Blog to Book

The emails/blog entries that I wrote during the two years of Ann's cancer and the year following her death have become the backbone my book, Honest Wrestling.

 Learn More About Honest Wrestling

Honest Wrestling offers the rare opportunity to listen in on a couple "mic'd up" while enduring heart-wrenching trials such as miscarriages, job loss, a heart attack, and rare, aggressive cancer. Writing with gut-level authenticity and transparency, author K. Howard Joslin rejects easy answers and asks difficult questions:

• Is God good?
• Can we trust his Word?
• Why even to pray?
• Is it OK to ask for physical healing?
• Where is hope?
• Where is God?

Honest Wrestling offers hope-filled perspective for those currently undergoing trials and insights for encouraging the suffering.

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Where is Hope? - Part 2

Hello to All,

My friend Greg came over the other Saturday evening to watch the Dallas Mavericks win their first road playoff game in over a century. He asked me two questions. The first was, “How are you doing?” He assured me that he wanted an honest answer, so I told him my day had been fairly rotten. After talking about that a bit, he asked a second question, which was “How do you cope?” We were interrupted by Dave’s and Jim’s arrival so I didn’t have a chance to answer him that night.

If you’ve also been wondering how I cope with the devastation, robbery and finality of Ann’s death, then this email should paint an adequate picture of my hope.

But first, a question. If you could celebrate Easter anywhere in the world, where would you choose to celebrate it? Why?


Paul’s Beef
I had always assumed that the apostle Paul wrote the 15th chapter of his first letter to the Corinthians in order to convince the believers there that Jesus Christ had indeed risen from the dead. I came to a different conclusion a few months back when I was helping Matt with a paper for his Bible class.

Paul certainly did wish to emphasize the certainty of Christ’s resurrection (15:5-8). The phrase “he appeared” is repeated four times and supplies proof of his resurrection, just as the phrase “he was buried” is proof of his death. Peter and James, the Twelve and all the other apostles including Paul – they were all eye witnesses of Jesus’ literal and physical resurrection from the dead. Of great significance is the fact that over five hundred men saw the resurrected Jesus in a single event. Of even greater significance is the fact that most of these men were still alive when Paul crafted his letter (15:6). Skeptics were free to interview every one of them.

But the reality Christ’s resurrection was not Paul’s primary objection with the Corinthians. They had had received and believed Paul’s preaching; they stood firm in it and were thus saved by it (15:1-2, 11). The problem was that they were Greek.


A Good Greek
I’ve been digesting N.T. Wright’s 800-page brief, The Resurrection of the Son of God. Key thoughts from an early chapter on the ancient world include:

• Greeks, like most ancient cultures, firmly believed in ‘life after death.’
• The soul existed before the body and would continue to exist after the body was gone. It was innately immortal.
• The soul was the true person. It was set free from ‘the prison-house’ of the physical body through death.
• The road to the place of the dead was a one-way street. No one ever returned.
• This place was not a place a gloom, but a ‘far better place’ to be.
  

As I’ve restudied the Bible this year in light of Ann’s death, I’ve concluded that my image of heaven and my theology of life after death had been rooted more deeply in Platonism than in the God’s Word.


Life After Death?
‘Life after death’ is not the goal of the Christian faith. As heretical as it may sound, our ultimate hope is not in ‘going to heaven when we die,’ as awesome as that was for Ann and will be for us.

Our ultimate hope is the resurrection of our bodies. And by definition ‘resurrection’ is not synonymous with ‘life after death.’

Ann is alive now and with Jesus Christ in heaven. We can only image what she is experiencing in her glorious ‘life after death.’ But, she has not been raised from the dead. She has not been ultimately healed; she is not whole. Certainly her spirit is in heaven, but her body is still in the grave back in Iowa.

The universal meaning of ‘resurrection,’ beginning with Homer, was “a new embodied life which would follow whatever ‘life after death’ there might be.” Wright intentionally and repeatedly uses the phrase ‘bodily life after life after death.’ Resurrection has always been about physical bodies after a state of death. It was not until the second-century AD, when some Christian writers began to redefine the language, did ‘resurrection’ begin to mean a ‘state of blissful disembodied immortality.’

Paul’s beef was that some of the Corinthian believers didn’t believe in their own bodily resurrection (15:12). As good Greeks, they couldn’t.

