Changes

Hello, dear blog readers. It is with (rather) heavy heart that I write this post. While it seemed that we managed to divert any sort of major life catastrophe for three months, Hubby was informed today that his job will be terminated come the end of March. There are still a few strings being pulled here and there by his superiors, the reality is that they can't fabricate funding in his job field. (Although, I have to bitterly state, Uncle Sam has absolutely no qualms about squandering dollars inefficiently in programs that have historically never worked and are complete disasters.)

There. Now that I have revealed my distaste for trickle-down government, I would like to plead, dear blog readers, for your prayers. After all, this world (including all of its flaws) are not our ultimate Home.

We have not decided anything this day for sure, other than that I need to apply for a full-time job as soon as possible since we don't know when Hubby's next job opportunity might present itself.

My sister called tonight, not to offer empty platitudes of optimism about how we'll surely land on our feet and get another job quickly, but to relay passages of Scriptures that were of particular comfort to her. She read Isaiah 45. I have to admit: Isaiah never looked so comforting to me in our given circumstances as it did today.

It also got me thinking about a speech that was given by the husband of one of my best friends on the day we laid her to rest. She was called home two years to the day that Baby A was born. Here is the speech that her husband wrote about suffering. The suffering was deeply real, and yet, so was the faith. It reminds me that while we suffer physical trials and job losses here and now, I have not yet gone through this particular loss, and I can give thanks for that. God calls us to suffer in whatever way now so that He ultimately will be glorified, even if we will never understand in this lifetime.

It's generally not common for me, that is the one in my position -- berieved spouse --, to get up and speak on this kind of occasion. But, I have too much to say to let the day go with it unsaid.

Our modern digital age has allowed me the privilege of receiving many thoughts, beautiful photographs of a gorgeous woman and tributes to Anne over the past few days. Chief among them is the consensus that Anne *is*, not was: is, beautiful inside and out. 

I saw her beauty in many forms:

• a wry, irreverent humor, appreciated by her friends and her husband
• a readily available smile, freely bestowed on anyone, giving people pause to think, "What am I fretting about just now?" -- and serving as a corrective to her husband's general impatience with people. ("See, dear? It's easy to be nice to everyone!")
• her generosity of effort. As an architect, she would rehab buildings. As Anne, she would rehab lives. She expressed her faith in practical works for others. In college, she went on work trips for the Habitat for Humanity organization, submitting to organized leadership and (by her effort) renovating or building anew housing for people who had no home. At our church, she followed Doug's leadership and organized the way the Lord's Supper is given each month, designing the recipe for the bread and assembling the equipment we use to serve bread and cup -- artfully, as always. As my wife, she renovated this jaded soul in ways that I cannot adequately convey to you now. You just have to believe me.

We met as members of the choir you see behind me. They were our first "small group", though you can see they are not a very small group.

In our singing with them, we were fed and nourished on the food of the liturgy of the Church which, in its depth and complexity, elegantly frames the simple beauty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The choral octavos we learnt and sang taught us afresh the truths our bibles teach us daily.

The weekly service of singing together with them gave back to us manyfold, chiefly in teaching us the words to express and to understand the faith in Christ that is the root of the strength of our marriage: the confidence that Christ really is King, and that we really are forgiven sinners, belonging to Him, with the certain hope -- not a vague hope such as we form in our day-to-day lives about our day-to-day circumstances -- but the certain hope that our home is not here, but with Him. That confidence bore us through a three-and-a-quarter year battle with melanoma and, finally, ushered Anne into glory on Monday, 12:35PM.

That confidence also strengthened us for commitment. College Church is a planting church, with daughter churches in Hyde Park, Batavia and Naperville. There will be more, soon. Anne and I first contemplated going with the church plant in Naperville, New Covenant Church of Naperville, after hearing Doug preach a summer series here at College Church on the importance of Christ's Church and how its liturgy is an important part in the maturing of the christian.

With such a clear mission as that (the maturing of the christian), Anne and I went to serve. We did not go without some fear: new church plants tend primarily to attract the evangelist: one who is on fire for Christ and eager to reach out to the unbeliever. Neither Anne nor I are extroverts and we did not feel evangelism was our calling. Rather, we felt the church -- every church -- needs people in it who strengthen and encourage the believers there. Our felt calling was not so much to reach the lost, but to "feed my sheep", as Jesus instructed Peter.

We were right -- and we were not right.

Jesus did indeed mean for us to strengthen the believers at New Covenant Church. But not as we envisioned. I was not meant to teach a Sunday school class (there are much finer men who do that now!); we were not meant to setup hospitality for events at the church. No, we were chosen to be the first rigorous exercise in ministering to the sick and the dying in Christ's new church in Naperville. Using Anne (and me), our Lord grew up His saints at New Covenant, calling them to maturity in Him and shaping them into a local body pleasing to Him by sending them us. With exemplary love, obedient to His instruction, the body of Christ at New Covenant Church in Naperville surrounded Anne and me with prayer, came to hospitals, brought us meals, cleaned our home, sat with us and offered up the sacrifice of obedient love.

Do you think this is the kind of home you would like to have? One where fear does not surround you, but love does? Where you discover what your needs really are and where you see how they are met in completely unexpected ways? If you do, I want to extend to you Anne's deepest wish for you: that you would say with this choir when they sing, "My Jesus, for thee all the follies of sin I resign. Please be my gracious Redeemer and Saviour."

Anne, I love you. I didn't deserve you. Yet, God gave you to me -- a beautiful gift! I miss you more than I can say. Your leaving me has left me with a gaping wound that I don't want to heal just yet, because the pain is bitter-sweet. I've roamed through the house at night and inhabited those areas that were yours -- and which are much better organized than those areas that are mine! I've wailed. I've thought deeply on many songs in the night. And I know that your joy is complete and I rejoice that you are finally free of the damned disease. I hope I helped you finish well. And I look forward with certainty to the Mansions of Glory that I now know you are helping Jesus build. Housing for people who have no home. How can they not be beautiful, inside and out, just like you?

On that note, I'm so thankful for what I have: a healthy family, a father who loves his children, and the fact that they are two healthy and (generally) happy kids. This, dear blog readers, to me is perspective.