Celebration of Life Program that Traveled to Kentucky


Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for your prayers and support as we honored Wyndham yesterday. I felt them. Attached is a link to his Celebration of Life service. I am also including a photo of the program, which unfortunately ended up in Kentucky instead of Massachusetts.





Celebration of Life

Celebration of Life

Wyndham Thomas Shaw

Saturday morning, December 7, 2019

10:00 AM in the ballroom at the Woburn Hilton

2 Forbes Road, Woburn, MA

There will be a luncheon following for family, those who have traveled, and by invitation at the

Boston Church of Christ – Arlington

75 Pleasant Street, Arlington, MA

For our friends who are wishing to book a room at the hotel where Wyndham’s memorial service will be held, the link to the $99 hotel rate is:


Group Name: Shaw Celebration of Life
Group Code: SHAW

For those who cannot attend, the service will be live-streamed. You can watch it on

Facebook at: Boston Church of Christ


(the main Boston Church of Christ Facebook page, not the group page)

Memorial donations may be made to HOPE worldwide at https://hopeww.kindful.com/ or to the Multiple System Atrophy Coalition in Wyndham’s memory at https://www.multiplesystematrophy.org/msa-donation/









Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – Wisdom Finishes Victoriously

Though I knew the day would come, I always longed for the day to be another day, not this one. But the day came. I said goodbye (for now) to my beloved Wyndham last Thursday. I am grateful for every day and every extra day that God gave us. A week ago I got to hear Wyndham’s voice again, loud and clear. On Tuesday he told me that he was going to die and that he loved me. We exchanged precious words of love. I assured him he would live on in us and I loved him forever. I tried to find some way to thank him for his love and his life. I reassured him we would be okay. This time was a gift.

The next day he could not eat and was exceedingly tired, with a fever. His nurse thought he could possibly rebound since he did in March, but we would know in a few days. Leigh Ann brought the three little Shaw girls over to hug Papa, at Emery’s insistence. They sang for him “Amazing Grace,” “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” “Jesus Loves Me,” and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,” with verses that included every member of our family, including all the dogs. That was a gift that comforted him and brought him joy on what we did not know would be his last evening. Later that night the adult kids arrived and we talked to him and prayed, cried, and laughed. Wyndham seemed to enjoy listening, though he could not respond except to squeeze his eyes. Sam had been out of town on business and was flying back.

Thursday morning Sam was back and we all sat with Wyndham, unsure of what to expect, but we sat and loved him with all that was within us. I had begged God that morning to be kind to Wyndham and to us in his passing, and He was. Wyndham was not in pain and the transition was fast. Our hearts broke for us but rejoiced for him as he exited this world with impeccable courage, gratitude, faith, and love. I could even see some cheerfulness before he passed, as his eyes smiled a few times, even though closed. I know that eye-smile. Since we still thought there was more time, I made a run to the drug store to get a needed medical supply and Kristen and Sam went for a prayer walk. Melissa and Kevin stayed with him. Jacob was nearby, attentive to the needs. As a family, we have been on this journey together, all in.

As soon as I walked out the door, Wyndham was gone, likely thinking of protecting me, once again. It was clear his body was vacant, a mere shell that once housed the spiritual being that still lives. For this certain hope, I give thanks to God.

The world feels a little dizzying right now. The tears just keep flowing though accompanied by smiles and precious memories. I feel strangely both sad and grateful to be able to now freely just walk out my door to go somewhere, and I find myself feeling guilty for being able to do so. That probably makes little sense, but many things feel a little strange right now. Transitions are hard. This dreaded and worst day of my life also brought many precious, touching moments, which are ours to treasure. There were also some moments that one day will give us laughter, but not yet.

The following day, when the hospital bed and medical equipment were all gone our dog, Denver, walked into our room and just stood there frozen, looking around as if he were thinking, “Everything is different. What do I do now?” I felt the same.

