I saw a blog post this week entitled, “Most of Your Stuff Is Worthless.” Ouch! How blunt! But since I have been in the midst of sorting through Bruce’s and my “stuff” for months now, it seemed very timely–I at least had to take a peak. The post was written by a lawyer who had just finished plowing through her mother-in-law’s estate, including decades worth of saved “treasures” belonging to both her mother-in-law and father-in-law (who had died 11 years prior).

Let me just take a moment to say to my children (if you are listening)–“You’re welcome!” I could have just shoved all of Dad’s things aside in the garage (and a few of mine) and left it for you to deal with after I’m gone (I gave that idea brief consideration). You’re younger and have more energy (but not more time, I realize). But, of course, you know how very long I have waited to “simplify.”

Anyway, the author, Siobhan (Irish–pronounced shiv-awn) Kratovil, goes on to explain why my stuff and her parent’s stuff is–for the most part–worthless. When I got married, one still received silver flatware and serving pieces, as well as china and crystal, as wedding gifts, in addition to “everyday” dishes. They were still very much in vogue. It was also a time when newlyweds often inherited furniture, often from both sides of the family, which we received with open arms. We never thought twice about whether or not everything “went together” or if it was our “style.” We truly appreciated having a modestly furnished apartment instead of very little furniture at all.

As Siobhan explains, “Baby boomers have glutted the market with their castoffs, and millennials, the next generation of buyers, don’t want it. Millennials hate both formal in-home entertaining and use of second-hand goods. With looming student loans, they tend to rent and move often. Who wants to be constantly moving a piano or grandfather clock from apartment to apartment? And furniture? There’s no market for so called ‘brown furniture,’ meaning any furniture (regardless of quality) other than the ‘mid-century casual’ furniture (think clean, lightweight) favored by millennials. Brown furniture is basically firewood.”

Wow! I have been living under a rock. I’ve never heard the term “brown” furniture before but, apparently, that’s ALL Bruce and I have (we had a carpenter friend build some lovely custom furniture for us years ago, and I still have a couple of pieces–but, nonetheless, they’re “brown”). I wasn’t 100% completely surprised that millennials don’t want my generation’s stuff because–it occurred to me recently–my children haven’t asked for one teeny tiny thing. It beats cat fights and family splits over who gets what any day!

Needless to say, the majority of my time over the past few weeks and months has involved going through Bruce’s and my “stuff” and determining the most lucrative way of disposing of it. I must say, I didn’t know how exhilarating it was going to be! Exhausting, yes, but the euphoria of people paying me to take my “worthless stuff” away makes me feel like I’m getting away with something! Facebook Marketplace and Half Price Books have become some of my best friends! I love the glow on people’s faces when they hand me money and I hand over my “stuff.” It takes the sting out of releasing things that used to have some value to us. And it is less painful than bringing everything to Goodwill and watching them dump it in large bins without batting an eyelash.

It has been emotionally draining to go through our “stuff.” Some of it brings a smile to my face. Other things make me wonder what we were thinking. Why do we have so many bookcases?? Because we (mostly, “he”) kept buying more books–not just for himself, but sometimes duplicates to share with others, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Why not get rid of some of the books before getting new ones? Never! He hadn’t gotten around to reading them yet, or he might need them for reference in the future (our collection of books was 95% theological in nature). I’ve sorted through books, report cards, certificates, pictures, receipts, writings, legal documents that no longer mean anything, Boy Scout uniforms, etc. It’s hard not to think about how much money we spent to have our stuff repeatedly moved from place to place without laying eyes on it in between moves. I recently gave away a glass and metal table that Bruce made in shop class in high school. He would not part with it under any circumstances; it stayed packed away for years. When I finally listed it for free on FB Marketplace (I wasn’t sure anyone would want it), people were falling all over each other to get it first (they weren’t millennials)!

