Anneliese Dalaba's Blog, page 2

We Aren’t Home Yet

Isn’t it crazy how quickly time flies? I can hardly believe it’s been over a month since I last posted a new blog post. In April, I was offered a writing assignment with a tight deadline. Almost all my waking hours were spent on that in May. But I’ve missed talking to my readers and hearing from you. I will admit that being super busy did help to distract me from my grief, but at times it still broke through. Because when you miss your spouse or someone else who used to be a part of your everyday life and enjoyment of living, the pain of that loss bursts through every barrier you might try to put up. In my personal experience, I’m better off accepting the pain when it comes, feeling it intensely, telling God about it, allowing God to comfort me, and crying my eyes out. If I do that, the heaviness lifts, and I’m able to move forward with my life—until the next wave of loss hits me.

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.

2 Peter 3:9 NIV

Some people find great comfort in listening to music, especially worship songs with words that encourage them. I was one of the ones who had a hard time listening to music the first three or four months after my loss. Music made me sadder and caused unbearable pain. I prayed, I read books on grief and especially books about heaven. I listened to sermons about the end times. I so wanted the rapture to happen so I could leave here. My family and I would be with Curt again. Selfish, I know. But the hope of heaven and finally seeing God’s plans for this earth move to the grand finale gave me something to anticipate with joy. But then I remembered that God’s delay in returning is because He still wants more people to believe in Him. 2 Peter 3:9 NIV, “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” What a wonderful and loving God He is. 

My children, grandchildren, and I went to the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York for my husband’s graveside service. Curt’s parents and sister met us there. Curt’s cousin did the committal service, and my father-in-law shared a beautiful poem called, My Son. It was difficult to see my husband’s name on a tombstone with a birth date followed by an end date. It’s one of those moments that leaves you staring and shaking your head. How did what seemed impossible—us having to part—happen so soon? 

There are flashes of memories almost too difficult to bear. Curt getting the news from his doctor over the telephone that he has metastatic stage-4 cancer. Sitting in the oncologist’s office and hearing him tell us that, at best, Curt would have one to three more years if the chemo worked. Hearing a hospital physician tell me that there is nothing more they can do. “Call your children to come today if they want to see their father while he can still hear them.” Looking at Curt afterward, I asked him, did you hear? The look of sadness on his countenance as he nodded his head will stay with me forever. As heartwrenching as those moments were, I love him so much that I’m glad I could be there with him. I cherish each moment we still had.

One of the days after we realized we were dealing with cancer that had a hopeless prognosis outside of a miracle from God, Curt and I sat together on the front porch of our home. Every task that needed doing seemed insignificant compared to our need to be together. We talked, but I don’t remember what we said. I only remember wanting to savor his nearness. Because if God in His sovereignty chose not to heal him, I would soon be sitting on the front porch alone. Last week, after planting flowers in my garden, I sat on the porch chair, the one he had sat in that day. I sat alone as that memory flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t stop the tears.

Sometimes life is just hard—very, very hard. But how will I respond in those moments? Will I cling to the faith I claimed to have or was it all lip service while everything was going my way. Gut-wrenching moments are opportunities for faith to rise and give us hope for the future. The reason we can have hope is that God is still with us. He didn’t go away when our spouse passed on to eternity. God is still near.

In Acts 28:3-6 NIV, we read: “Paul gathered a pile of brushwood and, as he put it on the fire, a viper, driven out by the heat, fastened itself on his hand. When the islanders saw the snake hanging from his hand, they said to each other, ‘This man must be a murderer; for though he escaped from the sea, the goddess Justice has not allowed him to live.’ But Paul shook the snake off into the fire and suffered no ill effects. The people expected him to swell up or suddenly fall dead; but after waiting a long time and seeing nothing unusual happen to him, they changed their minds and said he was a god.”

Grief can be like that snake. It’s tempting to ask God, “Why?” over and over again. It’s tempting to be mad at God because He had the power to spare me this grief, but He refused. It would be so easy for me to stay focused on my broken heart. But, in the process, it may cause my heart to become bitter. I have to shake off the temptation to point my finger at God the same way Paul shook off that snake. In God’s wisdom, He chose to take Curt home. The truth is, God loves Curt, and God loves me. Since He allowed me to suffer this loss, there is a reason why this was better for us even though it’s killing me. Am I willing to trust God? I wrote in a previous post that God is more interested in our happiness in eternity than on this earth. Eternity will last forever. So, am I willing to trust God with my future by accepting His sovereign plan in this life that is compared in the Bible to a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow?

I want to share with you something my husband wrote in his journal several years ago. He based this on Acts 28:3-6, which I quoted above.

We spend way too much time examining the vipers that attach themselves to us. Vipers are poisonous and must be dealt with promptly. Do not examine the viper, do not fear what is going to happen if the venom enters your veins. Get rid of the thing.