The universal belief concerning ‘resurrection,’ apart from Judaism and Christianity, was that it was impossible. Wright indicates that the ancient world was divided into two camps:

• Those who said that the resurrection couldn’t happen, though they might have wanted it to, and
• Those who said they didn’t want it to happen, knowing that it couldn’t anyway.
  

Paul’s Argument
Paul passionately argues for the certainty of our own bodily resurrection (15:12-19). He hits twice with the same two-fold argument.

13
If there is no resurrection of the dead,
Then not even Christ has been raised.
16
If the dead are not raised,
Then not even Christ has been raised.

14-15
If Christ has not been raised,
Then our preaching is vain,
Then your faith is vain,
Then we are false witnesses of God.
17-18
If Christ has not been raised,
Then your faith is worthless,
Then you are still in your sins,
Then all who have died in Christ have perished.

Notice that Paul started with the general resurrection, not with Christ’s. The Corinthians believed that Christ had been raised from the dead (15:11). After all he was the Son of God; he could do anything. However, at least some of the Corinthians could not fathom bodily life after being dead for a time. They probably wouldn’t have wanted it anyway.

Paul was writing to Christians like my Grandpa. I remember him discussing that he wouldn’t say “and the resurrection of the body” when reciting the Apostle’s Creed on Sunday mornings. I’ve concluded, as I’ve pondered his hesitation these last months, that he was just being honest with what many of us unwittingly think. If God is spirit and invisible, and if heaven is a spiritual place up in the sky, and if our soul is immortal and our true self, and if our bodies cause us to sin… then how does a bodily resurrection fit in to all that? Paul was writing to Christians who had been subtly influenced by a Greek named Plato.

Paul was writing to correct me. Resurrection is no longer an essential doctrine to believe. It’s my anchor. It redefines my future. It’s everything.

Resurrection will give us strong, young, healthy bodies, more fit than Michael Phelps.’ Our minds will always be sharp and our motives always pure. We will have intimacy only dreamed of in this life, with relationships never marred by selfishness or destroyed by separation. We will have unending time to enjoy old friends and make new ones, to remember joys and trials from our present life and to create new adventures in the next one. We will serve and honor Jesus Christ in perfect obedience, never again tempted to sin. We will have life as God originally intended and has long promised. And this real, physical and truly human life will never end. It’s tough to imagine.

Now here’s a question. Where will we live when we are resurrected with our physical body? Will it be up in heaven or could it be in a place better than heaven?


I Will Rise
I anticipated this year’s Easter worship service like a kid counting the days until Christmas. I knew that our praise band would be leading us in I Will Rise by Chris Tomlin. It would be my chance to publically affirm my redefined hope in the bodily resurrection.

Tomlin has it right. We have incredible hope…

There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail.
There's an anchor for my soul.
I can sing, “It is well.”

Because of the resurrection of Jesus Christ…

Jesus has overcome
And the grave is overwhelmed.
The victory is won.
He is risen from the dead.

And His resurrection guarantees ours.

And I will rise when he calls my name.
No more sorrow. No more pain.
I will rise on eagle's wings.
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise. I will rise.

Somewhat mysteriously, there seems to be a big difference between listening to a song on my iPod while sitting at my desk, and singing that song with fellow believers while standing together in public worship of the risen Christ. Though normally more reserved, I felt compelled to raise my hand for perhaps the second time in twenty-five years.


Easter
If I could go anywhere in the world to celebrate Easter, I would travel back to Iowa, to a small town named Minburn. I would drive a mile west to a hill overlooking the Raccoon River, just a couple miles from where I grew up on my Grandpa’s farm. I would visit my Grandpa’s and Grandma’s graves, as well as other relatives in Christ from five generations and proclaim, “You will rise when he calls your name.” I would stand over Ann’s grave, like we did at Christmas, and confidently affirm, “I will see you again.” To appreciate the true meaning of Easter, to feel its significance, you really need to be in a cemetery.

Resurrection is my hope in the devastation of Ann’s death, because it will permanently reverse death and will restore all that was stolen.


1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
“Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him… For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command… and the dead in Christ will rise first… Therefore encourage each other with these words.”


I do grieve. But I grieve while tenaciously clinging to this hope, to the promise of our bodily resurrection.

