What I’ve Gained

28 07 2017

I’ve lost my husband. Each day that reality hits me equally hard. Sometimes there is a deep sadness that refuses to give way regardless of what I do. Sometimes the smothering heaviness of loneliness wraps itself around me, barely allowing me to breathe. But other times a larger picture pushes the sadness and loneliness aside and tells me this:

I have gained so much.

I’ve gained strength to face each day. I’ve gained the ability to see the tiniest of details all around me, those pinpoints of incredible beauty waiting for me to notice, like the hummingbird resting on the petal of an Asian lily, or the perfectly shaped leaf being shifted by the breeze. The huge waves coming in to shore not by their own will but by the will of the wind. The cloud formation that is a bird, then a kite, then a sailboat.

I’ve gained independence. Though I have no sense of direction, I’ve found my way around my state, amazed myself by navigating other places like Chicago and Milwaukee. Faced with the decision of either figuring it out or staying home, I’ve chosen to figure it out. I’ve learned to eat out alone, go to movies alone, or on a drive to enjoy nature, alone.

I’ve gained a lifetime of memories, those snapshots of family times, travels overseas, and simple Saturday mornings over coffee. Drawing on those, squeezing as much joy as possible from each precious moment, I’ve realized that I can still make memories in the future. They won’t look the same. They won’t be the memories I was hoping for five years ago. But they are there, waiting for me to recognize and take advantage of them.

I’ve gained a different kind of joy. It’s so much deeper and more permanent than the joy I had before, maybe because the heaviness of melancholy has filtered in, giving it a richness it lacked before. If nothing else, death is an unrelenting educator.  

I’ve gained the certainty that my friends are always going to surround me. What a gift! Their loyalty, camaraderie, love and thoughtfulness have daily blessed me. I am humbled by their devotion. They accept me as I am, regardless of circumstances.

I’ve gained the knowledge that petty differences are just that—petty. They are not important, and not worth wasting time and energy debating.  As individuals we have our own ideas and views of life, but at the base of it all is our love for each other. Every single person on this earth is going to say and do things that will hurt others, but those things do not define them or how they feel about the significant people in their lives.

I’ve gained a different kind of faith, one that encourages me to lean more heavily on God and accept more fully the future He has planned for me. Don’t get me wrong, I still rally against the way things are. As I sit alone in the evenings I desperately miss the companionship of my husband. I don’t relish my singleness. But acceptance is part of life. Misery is not an option. There are legions of us out there, each dealing with loss in our own unique way, taking the journey one step at a time with the faith that it will be okay. Because that’s the best decision we can make.





Saint Paddy From My Perspective

16 03 2015

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In past years I used to envy the Irish just a little bit–the Dutch people don’t have a day equivalent to Saint Patrick’s day to honor our heritage. And since I’m not Irish, March 17th had no major significance for me,  that is not until two years ago when my husband Mel died of a massive heart attack on that day. It’s the kind of anniversary no one wants to celebrate.

My first experience with anything Irish was  when I was 8 years old and someone gave me a music box with a small ballerina that twirled round and round to “When Irish Eyes are Smiling.” Later, as an adult, it was fun to adopt an Irish heritage just for that one day (though O’DeVries sounds, well, weird. But still. . . ).  It was fun to see the river turn green, beverages and food items dyed green, and shamrocks pretty much everywhere. Today I see the day through a different lens.

The week after St. Patrick’s Day two years ago, my friend Diet Eman (author of Things We Couldn’t Say) gave me a shamrock plant as a thank you for taking her to a Passover service at my church. Though she didn’t know that Mel had died on that holiday a week earlier, and I wasn’t sure how to handle the constant reminder, her sweet gift has become precious to me.  This morning as I watered the shamrock I wondered about the significance behind it.

I didn’t know much about either the holiday or the plant. As I began to research the beginnings of St. Patrick’s Day, I found some interesting, little-known details. Although Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, he was born into a wealthy Romano-British family in Roman Britain in the 4th century. His father was a deacon in the Christian church, his grandfather a priest.