It has become easier and easier to “let it go.” I can hardly wait for garbage pickup each week! No one wants our stuff–or, at least, most of it. It’s only stuff. And at the end of the day, I am feeling lighter and less encumbered and more hopeful than ever that, as I declutter our home, I am decluttering my life and emotions, and I will have less baggage and more of me to give to God and to share with others. It has been a long time coming. And by God’s grace, it came sooner than later for me. I guess you would call that a silver lining to Bruce’s Homegoing at what seemed like a relatively young age. I have the stamina to do this now.

On a side note, I am having the flooring in the master bedroom replaced, trading down from a king bed to a queen (our king mattress set was 35+ years old-yikes!), and making other changes to fend off dust-mites (to which I’m allergic). I spent the last 24 hours emptying out 4 rooms (it was a last-minute opportunity) so movers could move most of the furniture into the hallway so I can have carpets cleaned but also reconfigure the rooms so they are more functional than they have been. There’s a lot of “stuff” going on around here!

I have thought very often throughout this process that decluttering our/my home is like the ongoing process of purification–aka sanctification–that is constant in the life of the believer. Purging stuff is not as painful as the purification of our hearts and souls, but they both allow me to be less and less encumbered so I can focus more and more on glorifying God, enjoying Him forever, and fellowshipping with and encouraging the people He puts in my life.

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” ~Hebrews 12:1,2

I used to say that one of the big downsides of getting a pet is that you usually outlive them. It’s just too sad when you do. It occurred to me today that I have finally reached the age and stage where that might not be true anymore. <<phew>> The way things are going, we might “go” together. There was a point–when Pepper had been with me for 2 weeks and 6 days, to be exact–that I was pretty sure I would need to find another “loving” home for him (I’m just being honest) or I would lose my mind. Fortunately, we turned a corner. My life has been transforming in many ways since Pepper came on the scene 4+ weeks ago:

~I have an upgraded status with the neighbors’ dogs on all 3 sides of our backyard. They are all large and, until my “sidekick” arrived, they barked profusely at me through the fence if I dared walk into my backyard. Now, I’m the cool human in the ‘hood. I have a little puppy that they have welcomed with open arms. No more barking! Mind you, I have not seen any of these dogs face to face–just big feet and noses poking under the fence. One day we will meet!

~I am on my knees more than ever, and I don’t mean in a praying mode, although I might as well while I’m down there. I am either cleaning up “accidents” or retrieving balls that rolled under sofas. If I don’t retrieve them immediately, Pepper will start scratching at the sofas to get the balls himself. So he’s got me there; no dilly-dallying allowed.

~I have exponentially increased my chances of “expiring” or becoming debilitated from a fall since Pepper arrived. Seriously, it’s amazing that neither one of us (or both at the same time) has been hurt due to Pepper either frequently shadowing me when I don’t realize it or getting frisky and running pass-interference at .the most random moment (congratulations, Kansas City Chiefs! Thanks for a THRILLING game!!). If it weren’t so humiliating and expensive, I should seriously consider getting Life Alert.

~I’m learning how to get used to living with a new “person” in my life. Whether it’s a roommate, a spouse, a baby, or a pet, we each bring our own personalities, preferences, and eccentricities to the table, and it takes time to adjust. One thing I found out quite accidentally that drives Pepper completely wild is my singing. When I had only had him a week or two, he was sitting on my lap and I started singing the Beatle’s “All You Need Is Love” to him. It startled him, like I had morphed into some strange creature, and he pounced on me in the crazy way dogs do when something stirs them. True confession: I sing to Pepper when I want to push his buttons (I think it’s fair, for all of the times I clean up after him). Today I sang one of my favorite songs from “The King and I”–“Getting to Know You.” It seemed appropriate. Pepper was stretched out on his side on my lap. This time–I kid you not–he took his paw and put it over his exposed ear. It was quite hysterical!

~I’ve learned how to set boundaries with Pepper. They’re called “puppy gates.” What took me so long? I can breathe again and have fewer areas to be concerned about where Pepper might be and what he might be doing behind my back. Although, in all fairness, one of his favorite places to be is sitting on–yes, ON–my feet, chewing on a bone. It’s quite precious.