Thank you for listening and for praying. Tomorrow (5/2) marks one year since Ann went to heaven.

Love,
Howard, Paul, Drew, Hannah & Matt
http://www.AnnYJoslin.blogspot.com/


PS. Here is something you can do if you’d like to help us cling to our hope. We’ve been collecting songs on the resurrection, heaven, and Christ’s return. If you know of a good song –
hymn or contemporary – with these themes, then email me the title or the artist. I’ll add it to our collection if it resonates.

Where is Hope? - Part 1

Hello to All,

We returned from one of our regular trips to M.D. Anderson about a year ago last week, hopeful that the new chemo plan would continue to keep Ann afloat in her cancerous sea. We celebrated Matt’s twelfth birthday a few days later (April 11th), quietly hopeful that Ann would live to know our grandkids. She died three weeks later (May 2nd).

A thousand words would picture our living in the shadow of Ann’s death: unjust, premature, pointless, hopeless, chaos, shock, fog, disorientation, separation, pain, loneliness, emptiness, doubts, anger, brokenness, regret, guilt, grief, pain, heartache, tears, weeping…

Three words are the most graphic.

Devastation. A few months back I asked Hannah what words came to mind when she thought of death. “Devastation” was her first reply, a word that had dominated my thinking as well. It seems to signify both the destruction and the hopelessness caused by Ann’s death. Everything normal about our lives – meals and car pools, birthdays and vacations, ball games and worship services – was decimated.

Robbery. Max Lucado wrote the following in Facing Your Giants,

“Bereavement comes from the word reave. Look up reave in the dictionary, and you’ll read “to take away by force, plunder, rob.” Death robs you. The grave plunders moments and memories not yet shared: birthdays, vacations, lazy walks, talks over tea. You are bereaved because you’ve been robbed.”

Ann was robbed of growing old with me, of being a mom to Paul, Drew, Hannah and Matt, and of knowing her grandkids. She never had a “peace” about her death from cancer, though she had every confidence that she would immediately be in the indescribable presence of Jesus Christ. As any mother might, she fought death’s intrusion as long as she could. She even asked if I was still praying for physical healing, just an hour or two before she saw Jesus face to face.

I was robbed of my best friend, confidant, and compliment, even though we had trekked through seminary slowly in order to keep our marriage healthy. I find that decision making is tough now, not just because of grief, but because I no longer have her input. I miss everything about Ann, even the things that used to irk me. Frankly, I am sickened by those who have willfully tossed away their spouses; I had no choice in the matter.

The kids were robbed of their mom, even though we had intentionally sacrificed so that Ann could be a stay-at-home mom. The remainder of Hannah’s and Matt’s childhood will have an irreplaceable void, though many moms have (and will) graciously stepped in for key events like Matt’s surprise thirteenth birthday party last week. Every future event in the lives of our four kids – graduations, marriages, births of our grandchildren, ministry successes and failures – will be marred by the robbery of Ann’s death.

Death stole David’s only sister and Lois’ only daughter. A mom should never have to bury a child. (Ann’s dad Pete made out the best; he’s with her now in Paradise.) Laurie, Joan, and Shayne, Diane and Marilyn, Wanda and countless others are all robbed of opportunities to “soul slosh,” go out for coffee, shop, or discuss raising kids with Ann. They can’t even pick up the phone just to say, “Hi.”

Death even stole our future and our dreams. Ann and I will never mentor young couples in Dallas; we will never encourage pastors and their wives in Mongolia. We will never take an Alaskan cruise; we will never return to the coast at Monterey. Ann won’t be here to help plan Hannah’s wedding; Ann will never hold her grandkids. The long-anticipated freedom of our empty nest has morphed into a dread of my future loneliness.

Irreversible. Probably the most suffocating aspect of Ann’s death is that it is absolutely and utterly irreversible. There’s no rewind button. There’s no opportunity to say “I’m sorry” for the times we argued over stupid stuff. There’s no option for reshuffling priorities. There’s no chance to say “I love you” one more time.

I find myself constantly wanting to call Ann on her cell phone, especially when I’m in traffic on the way home from work. I want to talk about my day or let her know what I’ve been studying in my spare time. I want to tell her about the kid’s lives, like Paul’s upcoming internship, Drew’s first year of college, Hannah’s voice recital, and Matt’s basketball games. It often seems like she’s just away on a trip so a phone call is the most natural thing. But… there’s no cell coverage in the grave.

