We Plan and God Laughs

It wasn't the vacation we hoped for.  Nor the one we planned. To say I wouldn't change a thing would be silly, but, it was still was what we intended: a mission of mercy but also a gift of grace. 

A little over a year ago, the call came from our dear 82 year old friend, Jean.  She began with faltering voice saying, "I have some bad news."  The conversation revealed that her beloved husband, and our dear, sweet friend, Jack, had died after a sudden and awful illness.  

Bereft that we were so far away, we made a conscious decision that we would not jump on a plane to fly cross country in order to attend Jack's memorial service.  We knew there would be a massive amount of caring, loving people who could and would be there for those immediate and difficult good byes.  Instead, we sent heartfelt cards and a care package designed to comfort our friend  while putting off  plans to travel to her.  A few months down the road when everyone else had returned to their lives and homes and our Jean would welcome the company, we would travel to be with her.

With that in mind, my sweet girl and I juggled our calendars and planned our trip to Maryland.  The husband would mind the home fires and we girls would wing our way to our old home town and our sweet Jean.   

We were just  a little worried when several days before our scheduled trip, one year old Minnie showed signs of a virus of some sort.  Suffice it to say it was messy and it involved a fever.  Next, Ruby, age 6, got an 8  hour dose of what took Minnie several days to conquer.  But, it seemed that  we were nearly home free. Then, as fate would have it,  the night before our flight, my girl started feeling icky. Lying on a pillow on the kitchen floor icky.   Then there was a  monster headache and all the aforementioned symptoms.  

A decision was made that the husband and I would collect the little ones and they and I would brave the flight alone, giving Momma a day to rest and recover.  And we zipped into action. Oh. My. Did we zip! 

The husband delivered us all to LAX and somehow  a then six year old, 15 month old and I navigated three suitcases, two back packs and a big orange purse to curbside check in.  (Thank you, Lord, for curbside baggage check!)  We sailed through security and were at our gate with time to spare.

The flight was the proverbial can of sardines.  We had two seats for two little ones and myself and we snagged an aisle and center seat.  A lovely Indian woman was relegated to the window seat and proved to be an angel in disguise.  She immediately introduced herself as Julie, and spent a good part of our five hour flight entertaining six year old, Ruby, while I juggled Minnie.  All in all, we managed well.

We arrived at BWI to meet our dear friends Rick and Patricia, who not only picked us up but came armed with car seats for our little ones and provided a portable crib for Minnie to use.  They delivered us to Jean's warm home on the Crofton Parkway.  We were exhausted but, delighted to have reached our destination!

The next day was spent  visiting with Jean in her warm and beautiful home.  She bustled around like a wet hen making sure we had enough to eat and anything and everything we might need.  Late that afternoon Amanda arrived, declaring she was good as new! Having recovered overnight,  she arrived along with her hubby who was able to join our adventure between work assignments. 

Jean and Ru at the O's game!

He made plans to take us all to an Oriole game in Baltimore, and procured tickets.  It was such a fine night.   My last trip to an O's game was when the stadium was  brand new and my own parents were with us.  It was sweet to recall being with them in that place and now to be there with my girl and her little family and our Jean.  We did it right,  with hot dogs and cheering and the seventh inning stretch.  And, our team won!  (Thank you, boys!)  It was a lovely night with Jean, who hadn't been to a game since prior to Jack's passing. 

When we got home, we talked through our plans for the coming week…there'd be ribs for dinner that night and dinner in Baltimore at Heninger's, a wonderful restaurant in Fell's Point, owned and operated by Jean's daughter Jayne and her husband, Kenny. There would be shopping, because Jean is a Giver (yes, that's a capitol G) and she was determined to lavish gifts on Amanda and her girls.  On Saturday, we'd all be going to Patricia's home for a gathering of old friends who would be coming to see us.  The week was full of promise and we were so excited!  

