was the high school football coach and he invited some of the varsity team to my party. They gave me a big porcelain porker (meaning a piggy bank) and then plunked in their nickels and dimes. Apparently I loved the sound and laughed out loud. Good story.

My family made a big deal out of our birthdays, making my brother, sister, and me feel very special on those very special days. We got to pick what to eat for dinner and there were, of course, cake with candles we blew out and, the best part—presents!

But my parents were not party people and the next actual birthday party I had took place years later, when I turned 12. It was a princess party, and the ten school friends I invited all dressed up as princesses. Long skirts, gauzy curtain capes, and card board crowns—we were gorgeous. All girls, of course. No boys allowed! (Times have changed. Girls seem to get crushes on boys at a younger age these days.)

That was my last birthday party as a young person. I found other ways to celebrate my special day. After Hal and I married and then began our family, it was mostly family-only celebrations, sometimes including going out to eat. Actually, with our kids, we did begin to invite their small (and then bigger) friends over. Often the whole missionary family gathered to celebrate the life of the child growing one year older.

When we lived in tropical Santa Cruz, Bolivia, other customs entered the story. On the birthday morning, our Bolivian friends gathered outside our bedroom window and woke us up with serenades. Loud and happy, accompanied by guitars, it woke up the neighbors too, but that was part of the fun. The birthday person was required to appear at the window, or at the front door, to receive the generous gift of music and friendship. Sometimes the celebrants came in for hot cocoa and pastries, bringing the goods themselves. It was a great way to start the day.

Some people seem to think that as we age, the magic of birthdays and parties diminishes. Birthdays are to be dreaded. Certainly not celebrated. One year older?! That’s scary.

Not so!

At least not for me and not for my friends around this retirement community. It feels good to be celebrated by family and friends, an affirmation that we matter, that people love and appreciate us. Who doesn’t need that kind of affirmation? Do we ever outgrow it? I haven’t.

Here on the fifth floor of the community, we have a special way of celebrating birthdays. My friend Francie creates a large colorful poster, usually featuring a baby picture of the birthday person, and the poster covers most of the apartment door. A birthday bear sits outside the door, on loan for the day. Then at an appointed hour, all the residents on the floor gather to serenade the life we are celebrating, wearing glittery crowns and other funny hats.  In addition to Happy Birthday to You, we have a series of silly birthday songs we always sing. It’s become a ritual in the positive sense of that word.

Yesterday we celebrated Francie’s 80^th birthday. Of course, no one is surprised anymore. The ritual is anticipated and sometimes we fake surprise just for the fun of it. And it’s always fun. In addition to the traditional Happy Birthday To You, we sang all verses to Blessed Be the Tie That Binds, and sensed the truth behind the words. We’re a family. And families celebrate birthdays.

No matter how old we are.

Celebrating life

 Saturday a week ago, I celebrated a joyful wedding as my grandson Aren married his Anna. Saturday, two days ago, I celebrated another major event—the memorial service of a dear friend. The two celebrations were similar in many ways, but also very different.

Actually, in the last few weeks, we’ve worked our way emotionally through the deaths of two good friends. Strangely, both their services were on Saturday at 10:00. So Hal attended Linda’s service and I went to the one for Deloris. Each of the two memorial services genuinely celebrated a life well lived.

But still, it wasn’t the same as a wedding. We’ll continue to enjoy our grandchildren for years, God willing, participating in their joys, celebrating the birth of their babies (again, God willing), supporting them in their trials (inevitable), and relishing all we see God doing in and through their lives. With Linda and Deloris, we said goodbye. I will miss Linda’s sense of humor and her constant reminders to pray for our grandchildren. I can hardly imagine being without Deloris’ encouragement, her telling us how blessed her life has been, even as she was suffering pain that increased to the day of her death. Linda was about two years younger than me; Deloris, ten years older. Their life celebrations were joyful and sorrowful at the same time.

I find the difference between the terms memorial service and funeral interesting. Google tells me that the basic difference is the presence of the body in a funeral. In the memorial service, the physicality expresses itself in the photos of the person who has died.

When I was growing up, my parents didn’t take us kids to funerals. I think now that they probably should have. Seeing the body might have been traumatic, but so is death and children need to learn to accept it.

Or maybe not. Do we ever come to accept death? I’m not sure I do. Yes, I know it’s inevitable. It’s part of life, as some experts tell us. And that’s probably true. But the shock and the sense of void tell me it’s not entirely acceptable. St. Paul calls death the last enemy that will be defeated when the kingdom of God comes in its fulness.

The adjective, funereal, is defined as glum, morbid, sorrowful, and other such words. In literature the word is used for more than funerals. Uriah Heap had a funereal face. Dark and stormy nights are sometimes referred to as funereal.

Even so, funerals can be meaningful times, punctuated with joy if the deceased was a Christian. In Latin America, where I lived for many years, people usually commemorate their dead with funerals, preceded by a wake with the body present. Whole families, including children, gather to express their grief, sometimes loudly. It makes death real and probably helps the mourners move forward.