Some of the grandchildren struggled while watching Wyndham’s “things” go out the door. Wheelchairs and machines were familiar to the youngest ones and were connected to their Papa. Sam reassured them that we were not taking Papa out of the house, but just the “sick” out of the house. Papa will always be with us because of all he gave us. For me, I long for the memories of pre-sick Wyndham to return, as I know they will. The last five of our forty-five years feel currently at the forefront, though I know that will change over time. The last five are, however, sacred and precious, terribly hard though they were. We all grew and were changed, and our love only grew stronger. I have a keener sense of what is most important. Love God wholeheartedly. Love each other wholeheartedly and help as many as possible to know God. One. Day. At. A. Time.

When Wyndham received his diagnosis of the horrible disease called Multiple System Atrophy, we had a sobering idea of what could happen to his body. It was like a bad dream. Knowing something of what was likely in store for his future, he studied the book of Job and committed to being grateful, faithful, courageous, and cheerful every day throughout his illness. He excelled in fulfilling this commitment to his last breath, even finding a way to laugh almost every day. Not one time did he complain or ask “why me?” Instead, he felt, “why not me?” I often tried to discourse with God on why such a good man had to suffer in such a drastic way. God did not tell me why, but we have all grown and changed because of this time. As much as I hate this disease. God has walked with us through it all, and He has been enough. For this I am grateful.

It does me no good to ask why, though truthfully I often have. If I could understand all of God’s ways and how He sees beyond and works for good despite the evil in our fallen world he would not be God, for God is beyond the dimension of human understanding. There is nothing I can do about that except to surrender and trust. He is God and I am not. He remains a good, good God, with a perspective that is beyond my reach. I know and believe God will continue to work in amazing ways as a result of Wyndham’s life. I will thrill to witness ways God will continue to work through the life Wyndham lived on earth.

Many of you have asked how I am doing, and your love and prayers mean so much. They have sustained me. Thank you. The best answer I can give is that I am deeply heartbroken, but okay, if that makes sense. We are all holding tight to God and each other.

Every time I say your name in prayer—which is practically all the time—I thank God for you, the God I worship with my whole life in the tradition of my ancestors.
I miss you a lot, especially when I remember that last tearful good-bye, and I look forward to a joy-packed reunion.
That precious memory triggers another: your honest faith—and what a rich faith it is…
(2 Tim 1:3-5)

Wyndham is no longer suffering, which makes me so happy for him. He fought the good fight, finished the race, and there is a great reward for him. I wish I could know what goes on in Paradise, but Paul himself said it cannot be stated (2 Cor. 12:2-4). Paul says that the eternal glory makes the worst suffering seem as light and momentary trouble. Only one day will I understand this.

I am thankful for every moment that God gave me with Wyndham. I miss him more than words can express and am forever grateful he has shown me how to live and to die in the Lord…with a pure heart, a good conscience, and a sincere faith (1 Timothy 1:5).

I know these would be words Wyndham would pass on today.

But you—keep your eye on what you’re doing; accept the hard times along with the good; keep the Message alive; do a thorough job as God’s servant.
You take over. I’m about to die, my life an offering on God’s altar.
This is the only race worth running. I’ve run hard right to the finish, believed all the way.
All that’s left now is the shouting—God’s applause! Depend on it, he’s an honest judge. He’ll do right not only by me, but by everyone eager for his coming.
(2 Tim 4:5-8 MSG)

 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
(2 Tim 4:7-8)

Thank you for sharing with me on this journey of “Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham.” My prayer is that it in some way helps draw us closer to God and victoriously finish the race marked out for us. Please keep us in your prayers. We need them.

Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – 118

Wisdom and Surrender

Surrender. There is something about that word that sounds frightening, evoking a feeling of torture and a ceasing to exist. Often, one feels trapped and surrounded before they surrender, and then as a last resort.

Why is surrender so hard? Usually, I think, it is because we feel we are being confronted by an enemy, someone out to harm us. This is the surrender we read about in history books. This is the type of surrender we witness on westerns and crime shows. It’s a last resort before being taken captive.

I was looking around my house the other day and noticed many “instruments of surrender.” My bedroom and study have some curious pieces of décor. Parked in front of my bookcase is an electric lift. It looks intimidating, and it is. As I maneuver Wyndham in this lift, I envision absolute surrender. He cannot move and is dependent on someone or something to lift him. I would be sad and scared to be transported this way, but Wyndham, because he has surrendered,  finds peace and even humor amidst the situation.