The next morning, my friend and personal chauffeur, Patricia, whisked me off to breakfast while Amanda and the girls visited with Jean. We headed to Bob Evans for a monster meal, complete with grits. (have I mentioned how I love grits?)  We sat and talked over eggs and bacon and grits and coffee.  We laughed until we cried.  We have the luxury of having shared life together from the times when  our children were small.  I remembered delivering a baby gift for her youngest, Cal (who was recently married) and ice pops for her older children. Back then we were sure if we did it all right that it would turn out all right.  We were hopeless romantics, no?  But, we agreed that although life gets messy,  we still believe, that when all is said and done, it WILL be all right. Because Jesus said so. 

We're still banking on that. 

Making fun on the grounds of Prince of Peace Church

By the time Patricia delivered me back to Jean's, the tide had taken a nasty turn.  Jean was sick. Messy, ugly, in her room and beyond-comfort sick. There was nothing to be done but to offer liquids and prayers for her recovery.  But there would be no ribs that night.  Instead there would be Panera's finest and a trip to the church next door for the kids to play on the swings.  There would be a walk to what was our former townhouse and the sweetness of seeing starfish in the upper windows. Clearly there are kindred spirits now living there. 

By Friday there was no improvement. I urged a visit to the doctor but Jean resisted.  Even so, she insisted we go shopping as planned.  We left for a few hours as ordered.  As instructed, Amanda found a pair of new boots and some small treasures for the girls as well.  We returned with more Panera, this time chicken noodle soup.  By the time we returned, Jean was up and about and attempted with little success to take some in.  By now I was getting more concerned that she was dehydrated and still not up to par.  

In the midst of all this, our normally cheerful and amiable Minnie, was uncharacteristically a little bear!  She was cranky and angry and not warming up to anyone.  She wanted to be held constantly and produced another low grade fever.  Mother Mary!  Make it stop! (May I interject here that by the end of this week she would have produced not one, not two but, THREE new teeth, two of them molars.)

By Saturday morning, I was insistent that Jean MUST go to the doctor.  She gave in, but only on the condition that WE not take her.  She was insistent that we go to the planned gathering.  So, she arranged for her dear friend to take her to the ER.  We agreed with the caveat that she would call us from the hospital the moment she had any diagnosis.  

Off to Annapolis we went, and we had a wonderful afternoon with so many dear and thoughtful friends.  We sat on Rick and Pat's screened in porch and enjoyed cold drinks, wonderful eats and sweet fellowship with a swarm of sweet friends.  There were pictures taken, horses nuzzled, walks in the forest, a dip in the pool for the kids, childhood friends reunited, lives caught up on, memories relived. Oh. It really was a slice of heaven  and I am so grateful for each one who came. Each and every one were a blessing. It is humbling to know they came to see us. 

And in the middle of it, a call from Jean.  They had taken her in immediately, hooked her up to an  IV to hydrate her and sent her home with the assurance that the virus would run its course. (Thank you, Lord!)


As the day wound down, our friends, some who drove great distances, made their way home.  There were lots of hugs and some tears.  Can I just say it was awesome?  I know that word is so overused. But, for me--it just was. 

Amanda and her girls proceeded back to Crofton and I stayed behind for my one must do. People!  A girl cannot visit Maryland without partaking in a meal of crabs from the Chesapeake. So, after they hosted this wonderful afternoon, Rick, Patricia and I went in search of a big brown paper bag full of freshly cooked crabs, covered in Old Bay spice.  Upon returning home, we covered their table with brown paper and newspapers.  Butter was melted.  Beer was poured.  Mallets were poised. Oh. My. Stars. Patricia says you have to eat crabs at least once a year to make sure your immune system is still intact.  Friends, they were every bit as wonderful as I had recalled. A lot of work for a little bit of crab, but worth every minute.  Try it. You'll thank me. 