~I have been reminded that puppies, like children, are willing to get one’s attention whichever way they can–through both positive and negative behavior–the consequences, whatever they may be, are so worth it to them. Pepper is a con-artist. Things were going so smoothly, and then 3 days ago I found Pepper’s water and food dish contents dumped all over the floor. How did this happen? Was it an accident? Why, all of a sudden, now? I put Pepper in his crate so I could clean everything up while he watched (which meant nothing to him). I was willing to call it a fluke–a one-time occurrence. Until it happened a second time the next day. Clean up. Then, in that same day, I happened to glance over at Pepper and he had put his foot in the middle of the water portion of his feeding dish and was just getting ready to tip it over. BUSTED!! My puppy training book says that puppies have a memory of approximately 1.5 seconds so they won’t remember why you’re upset with them. Not to worry, dogs are very smart, and if I can believe Pavlov and his experiments (and I do), Pepper will soon understand that every time he dumps his food/water dish, he goes in the crate for an undisclosed amount of time and I put away his dish until the next meal. He doesn’t dare whimper.

~I think this is going to work out. I’m a little old to be starting over with anything, but here I am. I like to think that Pepper is keeping me from becoming too self-centered, in my singleness. He is, without a doubt, contributing to my sanctification. And he is improving with age. He plays well, loves well and unconditionally, snuggles well, and keeps me laughing. He is always glad to see me! Always! It’s nice to be so adored!! And he still doesn’t bark! Hallelujah!!

Getting to Know You

Getting to know you,
Getting to know all about you.
Getting to like you,
Getting to hope you like me.

Getting to know you,
Putting it my way,
But nicely,
You are precisely,
My cup of tea.

Getting to know you,
Getting to feel free and easy
When I am with you,
Getting to know what to say

Haven’t you noticed
Suddenly I’m bright and breezy?
Because of all the beautiful and new
Things I’m learning about you
Day by day.

There is an “inspirational” quote that has been making the rounds for years that says, “God will not give you more than you can handle.” I can only surmise that the sentiment is supposed to bring comfort to those going through a hard time. It is supposed to help one recognize what inner strength one truly possesses, perhaps beyond one’s awareness but, also, that God wouldn’t think of putting more on one’s plate than one could handle. I can only guess that the reasoning is that a loving God wouldn’t do such a thing.

However, nothing could be further from the truth. Here is what the apostle Paul had to say:

“For we do not want you to be unaware, brethren, of our affliction which came to us in Asia, that we were burdened excessively, beyond our strength, so that we despaired even of life; indeed, we had the sentence of death within ourselves so that we would not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead; who delivered us from so great a peril of death, and will deliver us, He on whom we have set our hope. And He will yet deliver us.” ~I Corinthians 1:8-10

God gives us more than we can handle all the time. Ask anyone who has experienced an excruciating loss. Ask anyone going through unfathomable pain–physically or mentally–either personally or vicariously. My husband, Bruce, had a stroke on June 1. I found him lying on our bedroom floor, a few short breaths away from death. Even though he had been so close to death, it was initially considered a minor stroke, based on the CT scans, and the doctors were optimistic about his recovery. Sometime during the following night, he had a massive stroke; there was so much blood flooding his brain that it wasn’t possible to see the physiology of his brain on a CT scan at first, to be able to determine which parts of his brain had been affected. It was a huge guessing game for quite some time. The neurosurgeon was as pessimistic (“realistic”) as he could possibly have been about Bruce’s prognosis. He gave us very little hope and suggested we consider Bruce’s “quality of life” when making decisions about how to proceed with his care.

But God…God had some pretty magnificent plans for Bruce, beyond what the medical staff could possibly have imagined. Very, very slowly, his body and mind came back to life. His journey of healing and recovery over 5 1/2 months is detailed on my CaringBridge page found at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/brucebreeding. Did God give Bruce more than he could handle? That’s a rhetorical question. He couldn’t move at first, couldn’t speak, was on a ventilator and had numerous tubes running in and out of him. He literally had no control over his mind, or body, for that matter; his body was controlled by his badly damaged brain. He wasn’t able to handle the stress of his job that inevitably led to his stroke and he couldn’t handle, or manage, anything at all after his stroke. He couldn’t “handle” A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G. His stroke was a severe mercy sent by God to bring glory to His name.

