Fewer tomorrows

Did you know you have fewer tomorrows than any other day in your life? That sentence arrested my thoughts when I heard that statement in church last Sunday. In my head I know it. In my heart, I’m not so sure.

Those words hit me a little more strongly because just a day earlier, Jim and I took a ride throughout our county on a tour of homes. My homes.

Remember the past

We started at the home I left when I was a nineteen year old bride. It was a parsonage. We strolled through the yard that was now a parking lot. The house is now a counseling center, but it looked the same on the outside. I pointed out where my bedroom was. I described the back yard and how it used to be. A beautifully landscaped yard, with a stone wall, complete with fireplace and dutch oven beautifully constructed with large stones, some of them real petrified wood. “A tall dogwood tree stood there,” I said. We walked down the narrow driveway and up to the front porch that looked just the same. I peeked in the window of the same door that was there when I lived there. I’d spent many nights saying goodnight to Bill at that door, hating to say goodbye. I’d hoped the office would be open and ask if I could look around. The office was closed, but I peeked and could see the room appeared different. Maybe it’s better if I don’t see the changes, I thought, as we walked down the steps. Though I know things can’t stay the same, I don’t like things to change. I shook my head and with resolve, suggested we get some coffee, across the parking lot from the house. At Fairway Coffee.

Golf course turned coffee shop. They make great coffee.

It was a golf course when I lived here—the sign is a bit rusty, but the photo underneath shows what it once was. Now there stands a large parking lot and a strip mall, with a large big box grocery store as the anchor store, the small businesses strung along where the first tee was located, along with the coffee shop.

After our coffees, we began our tour of homes and tour of memories.

We drove to the duplex where we brought home our firstborn child from the hospital. That blue-eyed boy who still is very curious about life and how things work, is an engineer. He grew up and became a daddy himself.

Grieving hovers wherever you are

We pulled up across the street from our first home purchase. It had a large tree in the front I didn’t remember, but I do remember the beautiful back yard with room for a garden and a spreading Mimosa tree to give shade.

It was here we brought our second-blue-eyed baby home from the hospital. A girl. She loved being mommy’s helper and now is a mommy to four. We moved after four years—not because we needed more room, but I thought moving would erase my sorrows—but it didn’t. I learned grief can be put off, and moves right along with you, hovering in the background if it isn’t addressed. It took many other sorrows, to face and heal from the loss of my stillborn baby girl.

Pink Mimosa Tree

Joy and sorrow mingle together

We next drove to the house where I lived the longest. Thirty-one years. It looks much different. There are no more fir trees nearly hiding the residence. The new owners didn’t like the messy needles and cut most of them down. For years I avoided driving by the home, for I believed I wouldn’t like the trees gone, but I found it was pretty and obviously someone else’s loved home. An inviting slate pathway led visitors to the front door. There was a new smaller tree in the middle of the front yard. Grass grew, where the lawn struggled to grow under the towering fir trees. So many memories. Some good. Some sad. Joy and sorrow mingled here.

Changes on the outside, but the bones of the house are the same.

Take time to grieve

Next on our list was the house I was a newlywed for the second time. I wasn’t a nineteen year old, but a sixty-something widow-turned-bride. I can tell you it was just as exciting and wonderful to set up my new home. Sorrow visited me here, too. It took several years to work through the grief. This time, I didn’t move away to escape the grief.

It was here Jim drove up, asked if he could hug me. He’d just read my book and couldn’t wait for the next day to see me, but drove an hour just to hug me. That gave me an indication of where my life might go. Might I really meet another loving man who would be my husband? Though my life was full as a widow, it was more complete when Jim and I joined our lives together.

I’ve learned God is there during the good and difficult days

It was time to come home and we returned to our home. During moments of quiet thinking, my past was very much on my mind. Good memories. Sad memories. Remarkably, what stands out to me, is that I was not alone. He was there when I learned I would be a mama. He was there when I met and married each of my dear husbands.There were difficult days too—and He was there. He’ll be there when I move to my Father’s House.

Tomorrows–how many?

How many tomorrows will I have? I don’t know. But I do know, it won’t be by myself, for I know the promise is true.

I will never leave you, nor forsake you.

Take a journey

If it’s possible, take a journey and drive by those previous homes you lived in. If you can’t physically do it, look at photos, or even visit them in your mind. What can you say about your visit to them? Be honest with yourself. I hope you’ll discover what I did. It’s good to go back.

Think about your tomorrows

More than visiting your previous homes–whether physically, or in your mind, think about your tomorrows. Remember, today there are fewer tomorrows than ever.

This my present home. It’s full of joy and of course Jim!