When temptation comes, when anxieties increase, when confusion prevails, SHAKE IT OFF. Get rid of the thing. Examine and study later. But action is what you need at this point. Vipers may even be beautiful, but they are deadly. Shake them off.

It wasn’t even Paul’s fault. The viper was there. The heat of the fire, the circumstance of the moment brought it to the surface. Paul did not waste time in examination. He acted straightaway. Study how to avoid vipers later; act now.

~Curt Dalaba

I don’t want to allow the temptation to distrust God to seep into my heart. I refuse to doubt His ability to heal. I will not question God’s love for me. Instead, I choose to cling to faith. I will keep reminding myself that there are so many others who seemingly never received that for which they’d hoped. Hebrews 11:13 NIV says, “All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.”

We aren’t home yet. We are foreigners and strangers here. One day, the promises God gave us will be fulfilled, but perhaps not in this life. Am I willing to accept that? Yes, I choose to accept God’s will. But acceptance of God’s sovereignty does not mean my pain will disappear immediately. Yet God’s Word in Hebrews 13:5 NIV remains the same, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

Anteroom: Faith & Hope

One tries to reconcile himself to a place
that has caused him greatest pain
yet holds the potential of his greatest
joy in working. At times the memory
of what has transpired outweighs
the hope of what can happen but
has not yet happened—the desire
to bring closure—close the door
on a painful yesterday while
waiting in the anteroom to
tomorrow’s joy—in this
waiting room, one looks for
escape—yet not through the
door of tomorrow’s joy—escaping
yesterday without embracing
tomorrow—destroying this
anteroom destroys this only
door to joy—a joy connected
to yesterday’s sorrow, a
sorrow never bathed in hope,
never drenched with redemption,
a wasted sorrow, a seed
without fruit—a travailing
womb that bears no child
but as one gropes through dim
light for the knob that opens
the door, hope is its only
inner compass, faith its only
fuel. When faith wanes the
room spins, and hope cannot
find its way—the room
between yesterday and tomorrow
is called today, which can
only be navigated through hope
and faith.

~ Curt Dalaba

During the first week after Curt passed away, my children said to me, “I don’t want to waste my grief. I want to learn all I can from it and I want to grow. Dad’s death will not have been in vain in my life. Whatever I must learn, I want to learn it well.” They were speaking the words that I felt in my heart also. I will not waste my grief. The only way I can gain the most from my loss is by trusting God and disciplining myself to submit to Him. He wants to comfort me, and He knows just how to do it. I will trust Him.

Grieving With Hope

In a previous blog post, I shared that joy was finally returning. But I realized it’s not the joy I once knew. No matter the beauty or enjoyment of the moment, there is always an undercurrent of sadness—a void. Deep joy seems impossible since I lost Curt. I can smile and laugh. I can enjoy so much of life. But if the grandkids do something adorable or reach a new milestone, I long to look into Curt’s eyes and share a moment of pride and pleasure. When I’m with my family, and we laugh together about something, I miss hearing Curt’s laughter joining ours. It’s like I’m living life in a haze of sadness. Everything would be more fun if Curt were here.

I spent last week in Pennsylvania with my sister and brother-in-law. My brother, who lives in my home state of Michigan, joined us. On Sunday, my brother drove my sister and me to Michigan. It also happened to be the seven-month anniversary of Curt’s passing to eternity. I had two good days before Sunday. But that morning, realizing which day it was, I could feel the weight of loss once again. I wiped away tears through most of the worship at church but did fine through the rest of the service. As we prepared to leave, I told my sister and brother that I wanted to sit in the back seat and work. I had writing projects that needed my attention, and distracting myself helped temporarily lift the burden of grief.

When we got into Michigan, driving on Route 23, nothing could stop the terrible sadness from returning. I tried reading, listening to an Audible, talking to my siblings, but nothing worked. I knew we would soon be driving on the part of 23 near the University of Michigan, where my husband spent his final days on earth. I had driven that road home and back to the hospital countless times while Curt was undergoing treatment. Everything within me rebelled at the thought of being on that highway. It hurt too much to remember. I just wanted to forget.

Unless the Lord had helped me,
I would soon have settled in the silence of the grave.
I cried out, “I am slipping!”
but your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me.
When doubts filled my mind,
your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.
But the Lord is my fortress;
my God is the mighty rock where I hide.

Psalm 94:12-15 & 22

In my desperation, I looked up at the night sky from the back window of my car, and I prayed, God, you know how much I miss Curt. But I trust you. I trust you completely, my Lord. Immediately the weight lifted. It doesn’t happen that fast every time, but it did on Sunday. I lay my head on the back of my seat, put in my earphones, and was able to concentrate as I listened to a book with my eyes closed. 

