Laura and Taylor never discuss baby names with us. Before Kellen was born, I guessed (correctly) that they would come up with some unusual names for their children so each time we’ve prepared ourselves to smile and nod when the time comes. I can’t imagine Kellen with any other name and I didn’t even flinch when they introduced us to Oaks. In fact, I really kind of like it 🙂

I love the verse that they’ve attached to his name. While the first two verses of Isaiah 61 are fairly familiar to me, verse three was not.

Jesus read from this portion when he read the scrolls in the synagogue (Luke 4:16-21.) He was in Nazareth on the Sabbath day and stood up to read. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him and he unrolled it, finding what we identify as Isaiah 61 and read the first two verses. He then rolled up the scroll and sat down. When everyone looked at him, he said, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” And the people were impressed. It says “All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips.” This wasn’t one of those times that his words set off accusations of blasphemy or the outrage of the religious leaders.

But Jesus didn’t read verse three, in fact, he didn’t even finish verse two. (For one thing, there weren’t verse notations in the scrolls, though that probably wasn’t his reason for stopping at that point.) Verse 2 and 3 read:

“to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

[Jesus stopped here]

and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn and to provide for those who grieve in Zion–

to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness,

a planting of the Lord,

for the display of his splendor.”

For Laura and Taylor, these references to comfort, ashes, mourning and despair reflected some of the more difficult times they’ve experienced with two miscarriages and a long year of waiting for conception to occur. They have felt that this baby was truly a “planting of the Lord” as they have prayed and waited for this child.

When I heard these words, they brought an immediate sense of hope. I’d truly been mourning, grieving, and despairing in the months and weeks previously and loved the replacement words: crown of beauty instead of ashes, oil of gladness instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead of despair. Beyond the “normal” process of grieving my mother’s death since January, I’ve felt bushwacked by an accumulation of discouraging circumstances. While I rested following my surgery, I spent so much time crying over a lot of spilled milk. I knew that my grief was cumulative, the result of a long hard year topped with additional losses, but I was surprised by the level of despair I felt and the frequent flow of tears. I’d just written to Anne that these past few months had “about done me in.”

I knew that a new baby would help me feel a little better. But I had no idea how encouraged I would be by his name and by this verse.

On Sunday when they announced that there would be an Ash Wednesday service at church I was surprised that it was that time of year already. I brushed it off, thinking that this year I just didn’t have time for Lent. I had a new grandson coming and a wedding in New Zealand, all well before Easter.

But I made it to the service because Isaiah 61 reminded me that ashes–grief, mourning and despair–are very much a part of life that I need to acknowledge, a reason why Jesus had to suffer and die. I’m not sure why I needed that reminder in the midst of my own mourning, but I did. I needed the hopefulness of these verses, the message that part of the way Jesus fulfilled Scripture was also to comfort those who mourn, to bestow beauty for ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

And the great hope that we will be called Oaks of righteousness. Our little acorn will be a great reminder to me in the days ahead.

And for now, “How sweet to hold a newborn baby, And feel the pride and joy he gives…” It’s an old Gaither song from the 80s, one popular when our babies were born, but one that comes to mind in those wonderful baby-holding moments.

I’ve still got a lot on my plate and since Oaks arrived, life has become busy once again. But I’m going to take time for Lent, balancing activity with reflection, hope with the reality of the broken world that Jesus came to redeem.

As we said goodbye to Anne today, I kept thinking “It’s the end of an era.” She leaves today as Anne S Hurni, but by the time she comes home again, she will be Annie Bruce! It feels like the end of an era.

It probably wasn’t helpful to dwell on this thought during the last few days, but I couldn’t help it. With my mother’s death, it seems like more than one era is ending.

I googled the phrase, checking to see how others perceive the term:  “End of an era” refers to when something that existed for a long time comes to an end. It isn’t unusual to use the phrase when someone dies. An era is a period of time that has a particular quality or character. 

My life had a particular quality to it as long as my mother lived (and continues somewhat while my Dad’s life continues). I was a daughter even though I was married, a mom with a family of my own, living three hundred miles away. We negotiated what that relationship looked like for 30-some years, adapting to changes in circumstances on both sides.

And now, I will start that dance with Anne. The era of her childhood seems officially over, even if it really ended awhile ago. She will be a wife, a mom (someday), a kiwi! We’ll visit each other, but she’ll probably never again live at home. (Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to have another kid move out. I’m just glad that she is moving to a place that I like to visit.)