On Tuesdays and Fridays our son, Sam, works from our home so that I can go to meetings and have appointments away from home. When I returned today, Sam was in the process of transporting Wyndham from his electric wheelchair to his hospital bed. As Wyndham was hanging in mid-air from the lift upon my arrival, I asked him how his day was. In his muffled reply he got the words out, “Just hanging around,” which made us all laugh. I appreciate his ability to laugh amidst such difficult circumstances. This disease has forced surrender to every physical aspect of life. He has no choices concerning movement. Wyndham must completely surrender to this instrument in order to be lifted and carried. As I view this lift, I often think of the lyrics, “All to Jesus, I surrender, all to Him I freely give. I will ever love and trust Him, in His presence daily live…I surrender all.”

Wyndham makes the process as easy as possible, because he is completely surrendered. There is no resistance to the process. As I witness the surrender involved, I can’t help but think of ways that instead of completely surrendering to trials I face, I often want to run, screaming, to get away from the instrument of surrender God might be using to help me. I would rather get to where I want to go on my own strength. In full surrender, however, we are lifted up. James 4:10 comes to life for me.

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

And, as I surrender so that He can lift me, He will also carry and sustain me.

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. (Is 46:4)

Also, alongside the bed, near an oxygen machine and a nebulizer, is another “instrument of surrender” called a CPAP machine. The initials stand for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure. When apnea occurs, or the lungs can’t take in enough air, this machine forces air into the lungs. Wyndham surrenders to this machine each night in order to have air continually blown into his lungs. Likewise, it is when I surrender to Jesus’ control for my life, His life-giving breath fills my soul. I must be still and let God’s Spirit fill me by attaching myself to His Words and His will so that His Spirit can fill me with “continuous positive Spirit pressure.”

 This is what God the LORD says— the Creator of the heavens, who stretches them out, who spreads out the earth with all that springs from it, who gives breath to its people, and life to those who walk on it:
“I, the LORD, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand…” (Is 42:5-6)

And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.  (Rom 5:5, emphasis added)

As I look around at these instruments, I am reminded that it is in full surrender that we find true freedom. God is not the enemy. He does not want to harm us, but to save and love us. He is trustworthy. He will lift us up in due time and carry and sustain us all the way to heaven as He continually breathes life into us through His Spirit. We just have to surrender.



Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham

Happy Wednesday.

My Wednesday posts may become a bit sporadic, as I am working on an upcoming book entitled….”Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham.” This book will have some new material as well as a collection of the old. Stay tuned for more information. In 2020, “Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham” will take on a new slant. I find it’s always good to look at life from fresh and renewed perspectives that God gives us. Thank you for your continued support and prayers. I can’t always respond to all comments here and on Facebook, but I read every one and they mean so very much to me, and to us. Have a wonderful Wednesday, full of wisdom.

Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – 117

Wisdom and Autumn

Autumn is my favorite time of year. I need only invite you to walk down my street to show you why. My neighbor took this stunning photo. This scene can be viewed immediately as I go down my front steps and walk to the left.

The strange thing about the beauty of autumn is that the leaves are actually dying. Their chlorophyll, which allows them to absorb the sun and keep their green color, breaks down in the autumn so that they no longer absorb the nutrients of the sun. So, the way I see it, when these leaves lose something of such importance to them as chlorophyll, their depleted situation brings out who they really are (so to speak). Their “true colors” show. I find this phenomenon worthy of pondering.

Wyndham has lost nearly every physical ability, most recently the ability to speak. His brain does not connect to his nerves properly. His metaphorical “chlorophyll” has broken down. It has been a long time since he could move his arms, hands, feet, or legs. Swallowing is harder, and all the physical attributes that kept him “green” are gone. Especially now, his true colors are displayed.

What are those true colors? The ability to love. To laugh. To be grateful. To be cheerful. To be faithful. To be courageous. No one can take these away. A couple of weeks ago one of our daughters asked him how he was feeling with all this continual loss, especially the ability to communicate. He, with difficulty and with several tries responded, “I think of what I can do.”