I’m so thankful to my brother and sister for understanding my need for seclusion most of that day. Grief is strange that way. Sometimes the last thing I want is to be alone. Other times, I long for solitude. It’s wonderful when friends and family understand and give the grieving person the freedom to choose.

It was probably about two months into my grief journey that I began to understand the pleasure God finds in hearts that trust him in the most tragic circumstances. It’s easy to say we trust him when everything is going well. But it’s another thing to tell God I trust him when my world has fallen apart. The Bible says that God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. That means I can trust him no matter what my circumstances are. He hasn’t changed. And when I start praising God and placing my complete trust in him, the burden becomes lighter. It’s not something I do once, and the grief is gone. No. I have to come back to the same point over and over again. It still takes time to heal. I still cry. But it’s grief with hope when I remind myself that I trust God.

There is a void inside my heart
An empty spot no one can fill
I lost someone I dearly loved
And wish that they were with me still.

I have my moments when I think
This subtle ache will never leave
That grieving could go on so long
Without some comfort to receive.

I reached for something, someone near
To understand what I must feel
But no one knows how much you meant
To me to give a word to heal.

Words when spoken often fail me
If comfort they could, I’m sure they would
Yet only the psalmist understood
The nearness of God is my good.

~ Curt Dalaba ©2006

Book Review: 50 Days of Heaven

I just finished reading 50 Days of Heaven by Randy Alcorn. This book was given to me by my church after my husband passed away. It blessed me in the midst of many tearful days by giving me hope and reminding me that there is so much I have to look forward to. When I take my last breath, life here will end, but I will step into a new beginning that is beyond imagination.

C.S. Lewis said, “I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same.”

We are often consumed by our responsibilities, goals, and expectations here on earth that we don’t take enough time to contemplate heaven. It seems far away and we still have so much time to live here on earth. We forget that this life is but a vapor in comparison to eternity. It will be over sooner than any of us can imagine. By keeping our eyes on the hereafter, we live more fulfilling and productive lives today. By productive, I don’t mean making more money or obtaining higher goals. I’m talking about being productive for the next life. What we obtain here cannot be taken to heaven. But what we do for others—the self-sacrifices we make, the love we show, the giving of ourselves—can be taken with us. Our reward will be in heaven for the love we showed to others while lived here on earth. Randy Alcorn said, “Our lives on Earth are a training camp to ready us for Heaven.”

If you’re reading this and you realize you don’t think enough about Heaven, I want to encourage you to read this book. It basically contains 50 devotional-length chapters that will give you a glimpse into all that is awaiting you. By the time you reach the 50th day, you will long with greater fervency for all God has prepared for you.

<br />

It’s Not the End

My children and I stood together as the nurse bent over Curt. She lifted her head, her gaze met ours, “He’s gone.” Just two simple words. But the impact was indescribable. A life well-lived that filled our world, directed our lives, embraced, provided, comforted, and loved us so well—Gone. Snuffed out. Many nights, those two words echoed in my mind as I tried to fall asleep.

This week, as I was reading another chapter in 50 Days of Heaven by Randy Alcorn, something he shared leaped out at me. This little story took away the sting of those final words.

I’m standing on the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She’s an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and the sky come down and mingle with each other. And then I hear someone at my side saying, “There, she’s gone.”

Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side. And just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. 

And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she’s gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and there are other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!” And that is dying.

(A poem variously attributed Henry Scott Holland or Henry Van Dyke; source uncertain.)

I could easily picture it in my mind. My family immigrated to the US from Brazil when I was seven years old. My grandmother sometimes came to visit us, and she would stay for a year or several years before she flew to Brazil again to be with her other children and grandchildren. Every time she left, we cried. She had become such a big part of our lives, and it hurt to see her go. But as we waved a tearful goodbye, our family in Brazil leaped with joy and anticipation for my grandmother’s soon arrival.

Reading the story above, I pictured that hospital scene once more. I heard the words, “He’s gone.” But this time it didn’t end there. Instead, in my mind, I saw the many who preceded Curt, standing and shouting, “Here he comes!”

Acorn falls to earth
Simple change of location
Might oak begins.

Curt Dalaba ©2005

I love thinking about heaven, where I will one day reunite with Curt. Looking forward to that reunion doesn’t diminish my joy of seeing Jesus, my Lord. It doesn’t take anything away from my worship of God. It only enhances my praise because, without Christ, a reunion would be impossible. I imagine that on the day Curt and I throw our arms around each other, we will lift our voices in joyous praise to God, who made it all possible. He will be at the center of our joy—always and forever!

The Folded Tent

And so it’s been from the beginning, life has been so good to me.
Oh the beauty I enjoy, oh the family and the friends
On this journey in God’s bright and blessed world I roam,
I can’t imagine this could ever end.
One more road to travel, one more song to sing,
It seems my tent has just unfolded, as I take a look around.

