What a Day That Will Be

As my dad is walking through the last hours of his life I'm reminded of a day in October 2010. He called to tell me that he had been diagnosed with lung cancer and that it had metastasized to his brain. Immediately after giving me the news he started to sing over the phone.

There is coming a day when no heartaches shall come.
No more clouds in the sky, no more tears to dim the eye.
All is peace forevermore on that happy golden shore,
What a day, glorious day that will be...

Tears streamed down my face as I hung onto every word.

This past weekend I took a quick trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania, and while I was there I found out that once again his health was failing fast. I called my mom and asked her if she could put the telephone to Dad's ear. Knowing that he has lost his ability to speak this past year, I opened my mouth and began to sing...

There'll be no sorrow there, no more burdens to bear,
No more sickness, no pain, no more parting over there;
And forever I will be with the One who died for me,
What a day, glorious day that will be...

Last night I rushed home from Pennsylvania, tears pouring down my face for hours on end until I finally reached his bedside and took in the smile that spread accross his weary face. His frail hand reached out for mine, and in that holy place where kindred spirits blend we held on tightly for as long as we could. Then I knew that he needed to rest.

Yes--he could go home any hour now, but through the tears there's one thing I know for sure... God's grace is more than sufficient for me.

You are loved by an almighty God,

Darlene

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Where to Stand in a Storm

When Michael and I had our deck built, we picked up a pergola to sit on top of it. If you don’t know what a pergola is, basically it is four pillars that hold up a row of beams, which act as a type of roof. It doesn’t keep out the rain or the sun, but it’s a great system for growing vines that will eventually hang over our heads. I love it.

It’s was standing all summer without a problem, so I figured that all was good—until one day that is. When I walked into the kitchen, I heard an unrecognizable sound booming from the back yard.

“The pergola!” I screamed to Michael--who I’m so thankful was sitting in the living room, rather than putting in a day at work. “The pergola!”

It was all I could think to say as I saw this enormous structure make it's way down to rest on our patio table.

Within seconds, Michael, our neighbor, and I were hoisting the pillars all back in place. It was windy, but we had seen far worse winds over the summer. I have no idea why the pergola decided to come down on this particular day, and then threaten to come down over and over again as I witnessed it sway in the wind.

Immediately Michael shot out the door en route to the lumberyard. He had put off fastening it to the deck since he didn’t have the required screws, but now we had no choice--it had to be fastened. My daughter Madison and I were left to hold the pillars, just to ensure it didn’t come down again.

It had been a very long time since I felt my heart beating as fast as it was that day. Every time a gust of wind shook the structure I feared it would come down once again. My legs were shaking as were my arms, but I stood there holding the pillar as best that I could. Then I did what I always do in situations like this—I called my dad. One of the kids brought the cordless phone to the pillar, and with shaky hands I dialed his number.*

It’s nice that my parents live close by, especially when toilets are overflowing, ovens catch on fire, or pergolas are swaying in the wind. Dad was there within ten minutes, sitting on a chair propped up against a pillar while I leaned on a table propped up against another. Dad is always calm in a storm. Always. There’s just something about that man that doesn’t sway him when tragedy hits, even in those moments when it hits real hard. I can always rely on him to calm my nerves and to guide Michael and I through difficult times. It’s a gift I suppose, that not only reminds me that I’m safe because he’s there, but also the fact that most of all that I’m safe in this world because I have a heavenly Father who I can find refuge in through every storm of my life.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. ~ Psalm 46:1-3

In time, those vines will grow, adding shade to our yard, and protection from the sun. I look forward to those days--abiding in the vine, as I fellowship in the cool of the day, with my Lord.

*This article was written about two years ago--before my dad got sick. It's interesting to look back at this article I wrote then and see how Dad prepared me to face each storm. Even this one--his struggle with cancer.

Read more articles about my dad here.

You are loved by an almighty God,

Darlene

For comments or questions, contact me at:
darlene[at]darleneschacht.net

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Coconut Cream Pie and Grace

Just yesterday, my mom mentioned that she and dad had been making pies. Knowing how sick my dad is, I got to thinking about a post I wrote almost four years ago.

Reading over those words, the gravity of his kindness seeps in before settling deep in my heart. These "baked offerings" from the hand of this incredible man are more precious than I realized then, and more precious yet than I realize now.

Drawn from my archives, October, 2007...

When I got to my parents place, it was a nice feeling to see that they both had my blog up on their computer screens.

It’s odd at times to see two seniors–who avoided ‘new fangled’ banks cards until recently–sitting in front of a PC. Make that ‘each their own PC’! When did they master the calculator and move on to a PC? They’re growing up too fast, before I know it, they’ll be moving out in search of a care home. Seems like just yesterday they were changing my diapers…

I wanted a pie. It’s been too long since I had a coconut cream pie. This reality was triggered by a question that my children asked me on Friday morning. “Mom, what’s your favorite pie?” Maddy asked.

“Is it berry pie?” Nathaniel wanted to know. “Do you like raisen pie, Mom?”

“No, I don’t like raisen pie,” I shivered thinking about the sugar that oozed from that pie. I was just about to answer ‘blueberry pie’, but then I remembered my ultimate favorites, which are Lemon Merangue and Coconut Cream. “I love coconut cream,” I answered, as a plan started to emerge in my brain...