When we had cracked all the crabs and eaten every delicious morsel, my hosts graciously drove me the 12 miles back to Crofton, via my favorite and most scenic drive, Route 450 , from Annapolis.  THE most beautiful drive through the most lush forest. By the time I got back, I walked into the site of  Jean, sitting upright with a smile on her face, in her chair, and Amanda at her feet, looking at photos from years gone by. A favorite featured the ever  fashionable Jean poised in front of a microphone, lead singer for a band, back when she and Jack were young. We listened as she shared stories of when Jack first called for a date and Jean telling her mom, "Oh, that Jack Irvin called."  Not excited.  She was a party girl and he was so quiet and--"boring"!  But, it turned out, they were perfect for each other.  Imagine that.   And they shared a wonderful life together.  This was what we had come so far to celebrate.  A life well lived in perfect harmony. 

Jean, Amanda and Minnie, "pre-storm"

Finally. We had done what we came to do.  Sharing in the sweetness of the life they made together.  Reminisce about dear Jack, the love of her life and our dear friend. It was the sweetest of times. 

We left the next afternoon.  In some ways is was the vacation from hell. (Yes, Minnie was cutting another tooth and yes, our flight was delayed. ) 
We were all a little testy on that flight home, as I recall.  But,  I can't help thinking that in spite of all the curve balls,  we lived our mission.  We went to show our love and hopefully some comfort to our dear friend.  Much of what we'd planned to do was shelved.  We didn't get to Heninger's but, we  did enjoy the key lime pie Jayne made and generously sent for us. Jean didn't get to take us shopping but, we had time to enjoy what was once our home town, to walk the parkway, swing on swings, take a peek at our old house, Amanda's first elementary school and enjoy sitting on Jean's deck under massive trees,  making a multitude of paper fans, singing songs and reading stories.    

When all was said and done, it was a vacation we'll never forget, with a friend who has made an imprint on our hearts that will never be erased. Mission accomplished.  



#grateful   

Mother's Day 2012-She took her last breath on earth and her first in heaven.   And for a moment, it took our breath away. We did not expect this loss so soon.

Marjorie Ann Herndon Matthis

She was not June Cleaver.  But, I've come to realize that none of us are.  June Cleaver is a myth.  Only the Beaver and Wally had a mother like that. And that, after all, was  on television.  Marjorie Ann Herndon Matthis was, well--a handful. And she was my mother. And she loved her children very much.

She did some goofy things.  She said some goofy things.  She struggled to believe she had enough, that she was enough. She was largely unfiltered. We, who loved her  often uttered  the words, "I can't believe she said that."  Yes, she was a handful. But she was our handful.  She was not a perfect mother, nor was I a perfect daughter. Not even close.

                                                                Even so,

She loved us the best she could. And it was enough.
She made us laugh with her stories of her youth.
She drove us all over creation when we were kids.
She defended us when we were in trouble.
She was president of the PTA.
She taught us to love and care for babies and
how to clean a house.
She welcomed friends and family to our home.
She shopped like there was no tomorrow.
She loved children and they her.
She loved drop in dinner guests.
She was a rabid Lakers fan.
She found countless people jobs.
She was the original neighborhood networker.
She was far better informed on world news than I will ever be.
She sang silly songs and came bearing quirky  gifts.
She had a gift for staying in touch and spent hours on the phone with those she cared for.
She knew all her neighbors and all their kids.

She was, in retrospect, a bit of a neighborhood legend.

Marge was my mom.

A year later, her first great grandchild still mourns her...still has moments where she tears up because she misses her Nanny.  There are moments when I think to call her and then I realize she is no longer a phone call away.  And, I miss that. I miss her.  She was a handful.  No denying that.  But now that she's gone, it is sweet comfort to remember all the good, all the laughter, all the love and all the joy.


 It is now so easy to let go of all the things that seemed to loom so big back then.  It is now so easy for me to let go of the sorrow and so sweet to hold to the good.  So, today, I honor my Mom. I thank God for her because she gave me the opportunity to live this beautiful life.  I am thankful for every gift she gave and  every challenge she presented me with.  But, most of all,  I am thankful that she is finally at home and in perfect peace, celebrating this Mother's Day with the Mother she so loved, as well as with my Dad and with her sisters and friends who went before her.  It is a grand celebration in Heaven today and that brings nothing but joy to my heart.