The winds have blown, the rain has fallen,
Threatening storms have filled my site,
I held down fast this little small one,
So much to see, so much to do, so much wonder yet to live.
Storm, you shall not take it; I’ll hold tight.
My tent’s not ready to be folded; it’s not time to lay it down.

I gather you about me, for I long to see your face,
There’s one more thing I’ve got to say,
Before I leave this place,
I’ve cherished you in living, oh I cherish you in death,
For loving is a pleasant way,
To draw one’s final breath,
For I see my tent is folding and I’ll have to lay it down.

Of late I’ve found a strange new drawing,
To another place so fair,
I hear His voice, to me is calling,
To a place where there’s no care.
So I’ve let go, released my soul and bid farewell,
And now my tent has folded and it’s time to lay it down.

Curt Dalaba ©September 11, 2004

Sometimes We Wait

Whenever I heard Romans 8:28 quoted, I believed the Apostle Paul was referring to life here on earth. But now that I’ve lost my husband, I’m forced to take a closer look at this verse. I know God’s Word is true, but how can this verse apply to my life when I’ve lost the irreplaceable? If a parent loses a child, how can this verse still apply to their lives? Even if they gained ten more children, not one of them could replace what was lost. We read in the book of Job about the terrible loss Job experienced. I’m glad God restored his losses, but I imagine Job could never feel the depth of joy he had before. In the deepest part, there must have remained longing and emotional scars. His children, who he had once raised, loved, and enjoyed, were not returned to him in this life.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

Romans 8:28

One of the things I learned from my husband was how more accurately to interpret the Bible. For years, we pastored an international church. We lived in a university town, and people from 28+ different countries attended our services. We also ministered and lived for several years in what was a foreign land for us. It forced us to broaden our understanding of God and the Bible. If the interpretation of Scripture only applies to a few, then our insight is wrong. In other words, if how we interpret a Bible verse only applies to middle-class or wealthy Americans, but not to the homeless or those living in war-torn countries or sitting in prison cells for sharing the Gospel, then our interpretation is incorrect.

Romans 8:28 is hard to accept in light of the pain we sometimes see Christians suffering at the end of their lives. Despite loving God, they won’t see all things work together for good in their lives. Does that mean God’s Word isn’t true? Of course not. It means our interpretation is incorrect. I’m certainly not a Bible scholar or theologian, but in my simple understanding, I realize God never spoke as though this life is all there is. There are countless blessings we won’t reap until we reach eternity. But eternity lasts a lot longer. I’d rather receive my greatest blessings where time never ends.

“The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed and be raised on the third day.” And He was saying to them all, “If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake, this is the one who will save it. For what good does it do a person if he gains the whole world, but loses or forfeits himself?

Luke 9:23-25 NASB

Jesus’ life on earth was not an easy one. He had enemies who followed him around and even infiltrated into his close-knit group of friends. Jesus knew they were there, but it didn’t deter him from obeying the Father. In the end, he was falsely accused, condemned to die, and his death was excruciating. So I must ask myself a hard question, and so must you. But the answer to this question will determine our attitude while facing disappointment, heartbreak, disease, lost dreams, violence, etc. When things are at their worst, am I still willing to trust God?

These things I have spoken to you so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.”

John 16:33 NASB

Jesus told us we would face tribulation in this life. He never promised it would be easy. Only by casting our cares on Him does our burden become lighter. If the worst happens but you choose to trust God, He is faithful to help you carry the load. Jesus never said that there would be “no” burden. He only said that as we cast our cares on Him, our burden would be light.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and YOU WILL FIND REST FOR YOUR SOULS. For My yoke is comfortable, and My burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30 NASB

Sometimes our blessings are immediate. I’ve experienced times of such exceeding joy and blessings in my life. It almost didn’t seem fair when others were suffering. I didn’t complain, of course. I savored those times and praised God. I enjoyed excellent health, provision, a dream-come-true marriage, happy children, safety, and a home that was a haven of rest. These were all gifts I never took for granted. But now that God—in His unfathomable love, knowledge, compassion, and benevolence—allowed me to lose one of my most cherished blessings, would I continue to trust Him and even praise Him? Would I still believe God “causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose”? Did you notice the emphasis in that verse? His purpose, not my own. He knows what’s best. God’s plans are for all eternity. 

And all these, having gained approval through their faith, did not receive what was promised, because God had provided something better for us so that apart from us they would not be made perfect. Therefore, since we also have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let’s rid ourselves of every obstacle and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let’s run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking only at Jesus, the originator and perfecter of the 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 11:39-40 and 12:1-2 NASB

Like Abraham, Sarah, Moses, Gideon, Rahab, Samuel, and so many others who walked this life before us, are we willing to endure the cross and continue trusting that all things will work together for good even if we do not receive it in our lifetime? Are you okay with receiving your reward in eternity and not on earth if that is what the Lord requires of you?

