Author Archives: diane.connis@gmail.com

Butter in the Jelly Jar

For years, butter globs coexisted with the jelly in my refrigerator.

Mike made toast, buttered it and used the same knife to spread the jelly, leaving butter globs in the jar.

Our son, David and I commented to him repeatedly, how gross it was to open a jar of jelly and see butter all through it. He would smile and say, “You’re gonna’ butter your bread first anyway so what’s the problem. This way it’s all done for you.”

We could never get Mike to stop and for years it annoyed me.

Today should have been our forty-third wedding anniversary. One more special day in my year of ‘without him firsts’. A day filled with longing and tidal waves of sorrow crashing against my heart. I wonder how long it will take for me to stop feeling like I’m still married to him. I also wonder why I was so irritated about such trivial things such as butter in the jelly jar.

As I made Jon a peanut butter sandwich a few days ago, I realized I would give anything to open that jar and see those butter globs all over the jelly again. I desperately miss all the things I loved about Mike and surprisingly, even the things I didn’t.

Everyone we love annoys us in some way. And we annoy them. Socks on the floor, toothpaste tops left off, toilet paper rolls facing the ‘wrong way’, crumbs in the kitchen, a glass left out of the dishwasher, shirts hung crooked on the hanger; these are signs of life, and validation that someone you care about is still here.

So don’t dwell on the petty, the insignificant, making constant mountains out of anthills. Let it go. Laugh. Love. Serve. Forgive.

Believe me when I tell you how much you’ll miss the butter globs in the jelly jar and the one who once put them there.

Ephesians 4:2 (NLT) “Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love.”

Colossians 3:13 (NLT) “Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others.”

View From the Other End of Marriage

Dear Marriage,

I get it. It’s hard sometimes. You start out young, starry eyed, idealistic, You know exactly how you want this love to go forward and what it should look like. Then life gets in the way.

The kids come. They grow. You work hard every day, keeping a roof overhead, food on the table. Responsibilities pile up. Another diaper to change. Another meal to make. Another bill to pay. Another illness. Another obstacle. Health challenges or special needs add extra weight to this marathon. It’s heavy and all-consuming.

Money, energy, time and patience often run short. And it seems the love has as well. The expectations are high and no one is meeting them exactly. You weren’t aware that love was more choice than feeling, keeping it alive was such hard work and the sacrifices would be so huge. This hasn’t turned out the way you envisioned and you’ve forgotten why you did it in the first place.

The days are routine. Mundane. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months and months into years. Then one day, suddenly, it’s over. One of you is gone. The other chair is empty, the bed lonely. There’s less clothes to fold, no one to talk to and the person you made history with, the one who knew you like no one else, doesn’t come home anymore. The final vow has come to collect and one of you is left to sift through the memories.

As the grief overwhelms and the great aloneness presses in, you realize all of life together was lived, not in the beginning or in this ending, but in the middle. In the mundane and in the routine. In the imperfection. In the stress and the joy. In the days that both dragged and flew by.

Then you know without a doubt, you’d go back and do it over again if you had the chance. Love was far from perfect, and was sometimes buried beneath the constant challenge of everyday life, but it was there and it was good.

Remember Jesus, who loved the most and gave His all? He willingly offered the greatest grace. How can you not do the same?

Still somewhere in the middle? Be helpful. Be patient. Be prayerful. Find closeness and joy in the small moments. Persevere all the way to a no-regrets ending.

As you drown in tsunami waves of grief and sob through tears of unrelenting sorrow, a breath of joy will arise from that broken heart, a thankfulness that you didn’t give up on love, even when you couldn’t always see or feel it.

You stayed.

You endured all the way to the end.

And it was worth Living For. Fighting For. Loving For.

Ecclesiastes 7:8 “The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride.”

Galatians 6:9 “Let is not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

Out of Sync

Two grandfather clocks stood side by side, polished wood grain gleaming in the dim light. They were beautifully ornate without being gaudy. It was obvious much care had been taken to keep them in good working order.

Their pendulums swinging in perfect synchronization created volume louder than normal as they chimed in harmony. Then suddenly, one stopped ticking, it’s pendulum coming to an abrupt halt, hanging motionless from the clock face.

In my dream I panicked. Terror ripping through me in disbelief. The sight and sound of the silent clock, sent waves of shock and sorrow deep into my soul. This couldn’t be happening! It can’t be real! But it was. It is.

God ordained for man and woman to become one in marriage. It doesn’t happen all at once but with the slow steady pattern of learning one another over many years. A rhythm develops, a synchronized ticking of two hearts, minds and souls. At some point you know each other so well, in many ways, you become one another.