A few weeks after Mom died, I bought a Pandora charm for the necklace my aunt gave me. I wanted something to commemorate her but thought the disk with “Loving Mother” sounded too much like an obituary. I settled on a two-piece charm with matching red hearts labeled “Mother” and “Daughter.” Afterwards, I realized that it could represent both my relationship with my mom and my relationships with my daughters. I think that is kind of cool as I ponder the end of two eras.

It has been a month since my Mom died. I’ve stopped waking up every morning to the realization that she is gone, but I still stop to think twice before putting on mascara in the mornings. I don’t wear mascara to church because that’s always been an easy place to cry. And I haven’t worn any this weekend in Detroit.

Anne and I drove to Detroit to return Dad’s car (I drove his van home in the early January snowstorms) and help start packing up Mom’s things. I also needed to spend time with my Dad and Anne wanted to say goodbye one more time.

The decision to move to senior housing ramped up the agenda for the weekend more than I had planned. I thought I’d go through my mom’s closet and dressers and maybe clean out the bathroom. Connie and I did all that and also packed up dishes, baking utensils, and a lot of food items as well. Dad won’t be doing much baking. I also sorted through the pictures and her journals. (She meticulously recorded her daily Bible readings and a quote from The Daily Bread almost every day for the last few years.)

It was a busy, tiring weekend. I didn’t cry much while we were working, but had a few meltdowns on my own. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it back before Dad moves, so I was saying goodbye to the house that Mom (and I) loved so well.

We went to see the new apartment and it is very nice. The complex is in a lovely setting and seems small enough to be very personal.

Anne and I drove home today (Sunday.) She leaves on Thursday around noon so we have three days to finish our “to do” list. I’m pretty good about not crying when she leaves but I still don’t think I’ll put on any mascara–just in case.

The last two weeks (or more) have been an incredible whirlwind of activity and experience. There were plenty of quiet, restful moments but there was always an undercurrent of upheaval and distress. The holidays stopped short as more important events filled out minds and hearts.

I returned home last night. The trip was the last in a long series of challenges since the weather and traveling conditions were just barely returning to normal. It was also the first time I’d been alone for an extended period of time. When I pulled in the driveway I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in.

I pushed to come home because today we are going to look at wedding dresses. Emily, Anne’s first Capernwray roommate, is visiting and the girls are shopping for both bridesmaid and wedding dresses (along with Laura and Lizi.)

“Life” didn’t stop while I was gone. John took down the Christmas tree, but most of the other Christmas decorations and even gifts are still decorating the living room. The dried Hobbit cake and a few dwarf cake pops are still on display. James and two others friends came and/or went while I was gone. Anne is home for just a few more weeks. I also missed a couple of appointments and need to get back on track with all that.

But life did stop while I was gone, or at least a life, my mother’s. There are still so many parts of that to process: the days in the hospital, end of life decisions, our short experience with hospice, the night of her death, the funeral planning, the funeral and its aftermath.

I’m sure that my experience is not unique. Our Bible study was cancelled last night because another father had entered hospice. A lot of people in my generation are stretched between children, grandchildren and aging (or dying) parents. And many are dealing with cancer too.

The book I’m reading about heaven mentions the constraints of time and space. He (Randy Alcorn) believes that we will always be limited by these dimensions, that we not be able to to be in two places at the same time, even in our heavenly state. Only God can do that. Which is probably a good reason for me to trust Him in the days ahead because that is what I want: I want to be fully present here and I want to sit quietly with my Dad in Detroit. I can’t do both.

I am grateful for the time I had with my parents and the rest of my family. I know I was privileged to be able to pick up and go and to stay as long as I did. John managed the family through all the logistics of a short ski trip, more company, and the trip to and from Detroit (no easy task.) He also got called into work in the middle of the night to deal with flooding from a frozen air conditioning system.

The beat does go on. And on and on and on.

But so does God’s grace.

(Please keep scrolling down. I don’t want you to miss “Saint Eldora.”)

“Everybody becomes a saint at death.” My dad said something like that after attending another funeral. He wasn’t talking about the biblical concept of sainthood which we have bestowed on us by Christ’s death and resurrection. He was referring to the fact that sometimes it’s hard to recognize the person in the eulogy when all their qualities are magnified and their shortcomings swept under the carpet.

Being the honesty seeker that I am, I have to say from the outset that my mom wasn’t a saint. In that loose definition, she wasn’t much of a sinner either. She was, at worst, an uncomplicated woman who focused on appearances, shopping, and things that seemed of minor importance to me. She didn’t think deeply about life, accepting most of what came her way with a generally happy heart. (I’m realizing that it is no small accomplishment in life to be content.) She lived in a social context (church) that was comfortable and was friendly in her neighborhood. She didn’t rock the boat at home, but served the family by cooking and cleaning and sometimes running interference between stronger personalities. She faithfully attended church and served when asked. She read her way through the Bible almost every year but rarely talked about the impact it was having on her life.