That was the question staring me in the face after I lost Curt. With tears pouring down my face, I said, “Yes.” And then I asked the Lord to come back soon. Ha! Today or tomorrow would be great. Let’s get this suffering over and done. But what if God makes me wait? What if I have many more years with this homesickness in the pit of my stomach? Will I keep my eyes on eternity? I would hate to have to wait that long, but, yes, even then, Jesus. Even then, I will continue to trust as you give me grace and strength to do so. I cast my cares on You because you care for me.

Ambassadors of Truth

If you truly represent his kingdom,
you will be a light in dark places.
Keep burning brightly.

If you truly represent his kingdom,
you will be a pure stream flowing into a muddy river.
Don’t get absorbed.

If you truly represent his kingdom,
you will speak the truth when the world screams louder.
Keep talking.

If you truly represent his kingdom,
you will not always be understood.
Know him and understand yourself.

If you truly represent his kingdom,
you will find contentment amidst a very discontented people.
Keep smiling.

Curt Dalaba
©October, 2005

Two Shall Become One

We became one flesh through marriage in September 1987. Then, wrenched apart through death in September 2020. Is it any wonder I feel as though I’ve received an amputation? No longer a whole person, half of me is missing. That’s how I felt as I sat alone at the gate waiting for my first flight as a widow. Curt wasn’t there to listen for the call to board. I had to look out for myself. He was no longer there for me to talk to or reminisce with. I looked at all those around me. Everyone a stranger. It was no different than all the times Curt and I traveled, except we had each other. Come what may, we were together. Whenever our eyes met in a crowded airport, a warmth of familiarity and intimacy enveloped us. Now I stood alone. . .and, oh, the loneliness.

“Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy! I look to you for protection. I will hide beneath the shadow of your wings until this violent storm is past. I cry out to God Most High, to God who will fulfill his purpose for me. He will send help from heaven to save me… My God will send forth his unfailing love and faithfulness.”

Psalm 57:1-3 NLT

I’m not alone. When the pain of my “amputation” becomes too great, God reminds me that he is with me. It’s not an empty promise. As I turn my thoughts toward God, I begin to see life in light of eternity. Real-life will start when we reach the next life. This earth is temporary. Most things we experience here won’t last beyond death. My grief won’t last forever either. But I’m still on this earth and, right now, grief is painful. I need God’s help to get through it. “God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'” (Hebrews 13:5 NIV) He didn’t lie. So when my heart aches as it often does, I purpose to set my eyes on Him again. Practicing this is increasing my understanding of who He is and all He wants to be for me if I will allow it. Yes, I do allow it. I long for Him. He isn’t just my better half—He’s my everything.

“We give attention to our grief today, but we ask for your help to redirect that attention to the hope that we have in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It’s hard to say goodbye because that was never your original intention. We were not created for separation, and this is our struggle. But you have come that we might have life. You are greater than our grief. Today we are sad, but soon we will be glad, as our hope overshadows the sting of death.”

Curt Dalaba

“The Lord’s unfailing love surrounds the man who trusts in him.”

Psalm 32:10

Yesterday, a motorcyclist revved his engine outside the open window of my daughter’s apartment. My one-year-old granddaughter ran to me and looked wide-eyed toward the window, clearly fearful of the noise. I lifted her into my arms. She snuggled against my chest, placing her soft curls beneath my chin. No tears escaped. She was safe. And I enjoyed her trust. Eventually, the noise faded away. Oh, how the Lord is pleased when we trust Him like that. In His arms, striving ceases, and I surrender my will.

Will my soul ever cease to praise?
My heart its banner ever raise?
God, the center of devotion
Inhabiting every single motion
Of faith-filled hearts aglow
Yearning always just to know…
The gaze of His great love.

Curt Dalaba
©April 1, 2005

God Provides

Of the many diverse emotions of grief, sadness has been my constant for months, and unreality likes to visit often. But, as I mentioned in my last blog, I’ve recently had days where I almost feel normal. Strangely, as soon as I realize I’m having a good day, the tears return. It seems wrong to have a good day when Curt is still missing from my life? He deserves at least a year of constant tears. I know how ridiculous that statement is, but knowing it in my head is not the same as feeling it in my heart.

Curt would be the first to tell me it’s okay to cry and it’s okay to feel normal. He would encourage me to allow my heart to heal. To embrace the good days and thank God for them because bad days will soon follow. That’s just how it is when grieving someone who meant the world to me. So I’m learning to enjoy the respite and keep on living.