When one clock stops, the loss of rhythm, identity and certainty is large. There’s no desire at first to continue keeping time on your own. Time becomes irrelevant, a matter of annoyance. Caught in this moment between the past and the future, you’re now faced with the great challenge of learning how to keep going on alone, resetting the clock to a solitary rhythm.

Ironically time is the healer of this unsettling dilemma and though there’s no end to missing the heart that beat with our own, I’m told eventually there will be release from this purgatory of in-betweenness. It can neither come fast enough or be hurried. I must be patient, let the process play out. Once again time is the Master and I am subject to it’s whims.

But Ecclesiastes 3:11 tells me God has written eternity on the human heart; that there is more than what I feel, more than what I see. Believing there is satisfaction above what this transient world provides, is comforting.

I’m thankful for the knowledge that God, who created time, also lives outside of it. My husband ticks on in eternity away from the time limitations of this earth. He’s already knows what I have yet to experience.

“Brothers and sisters, we want you to know about people who have died so that you won’t mourn like others who don’t have any hope. Since we believe that Jesus died and rose, so we also believe that God will bring with Him those who have died in Jesus,” 1Thessalonians 4:13-14.

The day will come when time no longer holds us in it’s greedy grasp. Such a wonderful hope in the depths of great sorrow.

“..and the two shall become one flesh So they are no longer two but one flesh,” Mark 10:8.

“He has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end,” Ecclesiastes 3:11.

Broken Birthday

Jon’s birthday was a few weeks ago. May 4th actually, and birthdays have always been a big deal around here. Mike made sure of that.

He believed if God took the time to make you and put you here on this ball we call Earth, you mattered. You were valuable, thus birthdays were cause for celebration.

“No one should have to work or go to school on their birthday,” he’d tell me every year, the little scowl line erupting between his eyes over the unfairness of it all. “It’s a holiday. In fact you should have your whole birthday week off!”

Who could disagree with that? Mike would buy a cake, candles, balloons and ask the birthday person in advance, “What would you like for your birthday? Where do you want to go?” Then he’d make it happen. And he loved it.

I went to the store the day before Jon’s birthday. Bought a cake and candles and made sure he had a few gifts to open. I asked him where he would like to go, what he’d like to do, and made a few suggestions.

Before I went to bed that evening I reminded him, “Don’t forget to think about what you want to do tomorrow Jon. It’s your birthday.”

He was standing in the kitchen and turned to look at me. “I don’t care,” he said and my heart broke into a zillion pieces. Again.

I went to bed that night, cried into my pillow and cried out to my Heavenly Dad. “Help us please! We are so wounded. Heal us. Bring us to a place of new joy.”

“Hear me, Lord, and have mercy on me. Help me, O Lord.“ Psalm 30:10

Jon didn’t leave his room on his birthday and we never went out. It was the first time in 38 years he didn’t want to hear the happy birthday song or burn the candles down to the frosting before he blew them out. Several days later that unopened package of candles was tucked away in a drawer, when I finally cut the cake and gave him a piece with his dinner.

Right now, the loss of Jon’s father in his everyday life, turns every special occasion into pain. The events we usually celebrate become mile markers for what is missing. Reminders of what was. This is the nature of grief.

Choking back tears, I gently replied, “It’s OK Jon. I understand. Maybe your next birthday will be better. Maybe next year both of us will care again. Let’s just keep asking Jesus to help us with that.”

Maybe by next year or the one after we will celebrate.

Maybe then we will say, “You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” Psalm 30:11-12

Please Lord, let it be so.

Hope Floats

There was water all around. No land in sight on any horizon.

So small and insignificant in the sea, the cork was lost and floating aimlessly. Disconnected from her original purpose. Identity gone. Afraid. Alone. Without hope of rescue.

Suddenly a wall of water loomed in the distance, racing forward, a formidable tsunami wave that would certainly be the end of it all.

The force of the wave shoved the cork, flipping and swirling, to the bottom of the ocean and the overwhelming despair and fear accompanying it became far greater than the violence of the water itself. Instant panic seized her. She could never survive. Not this time.

The swirling current subsided and the cork drifted to the top, exhausted and disoriented. Just when a moment of relief came to the great sea, another wall of water appeared, sending her to the bottom of fear and loss again, this cycle continuing in never ending successions.

In slow agonizing increments, the waves eventually pushed the cork toward shore. She tumbled back and forth in the swirling breakers until she was finally left lying for days, with little energy to care, in the sand.