Mom and I

I am not sad today.  I am not grieving.  There has been a long year of doing that.  Truthfully, there is a kind of peace knowing she is finally home, with my Dad, in the presence of the One who gave His life so that we could have this life eternal.  And there is a certain symmetry in losing her to Heaven on Mother's Day, when just hours earlier all four of her children had gathered around her bed.  I am eternally grateful for our final moments together on earth...for the chance to say "I love you" one more time on earth, and to whisper in her ear,  " I know you loved us the best you could. It was enough."

  

Grateful
and 
Blessed. 

Walking through the valley of the shadow of death...

Loss. Sorrow. Grief. In the last week or so, there have been numerous implosions of sadness around me. A high school friend sat at the bedside of her dying daughter who was buried today. A long time friend said goodbye to her father for the last time. Another friend, in Oregon, received a call this week notifying him that his mother had suddenly passed following a hip fracture. At this moment, my oldest and dearest friend's father lies in a hospital in Ohio, demanding to go home. When he does, hospice workers will accompany him in order to provide comfort measures for however much time he has left. I have two dear friends awaiting test results, knowing well the results could bring their worst fears or their greatest hopes. Another friend suffers a different kind of loss. The failure of hope, because someone she loves has disappointed her, again. Sadness comes in all shapes and sizes. One size does not fit all.

We cling so tightly to this life. Most likely when mine comes to an end, I too, will struggle to hold on in order to stay just a little bit longer. We have lives we love, people we don't want to leave behind. I am no exception, but, I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that when I have crossed over to my heavenly home, all the concerns that made me want to stay--the unfinished business, the hopes not yet realized, the goals not achieved, they will all pale in comparison to what I will know there as I sit at the feet of Jesus. We who walk this earth hold so tightly to dreams we want to see fulfilled. A child grown into a man. An education completed. A baby born. A wedding ceremony performed. A family at peace. These are the dreams we live for. They are worthy pursuits and when realized may bring unspeakable happiness. But they are imperfect dreams, and we who travel this planet, cannot conceive of dreams more precious, dreams more exquisite; dreams of heaven, perfect dreams realized.

When my own father was dying in a hospital, I, long before my siblings and my mother were able to acknowledge it, knew that the end was most assuredly near. I knew too much. It's not that sorrow didn't apply to me. It surely rocked my heart to the core. But, I didn't ask why. I know that the same God who gives, takes away. I know that there's never a good or right time. I acknowledge that it's easier to let go when a life has been long and well lived and more difficult when it's early- in what we see as an unfinished life. Still. I cling to the belief that life here is not life in it's entirety. There is more. I believe that as surely as I believe the sun will rise and fall everyday. I honestly don't believe anyone who has prepared for eternity by accepting Jesus' gift of salvation, has ever arrived in heaven and wanted to come back to this life. Heaven is richer, more beautiful and more joyous than our finite minds can grasp. One does not move from the ghetto to the palace and then ask to return the utter poverty they were rescued from.

The greatest sadness for me is not the loss of one's presence here on earth. That, because, I believe there is a life beyond. The greater sorrow is if that one has not prepared for the life beyond earth's borders. One's eternal destiny is the most important goal of all and one that requires our attention now, while we still have time to determine where we will spend it. A life lived only for pleasure and temporal things is a life ignorant of true meaning, a life cut short too soon, whether 16 or 96 years long. To share that truth with those who don't know, is a sacred and critical responsibility. The gift of God is eternal life, available to all who will believe. As one who has gratefully received that gift, I am responsible to share it with others as the Lord provides opportunity.

If you, dear reader, long to know what it is that gives me this hope--the hope that takes away death's sting, I long to share it with you. I cannot tell you you will not face sorrow. I cannot promise that. I still cry bitter tears. I still have a dread of life without those I love most. I still pray for healing and reconciliation and the end of pain. But, in the end, I know. I know that one day, on the other side, the pain will end, the tears will be wiped away and death will be no more. Because Jesus said so. And I believe it.