Friends often ask, “What can we do to help?” I’ve told the truth a few times when I said, “You can’t help. You can’t give us the one thing we really need.” Even those who love us most are utterly helpless, when it comes to giving us just one more second together. It’s impossible.

Doctor’s were incapable of preventing Ann’s death; they are certainly powerless to bring her back from the grave. They gave us no hope for a cure; they can’t even try to give us hope for life now.

Death is permanent, final, irreversible.


Where is hope?
The last six weeks were tough. Drew, Matt and I each had our birthdays without Ann, completing our family’s first cycle. The next month will be even tougher. The anniversary of Ann’s death (5/2), Mother’s Day (5/10) and Ann’s birthday (5/17) will all hit us pretty hard.

Where is hope in light of the devastation, robbery and finality of Ann’s death? In a word – Resurrection.

I had hoped to complete this email in time for Easter, but I’m already a week late and it’s long enough, so I’ll close for now. Someday I’ll send out a “Part 2” describing the hope which is the anchor for our souls.


John 11:25-26:
I am the resurrection and the life.
He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.
And whoever lives and believes in me will never die.
Do you believe this?


Thank you for listening and praying.

Love,
Howard, Paul, Drew, Hannah & Matt

Chucking the Faith?

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

It’s been eight months since Ann went to heaven. We’ve survived Mother’s Day, Ann’s birthday, Drew’s graduation and our annual hiking trip to Colorado; Drew’s leaving for college, Hannah’s first day of high school, Matt’s first day of middle school; our 23rd anniversary, Paul’s 21st birthday, Hannah’s first homecoming; Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years; and everything in between.

C. S. Lewis wrote these apt words after his wife died of cancer, “Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.”

Thank you for the cards, emails and voice mails. Most have been left unanswered. I’m not unappreciative; I just haven’t had the energy or words to respond.

It’s difficult to know how to reply briefly to a “How are you doing?” inquiry. On the one hand I’d like to recite the unspoken thoughts, recorded by Max Lucado, of a father whose fourteen-year-old son was killed by a stray bullet. What he wanted to say was, “How do you think we are doing? Our son is dead, our life is miserable, and I wish the world would end.”

On the other hand, it’s only a white lie when I reply, “We’re surviving” to friends after worship on Sunday mornings. Even though the pain and grief, shock and loneliness is intense, we are functioning. I’ve been able to get out of bed and go to work. The kids are doing well in school. We haven’t turned to alcohol or drugs or sex to mask the pain. We are still choosing to walk with the Lord.

The following “Big 12 List” summarizes the reasons, looking back, as to why I haven’t chucked the Christian faith as a result of Ann’s death from cancer. This list is in no particular order, although first and last pairs are probably the most significant.

Big 12 List:

12. Prayers. Over 150 people emailed us on that Thursday, the day before Ann died, confirming that they would continue pray for her physical healing. Several were still praying a week later because they hadn’t received the news of her death. This knowledge has spared me the pain and guilt of falsely thinking that that her death resulted from a lack of prayer. In addition, many of you have confirmed that you are still praying for the kids and me. I can’t quantify or prove it, but I know your prayers have sustained us through the pain. Few of us, if any, truly understand the impact of those prayers. We’ll know in That Day (1 Cor. 13:12) and I’ll humbly thank you again.

11. Kindnesses. Gifts and cards, meals and gift cards, letters and phone calls. It’s difficult to stay angry at God because he has repeatedly shown us his love through the kind acts of his people.

10. Hiking. I took Hannah and Matt on a quick trip to Red River, New Mexico in June. At the end of July we returned to Rocky Mountain National Park for our annual family hiking trip. The magnificence of the mountains makes it difficult to persist in questioning the existence of God. Their magnitude reminds us that he is God and we are not. The unspoiled beauty is a shadow of the indescribable landscapes to be found on the renewed Earth. (See #1 below.)

9. 24-Hour Fitness. I joined a fitness club a few days after returning from Ann’s funeral. It gave me something to be obsessive about that didn’t require emotional energy. It has helped me to sweat out the stress and grief. It has kept my heart from clogging up again from the mass quantities of comfort food that I’m indulging in. (The report from my cardiologist a few weeks ago was great.)

