On the eve of Rob's third year in Heaven, I've been thinking about how much he loved Christmas music. How fitting that tomorrow my church will be filled with carols from young and old. Rob accompanied the littlest voices to some of the finest soloists I know. Our home was filled with the wonderful sound of his piano throughout December and he made sure the students took time to carol for nursing home residents and staff. He'd drag an old piano or keyboard to each wing to make sure the kids were accompanied. I was in charge of making sure he remembered his readers, but really, he knew them all by heart. I don't know if he is playing an instrument (I hope so!) but I know he's singing with the choirs of angels, singing in exultation! Make a joyful noise, my love.

Music wove through our relationship like a golden thread. 
Like many couples we had our special song while dating: Rob, the musician, deemed it Chicago Transit Authority's Beginnings. To this day, I can't help but smile when I hear the brass chime in.
We'd spend hours in my parents' basement, listening to Rob's Columbia Record collection; we almost wore out the grooves of Deja vu and Abbey Road. My mom would finally yell down, "It's a school night!" and Rob would pack up his vinyls...and my heart.
We were married in 1976 when contemporary Christian music was still obscure, so we had to search for a current song that complimented the likes of Trumpet Voluntary. That was no easy task for two 21 year old's with unsophisticated taste, but we were pleased with Cousin Kathy's rendition of Here, There and Everywhere. Would I ever guess the line, "watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there," would send chills through me today?  

As poor newlyweds, our date nights usually found us in the aisles of Sound Warehouse on Westheimer and Voss. Rob studied the back of record jackets for hours, polishing his trivia skills, while I grooved, much to his embarrassment, to whatever was playing in the background. Then, we'd cap the night with a midnight run to House of Pies, where he'd try to dazzle me with his new repertoire of bass players and backup vocalists.
We were always late owls. Some nights we lay in bed until wee hours, playing our own form of Musical Jeopardy or Name that Tune, all the while laughing and robbing each other of much needed sleep.  "Just one more song," he'd say and I would give in.
In the later years of our marriage and with the onset of texting, we found ourselves a new love language. Rob would frequently send lyrics to express his affection or communicate whatever was on his mind. I soon began to deliver back my own, although, they were never as deep as his or as plenty.
 I might have texted the following much too many times.
They don't know how long it takes
Waiting for a love like this
Every time we say goodbye
I wish we had one more kiss
I'll wait for you I promise you, I will.
I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend...
(They did score me birthday tickets to the songwriter's concert, though... Mraz on a hot August night.)
Yes, sweet texts bridged the many miles when he was working far away and we sorely missed each other. Sometimes, they spoke deeper than the nightly phone call.
 There are still things we shared that I can't enjoy ...some restaurants and other places are taboo to date, but music keeps Rob's memory and our love alive. There are few Saturday nights that I don't turn on Austin City Limits or pull out an old vinyl, but I also try to broaden my playlist with new artists because...well, that's what's Rob would be doing.
Grief is a very individual thing; each of us must find a cord that keeps us connected to our loved one. For some it's travel or sports or a particular hobby; for me, it's music.

Today, I miss Rob insanely! I'd give anything to shoot him lyrics and wait for him to respond with the correct group or the next line.

To Rob from Robin

"We sat on a roof, named every star, shared every bruise and showed every scar. Hope has its proof, your hand in mine. Life has a beautiful, crazy design. Can there be breaks in the chaos sometimes? Oh, God must have heard when I prayed cause now I always want to feel this way."

Plan-C
I mentioned in my last post that it was not my first or even second choice of how I wanted to live my life. 
It got me to thinking...Does God keep switching the plan? 
I think I almost immediately heard God chuckle, Oh dear daughter, there is only one plan, MY PLAN. Stop counting, get up, and join me as I unfold it.
Somewhere along the way, I decided this season of loss would result in a greater me, maybe even a new me and yes, a new improved purpose. POOF! One day I'd awake and realize that all this rotten pain culminates in some grand, glorious calling, an earth-shaking destiny. 
What if the real calling is long, faithful obedience to his one perfect plan? And what if this calling draws more attention to Him than me?
Beware! Me always wants the starring role.

Singer/songwriter, Babbie Mason, suggests "living to please God is the primary reason you were born." I would add the words of Isaiah 26:8 to this highest calling: "Yes, LORD, walking in the ways of your laws, we wait for you; your name and renown are the desires of our hearts." Born to please and make God famous!
In both declarations, GOD/me. GOD over me. GOD is whole, I am fractional.
A long, pleasing obedience of making Him, not me, well known, while He reveals his plan to give me hope and a future...worth repeating.

Can the earth shake in the unfolding?
It sure can! 
A few months ago, I began serving in the newborn ministry at my church again. We no longer make home visits, so my role is less defined and visible.  I'm the prayer warrior for our new babies and their families and oh, boy, have I had a front row seat to God's seismic answers. 
He's called me to intercede for my own children and young grandchildren on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis. Knee-wearing work with rippling effect!  
Encouraging young families as they dedicate their homes to our loving Father may seem mundane, maybe non-essential in the grand scheme of things, but don't be mistaken; it's gloriously pleasing to God.

