Who Was "Miss Stephanie"?

In looking at our church family, I realize that many people didn't know Stephanie before she became ill.  In fact 50% of our congregation didn't know her before she got sick, and because she wasn't able to participate in the life of the church in the last couple of years, 25% of our current congregation didn't really know her at all.

 Let me introduce you to my wife, not by her rolls: wife, mother, ministry partner, but by her values and passions. 

Stephanie valued people of all ages.  We've heard the stories of "Miss Stephanie" and how she developed the active learning style of teaching that is still a central part of our children's ministry.  Her three year curriculum that covers the entire Bible is still in use today and is entitled: "God wants you back". 

Stephanie also wanted to impact children outside of our church, so in 1992 we started our summer program which became known later as Kids' Kamp.  She was able to leverage our lack of a permanent home by having the Kids' Kamp in Ballantine Park - open to anyone in our community. 

 In a further effort to reach out to our community, Steph had a dream that became known as Kids' Kafe.  Kids' Kafe was a fun interactive evening for families that included games, music, snacks and concluded with a gospel message. 

 The leaders of the New England District, our church's parent organization, recognized Stephanie's gifts in the area of children's ministry, so they asked her to start a camp for children and young people throughout the New England states.  Camp CMA, as it was called, started in 1995 and ran about eight years.

Her influence reached beyond our church and District family.  She began a piano teaching business from our home.  She taught more than just piano lessons; she also taught her students life lessons.  Some of her students didpractice their music, but many of them left me looking for ear plugs. 

One of her favorite expressions was to eulogize the living or bless the living, and she tried to do that.  One of her favorite things to do was to prepare meals for friends and neighbors who needed some TLC.  She referred to it as "food evangelism". 

As her strength was diminishing, she still tried to bless people, and her blog "Grayrock's Window" became the avenue for that.  Her simple and honest insights were a blessing to many people.

Stephanie valued creativity.  Both of my artistic daughters inherited their mother's creativity; in fact, I told them that any marketable skills they have is thanks to their mother.  Their ability to be silly came from me.  Steph used to think that she would not be able to live long enough to try everything that she was interested in.  Our house still has proof of that in the materials and supplies that are here and there. 

One of the expressions of her creativity was her jewelry design business called "The Cracked Bead".  She used that business to express the fact that the most beautiful beads are ones that are cracked, so the light reflects through the cracks, making the beads more beautiful.  She related that to how God's grace can shine through the imperfections and blemishes of our lives to show his beauty through our lives.

Stephanie valued hospitality.  If you were a guest at our home, you knew that Steph worked hard to make you feel special.  She would set a beautiful table and be able to make an ordinary meal seem gourmet.  In order to provide this experience, she used many dishes, and clean up was always my responsibility.  When we purchased our first dishwasher, I told her that we didn't need one since I washed all the dishes.  Her response was"I want a dishwasher than doesn't grumble."   I may have grumbled, but, I always appreciated how special she could make her guests feel. 

 For those of you who knew Stephanie, you can attest that these are true, and for those of you who knew her in recent years or hadn't had the chance to know her at all, hopefully this gives you a little glimpse of who she was.

The Privilege of Serving by Pastor Welty

I recently met up with an old friend who lost his wife several years ago.  Like me, he had the responsibility for her care.  He used a phrase which I have been mulling over since that encounter.  He said that he had the "privilege of serving" his wife in that way.  It caused me to ponder how I viewed the last six years of our lives together.  The opening words of Charles Dickens'  "A Tale of Two Cities"  seems to describe best:  It was the best of times; it was the worst of time.

 It was the best of times because it caused Stephanie and I to grow closer together than I had ever imagined.  Her illness forced us to speak openly about our future.  We honestly grappled with questions of faith and healing.  It also caused us to take pleasure in the small things: a trip to Lake Waramaug or Bantam Lake, an occasional trip to Hammonasset Beach.  Sometimes it was just eating pizza while watching the latest Netflix arrival.  Our lives were stripped down to the basics, and we relished each special moment as best as we could.