I do love this life I've been given. I truly do. I am blessed beyond anything I ever imagined. But, when my time comes, don't grieve for me. Don't call me back. I'll wait for you. Be there.

Shall We Pray?

The last couple of weeks we have been bombarded by images almost too awful for our little minds to comprehend. Earthquakes in Christchurch, New Zealand and now the devastation of an even larger one in Japan. In a time where every moment in every corner of the world can be instantly and forever captured by a phone or a camera and shared with the world in seconds via the Internet, little is left to our imaginations.

Who can ever forget the footage in Japan-the quake and tsunami that followed? The river of water racing across dry land, covering towns and fields and communities, taking with it untold lives, cars, buildings and homes. Entire homes! Last I heard, there were four complete trains missing, swept away into what? It's the Wizard of Oz on crack. There will be no Oz and there will be no going back to Kansas by the click of ruby slippers. Hundreds are missing and the count is rising every hour. Our hearts are heavy with each new piece of information we take in, each new photograph or video brings further sorrow.

Meanwhile, we sit in our comfortable homes and carry on with our lives. Soccer games, shopping, going out to lunch. A trip to the gym, reading mail. What are we to do? What should we do? What would God have us to do? Maybe we need to stop and ask. And then, we actually need to do something. Too often we stop short of the action that is so needed and which is the very act of obedience that He is forever calling us to.

Some can give. To the Salvation Army, or the Red Cross or World Vision or other reputable organizations on the ground already who will put your donations to good use. I was able to go online and make a donation in less than 90 seconds without ever having to leave my home. I just felt compelled to do something and that was the start. Each of us can pray. Wherever we are, whatever our lot, we can pray, today, for the people whose lives have literally been swept away in a few minutes of absolute terror. We so often overlook this most valuable act which costs us nothing but a moment of time. We throw our hands up, frustrated at our helplessness, overlooking the most valuable offering of all, prayer, for those in need. It is the most precious support we can give.

In the days ahead, the images appear with less frequency and the news will spend less time on the events we are now seeing every time the TV is turned on. The news cycle will go on to something more current and more titillating. For now, use the images for good. Each time you see one, make it your aim to take that moment to pray for the people who so need us to lift them up to the Father. Good can only come from this horrible catastrophe if we as a people will rise up and cry out to the God who can do what we are unable to. Our resources are too limited and the distance too great, but we serve a God who is able to do far more than we can even imagine. When we pray. So, I challenge you to pray. Pray for:

~Revival for the hearts and souls of the people of Japan. That they would know the peace that comes from knowing the Saviour, even in the midst of devastation.

~The physical needs for food, water and shelter.

~An astounding outpouring of generosity from those of us who can afford to give, that we would be compelled to give above and beyond what we think we can.

~The reunion of families torn apart

~That our hearts and minds would not forget, that our prayers would not be just today when the images are freshly imprinted on our minds, but, in the weeks and months ahead.

~For the workers there who will serve those whose lives have been shaken to their cores. Give them strength and faith and the resources they need to help those in need.

~For opportunities to share the Gospel with others here, who are scared by these horrific events and shaken to their cores.

We are told in Hebrews 4:16 to "...come boldly before the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need." Let this be our mission. To ask, and then to act. Hearts and minds and lives depend on it. Please join me in this mission, here, wherever you are. I'd be grateful if you would. More importantly, God will be honored and He will act. Be a part of something world changing. This moment.

And yet, our hearts are broken. Still.

It was Father's Day 2009 and we'd just returned from the beach. I'd gone with my dear friends Rick and Patricia and we stayed at a beach cottage owned by Rick's brother and sister-in-law (and my old friends, Chris and Jacquie). We came home prepared to celebrate Father's Day with a family gathering just on the outskirts of Annapolis.