Last weekend, my 3-year-old grandson and I had 24 hours together, just the two of us. My day was full of activities—even my grand-nephew joined us for several hours. Now that Opa doesn’t need his side of the bed, my grandson was only too happy to share it with me. He went to bed early, so I did too—because that’s what Omas do when their grandchild doesn’t want to be alone. When he left the next day, I waved goodbye from my window. My home felt empty. It’s a familiar feeling now whenever the kids and grandkids depart. Curt use to take me into his arms at this point, and we would share the empty feeling—and soon, we enjoyed just the two of us again. Now, the emptiness lingers. I fill it with busyness, but it creeps back again.

That night, when I lay in bed, memories of Curt’s struggle with cancer plagued me. I told myself, “It’s over…he’s healed now.” And I prayed. Soon I fell asleep and had a wonderful dream. I arrived in heaven. Curt was standing there waiting for me with his arms wide open. I ran and threw myself into his embrace. He held me tight and spun me around. We clung to each other. I cannot begin to describe the joy I felt. My heart was full. I was whole again. Then I awoke. Instead of being disappointed that it was just a dream, the joy lingered even in my wakefulness. I whispered, “Thank you, God. I needed that dream.” I felt Him whisper into my heart, “I will provide for you everything you need.”

“You thrill me, Lord, with all you have done for me!
I sing for joy because of what you have done.
O Lord, what great works you do!
And how deep are your thoughts.”

Psalm 92:4-5

Oh, the wonder of the love of God. He sees into the deepest part of my soul. He knows the longings I cannot express. He sees the need even before I do. He strengthens. He fills. He restores. He heals. God works patiently and lovingly, step by step.

EVER PRESENT, HERE AGAIN

You are here again,
Unending cycles of a cycleless God.

Ever-present God,
Showing himself again.

The God who never leaves,
Arrives at my doorstep again.

Solid tree ever present,
Bursts forth in new leaves.

River ever present,
With new water constant flows.

Overshadowing God,
Blows fresh wind to clear my day.

The great Almighty,
Approaches me as a gentle Lamb.

Curt Dalaba
©April 20, 2005

Faith Intensified

I stood looking at a framed picture I have of Curt that sits in my family room. Sometimes I talk to him as I look at his photo. It helps me process my grief. Today, I told him that if the Lord should tarry, I will grow old while he will remain the same. Curt was six years older than me, but now he’s in a place where time doesn’t age him. If the Lord should tarry, I’m so thankful that I will be changed before Curt sees me. Ha! 1 Corinthians 15:51-52 NASB said, “Behold, I am telling you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.” Woohoo! My aging body will be changed.

We speculate and try to understand the afterlife by what we read in Scripture and what we imagine, but no one can fully know all that God has prepared for us. We cannot even fully understand God. There are so many unanswered questions. Here is a brief look at what Curt wrote about knowing God:

“Oh, what a wonderful God we have! How great are his riches and wisdom and knowledge! How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his methods! For who can know what the Lord is thinking? Who knows enough to be his counselor?” Letter to the Romans, Chapter 11, Verses 33-34

I love this God. Although he is a God who reveals himself, I can’t totally figure him out. Although he is a God of order, I can’t systematize him. He won’t let himself be totally understood, because we humans would try to contain him and control him. That’s why people often prefer a neatly packaged god or spirituality.

Is it acceptable to say we don’t fully understand him? Obviously, Paul thought it was because I just quoted him. I know so much more about this God than I ever did, but I am still learning. I know him, but I don’t. I understand him, but I don’t. I know his ways, but I don’t. I like the fact that he’s mysterious.

I know that what I am responsible for, he will make known. Beyond that, much is tied up in mystery, and I’m okay with that. There’s no way I could contain all he knows anyway. Too much knowledge would be overwhelming for me and overbearing to others. I will trust him to let me know what I need to know, when I need to know it, and in what measured dose I need to receive it.

~ Curt Dalaba

A few weeks after Curt’s funeral, when my family had all returned to their homes, I came downstairs that first morning, and the weight of all I’d lost fell heavy upon my shoulders all at once. Words fail me to adequately describe the hopelessness I felt about never seeing Curt again in this life. Having to learn to live without him completely overwhelmed me. Curt always said I was an optimist, and he was a realist. Well, I lost all optimism that day. Joy abandoned me. I couldn’t imagine ever finding happiness in this life again. I struggled along through that day, putting one foot in front of the other, taking a breath, and then another breath. The day finally ended, only to fall asleep and have to do it all over again.

But God stayed by my side, and my understanding of him expanded. He revealed himself to me in the measure that I needed him. Praying and reading my Bible helped. Reading books about heaven and grief helped. Talking to family and friends helped. Messaging and emailing with friends helped me. Exercising helped. Helping others helped me too. Before I knew it, I reached the five-and-a-half-month mark since Curt had to leave, and I realized that joy had returned. Do I still miss Curt? Yes. Every day! I can’t make it through a day without tears. Nevertheless, God is healing me as he comforts me day by day.

