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

I Miss You, Mom (From Paul)

Mom, words cannot express how much I miss you. The void that has been left from your passing is at times, unbearable and unreal. I find myself missing you and thinking of everything that I will miss you at as life continues on without you in our midst. I think of my college graduation, my wedding or my first child. I think of not hearing your laugh, seeing your smile or feeling your hugs. I will miss not being able to talk to you to get advice on dating "Weffi." I will miss not being able to see you around the house or eating your chicken enchiladas that everyone loved so much. I will miss the birthdays you won't be there for or the vacations that won't be as wonderful with out you there. I don't know how anything will ever be the same again with out you around or with us.

But to only think of what you will not be here for is wrong and unfair to you and all that you did and were to your family and friends. Instead, I will try to remember everything you were here for. My high school graduation, all the proms and homecomings and taking me to college. I will remember the times you did laugh, the times when your beautiful smile brightened my day, and the times when the warmth of your hug would heal the scabs and wounds, real and figurative, that life left on my body and heart. It is hard to think that this is the greatest wound of all and one which your laugh, smile or hugs cannot solve, heal or take away.

Still, I will remember the advice you did give, the way you taught me to love and treat women and all people in general. I will remember all the wonderful times we had. The time you were thrown out of my basketball game for being too adamant about your displeasure with the refs. I will remember the way you always took care of your husband and kids before you even thought of yourself, even while you were sick. I will remember the beautiful, loving woman you were, the lives you touched, the way you loved, the wisdom you shared, and the faith you passed on.

Thank you for always loving us selflessly and whole heartedly. You taught me how to live and serve others and God and love Him above all else. Through your relationship with Dad, I learned the commitment, service, love and fun that is required for a healthy marriage.

You showed me the service and selflessness of parenthood and taught me the grace and love of a perfect mother. You fought so long because all you wanted was to watch us grow up with Dad and be there for us as we get married and have kids. You never thought of yourself. Ever. You are dearly missed and life will always be emptier with out you. The void your passing leaves will never be filled. The wounds, although they grow smaller will never fully heal without your loving touch. I love you and will see you again someday. But not yet. First, I will run the race that has been set before me, living the faith the way you taught me and showed me: loving God and others and living for Him above all else.

I love you Mom.
Paul

I Miss You, Mom (from Drew)

Mom, the pain I'm feeling right now will never be fully gone and neither will the longing to be with you just one last time. I could never imagine what life would be like without you but now I'm forced to do more than imagine. You won't be here when I graduate in a month and you won't be here to take me to college in three. You won't be here to take part in my wedding or hold your grandchildren as you so desired. Yet, we can be thankful for the time that God did give to us. You were definitely there when I was born and you were there on my first day of elementary school, jr. high, and high school. You were here for all of my high school dances and made sure I had my pants high enough.

In the time we had you taught me many valuable lessons. The way in which you handled the cancer astounds me and all who knew you. Your faith was incredibly strong and inspired my own. Your servant heart never changed through the past two years and as a result I know truly what it means to love selflessly. Before you were diagnosed you served your husband and children without regard for your own desires and needs. After you were diagnosed you did the same. Your love never changed and I will greatly miss it.

I will also miss your laugh, your smile, and even your reprimanding looks after I had done something stupid. Yet, I will see all of these things in a later day and until then you will be greatly missed by all.

I love you Mom.
Drew

I Miss You, Mom (from Hannah)

Mom, there are not enough words to describe what you meant to me. You were a loving, caring, kind, and wonderful mother. I loved to shop with you at our favorite stores like Kohls and Payless. I always enjoyed learning how to cook with you. I will miss the first day of school pictures and hiking with you in Colorado. You always encouraged my goals, no matter how crazy or far fetched they were. Dad and you were usually in the stands supporting me whenever I played my sports, you guys sat in the pews when I sang in our church choir, and always came to my piano recitals. Mom, I will miss you being there every day after school waiting to pick me up.

I will miss the little things like these, but I will also miss the big things like having a mom and your beautiful smile and warm hug. I already miss saying good night to you every night. I missed having you straighten my hair today. It wasn't the same having Stephie do it. You were always there for me whenever I needed someone to talk to or cry with. I looked forward to our Bible study and you teaching me how to become and stay a pure person. I wish we could have finished it because you always gave me good advice.

Many people have said that I look just like you; I only hope that I can act like you too. I want to be as selfless as you and put God first just like you. I want to support my future kids just like you supported me. I loved the way you were able to always care for your family, friends, and God above yourself no matter how good or bad you were feeling. I know that you loved me deeply and I love you. You are my hero as you strongly and bravely fought cancer for two years, not for yourself, but so that you could be here with us. By fighting and not quitting, you taught me that no matter what I go through I should never quit praying or believing in God. I thank God for giving me such a wonderful mother even though the time was so short. I know you wanted to see me grow up and still be here for me. You will always be remembered Mom, because your life will be lived through me.

I love you.
Hannah