Remember your first chapter books? 
Did you enjoy watching the plot develop or did you race through the chapters to see how it ended? Maybe even now, you read the last page first, robbing yourself of the dramatic twist and turns.
I'm choosing to stop counting, to get up and take the next small step of obedience while He turns the page. 
How about you?

You ask where the blog posts have gone.

I'm walking through a season of sadness and frankly, just weary of words.

I'm sad that our country is polarized, but even sadder that the values I hold dearly seem to be wasting away in the hearts of our people.

I'm sad that my life is no longer filled with children and grandchildren. The loss is so devastating that I can't risk spilling it on paper.

I'm sad that my children grieve harder than me.

Sad that Plan A is erased, Plan B-unlikely, Plan C-still to be determined.

So I cling to the wise, healing words of others for a while.  Courageous women and men, having also walked the road of suffering, lend a stronger voice than I can muster.

Listen in...

You don't think you'll live past it and you don't really.

The person you were is gone. But the half of you that's still alive wakes up one day and takes over again.  

Thanks for hope, Barbara Kingsolver

Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

Interesting, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

No matter how deep the pit into which I descend, I keep finding God there...he is vulnerable to pain, quick to shed tears, and acquainted with grief. God is a suffering Sovereign who feels the sorrow of the world.

Very comforting, Jerry Sittser

There is no straight path leading you out of the valley of that shadow. That shadow world became home to me, just as it has to anyone who loses a partner. Partners without partners understand; partners with don't.

I understand, Rob Gieselmann

I wait expectantly for a bumper crop of fresh thoughts.

   

 

I've stared at this box for months. 

Today I will purge...organize...consolidate!

After managing to part with another bag of Rob's clothes and tackle a box of papers I'd brought home from his office, I'm ready to let go of some more of Rob. 

But, how do you place a lifetime in a couple of drawers?

My plan: With cup of cinnamon coffee and stash of Lorna Doones in hand, I will read each note written during his illness one more time, thank God for the sender and place only a few in the keep pile.

 Seriously, it's proving impossible to discard so much love!

Funny, how I read each card through a new lens. No more paralysis...no more blur. This time your words permeate and supply new and necessary strength.

This journey of grief may morph, but it still wears at my soul. 

The first prayer note I pick up is from dear Eddie Whittenberg. He recalls some fond memories of our friendship and ends with "Keep the faith!" I can hear his voice.

Janine Morrell recalls some words from our Bible study of Esther: "Christ is calling us all to something we will need courage to complete."

Personal words of affirmation... Rob, "You are a good man!" Allen Potter... Rob, "Your calm, confident, wise demeanor is always wrapped in warmth and welcome." Cyndi LeForce...Rob, "I've loved every moment of our friendship." Tom Trigger.

I could fill paragraph after paragraph with the kind words so many of you took the time to share. I'm reminded of a great man's legacy, but more importantly, of a greater, ever-present God. 

Somehow I've managed to whittle down this massive pile of love and corral it into a small, tidy box of powerful encouragement.

I'm sure I will need to visit it from time to time and one day my children will open it to find the rich love of the Church at its best.

There is power in a handwritten note!

Even a couple of personal thoughts bring encouragement on the darkest of days.

I will mostly treasure the memories you thoughtfully shared with us, the men who were not afraid to tell Rob that they loved him, and the written prayers covering the smallest details.

Seeking to learn from even this, I'm reminded that any lengthy wisdom, accounts of my past suffering and the normal chatter that fills most letters may be wasted on exhausted ears. Handmade preschool drawings heal better than articles outlining alternative therapies.

Yes, simple, life-giving notes keep on healing.

Keep them brief, personal, and real!

It's okay to address the elephant in the room when life looks short.

None of us understand the whys.

We are all sad.

We can't fix the mess. 

This may be the last time we have an earthly conversation.

Always err on the side of love!

I knew it would eventually happen—the pictorial directory update. Thankfully, I had the option of sending a digital photo to the church; there was no way I could stand before a photographer all by myself. 
A wave of great sadness settles over me...no family photo full of kids and now, not even a husband. Just single alone me. How could life have come to this? 
No ambush this time; just an unsettling reminder that time spent with my children and grandchildren is but a rare treat and now I walk hand in hand with only memories.
But I'm walking! I must move forward, one small obedient step after another. 
Like the old familiar hymn, trust and obey for there's no other way!

Wednesday, I'm sailing through life, working on several fun projects and even finding time to update Larksong. Two days later, I take a short break from a big stage project for my church's vacation Bible school. I shuffle off to a matinee before the holiday weekend crowds, but two steps off a soaked mat changes my life for months! My feet fly from beneath me; I try to catch my fall with my right hand, but my leg slams the floor first. Alone, sprawled on the floor in the worst pain I've ever experienced, I know immediately all my well laid plans for the summer have evaporated...no daily laps at the pool, no sitting on the floor with my grand boys building towers and train tracks, no trip to Disney Land!
A trip across the street to the ER reveals the head of my thigh bone broken clear through; emergency surgery awaits me.
Life really can change in an instant!
The physical pain was one battle, but the emotional trauma was something I didn't anticipate. A tsunami of grief enveloped me once again. How can I endure this without Rob? Who will take care of me? Nobody cares for me like Rob. Who's going to deal with the insurance claims? The questions and fear nearly overtook me. I awoke from surgery asking for him and then I remembered.
I spent one whole week in the hospital and then two in a skilled nursing unit to rehabilitate...and for someone to watch over me. I was reminded once again; there is no one waiting for me at home.
I was the youngest resident by 25 years, suddenly entering the world of scheduled shower days, finger exercises in the sun room and hallways filled with rollators adorned with quilted tote bags and vinyl seats. I quickly sunk into the deepest pit and battled overwhelming anger for the first time in decades. 
To be continued...