On a bright sunny day a woman and her child walked the beach looking for treasures to fill their plastic pail. They found the cork, took her home, washed her and made her part of a useful and beautiful display in their home. The cork had come through the deep, dark waters and found purpose. New, different, even foreign, but a purpose just the same.

In my deepest despair I asked God for something, anything, to reassure me I would survive the devastating death of my husband. He gave me this dream.

I am the cork.

Can new life be restored after such loss? Can the thing meant to destroy, become the catalyst for rescue and new meaning? Can the waters of dark despair bring forth renewed hope?

God promises I will not drown. Hope, like a cork, rises again.

It’s true, life will never go back to what it was. I will never be the same. There are moments, hours, days, nights when I hate the reality of this truth, but I long for the time when I‘m excited about living, when I finally wash up on the shore of hope and find new joy, new purpose.

As each reoccurring wave continues to bury me in the depths, I hang on to Jesus, my life preserver.

Until hope floats again.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you.” Isaiah 43:1-2

“And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.” Psalm 39:7

When I Am Afraid

I explained to Jon on the way to the hospital the doctor was going to give him some medicine to help him take a nap and would go inside him with a tiny, tiny camera to look around. I didn’t give him the medical term. Bladder Cystoscopy.

After we arrived, nurses moved in an out of the blue curtains of the outpatient operating room waiting area. All of them pleasant, helpful and patient.

“Here Jon, take off all your clothes. Put on this gown.”

“Get in the bed, Jon.”

“We need to put these stickers on your chest so we can check your heart.”

“Is it OK if we put this blood pressure cuff on your arm now?”

“You need this oxygen clip on your finger.”

“It’s time to put the IV in. Can you give me your arm?”

So many instructions. So much to process. The expressions rolling across Jon’s face like a fast forwarded movie, told me he was confused by it all.

Our friend Judy, who came to be backup support, had quietly explained to several of the nurses, out of Jon’s hearing, that his father died recently and I knew Jon was thinking about that right now. No one else would know it but me. I saw the fear in his eyes.

He walked to me, closer than usual and stared into my eyes. I asked him very quietly, “Are you afraid Jon?” He put his forehead against mine and answered, “I‘m going to be just like Dad.”

I grabbed him close to me and started to cry. “Oh no Jon. You are not. You’re going to be OK, Honey. Dad didn’t die in the hospital. I know you still think he did but that’s not true. These doctors and nurses will take very good care of you and you will be just fine. And Judy and I will be here to take you home when you wake up.”

I hugged him so hard and he didn’t resist, this son of mine who rarely wants to be touched, who usually flinches or shrugs my touch away.

I heard nurses sniffling behind us.

I‘ve yet to tell Jon how and where his father died. How do you tell this guy, “Your dad died in the front yard while he was home alone with you. While you were watching a movie in your room your dad went to be with Jesus.” How do you say that to him?

What and how much to say about the traumas of life is always a challenge with Jon. He understands way more than people realize. Anyone who hangs out with him for long figures this out. But he has a hard time expressing what he’s thinking. The thoughts and words are stuck somewhere inside him and no one knows more than those who have gone through this incredible grief how healing it is to be able to say exactly what you’re feeling all the time. It’s part of the moving forward process.

Does Jon need to know his dad died right here at home? Will that knowledge make him afraid of his home, the one place of safety he has in the world? And if he knows it, how will he ever be able to process it?

These questions and uncertainties roll around in my mind at night and spring from me in the form of tears and prayers.

I’ve asked Jon several times over the past few months if he wants me to tell him what happened to his father. So far he’s given no indication he wants to know the truth so until he does I guess I‘ll keep it at that. Maybe it’s better this way for both of us. I don’t know.

For now I’ll keep asking God for wisdom. Discernment to understand my son’s heart and patience to deal with whatever arises with another sun. I‘ll keep reminding my son his dad may not be here with us anymore but Jesus is still and we’re going to be OK.

Even when we’re afraid of all these new unknowns, even when it doesn’t feel good or safe, we can lean our forehead on His. We can tell our Savior, “I‘m afraid.”

He will wrap us in His arms and reassure us, “I’m here. It’s going to be OK.”

Psalm 56:3-4 “Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You. In God (I will praise His word), In God I have put my trust; I will not fear.”

Seismic Shift Dreams

In October 2017, when my husband died, this sudden, life altering earthquake shook me to my core. Everything that was secure, safe and predictable took a seismic shift. I feel as if I‘m clinging to the edge of open ground, trying not to fall into the deep chasm it has created. If I‘m honest, I have no dreams right now and many moments I struggle to have hope. It’s daily survival mode around here.

So where do I go from here? I’m still taking care of an adult disabled son who needs me and there are so many complicated layers to this dynamic I’m often at a loss to explain. Jon requires most of my breathing hours.