8. Co-workers. Even though time is often a person’s most important commodity, co-workers from Tribridge (http://www.tribridge.com/) sacrificed over 300 hours of their own vacation time to provide me with additional time off. As a result I was able to delay returning to work until the first week of August. I’ve also been able to effectively work part-time most weeks, using the remaining vacation time to fill in the hours that I lack. It would be impossible to overstate the impact that this had on my being able to help re-orientate the kids to life without Ann and to grieve in a healthy way.

7. Our LifeGroup. Many from our home Bible study were in Ann’s ICU room during her last hours – praying, crying and encouraging Ann to go to be with Jesus. Several planned and participated in Ann’s memorial service, sharing treasured portraits of her life. One arranged for meals to be brought in several times per week for the last two and a half years. They painted our kitchen, replaced some mini-blinds and fixed my garage door when we were in Iowa for Ann’s funeral. Various moms have stepped in to be a mom to our kids at key events during this painful year. I really wonder if we could have survived without the love and care of these friends in our LifeGroup.

6. My Mom. Her little brother died before his first birthday. Her mom died of cancer. She has experienced grief first hand and she observed her dad as he grieved the death of his only son and his beloved wife. She has shown great empathy and she’s willing to bring up the subject that many avoid. I’ve developed a new sense of respect and appreciation for her these last months.

5. Dave & Jim. We’ve consumed a lot of Diet Coke and dessert together these last eight months. I’ve been able to honestly share my story, and they’ve graciously listened. According to experts on grieving, sharing one’s story is one of the most important factors for grieving in a healthy manner and becoming reoriented after the death of a loved one.

4. My Promise. I publically promised in a sermon in August 2007, that I would continue to serve the Lord, whether God physically healed Ann or allowed her to die of angiosarcoma. I feel compelled to make good on that promise.

3. My IPod. I started listening to an IPod during Ann’s chemo treatments to help me to block out hospital noise while I tried to get in a few hours of work. Over the last two and a half years, it has become my primary means of both keeping perspective and grieving. The artists affirm faith and articulate grief when I’m often not able to. I’m able to persevere in my story as I listen to theirs. The titles of these songs tell a story in themselves.

• I Still Miss You, I Still Believe, I Will Not be Moved, I Can Only Image.
• Held, Hold, Hanging On, Still, Storm, Breathe, Crawl, Anyway.
• Never Alone, My Deliverer, Deliver Me, Bring it On, One Day at a Time, Hide My Soul.
• God is In Control, God is God, God is With Us, Faithful God, In You, He’s Alive.
• Stand in the Rain, Beauty in the Pain, Oceans from the Rain, Cry on My Shoulder.
• With Hope, Our Hope Endures, My Hope is in You, Faith Like That, Walk by Faith.
• You Are My King, You are My Rock, You are My Stronghold, You are God Alone.
• Save A Place for Me, More than You’ll Ever Know, When We See Glory, No More Pain, Homesick, Glory Baby, Come to Jesus, Thank You.
• Praise You in This Storm, Praise You with the Dance, Blessed Be Your Name.

2. God’s Character. Two fundamental questions, that we’ve asked over and over, are “Does God Exist?” and “Is God Good?” If the biblical record is true, then we can resolutely answer these two questions in the affirmative. If it is not true, then what else do we have? And since I believe it is true, then I will align my theology with that record, rather than the pain of my circumstances.

1. The New Earth. I’ve been studying about the “New Earth” (the eternal heaven) in order to attempt to make sense out of Ann’s premature death. I now believe that after the Resurrection we’ll live in physical bodies on a renewed earth. We will not be disembodied spirits (or angels), but will be fully human and we’ll enjoy human friendships and activities. Thus, my relationship with Ann has not been extinguished, but only interrupted. One day Ann will introduce us to our three babies who were miscarried and we’ll introduce Ann to her grandkids. Then we’ll enjoy adventures on the New Earth in places like Colorado, Monterey, Alaska and Mongolia. Selfishness and irritability will never mar our relationship. Time constraints will never be a frustration. Neither cancer nor death will ever separate us again.


We visited Ann’s grave in Iowa a few days before Christmas. I read these words from Max Lucado (slightly paraphrased) as tears ran down my checks into the snow.