So there I was, standing in my parents livingroom still trying to figure out how this plan to get a pie was going to unfold. I decided to start with mom, but after she explained to me that Dad is the one who makes all the pies, I took it up with him. “Dad, you haven’t made pies for a long time, and I’m dying for a coconut cream pie.”

“That’s right it’s been a while,” he said, trying to figure out why my sidebar wasn’t showing up on his computer screen.

He was close, but not committed, so I figured it was time to pull out the sympathy card, “I bet Bonnie would love a pie,” I said. Lucky for me, Bonnie’s back was so bad she couldn’t even get out of bed. It wasn’t so lucky for her–unless she had a hankerin’ for pie too–then it was lucky for both of us.

After Dad got Blogger to load my page, we went back into the livingroom to sit with Mom where they argued about whether real whipped cream or artificial whipped cream would be best for the pies. I sat around adding my two cents, sipping a diet Coke, and rubbing the belly of a pup whose leg shook in the air.

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll get your pie,” Dad said. I left. At 6pm, the doorbell rang, and Dad was standing outside with a fresh coconut cream pie topped with real whipped cream. He didn’t have time to stay because he had another pie waiting in the drivers seat to be delivered to Bonnie’s kitchen.

When I sit down to write, I usually start with a single thought, and sometime the tapping of my fingers on the keys make a story come to life, while other times they don’t. I’m never quite sure what that story will be.

This week I discovered that my thoughts were on "grace." While writing this story about Dad, the first verse that came to mind was “by love serve one another.” I had no idea what context that verse was in, but after looking it up, I have no doubt that it was placed in my heart for a reason, and that reason is to open my eyes to pure grace in action.



Use your freedom to serve one
another in love; that’s how freedom
grows. For everything we know about
God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence:
Love others as you love yourself.
That’s an act of true freedom.
~ Galatians 5:14, The Message
I love it when a blog comes together. Thanks for the pie Dad, and thanks for your service of love!

You are loved by an almighty God,

Darlene

For comments or questions, contact me at:
darlene[at]darleneschacht.net

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Busy With Dad

I just wanted to pop in and say that the past few days I've been busy with my dad. He was recently diagnosed with lung cancer and brain tumors. Today they found 15 brain tumors in total. This week has been filled with doctors appointments and laser surgery, but he is in the best of spirits that one could possibly be.

Please keep both he and my mom (Andrew and Lenore Gauthier) in your prayers as hand in hand they walk this difficult journey.

You are loved by an almighty God,

Darlene

For comments or questions, contact me at:
darlene[at]darleneschacht.net

Remembering Dad

I still remember the day when I could barely hold the orange pencil that I carried over to my father. After taking a small carving knife from the yellow drawer in the kitchen, he sat in his chair at the red arborite table where he whittled the pencil and told a story from his past. His words captivated my soul while my body shook with laughter.

“Haven’t you ever been embarrassed, Dad?” I asked, with wide-eyed wonderment while I giggled behind my little hand.

“Only once,” he said blushing, “in grade two, when I asked a girl something I shouldn’t have...” His strong hands moved effortlessly with the wood while the story came to life. “Never worry about tomorrow,” he said placing the sharpened pencil in my hand, “just laugh about today. God will take care of the rest.”

I’ll always remember how the soft pink eraser smelled like the rubber soles of his shiny black shoes, and the freshly sharpened wood smelled like the dust of his workshop.

Centered in the long hallway of that house stood a cupboard, where inside lay a stack of fresh white paper. Each sheet held a life of it’s own within it’s magical fibers. That night, before resting my head on the white pillowcase, I waved my magic pencil over the canvas, bringing the paper to life with each mark I made.

Pictures of beautiful women in long flowing gowns, with honey colored hair and raspberry cheeks, filled the papers over time, reflecting my dreams of the future and what it would hold.

I longed for the day when I’d gallop away on a white horse with a handsome man who would take me far away to his palace. There we would embrace the joy of our children, until the time came to tuck them into bed.

Several years later, I found myself standing under a stream of urine at 3 am. It sprayed from the top bunk from which my daughter dangled—half in and half out of a dream world. While I sputtered and screamed and searched for the light switch, Madison made her way down the ladder. Like a drunken cat running from a bath, she left the room and locked herself in the bathroom.

It took me a while to coax her to open the door, but finally she did—wet and cold and confused. After I put clean pajamas on her and wiped up the floor, I held her in my arms for one more hug.

“I’m sorry, Mamma, she whispered, with her face buried into my chest.

Lowering my head closer to hers, I said, “Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong.” And then I held her closer and longer than I usually did, wishing I hadn’t sputtered and screamed like I had.

“I made a mess,” she cried. I felt the tension in her shoulders while she quietly sobbed.

I held her closer until she relaxed. “We all have accidents,” I assured her, “Come on, time for bed.”

When I stood outside her room that night with urine dripping from my honey colored hair, I realized that sometimes God’s plan is different than ours. With each glimpse that I get of His plan unfolding in the life of my family, I see so much more than I planned for myself.

Inspired by my father’s humor and zest for life, I continue to make my mark on the world, bringing my own words to life in the stories I write.

Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor last week, and you know what? He's not worried one bit about tomorrow, and he's still laughing about today, because as he puts it, "God will take care of the rest." I don't think I've ever met a person with more zest for life than he.

Please keep him in your prayers as we face the weeks and months ahead.

Update: Today he was tested and diagnosed with four brain tumors and lung cancer. He is in great spirits, and ask that prayers be only for God's will to be done.