By God’s grace, as time went on, slowly but surely, Bruce’s mind and body made a remarkably unexpected and miraculous recovery. He learned to communicate what he was thinking–at first, nonverbally, and later, one barely audible word at a time, progressing to a volume that almost sounded like shouting at times. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear his voice again. And then, miraculously, he started singing! And laughing! The muscles in all of his limbs came to life; the medical staff said it wouldn’t happen. God renewed Bruce’s strength, little by little, one anxiety-filled physical and occupational therapy session at a time. He made great strides in learning to walk all the way up until the end.

But underneath all of that remarkable, exhilarating progress, there was doom and gloom. Bruce felt, and said, he couldn’t do it. Right in the middle of therapy he announced, on more than one occasion, “I can’t do this anymore.” “This is impossible.” “I quit!” Was he actually doing what he said he couldn’t do? Yes. Was he handling it? Um, no. I had many a spontaneous “come to Jesus” conversation with Bruce, trying to encourage him and cheer him on. I was so thrilled and proud of his progress, but he was not. One day I asked, ‘What about, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)?’ ‘What about, “With God, all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26)?’ ‘What about, “Whatever you do, do your work heartily as for the Lord, rather than for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance. It is the Lord Christ whom you serve.” (Colossians 3:23, 24)’ Bruce looked at me, totally spent and with very little expression on his face and said, “I understand it, intellectually.” Bruce was not one to mince words.

All Bruce really wanted to do, undoubtedly from the moment he realized that he had suffered a stroke, was to go Home. I knew that in my ever hopeful heart. But as long as we’re here on earth, before God calls us Home, I also knew we are to live our lives wholeheartedly as unto the Lord. We are to be content in whatever circumstances we find ourselves (Philippians 4:11). I was trying to do my part to help Bruce recover; I wanted him to do his part. Was Bruce handling it? No. Was it understandable from a human viewpoint? Without question. But never say that God will not give us more than we can handle. Because He does all the time. That’s the point. It’s how He gets our attention; it’s how He disciplines us; it’s how He rescues us–whether we are His child or not but–especially if we are His child. It’s how he purifies us like gold. It’s how He shows us how very much He loves us.

Then why do people think that and say that? Because they have a skewed view of what God’s love is–of what love, in general, is and what it isn’t. Some think that showing love means we give those we love what they want–everything, even if we know it’s not beneficial for them–and that it also means not giving those we love what they don’t want, even if we know it’s beneficial for them. Such thinking has given birth to entitlement and narcissism, big time. They are hallmarks of our society today, and it is painful to watch. It resulted from a massive pendulum swing through the past few decades away from the discipline and structure and boundaries that I, and many others from my generation, grew up with. Somehow, discipline got the bad wrap as being the opposite of love.

This is God’s love:

“My son, do not reject the discipline of the Lord
Or loathe His reproof,
For whom the Lord loves He reproves,
Even as a father corrects the son in whom he delights.” ~Proverbs 3:12

And this is God’s love:

“By this the love of God was manifested in us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world so that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.” ~I John 4:9, 10

And this is God’s love:

“All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.” ~Hebrews 12:11

I have so many faves, but here’s one more:

“For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty Savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, He will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” ~Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

God was in our midst in an especially mighty, visible way from June through November. He gave us more than we could handle, and then some, and took care of our every need. He showed how mighty a Savior He truly was. He showered us extravagantly each day with His love and calmed all of my fears–I couldn’t miss it. Bruce finally went Home to be with the Lord on November 11. It was a victorious, triumphant, bittersweet night. He must have been so ecstatic to have been finally released from his broken body and to meet his Savior face to face. God continues to be my mighty Savior, rejoicing over me with joyful, comforting songs and scriptures that He places before me and filling me with His peace. He calms all my fears or, as another translation so beautifully puts it, He quiets me with His love. Amen.