It was the worst of times because I had to watch the woman I love slowly die.  But in that I was allowed the "privilege of serving" her.   It allowed me to show Stephanie my love in action by serving her and taking care of her.  More than once I thought about giving up on the dialysis treatments at home and asking her to return to the dialysis center, but I knew that would be difficult for her, and given the amount of snow we had last winter, not easy for me either.  

Both of us developed a greater dependence on God than we had ever experienced.  Daily prayers before the treatment became a way for us to connect with each other and cry out to God for His help.  As Stephanie was nearing the end of her life, we had significant, honest conversations about our faith and our destiny.  These were challenging but rich conversations that were only necessary because of our situation. 

In the last hours of her life, I sat by her bed and whispered in her ear, assuring her of my love for her and my gratitude for her love.  One of the nurses told me that a dying person can still hear what is going on around them, so I wanted her last memories to be precious and sweet.  I hope that it meant something to her. 

My friend also said that he wouldn't have traded his experience of caring for his dying wife for anything, but now that it was over, he would never want to have to do it again. I completely understand those sentiments.  I know that what we went through together deepened our love for each other as well as increasing our faith in God, but now that it's over,  I am relieved - for both of us.

So the last six years were the best of times; and the worst of time.  In looking back, I can see that it was a privilege serving Stephanie, but it was only possible because of the faithfulness of my Heavenly Father.  It was a privilege because God used me to care for Stephanie.

The lyrics of this old hymn became a good companion on my journey.  "He Giveth More Grace" by Annie Johnson Flint.

He giveth more grace as our burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength as our labors increase;
To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials He multiplies peace.

 When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,
His power no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

I'm Jealous of Stephanie

Did the title get your attention?  I am somewhat jealous of Stephanie because she already knows what's next.  In other words she knows something that I don't know, and she can't share it with me. 

During our marriage we shared everything.  At the end of the day we would talk about what happened during the day: the interactions we had or the new thoughts or insights we gained.  In the last few months while I was working from home, we had an ongoing dialogue.  That sharing is what I miss the most now that she is gone.  I often catch myself thinking, "I can't wait to tell Steph _____ ".  In fact, as strange as it sounds, during the reception following her memorial service, I caught myself thinking:  "I can't wait to tell Steph who I saw or what I learned."   Besides being husband and wife, we were also best friends, so we talked about everything.   I've tried to keep the communication going, using a journal that's by my bed.

 We occasionally finished each other's sentences in a dialogue that might sound like this:    Steph:  "Did you get the _____ ?"  Jim: "No I thought when you were going to get it at  _____ "   Steph: "I decided not to go, so would you mind going to _____?  Jim:  "OK, what flavor would you like?"   Each of those blanks had words in them in our minds which went without saying.  Folks who have been married for a period of time can relate I'm sure.

Steph even indulged my love of sports.  I can remember one time when I was watching a basketball game on TV, and she was sitting beside me on the couch.  Out of nowhere she asked:  "Isn't that a 3 second violation?"  I was in awe, and on her next birthday I found a card that praised her for her "adequate sports knowledge."  We shared everything.

So when I think of her now, I think of the fact that she knows what's next.  1 Corinthians 13:12 says:  For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.  So while I'm here seeing a reflection, she is seeing Jesus face to face.  And while I am here knowing in part, she knows fully and is fully known.  My best friend knows what's next, but she can't tell me about it.   So do you see why I'm a little jealous.  Maybe you're a little jealous now as well. 

Stephanie's Choice

On the afternoon of July 24, Stephanie and I had a candid conversation with our home hemo dialysis nurse, a woman who had become our friend and trusted adviser. Stephanie had been suffering with internal bleeding that was first detected in December 2014.  Despite numerous efforts to resolve this problem, including multiple endoscopies and transfusions, things were not getting better but worse.