This poem Curt wrote in 2002 describes the process of my grief journey. The memories that hurt and delight. The faith that arose when my frozen emotions burst free of the shock that had helped me endure the first part of grief. When I began to feel the extent of my loss, faith intensified. As I gazed toward my Savior, the hope of eternity beckoned like never before.

The Day I Laid You Down

Many roads we’ve walked together,
I, scarce, begin to count them all,
At times my mind is overwhelmed,
With all the memories I recall.

You are the salt, did not Christ say,
You added flavor to all my days,
You are the light, did not He say,
You helped to brighten my dreary ways.

With you, I’ve oft been moved to laughter,
With you, at times, yes, moved to tears,
With you, our joys to highest rafter,
With you, together, moved through fears.

But no day had moved me deeper than the day I laid you down.

I lay you down, seed sown in spring,
I walk away with cherished hope.
That one sweet day new my life will bring,
With this thought only do I cope.

I have left you, not alone,
But in the soil of God,
And holding steadfast to his promise,
I move on, this life to trod.

With great delight, anticipation,
One day again to you I’ll cling,
For now my greatest aspiration,
Is the joy that he will bring.

For no day will thrill me stronger than the day you take your crown.

Curt Dalaba
©November 5, 2002

A Bitter Cup

I went for a walk with a friend a couple of days ago. Once we parted, I walked the short distance home alone. It was then I realized that the last time I strode on that particular sidewalk, I was pushing Curt in his wheelchair. My heart squeezed tight—so many firsts. Every day, I plod along with homesickness and longing that nothing on this earth can fill. A bitter cup was placed on my lips, and I was forced to drink it. Half of me wishes I had died with Curt on September 25th. But then I think of my children and grandchildren, God’s calling on my life, and I know my work isn’t complete. There are lives I must touch and prayers I must pray. So I join my voice to the Apostle Paul’s and say, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But I am hard-pressed from both directions, having the desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is very much better; yet to remain on in the flesh is more necessary for your sakes.” (Philippians 1:21-23 NASB) 

No one understands better what I’m going through than Jesus. Not that I compare my sorrow to His. Not at all. Although blameless, He suffered for my sin. Coming to earth meant false accusations, hatred, deceptions, and the painful death of a criminal. He did nothing to deserve such shame. Can you imagine how homesick for heaven He must have been? The price for our salvation was a bitter cup only He could drink. J.R. Miller describes it well in The Ministry of Comfort.

The record says He was exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. “Being in agony He prayed.” The Holy Sufferrer pleaded that the cup of bitter anguish now being held to His lips might pass from Him. Never was more intense prayer offered to the Father. But amid the anguished pleading, was heard the self restraining word of submission, “Not My will—but Yours, be done.” There was something more important than the granting of the suppliant’s request—it was that the purpose of God for Him that hour should go on unhindered.

There is no other way by which true comfort can come to any heart in time of sorrow but by acquiescence. So long as we cannot say, “Not my will—but Yours, be done,” the struggle is still going on, and we are still uncomforted.

~ J.R. Miller

I choose to surrender to God’s will for me. I cannot hide from sorrow. I embrace the pain and endure it so that I may be healed. At the same time, I’m keeping my eyes on Jesus and reminding myself that He’s in control. “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28) Somehow…someway…this is all for good in my life. It’s hard to fathom it now, but I believe His Word. I must also keep in mind that when God promises good things to me, I may not see the fulfillment until eternity. This earth is only temporary, and so is my loss. Eternity will last forever.

Curt wrote a blog post in 2003 called, Uh, Excuse Me! With it, he posted a picture of a buffalo in the middle of the driving lane, with oncoming traffic on the other side. It speaks to me today:

Sometimes things move slowly. Sometimes they come to a grinding halt. So, how do I make progress with a buffalo in the way? I suppose I could pass the beast. Hmm, on the left that would mean a head-on collision. On the right, a soft shoulder followed by a respite in the ditch. Maybe I should shoot the beast. Uh, no, very illegal. Plus, the thing is cute in an ugly sort of way. I think I’ll just stay on track and wait this one out.

I don’t know what buffalo is impeding your progress today. Buffalos take on all shapes and sizes. Don’t do anything drastic. Just stay on track. They do move eventually. You’ll get moving again.

~ Curt Dalaba

Today, I choose to surrender to God, to stay on track, and to trust Him. After Curt’s funeral, Lara, a friend from church, gave me a gold necklace with three letters engraved on it: YES. After opening the gift, I looked at her. She saw the question in my eyes. “It’s for the times you don’t understand. It’s to remind you that you said, ‘yes’ to trusting God.” I cannot tell you the countless times my hand has reached up to my neck and my thumb caressed the letters as tears streamed down my face. I said, “Yes.” I meant it. I haven’t changed my mind, nor will I.

