Encouraging his Papaw with an award-winning smile Somehow I sensed it—bad news. I’d heard nothing to make me suspect this, but perhaps it was because we don’t normally get a letter from her except at Christmas. But here it was April. Whatever the reason, I opened the letter and was surprised to read her first sentence of congratulations on the birth of our grandson. She has 14 great-grandchildren of her own, so she knows how precious these little ones are. I relaxed and smiled, savoring the warmth of her good wishes while I envisioned our little grandbaby who recently discovered how to wrap us around his finger with an award-winning smile.
But there was bad news after all. She didn’t share it until the third paragraph—and not until after she had praised God for his never-failing goodness. But I’d been disarmed and the news took me by surprise. “I have heard that the greatest grief parents can bear is to bury their own child,” she penned in somewhat shaky handwriting, telling about the unexpected death of her daughter. “I will agree. It still is hard to believe I’ll never again lift the phone and hear, ‘Hi, Mom.’”
If I could have, I’d have thrown my arms around her neck and hugged her tightly, though I know my embrace could not replace her daughter’s loving touch. Nor could it take away her pain. But, with her in the United States and us in Japan, it wasn’t possible anyway. No matter how wonderful modern technology is that allows us to see our grandson daily by web cam and hear him coo, laugh, and even cry, I still can’t pick him up. Although we reach out to touch his face on the monitor, we can’t feel it, nor can he sense us. It was the same with her. So I simply sat, holding her letter in my hand, wondering what I could do.
Amazingly, despite her pain, she knew what to do. Her letter continued, chronicling the birth of a new pair of great-grandchildren—twins, a boy and a girl—with another due in May. “We are thankful God has allowed us these extra years to enjoy our families,” she wrote, also sharing about their sixtieth wedding anniversary. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Lord.”
What to do when the pain is greatest? Praise the Lord.
I read Psalm 148 in my devotions this morning. It contains 14 verses of who and what should praise the Lord—everything in all creation, including sun, moon, stars, heavens, water, all creatures, lightening, hail, snow, clouds, and winds, mountains and hills, fruit trees, animals, kings, princes, all rulers, young men and maidens, old men and children, all should praise the Lord. In my journal, I’d quipped that the only specific listing not there is for old women to praise God. But my friend in Colorado knows better.
So does another older friend. She buried her youngest child in March, having already outlived two other adult children and her husband. Only a few years ago, already in her 90s, she also survived a tornado that completely destroyed her home. Most recently, area-wide flooding left some neighbors without electricity for a week. “Ours was out only twenty-two hours,” she wrote in another letter I am treasuring. “I’m thanking God for his goodness to us all. I learned years ago that the sun will shine after the darkest cloud. So I thank God daily for his love and mercy.”
Two letters. They have reminded me that the call to praise God in Psalm 148 is for all seasons, all circumstances, and all people. May the song in my heart be amplified as I learn from two women who live joyfully and victoriously, despite the tears that wet their cheeks.
But there was bad news after all. She didn’t share it until the third paragraph—and not until after she had praised God for his never-failing goodness. But I’d been disarmed and the news took me by surprise. “I have heard that the greatest grief parents can bear is to bury their own child,” she penned in somewhat shaky handwriting, telling about the unexpected death of her daughter. “I will agree. It still is hard to believe I’ll never again lift the phone and hear, ‘Hi, Mom.’”
If I could have, I’d have thrown my arms around her neck and hugged her tightly, though I know my embrace could not replace her daughter’s loving touch. Nor could it take away her pain. But, with her in the United States and us in Japan, it wasn’t possible anyway. No matter how wonderful modern technology is that allows us to see our grandson daily by web cam and hear him coo, laugh, and even cry, I still can’t pick him up. Although we reach out to touch his face on the monitor, we can’t feel it, nor can he sense us. It was the same with her. So I simply sat, holding her letter in my hand, wondering what I could do.
Amazingly, despite her pain, she knew what to do. Her letter continued, chronicling the birth of a new pair of great-grandchildren—twins, a boy and a girl—with another due in May. “We are thankful God has allowed us these extra years to enjoy our families,” she wrote, also sharing about their sixtieth wedding anniversary. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Lord.”
What to do when the pain is greatest? Praise the Lord.
I read Psalm 148 in my devotions this morning. It contains 14 verses of who and what should praise the Lord—everything in all creation, including sun, moon, stars, heavens, water, all creatures, lightening, hail, snow, clouds, and winds, mountains and hills, fruit trees, animals, kings, princes, all rulers, young men and maidens, old men and children, all should praise the Lord. In my journal, I’d quipped that the only specific listing not there is for old women to praise God. But my friend in Colorado knows better.
So does another older friend. She buried her youngest child in March, having already outlived two other adult children and her husband. Only a few years ago, already in her 90s, she also survived a tornado that completely destroyed her home. Most recently, area-wide flooding left some neighbors without electricity for a week. “Ours was out only twenty-two hours,” she wrote in another letter I am treasuring. “I’m thanking God for his goodness to us all. I learned years ago that the sun will shine after the darkest cloud. So I thank God daily for his love and mercy.”
Two letters. They have reminded me that the call to praise God in Psalm 148 is for all seasons, all circumstances, and all people. May the song in my heart be amplified as I learn from two women who live joyfully and victoriously, despite the tears that wet their cheeks.