At age 16 Patrick was kidnapped by Irish raiders and taken as a slave to Gaelic Ireland, where he worked as a shepherd for six years. During that time he was said to have ‘found God,’ and was told by God to flee to the coast where a ship was waiting to take him home. In Roman Britain he became a priest, returning later to Ireland to convert the pagans to Christianity. He worked mainly in the northern regions of Ireland (Wikipedia, et al), using the shamrock as a way to explain the Christian trinity.

It wasn’t until the 1600’s that a coin was minted showing St. Patrick holding a shamrock. From that point on the Irish

St. Patrick and shamrock

began to wear the shamrock on their lapel as a symbol of their patron saint. I found it interesting that the initial color associated with Patrick was blue, but was replaced by green in the late 1700’s mainly due to the shamrock. During the Irish rebellion the shamrock changed from a symbol of St. Patrick to one of Irish patriotism. The Irish government adopted it as the country’s official trademark in 2003. St. Patrick died on March 17, 461 A.D. He was buried at Downpatrick in Ireland, and has been considered the patron saint of Ireland since 1903.

Our Christian culture considers the evergreen a symbol of eternal life. I think initially the Irish had it right–the three sections of the shamrock leaf remind us of the Holy Trinity–Father, Son and Holy Spirit–and the green reminds us of the promise of eternal life. Fr. Vincent Twomey was quoted as saying, it is time “…to reclaim St. Patrick’s Day as a church festival.” Who knew that’s what it once was, since we’ve known it only as a secular holiday.

That brings me to my personal feeling about March 17. I have spent two years without Mel. My life changed forever because of the events of that day. The loss is still  fresh, the pain very real, but somehow it seems fitting that God chose this day to take him home. Knowing the true meaning behind the story of Saint Patrick makes me realize there is a much larger plan at work here, that maybe I need the reminder of an eternal goal. My little shamrock plant leans toward the sun each day just as I ought to be reaching for the Son. Everlasting sounds pretty good in the light of the promise of eternity we as Christians have. Mel just got to experience it a little sooner than the rest of us. Maybe he’ll be wearing a shamrock in heaven.





A Gala for Death

18 04 2014

Imagine a huge party with millions worldwide attending. Laughter and joy fills the space, the celebration going on and on through day and night. There’s dancing and singing and more food than you’ve ever seen in one place, an event unlike any you’ve ever experienced. Happiness paints the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and reflects off the faces of those who are here. The very air shimmers with joie de vivre.

Outdoors, sparkling stars are dancing in the heavens, circling the moon, the sun and each other in a frenzy of wonder. Every creature on earth is leaping, crawling, flying, swimming, moving in sheer joy, no longer enemies or predator and prey. Nature has joined in with a wild, gloriously flagrant display of color and perfume.

In the midst of all the happy chaos sets a casket. It’s ugly, black, non-descript, unembellished, no flowers in tribute, no notes of sympathy around it. And you realize—this is a funeral. But whose is it? It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

Over my lifetime I’ve attended many funerals. Funerals for infants, children, young people, adults of every age. Parents, spouses, children, sisters, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, good friends. The causes of death vary from illness to accidents of all kinds to murder to old age. None of the funerals have been happy occasions. Sometimes the death was welcomed in the sense that the deceased suffered much in those last days, or was very old and had lost all sense of who they were due to dementia or Alzheimer’s. But the pain of loss was still felt, tears still shed by someone, and a precious soul still missed.

Funerals have one thing in common; there usually are mourners, even if it’s just a single individual. At some point in the deceased person’s life, he or she was loved by at least one person. People are devastated by the death of a loved one. They cry over their loss. Tears and pain are a tribute to the importance the loved one held in their lives. It’s honoring to them.

So my post title may not seem to make sense to you, but trust me, it does. I assure you, there will be one funeral yet to come at which there won’t be one tear shed. Everyone on earth will want to attend, to celebrate for days on end. Not one person will be sad. Instead I believe there will be a huge party of celebration and great rejoicing.