YES

Yes to all He commands.
Yes to wherever He leads.
Yes to however He expands me.
Yes to every rebuke.
Yes to every new task.
Yes to every surprise.
Yes to every gift He gives.
Yes to every gift I must give.
Yes to every insight.
Yes to every correction.
Yes to whatever He’s doing.
Yes to silence.
Yes to jubilant rejoicing.
Yes to subtle speaking.
Yes to clarity’s boldness.
Yes to day-by-day plodding.
Yes to miracles.
Yes to challenges.
Yes to servanthood.
Yes to exaltation.
Yes to divine prodding.
Yes to Jesus formed in me.
Yes to my will dying.
Yes to divine compliments.
Yes to divine instruction.
Yes to avenues unknown.
Yes to momentary roadblocks.
Yes to alternatives revealed.
Yes to the unexpected.
Yes to heavenly care.
Yes to heavenly silence.
Yes to humble pleading.
Yes to boldness, claiming.
Yes to old self dying.
Yes to resurrection life.
Yes to others’ glory.
Yes to vineyard weeding.
Yes to vineyard sweating.
Yes to vineyard waiting.
Yes to vineyard disappointing.
Yes to joyous vineyard harvesting.
Yes to the Spirit’s secret working.
Yes to joy unspeakable.

~ Curt Dalaba

Greater Reality

When Curt began his battle with cancer last summer, he posted on Facebook about the greater reality. Here are his words from that post:

A couple days ago in the morning while waiting for the results from the nuclear scan, I was reminded of my own sermon on the greater reality (faith). In 2 Kings 6, there’s a story about Elisha and his servant. They were surrounded by an enemy army. This army was their reality. Elisha was calm. The servant was a nervous wreck. The difference was that the servant could only focus on the reality, but Elisha was aware of the greater reality.

Elisha prayed, “Lord, open his eyes to see that there are more with us than there are with them.”

On the mountain tops were what Elisha saw: chariots of fire!

So, our reality is a giant named cancer.The greater reality for us is that the Lord is near us and we hear him and we feel hopeful. I pray that God keeps our eyes glued to the mountaintop and not what’s coming down the driveway.

~ Curt Dalaba

After Curt passed away, this post haunted me. I couldn’t bring myself to re-read it. We had both hoped and prayed that God would reveal His greater reality to us by overpowering cancer and healing Curt completely. That didn’t happen—not here on earth. It was easier to ignore this post than to reflect on it. But in the back of my mind, I knew I would have to reexamine it one day and discover what God was saying to me.

As I thought about what I should write in my blog this week, Curt’s FB post came to mind, so I did a search and found it. As I re-read it, I was surprised that Curt never talked about healing when he spoke about the greater reality. He said, “I pray that God keeps our eyes glued on the mountaintop and not what’s coming down the driveway.” Had he spoken prophetically? At the time of this post, we didn’t even know what type of cancer he had.

Toward the end of his life, despite the pain Curt endured and the disappointment of not improving physically, he said with tears in his eyes, “I love God so much.” His hope remained in the Lord, the God he’d dedicated his life to serving. And Curt did it with faith and integrity.

It reminded me of what I’ve read countless times in Hebrews 11. We read there about the faith of Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, and Sarah. They held onto the promises of God in faith.

All these people died still believing what God had promised them. They did not receive what was promised, but they saw it all from a distance and welcomed it. They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth. Obviously people who say such things are looking forward to a country they can call their own. If they had longed for the country they came from, they could have gone back. But they were looking for a better place, a heavenly homeland. That is why God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

Hebrews 11:13-16

Curt was a man of multiple talents, interests, and hobbies. He was a phenomenal expository preacher, wise counselor, and leader of men. But he was also gifted in art, photography, poetry and other writings, languages, and so much more. Curt was fascinated by life and wanted to explore as much as he could. Here is a poem he wrote that I recently found:

I will not doubt though sorrow falls like rain,
And troubles swarm like bees about a hive.
I believe the heights for which I strive
Are only reached by anguish and by pain;
And though I groan and writhe beneath my crosses,
I yet shall see through my severest losses,
The greater gain.

~ Curt Dalaba

It’s tempting to ask God, “How could you take one so learned and gifted? He still had so much to offer. How much could have been accomplished for the Kingdom if he had lived.” But this life is the practice ground for eternity. None of Curt’s talents are wasted or lost. His best writings will be in heaven. Every language he learned has prepared him for his responsibilities in the next life. And his joy of exploring and discovering new territory will have no end when Curt sees all God has prepared for him. This world is our reality, but the greater reality is yet to come.

So, with the Lord’s help, I continue to keep my eyes glued to the mountain top, and not on what’s coming down the driveway. May this grief journey never be wasted, but lead me closer to God and prepare me for eternity.