Two days ago, a helicopter carrying 8 passengers and the pilot crashed into the side of a mountain due to inclement weather. It made national news immediately because of one famous passenger, in particular–Kobe Bryant–as well as his daughter. But as time went on, more light was shed on the other passengers as well. There were fathers, daughters, mothers, wives, husbands, coaches–all headed to a basketball camp. Kobe Bryant was 41; his daughter, Gianna, was 13. He died in the “prime of life”–as we would be tempted to say–at the height of his basketball career. Gianna’s life had barely gotten started, or so it would seem. All of the passengers seemed to have so much more of life ahead of them–so much promise. It’s impossible not to ache for those left behind–Kobe’s wife, as well as their other 3 daughters, including an infant, for starters. While many may not remember the exact date as time goes on, I will. It would have been my father’s 100th birthday, had he still been alive. He lived until 91 years of age, after, fighting in WW II and the Korean War, smoking 3 packs a day for 30 years before he finally quit, surviving an aortic aneurysm at age 69 and, ultimately, succumbing to kidney disease at 91.

The knee-jerk response when such a devastating loss occurs is to say, “If only.” If only the pilot had decided it wasn’t safe to fly in such inclement weather, as others, including the Los Angeles Police Department (which had grounded its helicopters until the afternoon), had already concluded that morning. If only the camp had started on a different day. If only there hadn’t been any camp at all. If, if , if. We want to change the circumstances to get a different outcome. It seemed so senseless and tragic and avoidable.

Their lives were cut short, many would say. This certainly wouldn’t have been said of my father. It could have been said of my husband, who passed away at 66; I was hoping for more time with him. Years ago, that seemed old; now it seems on the youngish side of old, considering my mother and his parents lived into their eighties. But to say the lives of the victims of the helicopter crash were cut short negates one of the basic truths of the Bible, and that is that we are not guaranteed a certain number of days, months or years on earth. Even though Psalm 90:10 says, “Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures…”, this is by no means a promise or a guarantee, nor should it be an expectation; it is only a very fluid average. The fact is that a “normal” life span for each of us is whatever days the Lord ordained for us before time began. Psalm 139:15-16 says, “My frame was not hidden from Thee, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth. Thine eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Thy book they were all written, the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them.”

I read an article recently about suicide. The author wrote, “I’ve been asked more than once if those who commit suicide are barred from heaven. The answer is ‘no.’ The manner of a person’s death does not determine their relationship with God. When a Jesus follower chooses to end his or her life, I think Jesus meets them with a mixture of sadness, because they have arrived at heaven early, and compassion, because He understands their pain.” Compassion, yes. Sadness, no. If we believe that God knows the days ordained for us, it is impossible to arrive in heaven early, or late, for that matter. We arrive precisely on time, down to the last second, according to God’s perfect timetable for each one of us. If we believe what the Bible says, our lives can’t be cut short. To suggest that someone can arrive in heaven early is to presuppose that God isn’t omnipresent, omniscient and all-powerful. It is to suggest that God blinked, got blindsided, got distracted, or had an oversight and someone’s or someones’ lives slipped through His hands without His permission or against His plan.

One of the hard things to wrap our heads around when relatively young people die, or anyone, for that matter, is the tragic circumstances surrounding their deaths–whether it be due to an accident, illness, murder or suicide. That’s what makes it so tempting to say, “If only.” I’ve often thought it would be easier, emotionally, if we all died in our sleep rather than by any other means. Couple that with a strong belief that God knows the days ordained for us and that nothing will alter our date of death, and we might live life differently. We would still be sad when a loved one died, but our minds wouldn’t play games trying to alter the circumstances leading up to death. If we truly grasped that everyone’s days on earth are numbered, and that this is by God’s design, instead of having 70 years floating in the back of our minds, we might be more intentional about our relationships. The reality is, due to the sinfulness of man and the broken world we live in, death is rarely pain-free, either for the one dying or for the loved ones left behind. But God uses the circumstances surrounding death, whether immediate or drawn out, to refine us like silver and purify us like gold (Zechariah 13:9).