“When you drop your kids off at school, do you weep as though you’ll never see them again? When you drop your spouse at the store and park the car, do you bid a final forever farewell? No. When you say, ‘I’ll see you soon,’ you mean it.

When you stand in the cemetery and stare down Ann’s frozen headstone and promise, ‘I’ll see you soon,’ you speak truth. Reunion is a splinter of an eternal moment away.

There is no need for you ‘to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope’ (1 Thess. 4:13).”


Revelation 21:1-4:
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away… And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."


Thank you for your continued prayers.

Love,
Howard, Paul, Drew, Hannah & Matt

Thank You to the Yarnell Cousins

Thank you for the love, cards, gifts and prayers during the two years that Ann fought cancer and the seven months since she went to heaven. Thank you specifically for the large gift this summer. We had a good, but difficult time on our annual hiking trip to Rocky Mountain National Park. The majesty and beauty of the mountains was mingled with the pain and grief of Ann’s absence.

I’ve not had any “mystical” experiences during our storm where God has overwhelmed me with his love or comfort. Yet, I haven’t really questioned his love, nor am I able to stay angry at him, because he has repeatedly demonstrated his love through the kindnesses his people. Thank you for being his arms and hands to comfort us.

I’d like to share two episodes as examples of how the Yarnell cousins were a tremendous encouragement to us in our journey.

One highlight was breakfast with Roger and Teresa in Houston. One of our trips to M.D. Anderson for chemotherapy coincided with one of Roger’s visits for a checkup. We had a nice breakfast at Le Peeps and got caught up with each other. Roger encouraged us with his story, how God had sustained him through the painful radiation treatments and surgeries. He then made a ridiculous statement. He said that if had the choice to do it over, he would not choose to avoid his trial of cancer. The pain and suffering brought a dependency on Jesus that he wouldn’t have otherwise experienced. I’m not yet ready to make the same statement, but I am beginning to understand what he’s talking about.

Another highlight was a comment that Steve made to us sometime after Ann’s diagnosis, perhaps at a Yarnell reunion. He told us that he was praying harder for Ann than for anyone he had ever prayed for. We were overwhelmed with gratitude and we knew that God was at work. While Ann was still alive, this gave us hope to persevere in our prayers for physical healing. After Ann went to heaven, this gave me assurance that her death wasn’t my fault. Steve and hundreds of others had passionately prayed for Ann’s deliverance from cancer. Yet, God said “No” for reasons known only to him at this time. Ann didn’t die because there was a lack of prayer.

I’ve written to some that I’ve been studying about the “New Earth” (the eternal heaven) in order to attempt to make sense out of Ann’s premature death. I now believe that after the Resurrection we’ll live in physical bodies on a renewed earth and we’ll enjoy human friendships and activities.

My relationship with Ann has merely been interrupted, not extinguished. One day Ann will introduce us to our three babies who were miscarried. One day we’ll introduce Ann to her grandkids. Then we’ll enjoy adventures together on the New Earth in places like Colorado, Monterey, Alaska and Mongolia. Selfishness and irritability will never mar our relationship. Time constraints will never be a frustration. Neither cancer nor death will ever again separate us.

Ann loved her extended family and cherished the memories of Sunday dinners at Grandma Yarnell’s as well as the Yarnell reunions. Moving to Dallas eleven years ago so we could attend seminary was deeply painful for Ann. She missed her family and grieved for a year over the loss of relationship. Certainly, her greatest longing now is that all of her cousins join her someday at the resurrection so that these relationships will continue forever on the New Earth.

Thanks again for the gift and especially for the continued prayers. Ann’s absence will be particularly tough this Christmas.

Love,
Howard & Ann,
Paul, Drew, Hannah & Matt

Thank You to our LifeGroup

Thank you for the love, support and prayers during the two years that Ann had cancer and the six months since her death. It’s hard to stay angry at God because he has repeatedly shown us his love through his people, especially through you in our LifeGroup. Here are some of the ways in which you have been God’s arms of comfort during our storm:

• By praying for physical healing even when doctors never gave us any basis for hope.
• By bringing meals three or four times per week for two and a half years.
• By being there at the hospital in her last hours, encouraging her to go be with Jesus.
• By cleaning our house on the day of the memorial service.
• By providing flowers for the service, bringing beauty to the darkness.
• By planning and participating in Ann’s memorial, sharing treasured portraits of her life.
• By painting our kitchen, fixing the garage door, patching my leaky roof and replacing mini-blinds in two rooms.
• By being a mom to our kids, especially at Drew’s graduation, Matt’s sleepovers, and Hannah’s first Homecoming.
• By going out for dessert, giving me a chance vent, cry and discuss the New Earth.
• By praying for our comfort so we wouldn’t lose hope after Ann’s death.

