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INTRODUCTION
Why "Widow's Walk"? When I was a child, vacationing with my family on the Massachusetts coast, I wondered why some of the larger houses near the shore had porches on the roofs. They were, I was told, not porches. They were called Widow's Walks. From that higher place the wife of a seafarer could watch for the return of her man from the far places of the world. Often the ships--and the men--did not return, but when they did the women who loved them and waited for them wanted to know as soon as possible that this most precious cargo of all had arrived in the harbor. So each day they climbed to the tops of their houses, to the widow's walks, to watch. And wait. And hope. When my husband was called home to the Lord, I knew that I would have a journey of my own to travel. As a part of that journey, He has invited me to stand on the rooftop with Him. He has shown me that I can see for a greater distance from there. He has shown me how to watch for the signs that He is healing me, and to wait for his voice and his direction. Most especially, He has shown me hope. Hope for now and hope for eternity.
Jane Chrzanowski
GREAT IS THY FAIHFULNESS
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22,23 Outside the hospital window the sun was rising. I had seen the same sun rising through the same window for several mornings. No matter what the day was to bring, the morning sun peeked tentatively over the rock formations by the highway, then through the stub bare trees that clung there. From there it flooded the roofs of the shopping mall on the other side of the highway, and finally into the hospital room. There it crept across the bed, carefully avoiding the sleeping patient but shining directly into my eyes as I sat in the chair. No matter what bad news there was, and there wasn’t much good news in those last days, the sun kept rising and following the same path. And I would know, even when it was not easy to believe, that the God of the universe was paying attention to His creation. To the man in the bed. To his family and friends. To the doctors and nurses, to the hospital staff, and to a lot of people I was not paying attention to at all. And even to me. That first lonely summer was hot and dry with almost no relief for weeks at a time. The grass turned brown and crunched underfoot, the tomatoes were small and hard like marbles, even the hardy marigolds wilted and withered. The drought seemed a metaphor for my faded and thirsty life. Then the rain came. Almost immediately the grass began to grow green again. The tomatoes plumped and the marigolds bloomed. Again, the God of the universe was paying attention. His grace sustains me through the day and desolate times. Hope grows a little greener, peace blooms a little brighter. Joy will return in time. “Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”
Jane Chrzanowski
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BEHOLD, I MAKE ALL THINGS NEW
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. He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new." In a heartbeat--his last one--I became a different person. I was no longer someone's wife; that portion of my identity was gone as surely as Ron himself was gone. I was now someone's widow, and because of that everything else has changed as well. Every experience was now a "first"--a new life for the reluctant me. That "first" morning I made a full pot of coffee and gave myself caffeine jitters trying to drink my miscalculation. I made oatmeal for two and was even a little surprised when there was only one to eat it. So many firsts. The first time I shopped for groceries and did not come home with several bottles of orange soda, I thought I had forgotten something important even though I never drink it. The first load of laundry with clothing that belonged only to me was torture. The first junk mail with his name on it. The first phone call that asked for him. The first time the grass needed mowing, the leaves needed raking, the snow needed shoveling. The first day, the first hour, the first minute. The first time I had to say aloud, "My husband has died". God has been paying me a little extra attention, and drawing me closer to Himself. He knows that even with His close companionship this is a lonely and frightening journey. As he guided my husband into his new life, so He guides me through mine. His promises are true, not just for eternity but for the here and now as well. For every day. For every first. Jane Chrzanowski
WEEPING FOR A NIGHT, DANCING IN THE LIGHT
Weeping may last for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. The next time I say to someone I will do what they ask, "I promise", I truly hope it is in the presence of several witnesses who will call me to account on it. How easily those words slip out and how frequently they keep slipping out till they become lost or meaningless in the busyness of life. As a child I promised to keep a secret but it fell out of my mouth before I could catch it. As a teenager I promised to return a friend's library book on time and remembered only after the fines amounted to a week’s allowance. As a wife I promised chicken for dinner and it didn't thaw in time so we ate canned hash. I promised to pick up the dry cleaning after work and simply forgot. I promised to help a friend wallpaper her bathroom but my children had the chickenpox. My life has been littered with promises made and broken. Most haven't been life-changing; a few have. Years and years ago I stood in a church and made a series of promises I really hoped to keep. Someone I loved made the same promises to me with every intention of keeping them as well. And even when the hardest times came--when we were poorer instead of richer, when it was sickness instead of health, we did what we said we would do the best way we knew how. When loving, honoring, and cherishing took more work than we thought they would, we did it anyway. We didn't analyze the depths of those long-ago promises, we just kept on keeping them. I love it when God makes a promise because He always keeps His promises, no matter how impossible they might seem. There is no "I might...", no "well, maybe...", no "I'll see what I can do...", no empty disappointment where an overstated and badly thought out promise used to be. He has done what he said; He will always do what he says.
Jane Chrzanowski
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"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11
If there has been anything like a common thread among my friends and acquaintances who have lost spouses, it has been feelings of abandonment and confusion. All of a sudden, there we are trying to make sense of the dozens of new problems and situations that assault us because of our status while coping with the greater issue that our partners in decision-making has been taken from us. It's frightening and it doesn't make sense. We don't know what to do or how to act.
It wasn't that there was no help available to me. There was, and sometimes there seemed to be more than I needed. Family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, everyone wanted to help, to do something to ease my way. They couldn't, but they wanted to, and that counts for something, but there are so many things that no one can do for another person. They could take care of some of the business, some of the everyday jobs. They could cook meals and answer the phones and hand me tissues. They could run errands, watch my house, shovel my sidewalks. They could lead me gently through the legal maze that would not have made sense to me even in my most intelligent and lucid moments. Bless them all, they did all these and more, and the polite thanks they received could not begin to communicate my gratitude. My unscientific research among others in similar situations tells me that they also have much to thank family and friends for and not many adequate words to thank them with.
What no one could do was make the hurting stop.
Jane Chrzanowski
Widow's Walk
A book of meditations on Love and Loss, Hope and Healing written by Jane Chrzanowski is available free of charge. If you or if you know of someone who is trying to find their way while traveling on this lonely road of separation, please send us their name and address. We will see to it that a freshly printed book is sent to them as soon as possible. Send questions and addresses to nonnie_woman@hotmail.com
If you are frightened and need a friend who has been there, Jane has made herself available. E-mail her at nonnie_woman@hotmail.com and let Jane minister to the aching in your heart.
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Copyright © 2001 Jane Chrzanowski. All Rights Reserved.