And here’s the best secret ever: it will be the LAST funeral we will ever attend. The last one.

At the very end of time, the biggest event will be the death of Death. When the day that God has preordained to be the last day finally comes, I look forward to that final funeral. What an event that will be, the funeral for Death. Never again will the awful words ‘Death’ and ‘funeral’ need to be spoken. That black-cloaked figure with the scythe who comes after every living person will himself be inside the casket, never to reap a life again. Imagine the joy of all mankind on the demise of Death!

Want to join the party? It’s easy to be included in the guest list, and your invitation is printed all through the New Testament. Just believe in, trust in, rely on God. Right after Paul and Silas are released from their chains in prison because of an earthquake, the jailer falls down in front of them and asks the question we all need to ask.

“…what must I do to be saved?” They replied, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” Acts 16:30-31 (NIV)

Oh, and the celebration? It goes on forever. I, for one, want to part of that.





Book Review: The Breakthrough by Jerry B. Jenkins

22 08 2012
        The Breakthrough  by Jerry B. Jenkins
Reviewed by Terri DeVries

Jerry B. Jenkins has authored in excess 0f 175 books, including the best-selling Left Behind series.  He has sold over seventy million copies, and is no stranger to the New York Times Best Seller List.  His writing has recently segued into a series of three Chicago Police Department crime novels collectively titled the Precinct 11 series. In the first two action-packed books of the trilogy we are introduced to Boone Drake, a young Chicago cop whose wife and small son have died tragically. As a result, Boone questions his belief in God, his purpose for life, and his ability to survive painful loss. His pastor, Francisco Sosa, sends Boone scriptural texts via cell phone to encourage, challenge, and keep him on track.

In The Breakthrough, the third book of the series, things have finally turned around. Boone has married Haeley, a young woman who works at the department with him. He is well on his way to a successful career as the youngest-ever bureau chief and head of the Major Case Squad.  Boone’s relationship with Pastor Sosa has been a major factor in his recovery from grief. His faith in God is stronger than ever, and Max, Haeley’s five-year-old son, has embraced Boone as a father.

A perfect life? So it seems, until Healey faints, cracks the back of her skull and lands in ICU, unconscious and in serious condition. Boone struggles to maintain his faith in this crisis, but is further tested when a frantic babysitter confesses that Max has disappeared. As the story unfolds, surprising twists and turns keep readers guessing. Boone and his mentor and friend, Jack Keller, race against time to find the boy. What happens in the course of their search will have readers on the edge of their seats.

Jenkins is a masterful storyteller, weaving two storylines side-by-side, and switching seamlessly from one to the other without losing the momentum of the plotlines. In doing so, he makes it impossible for his fans to put the book down until the very end.

This fast-paced novel takes readers from the slums of Chicago and Hammond to the teeming metropolis of Beijing in the People’s Republic of China, where Boone uncovers a shady and shocking international scheme.

Will Haeley survive her coma? Will Boone be able to find Max? Pick up Jerry Jenkins’ book, The Breakthrough, and take a roller-coaster ride along with Boone. You’ll be hooked from the first page. The Breakthrough will be available in bookstores starting in early September, 2012. I promise you’ll not only enjoy the suspense, you’ll be left wanting more. And while you’re at it, check out the first two books in the series, The Brotherhood and The Betrayal.  You won’t be sorry you took the time.





Life after Good Friday

8 04 2010

We had a really good service this last week on Maundy Thursday. It got me thinking about the physical anguish Jesus endured during his crucifixion, something no one really wants to think about. I wrote the poem “it’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming” based on the monologues we heard at the service.  The poem is posted in the personal perspectives section.





A special honor

29 03 2010

I was just asked by someone from the Grand Rapids Art Museum  for permission to use my children’s poem “God’s Paint” for the Conversations about Spirituality display on Friday, April 2.  It’s pretty exciting to have something of mine on display for the general public to read. A little scary, too! Stop by if you get a chance. Otherwise, you can read the poem in the children’s section.