She kept a clean, neat house and was frustrated by clutter and spots. Late in her life she could still see bits of debris on the carpet from across the room and order someone to get the sweeper out to remedy the problem. She was able to fit more things in a cabinet than I ever could by carefully placing each item in the right place for a tight fit. She even has organized plastic containers, a skill that has eluded me all my life. To the end of her life, she was a diligent laundress and never–as far as I know–went out in public with a brown spot on the front of her clothes. She was very concerned about how she would look in her casket, even asking if we should take her own make up to the funeral home along with the dress she chose (and revised a couple times.) She was a hawk for checking my Dad’s appearance and frequently frustrated when he didn’t measure up to her standards. (He drove her crazy for years by hanging on to a faded red stocking cap and worn corduroys.) It was her mission in life to keep him appropriately dressed. To the very end, she thought about shopping for new furniture and getting her carpets cleaned. (I’m hoping the Lord allows her to shop for the furniture in the place he has prepared.)

Yet, she was well loved within her church community. She helped put together hundreds of church suppers, funeral luncheons, and showers. She wasn’t the creative force behind most of the events, but she was always willing to lend a hand to the process. She was warm and friendly and helped visitors feel comfortable and welcome. She invited numerous people to her home for meals and regularly took ladies out for lunch. When asked to mentor younger woman, she faithfully accepted the challenge. For a few years, she led a girls’ club in her home for the teenage girls of the congregation, providing them with a place to gather on Monday nights and guided them in discussions each week. When a monthly ladies ministry, Sister Act, was in full force, she was a willing participant in skits, fashion shows and Christmas teas that supported the mission of the gatherings. She also regularly attended Bible studies and small groups and diligently prepared her lessons ahead of time. She also served in the nursery at MOPS for many years, caring for the preschoolers while young mom’s were given an hour or two of respite, fun and teaching away from their children.

Another sphere where my mom faithfully served and enjoyed great fellowship was in serving at camps. Mom spent many years cooking for a week at Upper Peninsula Bible Camp and many more years serving at SWATT (Seniors With Ample Time and Talent) at Bair Lake, where a team of retired folks gathered twice a year for a week to prepare the camp for the summer season and spruce it up again in the fall. Mom was usually found in the kitchen washing every dish and utensil and scrubbing the kitchen until it gleamed.

For many years my mom made lamb cakes at Easter. They were often made for her own grandchildren but when they’d grown up, she continued to make one or two a year and give them to families in the church, a special gift to young children. (Lamb cakes require a special talent–and sometimes a lot of toothpicks–for keeping the head attached. I never really mastered that.)

And she loved her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As a fairly new grandmother, I am not sure that this required any special talent or love. I think all grandparents must love their grandbabies, but Mom and Dad seemed to take a special joy in this time of life. When her kidneys failed in October, it was the great-grandchildren that were her reason to keep going. She loved every visit, card, picture and phone conversation she had with them.

Maybe she wasn’t a remarkable woman and yet, she was well-loved and appreciated by her friends and family. She made wonderful rolls and perfect cheesecake. She made oatmeal and chocolate cookies to my Dad’s unusual specifications (flat, not thick but still chewy.) And every year she made mounds of Christmas cookies to share with friends and family and Christmas bread for my father. She dressed well and kept a pleasant house. (I believe it was one of God’s graces to her that she never needed to move out of this last house that she loved much.) She served her family well, as well as her larger chapel family.

And I have to say this: She died well. When facing her death she was completely unafraid and resolute. She decided to discontinue treatment when we were still waffling a bit at the end (a surprise) and she never once questioned whether she was going to heaven. She rarely talked about longing for heaven but was ready and confident when the time came. She was also uncomplaining, appreciative and kind to everybody who cared for her. She handled the indignities of aging with grace and quietly waited for the Lord to take her home. No great words of wisdom, just a gradually letting go of her grip on life, a great peace.

That’s actually a pretty decent legacy.

* Saints and Sinners. I just want to be clear about this: my mom was a sinner in a real sense. She may have been a nice person but she still fell far short of God’s righteous standard and desperately needed God’s grace for her life on earth as well as her eternal life. Her very real hope of heaven was not based on her goodness, her church connections or any of her busy service towards others. Her hope was in Jesus and his finished work at Calvary. She is a saint because Jesus made her one.