I’ve heard I should have dreams, goals. I should allow God to resurrect them. I should go back to where they died and bring them back to life. But how? Where? When? At this point I can’t even recall any. My life has been spent supporting my husband and taking care of my children. There’s been very little of it that’s been about me and I’m not one bit sorry for it.

My youngest son is grown and on his own now and my husband is gone. He’s not coming back. There’s no resurrecting that!

As I talked to my Heavenly Dad about it this morning He spoke quietly to my heart.

“Daughter, This is not complicated. YOU are MY dream. I AM your goal. Your dream should be to know you are LOVED by ME. Your dream should be to KNOW ME. Every other thing you do, have, want and become will flow from there. Walk with ME through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and Darkness. Don’t struggle so much to figure it out. Trust MY LOVE FOR YOU and let your dream and purpose unfold as we travel this road together.”

I‘m not very good at this yet and I ‘m struggling to trust Him in this new, hard place. I have neither the energy or faith to dream but He has all the strength and faith I need. HE is my faith. HE is my source. HE is the wellspring of my life.

Dreams that never existed can’t be resurrected BUT could it be, God can create brand new ones after everything inside me has died?
For those of us who feel like it’s over and there’s nothing left to resurrect – Yes!! He can make all things new! Even ME.

Maybe someday I‘ll dream again. That’s all I got for now and what I’m holding on to.

Revelation 21:5 “And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

Just Passing Through

Mike and I moved a lot through the years. We’ve owned slightly more homes than can be counted on ten fingers, rented some, and resided in New York, Oregon, Maine, New Hampshire and Florida, relocating at times, within each state. We’ve always been blessed with great places to live but this repeated movement may be why I‘ve never attached much to a house or material goods.

Home was wherever Mike was. That’s just how it worked.

Now that he’s gone I’ve been wondering where home is. I feel like a foreigner on this earth without him here, so it’s helpful to be reminded that I actually am one.

We all are.

God called Abraham from his homeland to an undisclosed place. His task was to get the promise land thing going, and though he never saw it, Abraham’s willingness to do what God was asking of him resulted in incredible benefits for generations not yet born.

The Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you (Genesis 12:1). The writer of Hebrews tells us Abraham “was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God (Hebrews 11:10).

Peter called Christ followers ‘strangers and pilgrims’ (1 Peter 2:11). In other words, we’re just passing through. Jesus made it clear, His kingdom was not of this world (John 18:36). If we follow Him, then it stands to reason, neither are we (John 17:16).

Jesus came. Jesus left. As will we all. But while He was here, He “went about doing good,” (Acts 10:38). If Christ is our example then we should do no less during our temporary stay on this planet.

We are challenged to do good, spread His love, share the Good News and all the while keep our eyes on the goal of eternity. What that looks like and how it’s lived out may be different for each of us, but this is God’s plan and our purpose for being here.

This world is nothing but a stopping off place. It’s not our permanent home and never will be. Mike has already gone Home and took nothing of this world with him when he left. The material goods accumulated in a lifetime, have been transferred to me to deal with as long as I stay here. And when I‘m gone it will be handed off to our son.

Eventually, I will exit and leave all this behind. So will you. We don’t know when our time here is up but while we remain our assignment is to deposit treasure into Heaven’s bank, leaving an earthly legacy that extends into eternity. What we send on ahead will never rust, never need repairing, painting or replacing and can’t be withheld, stolen, broken or destroyed (Matthew 6:19-21).

Thank God!

So let’s deposit some Jesus style good in the world today and add to our eternal account. While we still can.

John 18:36 Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.”

John 17:16 I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world.

1 Peter 2:11 Dearly beloved, I beseech you as strangers and pilgrims, abstain from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul

Philippians 3:20 But our citizenship is in Heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ

Hebrews 13:14 For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.

Acts 10:38 God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Ghost and with power: who went about doing good.

Matthew 6:19-21 Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Life Under Construction

In March of 2017, Mike and I went on a seven day cruise with our son, David and our daughter in law, Clara. Finding someone to stay with Jon that long is rare, but our good friends, Lou and Thelma, graciously offered to hold down the home front for us.

It wasn’t so much about where we went and what we did, but the opportunity to unwind and be uninterrupted together. It took Mike about four days to leave the weight of his many responsibilities behind. I watched his shoulders relax, the worry lines across his forehead fade, saw his dry wit and easy laughter return. And the fun of cruising got us talking seriously about his retirement when he turned sixty five, still five years away.