It was a wonderful day...Chris and Jacquie came with their oldest, Zach. Daughter Olivia hadn't felt well so she stayed home. But, I had opportunity to sit and talk at length with both Chris and Jacquie. So many sweet memories...I'd known Jacquie prior to their wedding and got to know Chris shortly before. Since that time, they had two gorgeous kids, Zach and Olivia, who were both growing and entering their teen years. I'd enjoyed letters and Christmas photos every year.

The day the moving truck came to pack up Amanda & my home in Maryland for the move back to California, (18 years ago) Chris and Jacquie were the ones who showed up with breakfast from McDonald's which we sat in our empty living room and ate together. We talked then about what God was doing in our lives. Their first adoption had just fallen through and they were broken hearted, but they still showed up to wish us well. I told them I believed that God would send them another baby who would be perfect for them, in God's time, and that I knew He would heal their aching hearts and fill their empty arms.

They sent birth announcements when they were blessed with Zach and later with Olivia. Life was good. They built a beautiful home on the water outside of Annapolis. Chris was a well known entrepreneur and had a very successful career. They were active in their church, serving God and reflecting light in their community. God had blessed them.

When we sat down on Father's Day we caught up again...we sat on Rick and Pat's porch and cracked open Maryland Crabs, drank cold beer and reminisced about times gone by. Chris talked to me about a marketing position he was trying to fill and a triathalon he was training for. He was fit, and strong and handsome. He and Jaquie were the picture of God's blessing poured out. Zach came out and visited with me while I cooked peaches on the barbeque for dessert. I shared with him how we all had prayed for his arrival and how excited we all had been when he arrived.

It was a lovely day. And, it was the last time I would ever see Chris, this side of heaven.

On July 24, I had walked to the bank with my granddaughter Ruby in her stroller. My phone rang just after we'd begun to walk home. I recognized Patricia's number and eagerly answered the ring. She'd gone to the beach with Chris and Jacquie and the kids. That morning, Chris, Jacquie and Pat had walked down to the water, the kids still sleeping. They parted ways when Chris went surfing, and the gals went to get some exercise.

There was an accident. Chris was surfing and then, he wasn't. He was pulled of the water and then airlifted to Baltimore. An aneurysm was suspected. Pat was left with the children, to wait and pray.
I dropped to the curb, overcome with fear and grief. How could this be? I got on the phone and called people I knew would pray and put him on the prayer list. I began the walk home, completely overwhelmed, tears streaming down my face. And if ever in life I prayed without ceasing, it was the next 24 hours.

The next morning, Chris took his final breath on earth and his first in his heavenly home. The sorrow was wretched, intense and unfathomable. My heart was as heavy as it's ever been. I kept thinking- these are children who really need their dad...they are at a critical point in their lives...Jacquie is a woman who really needs a husband, she'd endured enough hurts growing up and needed the security of her family intact.

I could not understand. Only a month earlier I'd stayed in their little beach cottage, ate crabs and shared memories with them. He was in the shape of his life, happy, enthusiastic and hopeful about the future, grateful for his blessings. Life was good. He had everything to live for.

I wrote in my journal, "Lord! He loved and served you. How is your will served by this? How can this be good? My heart is breaking for them. It is devastating on a level beyond losing my own Dad...He'd had a long life, an illness, time to say good bye, see his children grown, know his grandchildren and so much more...Chris didn't get to finish the life he'd planned. There were no good byes spoken. He was taken so quickly, so unexpectedly and I am struggling to make sense of it. Help us Lord to bear the sorrow that is so oppressive. Oh God. Help us to receive it and to glorify You in the midst of it, even when we cannot wrap our brains around it."

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. -Psalms 116:15
And yet--our hearts are broken.