And, of course, faith in that good place the dead in Christ go to comforts. The stronger our belief, the greater the comfort. But comfort sometimes comes gradually and grief can take a long time.

In any event, I’m glad for the preponderance of memorial services these days.

In both memorial services Hal and I attended on Saturday, the grown children of the deceased gave testimonials about their mother. Both were beautiful tributes. In Deloris’ service, her youngest son ended his tribute by quoting from the ending of CS Lewis’ The Last Battle, the final book in his Chronicles of Narnia. Its words bring me great joy and anticipation:

And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before. 

Amen.

 

Life marches on, with celebration!

 On Saturday, June 7, we celebrated the wedding of our grandson Aren to his beloved Anna. The bride was beautiful, the groom could not stop smiling, the worship was rich, and the joy in the whole gathering was palpable. Too many superlatives? Not really. As the grandma, I am totally objective. There’s never been a wedding like this one!

The whole event began on Friday with the rehearsal at the venue (an old picturesque barn 45 minutes outside of Newberg). The rehearsal was followed by a lunch for the wedding party back in Newberg on the campus of George Fox University. It was large as the wedding party included 10 bridesmaids and 10 groomsmen. Aren and Anna have a lot of close friends! It was an open-mic time and many people shared about their experiences with the bride and groom and gave advice, some wise, some funny. Then we all gathered around Aren and Anna to pray.

On Saturday we rode with our son and daughter-in-law (Aren’s parents) to the wedding, arriving at 2:30 to help with last minute stuff. The wedding was at 3:30, outdoors in the heat (we were all given fans). The very meaningful ceremony was followed by a time of visiting and fellowship in the barn with platters of meats, cheeses, crackers, nuts and fruit. The word abundance comes to mind. The dinner began at 6:00, followed by more speeches and prayers. And finally, let the dancing begin! The music was lively; they even danced to “Splish, Splash, I Was Takin’ a Bath” (from my high school years).

Anna’s extended family and friends had come in from Chicago and Wisconsin, plus there were guests from Ruanda, Moracco, France, Bulgaria, and Mexico. Like I mentioned, Aren and Anna have lots of friends.

Hal and I left early (after 7 hours of celebration!) and so missed the send-off. But we left with joyful hearts. We know God’s blessing is on this couple who plan to live and serve in North Africa.

I felt honored as Aren and Anna had asked me to write and read the wedding blessing. “Make it as long as you want, Grandma!” Aren had told me. I did, however, use some restraint. I got to read the blessing at the beginning of the ceremony. I’m going to end this blog with the blessing: 

Marriage Blessing
Aren Thomas and Anna Town
June 7, 2025

Aren and Anna,

We, your family and friends who love you, gather with you today to witness your vows, affirm the path you’ve chosen, and get really really happy as we see your joy in each other.

Growing up in two different continents, you met on a third continent. Your friendship has been global from the beginning, and it’s about to become more so. Your two different streams are becoming one new river of faith that will go out into the world.

You bring together certain differences. In some ways it seems like hyper-activity marrying serenity. You’re creating a unique blend of adventure and common sense, of idealism and practicality. That blending is your strength.

Today we bless you with our prayers for the following:

n -- A growing commitment to open communication with each other; a wise use of words to explore, reveal, challenge, solve problems, make laugh, heal, and bless.

n  --Beauty in the places you go—places with mountains, rivers, deserts, wild flowers, and beasts you’ve never seen before. And beauty in the people you’ll meet in those places—people who will become friends.

n -- A combination of exciting adventures and the deep peace of being under God’s protection—both at the same time.

n  --Creativity by the bucketful—new paintings, recipes, pottery mugs and critters; new ideas and new ways of handling old tasks.

n  --Humor in the people you meet, in the strange things people say without meaning to, in your own mistakes, in each other, and in all the stuff life brings your way (even the hard stuff).

n -- Great food—the discovery of new dishes around the world, and in your own home—cooking it and serving it to others; a ministry of hospitality.

n  --Children—your own, God willing, and those you meet wherever you go. Kids to be silly with, tell stories to, listen to, build Lego fortresses and dragons in the sand with, to love and care for.

n  --Businesses built, restaurants opened, workers trained, people transformed because you loved and accompanied them.

n  --With all the moving and the possibility of living in different places, a sense of permanence and stability that comes from your relationship with each other and with God.

n  --Growth in grace and in knowing Jesus.

Two streams converging into a river in God’s kingdom. May you always hear the voice of the One who walks by your side as he says, “I will be with you always, even to the ends of the earth.”

We bless you on this, your wedding day.

                            With Aren's sisters

                            Parents of the groom

                                Happy couple

                                Happy grandparents

Gifts of Sight

 The venue seemed to be a large room in a warehouse. Or a barn. Antique stuff on the walls around the room surrounded a spacious area with tables here and there. If it were not for the furniture, I could imagine a square dance happening. Very western and homey. A small crowd was already there when we arrived and over the next hour more people drifted in and soon the place was full.

We were there for a literary event, something I am naturally drawn to. The occasion was the launching of a new book. The author—my daughter Kristin.

