My dear friend, Missy, was unabashedly weeping as she spoke of her precious mother. She told me how her mom doesn’t bemoan the future while she watches her husband’s lungs fill with scars, knowing she is sojourning into the path of a widow. Instead, she is living in the moment, rejoicing in what she has right now.
Sometimes suffering is like a window into the soul.
I want to be like Nina when I grow up. I want to be like the wife, whose been married for 60-something years to a tremendously loving man, knowing she will likely have to live out her remaining days without him. I want to live in the moment. Rejoicing in the present.
For the rest of my own days, whether long or short, I will remember the example of Lary and Nina. I will remember Lary, lungs full of scar tissue, unable to walk across his living room without panting into his oxygen tank… yet perpetually reminding us that “at least it doesn’t hurt”. Refusing to complain. I will remember Nina, as she slowly parts with her husband, savoring his sweetness during every step of the journey. They will shape my own journey. They will teach me, long after their journey is over, of the beauty of a cup half full, and a God who transforms suffering into glory.
And I will remember Missy’s sweet and tender tears, and weep right along with her, both for the pain of loss and the joy of what she’s had all these years. And for the gratitude of a legacy left in the wake of two sweet saints who saw the gift in the midst of the struggle and chose to embrace it, without complaint. Thank you both, for showing the world what holiness looks like.
P.S. I promise I didn’t misspell Lary, although everything within me wants to add a second R.