Job was a man who experienced great pain and loss in his life, but his faith in God was impeccable. God said of him, in Job 1, “there is no one like him on earth, a blameless and upright man, fearing God and turning away from evil.” Satan questioned Job’s faith and wondered how he would hold up under great adversity. He was sure Job would curse God. God gave Satan permission to test Job by taking away almost everything he had, including his 7 sons and 3 daughters. While he grieved deeply, his response to such loss was, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” And scripture continues, “Through all this Job did not sin nor did he blame God.” Satan, the father of doubters, asked God for permission to test Job one more time. He believed Job would turn away from God if he was physically afflicted, so he covered Job with painful, blistering boils. Job’s wife had had it. She retorted angrily to Job, “Do you still hold fast to your integrity? Curse God and die!” To which Job, ever faithful to God, responded, “You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?” Few of us have experienced the depths of Job’s suffering and loss, but we have all experienced excruciating pain, sorrow and adversity. How do we respond? Do we get bogged down in the fruitless “if only”s of life? Do we get angry at God and turn our back on Him? Or do we cling to Him and fully trust Him with our lives and the lives of those we love? While I would love to have had more time with Bruce on earth, a truth we fervently clung to was, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

“Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears our burden, the God who is our
salvation.” Psalm 68:19

I received an unexpected letter in the mail yesterday. As soon as I saw the lone letter in the mailbox, I sensed that it might be something significant. When I noticed the return address, my eyes watered up. It was from the Willed Body Program from UT Southwestern Medical Center.

Bruce and I decided years ago that we wanted to will our bodies to science when we died. Way back then, it was hard to find information on how to go about doing this, so we did nothing. Fast-forward to the 21st century, and the process is as smooth as butter. After Bruce passed away, we simply made a phone call to UT Southwestern Medical Center and they took it from there, including making the necessary arrangements when Bruce’s body had to make a detour to the medical examiner’s office first, due to the nature of his death.

We had been told to expect to hear from UT Southwestern Medical Center within 19 to 24 months of them receiving Bruce’s body. 19 to 24 months. And, yet, here they were, 2 1/2 months later, sending me a letter asking me what I would like to do with his cremated remains. Ouch! It made me rather sad. My very first thought was that his physical body hadn’t been as important or significant to them as I had hoped it would be. Really? After all he had gone through? During my residency as a medical technology student back in the day, I had performed procedures on cadavers in the morgue, so I knew what the endless possibilities were with a cadaver. My second thought was that his body had already been cremated, and I didn’t know. Even though that was the plan, ultimately, it was disconcerting that it happened so soon. I thought that by the time 19 to 24 months had transpired, it would hardly bother me–not the fact of cremation but the finality of it.

One of the things that Bruce struggled with through the years, as probably everyone does one way or another, at one time or another, was feeling insignificant and under-valued–in his relationships and at work. I could tell he tried so hard and felt he consistently came up short. It wasn’t something that he talked about, as Bruce would be the last person on earth to discuss what he was feeling, for the most part. But an occasional comment now and then, or a sigh, was quite revealing. We were the children of parents who were part of a generation that characteristically didn’t acknowledge or discuss feelings, let alone teach their children how to identify them and manage them in a healthy way. Goodness, our parents weren’t taught that, so how could they teach us? So, regretfully, we both knew we didn’t do a very good job teaching our children how to manage their emotions. We didn’t have the tools. I know a lot more now.

A few short months before Bruce’s stroke, we were sitting together on our couch, and I was trying, once again, to get Bruce to tell me what he was feeling, which had always been nearly impossible for him in our 44 years of marriage but which was so important to me. When he was quiet, I threw in, “Anything at all!” I sat patiently and waited. He finally said, “I don’t feel appreciated at work.” “That’s wonderful!” I blurted out. What I meant was, I was thrilled that he was able to identify an emotion he was feeling. “If it makes any difference,” I continued, “I think most people don’t feel appreciated at work.” We talked more about why he might feel that way. It was a good beginning for what I hoped would be a regular activity. Because, I was going to have to ask again; he would not initiate such a conversation.