Mondays are usually study day, but today God took me on a bit of a detour. I went to look up a verse on my phone and just had to peek at an email from Revive Our Hearts ministry.
Diagnosis of pancreatic cancer...the interviewer's hook (at least for me.) The guest author, Margaret Nyman, recounts her and her husband's short journey with this terminal cancer.  Listen, I could have written it; this was my story! Do you know how rare it is for someone to write the ugly details of pancreatic cancer and wrap it in faith? 
And then the dam broke!  I haven't sobbed over Rob's cancer journey in months, but Margaret spoke of things I didn't even know weren't completely healed in me.  The comparisons were so uncanny that I reached out to her in an email. The interview, her book, her blog are GIFTS to me on this lonely Monday.  
But here's the coolest God thing: her blog, Getting Through This, is centered on "encouragement to keep moving forward," no matter what life tosses at us...cancer, divorce, financial setbacks, teenagers!  And that is exactly what I began studying when I sat down at my desk today: Hebrews 10, encouragement to keep moving forward!
God's winding roads are always the best, even when we have to pack a tissue or two.  

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NIV

God's timing is always perfect; I gently tiptoe into another woman's heartbreak. We belong to a club we never wanted to join.  I know He rules over the calendar of ministry because my wound is no longer ripped apart, only rubbed as I reach out.

It's a prickly walk...how do I offer comfort without shining the light on my own darkness? How do I offer love, not my own fix?  We each walk this arduous path of grief on our own timetable, in our own fashion. 

Today, I added handwritten love to a simple card of sympathy.  It cost me something valuable; each stroke of my pen bled painful memories of the early days of paralysis when I could barely navigate my own loss.

Perhaps my most profound gift was simply inscribed on a powder blue envelope.  

How do we address half a couple?

I remember...

These three words still bring joy, but even more so amidst the rubble of Rob's death.

They were my history.

They were my God-ordained position.

They still shout much of 

my ripped-apart identity.

Within a few weeks of his death, I ordered return labels so I could make known my preference or at least hold on to the only life I knew.

(Most people don't ask Emily Post anymore.)

Occasionally, I still receive an invitation or a greeting card addressed with Mrs. Rob Moore and I know my dear Rob is still written on the sender's heart and they deeply understand our lengthy love affair.

So today, I carefully penned the same beloved title on my friend's envelope, hoping she, too, would be reminded that her love of a lifetime matters.

Three powerful words...don't be afraid 

to use them.

*This is my personal preference, and is a good place to begin with a woman experiencing fresh loss. But as time passes, she might prefer her name or professional title.  You will not offend us by asking.

Rob loved candles!

Most every evening he'd fire up a couple while we watched sports.  I always thought it was a juxtaposition, which pretty much described my husband.  Each December, I would reach in my Christmas stocking to find a new fragrance; I remember chuckling at the tiny tin named Hippie Chick. And for the record, Rob never asked permission when lighting my Christmas gifts!

During this third year without him, I've been seeking ways to keep his memory alive in healthy ways.  Since I'm a bit further down this rocky path, I hope my ideas will encourage some of you walking in fresh grief and loss.  I must admit I am concerned that some of you might wonder if I'm stuck or even
"worshiping" my husband, but I know I need to commemorate, not forget...my way of continuing this healing.

   So I often light beautiful candles throughout the house. As I walk through a room, catching a whiff of sweet fragrance, I find myself smiling at this funny little thing that Rob found important and usually offer up a quick whisper of gratitude for my gift of life with this wonderful man. It just seems to soothe the loneliness of long nights and weekends...and I know he would be pleased.  Now it's even fun to surprise his female friends with one of his favorites, my way of keeping him alive in all of our hearts.

Last Christmas, I purchased Lake Candles Fairway Fir.  Fairway is a small neighborhood in Kansas City where we met in high school. Memories of Christmas lightings on the Plaza, drives down Ward Parkway, Sunday night worship dates at our nearby Nall Avenue Baptist Church flood my heart when I light this beautiful candle. Rob would have loved its smell of Christmas pine and more so, that his young entrepreneurial friend shared one of his simple joys.

I've learned to love Rob's candles almost as much as he did.

But even more, I cherish how God illumines my dark times. I'm reminded as I extinguish a flame, that it is only a temporary source of light.  We have an everlasting source who lights our paths...the God of hope!  One day there will be no darkness, no need for lamps or candles; the Lord God will be the only light we will need.