At this point I am going to claim my God-inspired, constitutionally-defended bragging rights as a mother. Kristin has never considered herself a writer (although I have a bundle of interesting, funny, and well-written letters collected over the span of 30 years). This whole project has surprised her more than anyone else. Over a year ago she began sensing an inner nudge to write down certain experiences and insights that had been deeply touching her life for some time. A few friends also suggested she write them down in a book. At first the idea seemed preposterous, but the nudges didn’t stop. Kristin has learned to listen and sense from where (and from Whom) a nudge is coming.

So she said Yes and began to bring together the thoughts, stories, and memories that would be the building blocks of her book.

The beginning of any big project is chaotic and messy. And sometimes discouraging. And so it was with this huge (to her) project. But Kristin is not a lone-ranger type. From the start, she had editors and experienced writing coaches by her side, and this made a difference. She gave me the privilege of being one of her coaches. Tenacity, courage, and lots of reorganizing and rewriting went into this year of hard work. And all of it alongside her fulltime profession and involvement in family life.

And now it was time to celebrate and formally present to the public Gifts of Sight: Discovering God’s Love Through the Lens of Visual Impairment. And celebrate we did! After about 45 minutes of socializing and snacking, Kristin’s editor Jesse called the group to attention and introduced Kristin (whom everyone knew) and her new book. Enthusiastic applause. Then Kristin took the mic and told the story behind the book. With laughter and a few tears, Kristin walked us through her journey, beginning at birth actually and leading to this evening and this celebration. I found it very moving and so did everyone else.

Then followed the book signing (with a healthy line of people wishing to purchase), more snacking, and visiting. My assignment for the evening was to take as many photos as I could. Throughout the evening, Kristin couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could I.

Let me tell you a little about the book. Kristin brings together three streams -- her profession as a teacher of the visually impaired, her personal life story, and insights on life lived as followers of Jesus. She uses the science of sight and visual impairment as a metaphor for how God sees, knows, and loves us, showing how this understanding has been transforming her own life. The combination of professionalism and personal vulnerability makes this book compelling and deeply encouraging.

That’s my objective opinion, in case you’re wondering. And, yes, with a little bragging mixed in.

Those babies we hold in our arms all start out as possibilities. After years of nurturing and prayer, with a batch of mistakes thrown in, how wonderful to see those possibilities come to fruition and shine.

I’m both humbled and grateful. And I’ll probably keep on bragging.

The holiday we ignore

I love birthdays. I remember my childlike eagerness as the day approached. The family focused on me, served me cake, gave me presents, and, in essence, told me they were glad I was born.

As I grew up and older, it was the birthdays of the kids and now the grandkids that give such pleasure. A time when we all become childlike again. A holiday that comes round with yearly regularity. A holy day.

There’s another day that comes around once a year. The same day, the same month, year in year out. A day we ignore because we don’t know when it is. The day of our death. Strange thought. Every year since we were born, that day comes around, and to us it’s just another ordinary time. God knows but we don’t. That thought gives me the shivers.

When loved ones die, we celebrate the passing with memorial services or celebrations-of-the-life-of (you name her), choosing this instead of calling it a funeral. This is good and can, in faith, be a celebration. We look at photos of our dear one (baby pictures, funny little girl, wedding, and so on) and smile. We chuckle at the funny stories, remember achievements, express astonishment at all the grand and great grandchildren that issued from this life. We celebrate a life and say our goodbyes. It becomes a holy day.

Of course, the act of celebration doesn’t erase the need to grieve our losses. After all, our friend or cousin or spouse is no longer physically present to listen to our sorrows, enjoy that cup of coffee with us, or touch us. But I’m told that even grief can become a holy time, especially when combined with faith and hope.

But I will not be physically present at my own deathday celebration. I don’t even know when it will be. Is that fair?

Silly question. Fair or not, I don’t really want to be there. It might offend my modesty. Then again, it might not. I’ll never know.

I’m not a party-girl. I don’t do well at planning parties either. But it seems that it’s necessary to plan for my deathday party, mainly to spare my kids that task. So Hal and I are in the process of choosing our burial plot, memorial plaque, or spot where the ashes will be scattered. We haven’t yet decided which of those options best suits us. We’ll probably choose cremation. But that still demands a choice between an expensive urn, a handmade wooden box, or a paper bag. Some funeral parlors offer that last option at roughly $18.00 a bag, special paper and all.

We’ve decided that any plaque will have both of us on it, with just our names and the pertinent dates, when those become known. Anything additional costs too much. Our conservative financial tendencies extend into death, it seems.

I’m glad God keeps that day secret. I don’t want to know.

Some of my favorite spiritual guides include Brother Lawrence and Thomas Kelly, both of whom encourage me to live in the present moment, to treat every day as a holiday. A holy day. I’m drawn to that vision, although I struggle to consistently live it out. But as I grow in grace and this becomes my experience, I’ll be able to inadvertently celebrate my deathday once a year, without even knowing it.

Today, I am very much alive.