I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. -Romans 9:2

In my anguish, I cried to the Lord. -Psalms 118:5

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there will be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away. -Revelation 21:4

The spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for prisoners...to comfort all who mourn...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a spirit of praise instead of despair. -Isaiah 61:1-3

My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. -Jesus, Mark 14:34

Memorial services were help on June 30th. It would have been Chris' 49th birthday. Then reality began to set in. Now a year has passed. This weekend, Jacquie and her children, along with Patricia, are at that little beach cottage. It has been a long hard year for all of them. They are all learning to live without Chris, and that is no easy task. The work of grieving is not simple, nor is it swift. Declarations of trust in the promises of God have no doubt been given and revoked many times in the last twelve months. The finality of Chris' departure is still more than we can take in.

A whole year--and yet, there isn't much more understanding today than there was then. The shock of it is still breathtaking. It is still incomprehensible. I still cannot see the good in it. But, God has reminded me repeatedly that His ways are higher than ours, and that if He were small enough for me to understand, He might not be big enough to take care of us. I have been challenged to believe, even when I cannot understand.

I was reminded that decades ago, Chris was given a second chance at life. While crewing on a boat with two other friends, it took on water and sunk in the Atlantic. For several days, they were lost at sea, sharks circling and prospects of rescue were bleak until a worker on an Exxon Freighter spotted their tiny raft adrift in the distance. They were rescued and Chris came to know Jesus as Savior and Lord as a result of that experience.

He was given close to three decades more to live. Time to serve God and His people. Time to marry the woman he loved. Time to be a father to Zach and Olivia. Time to share his faith and the reason for his hope. He was living on bonus time. But, a year ago today, that time ran out, and for reasons we still can't comprehend, Jesus called him home. He had time. Not enough in our view, but exactly what was needed in God's.

It's enough to bring me to me knees. Which, I guess, is exactly where God wants me. This is where the rubber meets the road. So, here I am, on my knees, crying out, declaring my sorrow and confessing I still don't understand. Even so, I still believe. Even in the darkness. God is good, all the time. And for that, I am grateful.

Poppa, I miss you more than anyone knows.

Two years ago today, my sweet Dad passed over from this life to his heavenly home. Today, I drove by our childhood home and saw the house we lived in, the flower beds he so lovingly tended and the sawed off pole from which an American flag once flew daily. When I came home, my eyes filled with tears, seeing that my husband had our flag flying in Dad's memory outside our home.

When he died, I, along with my siblings, spoke at the celebration of his life. I wrote the obituary and then the handout for the services. Since then, I've not been able to write anything further about him. When I try, I am overcome with emotion and sorrow, but not regret. He knew how much I loved him. I told him often. And so, today, I share what I wrote then. Someday I will be strong enough to share more about who he was and the reasons he means so much to me. But for now, this will have to suffice.

Raymond William Matthis

December 6, 1925-June 20, 2008

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

A Tribute to My Hero

We gather today to honor Ray, a man who need not be esteemed in death more highly than he was in life. His life was an example to all who knew him. Galatians 5:22 says, "The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." These traits, or as the bible calls them, "fruit of the spirit" could easily be used to describe the man we honor here today; beloved husband, father, "Poppa", brother, uncle, neighbor and friend. His unconditional love for those of us who were fortunate enough to know and love him, and know with certainty how much he loved us, was unwavering. His generosity was unparalleled. We are quite certain that we will never know all the good deeds he did, all the checks he wrote for someone less fortunate, the pies he baked, the errands he ran, the help he offered, the quiet acts of service, the many kindnesses he extended. He was not perfect. On rare occasions he was grumpy and short tempered, but, his character was steadfast. He was quick to say "I love you" and just as quick to say, "I'm sorry" when he was wrong. His heart was soft as butter...tears sprang to his eyes easily and pride in those he loved was enormous. He was easily touched by simple acts of kindness and his wobbly chin was well known to his family and those closest to him. He was a strong, manly man with a work ethic rarely seen in our world today, but, he was also gentle and not afraid to be silly and to laugh with glee. He loved babies and roses and wood working and his tomatoes. But--most of all, he loved his family and all of us who are gathered here today to love him right back. He was faithful to his commitments, to his family, his church and his friends. If he made a promise, he kept it. He touched others deeply, whether the people he sat with at church or his favorite waitress, Angela, at the Early Bird Cafe. He had faith and he knew where his next stop would be. If he could speak to us today, he'd tell you "it's all true!" and he'd tell us to meet him on the other side. Because, just as you loved him, he loved you, too. "The gift of God is eternal life." Say yes to the gift. Be there. He'll be there to welcome you just inside the gate.