What he can do is those things I mentioned above. Love. Joy. Gratitude. Faith. Nothing, and no one, can steal these. In fact, just like the gradual decline of chlorophyll in the leaves, who he really is shines even more brilliantly. Just like the leaves outside of our home.

I have asked myself many times since I became a Christian over fifty years ago how I would handle losing the things I most valued. It’s extremely hard to slowly lose my beloved husband, but each time I come away with the same answers. The truly worthwhile “belongings” are the connections of love. And love comes from God, for God is love. When we have God, we have everything.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord
(Romans 8:37-39).

If you live below the equator, where it is spring instead of fall, or you don’t experience seasons, please enjoy the beautiful foliage vicariously through these pictures. And, meditate on what we have in Christ. Even if our various sources of security and joy are gone (as in the leave’s chlorophyll), we have been given everything we need in Christ. Perhaps it is in our losses and deficiencies, where Christ can most brilliantly be displayed. How brilliant is your display? The leaves will fall and will be raked away; but, like us, leaves are not gone forever if the trees’ branches remain connected to the life source. They will come to life once again. Such is the hope of eternal life.

In fall
the garden is spent
having given its all.

Cucumber vines lie exhausted on the ground
Tomato plants list to one side
Cornstalks stand dignified and empty
Sunflower faces droop earthward,
shades of their former selves.

All that has not been claimed lies moldering in the dirt—

a bruised tomato, a forsaken pepper…

a misshapen pumpkin,  a trampled stalk of beans.

What came from the earth is returning
to the place from whence it came.

There is an intimacy here,

in the fall garden,

gazing at living things in their demise.

I want to avert my eyes, avoid this tender grief.
Is this life or is this death? I cannot tell.

Ah, but there is beauty here

amid all this death and dying.

To have given one’s self fully
at least once
that is the thing.

To have spent oneself in an explosion of color

to have offered one’s body for food,

one’s very soul for nourishment…

It is an unseemly generosity,
beauty of another kind.

In fall
the garden says, “This is my life, given for you.”
And we are fed.

Poem by Ruth Haley Barton, 2012.




Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – 116

Wisdom Sits

Is it possible to make a difference in someone’s life just by sitting down beside them? You may think, as you pull a chair beside someone that you are just casually sitting by them, nothing more. “Just sitting” beside someone seemed insignificant to me for many years, but I have since learned its importance. This lesson concerning the importance of “just sitting” pierced my heart while in a stark and dingy hospital room in Romania during the late ’90s. The scene before me changed my worldview and gave me new, deepened convictions, compelling me to grow my heart. I was so struck that I captured the moment by photo (with an old-fashioned camera). I’ll never forget this boy’s dark hair and simple cap framing his sunken face. He was obviously ill. I took this picture because I never wanted to forget him, or the woman sitting beside him. My heart went out to this young boy, whose life would end before the day was over.

I wondered about the significance of the woman sitting beside the bed. I learned she was not related to the boy; she really didn’t even know him. But, in her travels, she had seen children like him die alone, as orphans. She put her life in Ireland on hold, and volunteered her time, simply by sitting alongside the sick children as they died. She believed that no one should have to die alone. My heart still swells with emotion as I write this memory.

In the Scriptures, we can read about Job’s illness and suffering. Job’s friends understood the importance of sitting beside their friend:

 When Job’s three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him.
When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads.
Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was. (Job 2:11-13)

Job’s friends acted fabulously—that is until they began to open their mouths to explain all the reasons why Job was suffering. Then, they became “unhelpful,” and discouraging. They teach us valuable lessons. We must discern when it is best to talk and when it is more helpful to just sit and be with someone. Most of the time we don’t know the reasons “why” someone is ill, except that we live in a temporary, but fallen world.  Let the one who is suffering give the cues as to what is most helpful.

Wisdom comes when we take the time to listen in order to understand. When we do this, we will know better what to say and how to respond. Wyndham always excelled in this quality. When we practice this. we may even find ourselves, like the woman pictured above, sitting with strangers. She saw a need, and out of the compassion in her heart, she responded.