Our nurse sat with us and lovingly helped us to think through our situation.  As we considered our options, the decision became clear.  Stephanie did not have the will or energy to continue to pursue a resolution to this problem.  That meant that eventually her hemoglobin would get so low that she would not be able to sustain life any longer.   We cried, we prayed, and we surrendered Stephanie's life to the Lord.

Later that day, Stephanie began to hemorrhage.  I called 911 and the ambulance came and rushed her to Waterbury Hospital.  Her hemoglobin was plummeting, and the hemorrhaging was continuing.  The doctor told me that he thought she should have a transfusion.  I told him that he needed to ask her, and he did.  When he asked her if she wanted a transfusion, she simply replied, "No".  In saying that word she took control over her life and made a choice.  She knew that meant that she would not live much longer.  How could she say that when our instinct as human beings is to cling to life with all that we have?  She made her choice.  She said "No". 

In the midst of the adrenaline rush that is typical of the early stages of an emergency room visit, I didn't process what it took for her to say "no", but in looking back I realize how brave she was because she made her own choice and chose to peacefully enter into the unknown.  Watching her die was the most surreal experience I've ever had.  Life, what little life that was left, was leaving her ravaged body.   I wonder what was in her mind in those last hours.  Perhaps she thought of the words from Revelation 21:4: ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”  

She was entering peacefully into the unknown, but she knew that Jesus was waiting for her.  Maybe the words that Jesus uttered on the cross were in her mind: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”   (Luke 23:46).  These words come from Psalm 31 and were likely a bed time prayer for little Jewish children. 

She was entering peacefully into the unknown because she knew that she was done.  Paul described our bodies as like tents (2 Corinthians 5).  Having tried and failed as a camper, I can attest that I prefer the comfort and convenience of my home to a tent.  Tents wear out, and on July 25, Stephanie's tent wore out, but although her tent was done, her life was just beginning.  Later in that passage Paul said: "What is mortal is swallowed up by life." So while her earthly tent was failing, what made her Stephanie was being swallowed up by life.  At times death has been portrayed as a devouring monster, but Paul said that life swallows the mortal.

 Ultimately it was her choice that astounded me.  She was worn out and exhausted and incredibly brave and assured of what was in store for her.  She made her choice - bravely, peacefully, submissively.  “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”    

She's Not Coming Back

One night in the weeks following Stephanie's death, I awoke with that thought.  She is not coming back.   You might say, of course she's not coming back.  But in 2014 when her health really started a downward spiral, she always came back.  In April she had to go to a rehabilitation center in Waterbury for a two month stint while they tried to rehab the injury to her foot that she sustained when she fell on Easter night.  After many complications, she came back home - to a home fully equipped with medical equipment. 

 The following week she had to be admitted to the hospital for complications from her dialysis treatment, but she came back.  Then in August she fell and broke both of her ankles - leading to a month of back and forths between the hospital and a rehabilitation facility in Southbury.  But again, she came back.  Then in early June of 2015 she had to go to the hospital again for what they thought was a mild stroke, but once more, she came back.  But on July 24 she went to the hospital, and she didn't come back.  A couple of weeks later, I woke up with that sad thought.  This time, she isn't coming back. 

In the book of 2 Samuel chapter eleven, the unfortunate narrative of David's adultery with Bathsheba and the subsequent murder of her husband is recorded.  Because God was displeased with this, the child conceived from their union became ill and died.  While the child was ill, David was desperate for God to intervene.  He fasted and laid on the ground before God.  Finally the child died, and David's response astounded his servants.  He got cleaned up and ate a meal.  David then shared his reasons: “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’  But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”  (2 Samuel 12:22-23)   That last line is my focus.  I will go to him, but he will not return to me.  I personalize it to be -  "I will go to her, but she will not return to me.”

I can say this because although Stephanie isn't coming back, Jesus is coming back.

He promised that when he said,  "If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am."  (John 14:3)

Even though she came back many times, this time Stephanie is not coming back, but Jesus is and because of that I know I will see her again. I will go to her, but she will not return to me.”