As Dave mentioned last time, I’ve been studying about the “New Earth” (the eternal heaven) in order to attempt to make sense out of Ann’s premature death. I now believe that after the Resurrection we’ll live in physical bodies on a renewed earth and will enjoy human friendships and activities.

My relationship with Ann has just been interrupted, not extinguished. One day Ann will introduce us to our three babies who were miscarried. One day we’ll introduce Ann to her grandkids. Then we’ll enjoy adventures on the New Earth in places like Colorado, Monterey, Alaska and Mongolia. Selfishness and irritability will never mar our relationship. Time constraints will never be a frustration. Neither cancer nor death will ever again separate us.

I also believe that we’ll have LifeGroup reunions. We’ll remember and recount the ways in which we all encouraged each other during tough times and celebrated life together when times were good. In fact it’s possible that the most treasured “crown” that we’ll receive at judgment is a special depth of relationship with others on the New Earth, a depth based on the love and sacrifice shown in this life.

If this is indeed my future, then I’ll deal with the pain and grief of my present. If this is indeed our future, then I look forward to the depth of our friendships on the New Earth.

Love,
Howard & Ann, and Paul, Drew, Hannah & Matt

I Miss You, Ann (from Howard)

My Dearest Ann,

I love you. I’m crushed and broken. I can’t believe how much I miss you already. On Saturday when I was making funeral arrangements, I looked into the kitchen and nearly asked, “Hey Ann. What do you think?” Yesterday, I bought a suit and you weren’t there to match my ties. I was out running an errand this morning and reached for my cell phone to ask you for directions. I’ve silently started using a new acronym – WWMD. “What Would Mom Do?” I am truly lost without you.

You are my trusted confidant, the only one with whom I can be truly honest. You are my partner, often agreeing to my crazy ideas. You were willing to live in a yurt in Mongolia when I asked you to marry me. You consented to moving to Dallas, painfully leaving family and friends, so I could attend seminary. You are my completer. You reminded me when you needed a date. You challenged me to stop working or studying so I could spend time with our kids. You often encouraged me to show mercy or to be more patient, reminding me to let our kids be kids. You kept me grounded while in seminary, so I didn’t become more of a nerd. You are my best friend.

Thank you for pleading with God after our three miscarriages. He gave us Hannah and Matt. Thank you for pleading with God after being diagnosed with incurable cancer. We asked for twenty years. He gave us two. Thank you for pleading with me to pray for physical healing. Your desire was to “err on the side of faith,” trusting God to do the impossible. An hour before you went to heaven you asked, “Are you still praying?” and then softly smiled.

I still believe that God physically heals in answer to prayer. That is what his word says. If we had do it all over again, we would still pray and trust God to deliver.

You always hated injustice, whether in movies or on the soccer field or basketball court. You hated the fact that incurable cancer had invaded our lives. We had worked so hard to keep our marriage healthy during seminary. You hated the fact that death might destroy it. We intentionally sacrificed so you could be a stay-at-home mom. You hated the fact that cancer might rob you of this privilege. You poured your life into Paul, Drew, Hannah and Matt. You hated the fact that you wouldn’t get to see the fruit of our labors. You wanted to grow old with me, be there for our kids, and hold your grandchildren. You weren’t being selfish. You were just being you – a godly wife and mother.

Perhaps God has already explained the “why” of this to you. I can imagine that was a heated discussion. But I know that he is a gracious and patient father. He probably just gently held you in his arms while you kicked and screamed. He certainly wouldn’t kick you out like that blind basketball referee.

I’ve concluded, as I’ve mulled over things in our empty bed, that your tenacious fight was your final gift to me and to Matt, Hannah, Drew and Paul. You fought to delay the glories of heaven because you wanted to be a wife, mom and grandma. We will miss you but we will never doubt your love for us.

I love you Ann
Howard