Anyway, back to the letter. I found it interesting that my first reaction to receiving it was immediately concluding that Bruce’s body wasn’t valued enough to keep it longer than 2 1/2 months. But then I realized that I was doing what Bruce always did–trying to measure the value of something or someone purely by a number. He was a numbers man if there ever was one, and if it couldn’t be quantified, it was extremely hard for him to wrap his head around its significance or value. He didn’t understand emotions because they couldn’t be quantified and broken down on a nice, neat spreadsheet. He tended to measure his worth and value, or lack thereof, by his income or what he contributed, in terms of dollars and cents, to the success of a company. And quite honestly, he tended to measure his success on the home front not only by how he could provide for us monetarily, as well as spiritually, but by how well his children and his marriage turned out. That’s a pretty human thing to do, but how do you measure it? I sensed it in him; sometimes he didn’t feel very successful.

Bruce didn’t have a lot of deep friendships, but in those deep friendships that he did have, I can attest to the fact that, even though he thought he didn’t make a difference, he meant a lot to those individuals, and they meant so much to him–even without numbers to quantify them. Bruce wasn’t a people person, by his own admission, but in his later years he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a concerted effort to reach out to many people–especially the “invisible” ones–to share God’s love and kindness. He did that very well!

All in this to say, one of the many things my long life has taught me is that no human can make another one feel loved, valued, understood or significant, no matter how hard one tries. Human beings are imperfect and, as such, we can’t fix other human beings. We can try, but that hurting heart needs to be willing to open the door and let someone in. And they have to trust them enough to let them come in. And they have to be willing to forgive when that fellow human being falls short of meeting those too often high expectations.

The great news is that we have Jesus–our perfect heavenly Father and Friend. He knows us intimately, for He created us (Psalm 139). He loves us unconditionally, He us perfectly and He longs to be longed for–for us to come to Him regularly and at all times–when we are hurting, discouraged, brokenhearted, misunderstood, as well as when we are immensely thankful and overflowing with joy for all He has done for us. He will draw us to Himself, but we must open the door of our hearts to Him. One thing that was evident about Bruce, without question, was that he loved his Savior throughout his life and couldn’t wait to be with Him one day. And now he is!

I am His and He is Mine

Loved with everlasting love,
drawn by grace that love to know,
Spirit sent from Christ above,
thou dost witness it is so.
O this full and precious peace
from his presence all divine;
in a love that cannot cease,
I am His and He is mine.

Taste the goodness of the Lord: welcomed home to His embrace, all His love, as blood outpoured, seals the pardon of His grace. Can I doubt His love for me, when I trace that love’s design? By the cross of Calvary I am His and He is mine.

His forever, only His–
who the Lord and me shall part?
Ah, with what a rest of bliss
Christ can fill the loving heart.
Heav’n and earth may fade and flee,
firstborn light in gloom decline,
but while God and I shall be,
I am His and He is mine.

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

A year ago, my greatest passions were God, my family, and quilting. I never thought of writing–especially a blog. I was recovering from major hand surgery. A few months later, my world was turned upside down when my husband had a major stroke. It was so unexpected, but not. God redirected our paths–as only He can do–in an instant, and we fervently clung to Him as He walked us through many valleys and over many mountaintops on an exhilarating journey of recovery. I kept friends and family updated almost daily; it coincidentally happened to be on a blog website for the families of those going through a variety of trials. I wasn’t really blogging, was I? I was just sharing our journey with whomever wanted to follow along and support us with prayers and encouragement. We were so very blessed. Almost as abruptly as the stroke came on, my husband’s earthly life came to an end 5 1/2 months later, and he entered heaven’s gates to enjoy his Savior forever. He was finally Home after a well-fought battle. His last breath began my new journey into widowhood, and I have continued to write, because God continues to give me the words. It is time to leave the old and begin the new. Thank you to those who have encouraged me to continue on!

For those who would like to know my story before beginning this blog, go to http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/brucebreeding