Retirement seemed like a mute point to him without us having freedom to come and go. We needed a solution for Jon if we were going to be able to travel and do some of the things we’ve always wanted to do. On Friday of cruise week, he sat us all down at lunch, excited about a great idea he had. He wanted to build a caregiver house on our property and have someone live there to help with Jon. It would be a one time expenditure, something we could pay off, unlike life long residential care, and would provide a long term solution to our retirement challenge.

The four of us agreed it was a good idea if we could convince the code and permitting powers that be, to approve it. In Mike’s typical get-on-it, gotta’-fix-it-now style, he started in as soon as we arrived home. Checking out tiny house architectural designs, taking out a loan, calling the city, arguing with permitting, lining up the general contractor, surveyor and land clearing. As usual, he began moving through the process methodically, with the weight of a freight train and the efficiency of an ant army.

Before the concrete slab was poured, he was craigslist surfing and sale shopping, buying appliances, flooring, paint, sinks, faucets, lighting, a hot water tank and AC unit. All of which are still piled in packing boxes in the garage.

Things propelled into fast forward and we were excited to see block walls going up. The project was scheduled to be completed by the end of December. Then, in early October, my husband died. I put the project on hold, seriously considering bulldozing the whole thing down. Why care about retirement now? And why would would I want to travel or do anything without him? This was his dream for our future and he literally died at the door of it. That is where I found him when I came home that evening, leaving our future in ruins at my feet.

This little house had suddenly become a reminder of all that was not to be and a barely completed weight added to the many new responsibilities I now had to carry alone. Every time I looked at it, it reminded me of life in my sorrow-filled season: sad, empty, incomplete, uncertain and burdensome. I began to hate that house, but realized God knew the timing of all this. It had been constructed far enough for me to see the foolishness and waste of tearing it down. So I resolved to finish it.

After four months it is back under construction (along with a new roof going on the house we live in, another project landing in my lap when Mike exited). My property is swarming with construction people this week. It is anything but peaceful here.

Life is always under construction. Change comes. Ripping down. Rebuilding. Clearing away the old. Making space for something new. Some construction we look forward to and just as often, are the times we would never choose the abrupt, difficult and complete re-structuring we find ourselves in.

Construction is loud, messy, noisy, annoying and feels endlessly incomplete. But it’s goal is for a finished product. A purpose. Something useful up ahead. Though I don’t see it, can’t feel it, and hate the place I’m in, I must believe God has my best at heart. Only He can complete me.

“And so I am sure that God, who began this good work in you, will carry it on until it is finished on the day of Christ Jesus,” Philippians 1:6.

My entire life is currently under construction. Fortunately, God is a patient master builder. He leaves nothing undone. While everything feels chaotic and uncertain, I’m hanging on to the hope of a finished product that glorifies Him and the promise of a future that looks to Jesus, ‘the author and finisher of my faith’ (Hebrews 12:2). And I pray something beautiful will rise up from the dust of this unwanted situation.

“Come let us return to the Lord; for he has torn us, that he may heal us; he has struck us down, and he will bind us up” Hosea 6:1

“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain..” Psalm 127:1

A Valentine Rose

It’s Valentines Day. The day for hearts, flowers, chocolates, cards, dinner dates and love. For the first time in my life my Valentine isn’t here.

Mike made a big deal of celebration. In all the years of our marriage he never once forgot our anniversary, birthdays, Valentines or other special days. It was important for him to mark milestone events in time. Today he won’t be doing so. Not here. Not with me.

I always knew where Mike was. He was religious about calling or texting to let me know if his plans changed or he was running late. He never stood me up or left me hanging. Never! Now I don’t know exactly where he is or what he’s doing. He’s gone to Heaven, a place I know is real, but am yet to see or understand, and all communication between us has abruptly ended. My husband can’t call. He can’t text. He can’t send me a card. Or a kiss.

The evening he died I was at the grocery store and because Mike and I shared a love for the beauty of plants and flowers, when I saw these roses, snapped a picture on my iPhone and sent it to him.

He never responded. My man, who was obsessive about responding to texts and phone calls immediately, was already gone at this point. That’s what the EMT’s who arrived an hour later, told me. I found my unanswered text on his phone a few days later. It seems the very last thing I did as he died, was send him flowers.

So today to honor the memory of the one who would normally bring me flowers, I share these. I hope whatever he’s doing off in Eternity, it is an experience of love far beyond any I could ever give him here. I hope he is seeing flowers far more incredible than any we ever admired together.

I pray Jesus reminds him it is an Earth day of celebrating love and hands him a perfect, deep orange rose.

“This is from Diane. She wants you to know she will always love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

A Place Called Special

a look inside a special life