With These Hands

In late June of 2008, my beloved Father-In-Law died unexpectedly. He, at nearly 92, while trying to aid someone in need, fell and broke his hip. He later had surgery and died several days later. I believe that he died as he lived, serving others and giving his all with no thought of whether it was prudent or not. He was entirely focused on serving others along the way.


We got the call in the middle of the night that he was in respiratory failure. By the time we reached the hospital, he was gone from this world and in the presence of Jesus. We, my husband Mike, his sister Christine and I went to break the news to my Mother-In-Law, Edith at her home. When we told the caregivers there that Mike was gone, many of them burst into tears of shock and sorrow. He had been a vibrant, active man, and that he was gone was beyond comprehension to those who had so lovingly cared for him. The outopouring of love and compassion was a testimony to the impact he had on so many.


The family had lost their patriarch, a husband, a father, a grandfather and a friend. There were services to plan, legalities to be attended to, a house to sell , financial considerations to be made and Edith to be cared for and comforted. All of that threatened to overwhelm us even months later. The sorrow was still new, the wounds still fresh. We are still learning to live on earth without his presence. He is sorely missed and still in our thoughts daily.

Mike was a strong man with an infectious smile, a twinkle in his eye and enormous hands. With those hands, he spent his life serving others. He provided for his family by working whatever jobs necessary to be certain that their needs were met. He worked in a glass factory, enlisted not once, but twice, in the military during war time and traveled the world as a result. He delivered milk at the crack of dawn on the icy roads of Pennsylvania and, later, dry cleaning, on the freeways of Southern California. He once had a failed business venture with his brother, but, bounced back by creating opportunities where there weren't any to be found. He ended his full time work life selling furniture at Sears until he retired and took on a new, self-made career, that of a handyman. His focus was never on personal satisfactin but instead on doing whatever it took to provide for his family.


He worked for years into his retirement, hanging doors, painting walls, installing windows and putting up wall paper--you name it, he did it, Some jobs he got compensated for and others he just did to help someone who needed a hand. For many years, he went to the home of a sick friend to cut his hair. He also served in his church, ushering on Sunday mornings and taking care of the social hall, cleaning and even providing music for special events. He regularly gave of himself with acts of service and kindness. He was known as one who could be relied upon.


He loved music and passed that love on to his four children; Mike, Dan, Gene and Christine. In his latter years, he raved about his Bose CD player and spent hours enjoying music and sharing it with anyone else he could convince to listen. He made me tapes of music he thought I'd enjoy as a way of thanking me for small favors. Music and dancing were life long pleasures for he and Edith. They met at a dance and through the years, many a family gathering ended with the two of them dancing in the living room to favorite tunes as we all looked on with delight.

He, along with his precious Edith, raised four children who in turn produced nine grandchildren and, to date, five great grandchildren. The two of them worked together through good times and bad, to build a legacy. Our family endures today largely because of the sacrifices they made, the generosity of heart they lived out and the wisdom they shared. Together they modeled faith and faithfulness, kindness and compassion and finally, perseverance. That is Mike's lasting inheritance to all who knew and loved him. He was somewhat obsessed with leaving an inheritance to his wife and children when he was gone, and he accomplished that, but the inheritance was not merely financial. What he taught us and modeled for us is the inheritance that will endure for eternity.


With his hands, Mike served us, blessed us and built a home, a family and a life well lived. Now, his hand seems small, placed in the bigger hand of his loving, heavenly father, in his eternal home. We've received our inheritance and he has his.