I love to walk and talk with others. It is not as easy for me to sit and be silent; however, I have had to learn to do so through my current situation. Daily, when I transfer Wyndham to his hospital bed in our room for his late afternoon rest, I bring our big, black office chair into the room. From this chair, I feed him dinner when he awakes, and most every night from 9 PM until 1 AM, I can be found sitting in that chair beside his bed. I am usually studying during this time, while he watches something on television; thus, I am quiet except for inquiring about his needs. The important thing, to him (and me), is that I am sitting there beside him.

We are not alone. Not only does God sit with me (and Wyndham) as I sit beside the bed, but amazingly, I know that He has invited me to sit with Him! This helps me to remember that these difficult times, for us all, are temporal. We have an amazing seat God has given us in the heavenly places. Yes, he has already given this to all who are Christians. This seat is not just reserved for life after death, but we can sit there now! From this seat, our perspective on caring, giving, and hope can be transformed to be like Christ’s. May we all better comprehend the immeasurable and incomparable riches of His grace, expressed through Jesus’ kindness to us.

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy,
made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.
And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus,
in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus (Eph 2:4-7, emphasis added).




Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – 114

Wisdom Learns to Dance

Wyndham has many strengths. Dancing was never one of them. He just hears the beat of a different drummer. It’s not that he didn’t want to dance with the beat, he just didn’t hear it. Our children have had fun in the past imitating his one and only dance move. It looked like the action movement that accompanies the children’s song called, “Roll the Gospel Chariot Along.” The action consists of twirling one’s hands around each other. Right there, that was Wyndham’s dance move. (Oh, how I’d love that simple move now.)

So, it was particularly meaningful (and wise), when he agreed to take ballroom dance lessons with me in the couple of months preceding Sam’s and Leigh Ann’s wedding fourteen years ago. I love to dance. When I hear music, I can’t help myself. The rhythm makes me want to move. It makes me happy. It may not be pretty, but I do feel the beat of the music and love to respond. For a few months, we, along with Sam and Leigh Ann, took ballroom dance lessons at an Arthur Murray Studio that happened to be about a mile from our house. We all had fun, and since he can count quite well, we learned some basic 1,2,3,4 box steps. Sam and I, by contrast, had some “out of the box” steps at the wedding. I recently passed by the old “now closed” studio and reminisced about that time and thought about dancing. I see a metaphor with dancing and a relationship with God. Too often, one’s theology of Christianity means adherence to outward laws while under the observation of an “all-seeing eye” in the heavens. God is often wrongly perceived as uninvolved, too big to care, or too small to intervene. There could certainly be no “dancing” with such a God. Perhaps some think Christianity as sitting in an audience watching God “perform;” but, the audience member can only watch in awe at the marvelous grace, majesty, and power of the dancer, not participate in the dance.

Too often, God remains separated from the “audience,” separated by the vast gulf of the orchestra pit. I picture Christianity, or a relationship with God,  as God crossing the gulf of the pit and extending his hand to me, in the audience—carrying me to the stage of life to dance with Him. As I follow his lead, I begin to hear the music of God’s orchestra and am better able to get in step with his dance. I’m clumsy, so He starts me with the simple 1,2,3,4 and I get tangled up in my own feet; however, I realize that when I trust Him and let go of me, it’s an exhilarating, scary, beautiful, unimaginable, thrilling, frightening, and oh so wonderful dance. He never lets me fall; I just have to hang on and follow His lead.

When the music portrays the sounds of tragedy, God lifts me; when the music elicits fear; God holds me; When I need to step out of my comfort zone, God twirls me; and when I can’t hear the music; He guides me. For some reason, He wants to dance with me and invites me into partnership with Him. He carried me over the pit that separated us, and as Zephaniah pens in 3:17: The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.”

I never want to be separated from Him, because I’d fall back into the pit, and on my own, I really can’t dance. If I distance myself, I can’t even hear His song. Oh, but this dance is not just for me. He is calling everyone to this dance, and it becomes more beautiful as it is synchronized, reflecting His grace and majesty. Everyone that joins has a special contribution to make. I want everyone I know to join, so invite as many as I can. I tell them to listen to His music (His words) and follow His lead in order to let Him carry them across the pit and dance in step with His Spirit of grace and truth.

The beautiful truth is that God calls us into a relationship with Him. I must be attentive, imitating his heart, vision, and purpose as I follow Jesus. God is not uninvolved with me or any of His creation, and has in fact, through Jesus, given me the fulfillment of the promise of His Spirit dwelling in me (Acts 2:38-39; Col 1:27; Rom 8:11). The “music” we dance to must come from the Father. As Galatians 5:25 states, “Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” Otherwise, we will “dance to the beat of a different drummer,” with disastrous results. I long to listen to and obey the Word of God, while understanding the freedom resulting in the dance God wants to dance with me. I remind myself that there is no fear in love (1 John 4:19) and that I can know and rely on the love God has for me (1 John 4:1). So, I will keep on dancing, twirling, and holding on for dear life… all the way into heaven.

(photo of poster “Dancing With God” from lindaleecreates)


Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – 113

Wisdom Looks Back to Look Forward

When I write, I often know how I want the piece to begin and end. It’s just those pesky missing chapters or paragraphs in-between that become problematic. So, I look back to previous chapters in order to make progress on the next ones. The chapters yet unwritten.

Today, many of us look back to a life-changing day in the United States eighteen years ago. We know where we were and what we were doing when tragedy struck. We look back and remember.

I will never forget walking through the September 11 Memorial and Museum in New York City six years ago and finding a note placed on a memorial wreath by a name etched in concrete. Before this encounter, I had felt a general sadness for those who had fallen; after, it became personal. The note read:

Dear Donald, 

Your children and I miss you more and more each day. Donald (14) plays soccer, golf, and drums in his first year of high school. Lara (14) continues to dance and sing. She was selected to be in the select choir. Connor (11) looks just like you and loves the ocean. He has the same passion for bodyboarding as you did. They speak of you often and wish you were here to see them grow up. As for me, I am very busy running around getting them to all their activities. I miss our life together.

Until we meet again. Love, your wife Jacqueline

On the other side of the letter was another picture with this message:

Every year on your birthday your niece, nephew and children throw a wreath in the ocean in Montauk. This was your favorite place. Everyone misses you.

As tears streamed down my face, remembrance went from “history” to “personal.”

This past week, Wyndham and I looked back through pictures representing memories, as our church celebrated her 40th anniversary. It was inspiring to remember spectacular ways God has changed countless lives. It was also sad, yet inspiring, to look back on the life of a dear friend who passed from this life two weeks ago. Another treasured friend left our house to drive to a place in the mountains—to look back and remember his beloved wife on what would have been their anniversary today. Remembrance is personal.

Though we are living in difficult chapters, we can look back to remember the goodness of our God and his unspeakable blessings in our lives. Though we have shed many tears these last few days simply remembering, they are precious, meaningful tears because they come from love. Remembrance is personal.

Remembrance becomes personal only when names, emotions, and memories are attached to an event we are remembering.

Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection are merely historical, general events until they are attached to someone whose love captures our hearts. Whose presence we feel. When this happens, remembrance becomes personal and revolutionizes the way we think and live. I owe the meaning and hope in my life to his example, sacrifice, power, words, and his Spirit that lives in me. If my remembrance of Jesus isn’t personal, then he will be a distant historical event observed in a museum, rather than a current life-changing, joy-producing relationship.

Looking back at Jesus’ life and experiencing his presence makes remembrance personal and helps me look forward. Because of his life, I know the way the story ends—and it’s glorious.

When we look back to look forward, the chapters become clearer. They may look blank and scary now, or contain new plot twists we did not intend or wish to write about—but nonetheless, they are part of our story. May we always remember the ending, and faithfully and courageously write (live) new chapters.

As we remember, may we let Jesus’ love inspire us to look forward to the day when there are no more tears, no more death—only life lived in love in the presence of God and all who have given their lives to him.

And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband;
and I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself will be with them;
 he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.”
And he who sat upon the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.”
(Rev 21:2-5)





Wednesday Wisdom With Wyndham – 112

Wisdom Finds the Stones

I just knew God was going to surprise me. I even told Him this as I pulled into the parking place at the ocean. I had not been to the ocean for many months and was eager to see it before the summer ended; so, I decided to would take the better part of a day to go on a spiritual retreat—just God and me. This was the day, thanks to Sam who worked from our house in order to stay with his dad.

I pulled into the parking lot adjacent to a special beach in Manchester-by-the-Sea; special because it’s the beach where Wyndham and I spent many Mondays walking and talking with God and each other. I was hesitant to go to this beach because going to “our” places for the first time alone can be difficult. Though we can no longer walk together, God still walks with me. (He sits with Wyndham.)

No one else was on the beach. This may have been due to red algae continually riding waves to the shore. Thankfully, red algae could not hinder my communion with my God, so I got out of the car. As soon as my feet hit the sand I noticed a perfectly stacked pile of rocks gracing my path. This pile was placed as the centerpiece of the short beach. Stones of remembrance. That’s what I saw.  I smiled, knowing they were there for me, a little hug from God.

Instead of sadness (which certainly happens), I felt joy. I looked at those stones (sans plaster) and remembered the times the Israelites were instructed to build stones of remembrance so that they would not forget the goodness of the Lord. I, too, remembered.

When you have crossed the Jordan into the land the LORD your God is giving you, set up some large stones and coat them with plaster.
  Write on them all the words of this law when you have crossed over to enter the land the LORD your God is giving you, a land flowing with milk and honey, just as the LORD, the God of your ancestors, promised you.
(Deut 27:2-3)

God and I walked, talked, and sang together, hand in hand. At least that’s how it felt. God’s Spirit is like that. God envelops us if we let Him. I sang two songs repeatedly (words changed to match the venue):

I come to the ocean alone. While the sun shines bright and the waves roll.                      And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses.                              And, He walks with me and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own.                    And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.


My God and I walk on the beach together.                                                                                    We walk and talk, as good friends should and do.                                                                        We clasp our hands, our voices ring with laughter.                                                                    My God and I walk on the sandy shore.

My God and I will go for ‘aye together.                                                                                        We’ll walk and talk, as good friends should and do.                                                                  This earth will pass, and with it common trifles.                                                                         But God and I will go unendingly.

Each time I walked past those stones of remembrance I felt renewed gratitude for the ways God has blessed me. I told Him some of the things I deeply appreciate including the love I feel inside my soul, the purpose I feel for my life, the joy that refreshes my heart, the clear conscience that gives my mind peace, and hope, which springs from the confidence I will never die (physically, yes; but, my body is not me). I felt (feel) thankful for the physical and spiritual family God has given me.

I felt (feel) thankful for the ways Wyndham inspires me. While living in his incapacitated body, he still focuses on God’s goodness to Him. He sees stones of remembrance. Because of this, he stays grateful, cheerful, and courageous.

After some hours, I turned to go back to the car feeling full and refreshed (another thing God does for me). Then, I noticed to my right and to my left many more stacked stones…as if they had multiplied. The more I gave thanks, the more things that there were to remember. 

Truthfully, nothing is more joy-filling, peace-inducing, and spirit-lifting than time alone with God. This comes from: remembering His mighty deeds (made known since the beginning of time); remembering the beauty of His creation: remembering that He is with me in the suffering, the trials, the waiting, and the unknown; and remembering He will not leave me. Truthfully, I  already experience eternity, even now. Eternity has already begun because eternity starts with knowing God (Jn 17:3).

When my physical body one day no longer accompanies my soul, my truest self will be unencumbered, experiencing the unimaginable “wonderful” which God has prepared. Everything good is in God’s presence. That’s the beauty of heaven…relationships of love, beginning with Him, and lasting forever.

When we keep our focus on the unseen (everything in God’s kingdom), we are sure to find all kinds of beauty and encouraging surprises God has prepared for us. Stones of remembrance will multiply.