Three Inch Hems

“And we know that those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

My great-grandmother, Emma Holtzman, was a stern woman, stingy with smiles and laughter. Instead, she embodied industriousness with her rapid use of a paring knife when peeling potatoes and her skillfulness in rolling out the perfect sugar cookies. Always working, she prided herself on keeping the house neat and clean. Most of her grandchildren, including my mom, found her intimidating. My mother kept her room loosely organized (aka a bit messy), not meeting the standards of Grandma Holtzman. On some occasions, Grandma Holtzman would come over to visit and “organize” my mom’s half of the room. She would gather all the items lying on the floor, including my mom’s prized Nancy Drew books, and throw them into the burn barrel. Returning from school, my mother would be distraught at the missing items, only to find out her own mom had rescued the items from incineration.

My mom has never liked coffee, preferring Coke instead. As a generous hostess, she offers everyone something to drink, but cheekily reminds her guests to leave her the last can of Coke. She keeps a coffee maker on hand for her guests and, last week, it died. On her behalf, Terry took a quick trip to Target to replace her coffee maker. Later, while making coffee, my mom shared a new story about Grandma Holtzman. As her grandmother was pinning the hem of my mother’s dress, she said, “You will always get taller, you will get use to scalding water, and you will learn to like coffee.” My mom chuckled as she told us this, because she never got taller, topping out at 5’1”. Additionally, she never got used to scalding water or developed a taste for coffee. But her grandmother thought she knew best, leaving my mom to go to school with three-inch hems, never letting them out because of a growth spurt.

Many years ago, a tragic story of a local woman impacted my life. In one car accident, this woman lost her husband and two sons, while her oldest son survived with serious injuries. I didn’t know this woman, but my heart ached for her. Along with a group of friends, I put together a care basket filled with candles, lotion, a book on grief, a journal, and some gift cards for local restaurants. We fully recognized that this basket wouldn’t make a dent in her sorrow, praying only that it would be a small reminder to her of God’s unfailing love.

With the intent of just dropping off the basket, the woman invited me into her home. What followed was a holy moment for me. She began to share with me the details of the accident, including that her children and husband were in two different hospitals with life threatening injuries. She had to make a terrible choice, the choice of being with her children or her husband, as they all were facing possible surgeries and/or death. She made the choice any mother would make and was with her sons as they took their last breath. Minutes later, she received a phone call that her husband had also passed away. She knew God was with her although recognizing she had a long grief journey ahead. She, along with her oldest son, had to build a new life. She contemplated selling their home and moving back to where their family lived for support. I feebly tried to utter words of hope and encouragement, but the words came out stilted and unwieldy. Quickly, I felt God nudge me to just listen. She continued to talk about her boys and their passions. One was a budding artist while the other created with Legos. She smiled as she talked about the whirlwind romance with her husband that led to this beautiful family. Already feeling this family’s pain, her last story shook me to my core. While she was in college, her identical twin sister had also been killed in an accident. At the time, she believed that this was the worst thing she would ever face in her life. Now, she believed God used that incident to build and strengthen her faith to survive her current tragedy.

I left an hour later than I expected, giving her a hug, and promising to pray for her. As I got into my car, all my choked-back tears gushed out. I came expecting to minister, instead, her story ministered to me. I kept my promise for many years, but then life got busy, and soon I forgot her name. I still can see her house, and the pictures of her boys, and occasionally I still call out to God, praying for her and her son. I hope that this woman has created a new life for herself, and I pray that she had found some joy again.

But her story speaks to a truth that we don’t always want to hear. Life is hard and it doesn’t mean we will have happy endings to all our stories in life. No matter whether this woman has chosen to remarry or lead a fulfilled life as a single woman, she will always feel the loss of her sister, husband, and sons. Her oldest son is probably starting his own family now, maybe even has children, but he will never forget the accident that changed his life. And although I have forgotten their names, God has not, and is still writing their story.

I want to repeat what I said in the last paragraph, life is hard. I don’t say this flippantly, but with a heavy heart. Cancer and unexpected accidents have changed the trajectory of my life, and what I expected to be a happy ending now looks very different. For example, cancer robbed my children of having their beloved grandmother attend their weddings. Her absence was felt, despite the joy of those days. Life is hard and I see this truth not only in my life but played out again and again in the lives of my friends and family.

Despite life being hard, I also believe that God works out everything for our good. This doesn’t mean the hard things don’t happen, it just means that there is peace and hope on the other side. But saying those words to a person in the middle of tragedy seems trite and uncompassionate. How do I love someone well in the middle of their hard, without coming across as dismissive and insincere? How do I convey God’s words as hope and peace for the other side?

I recently finished a Louise Penny novel where a likeable character from Three Pines was convicted of murder. It bothered me, even though the honorable Armand Gamache, the Chief Inspector, found all the evidence pointing to this character. Yes, this person was a bit greedy, and yes, he moved a dead body, but murder seemed farfetched. And if this was true, could I trust Louise Penny in the future to end the stories well without destroying my faith in the characters? Spoiler alert: I looked online and read the synopsis of the next book in the series and found out that the character was innocent. Instantly, I felt relieved. The ending of this book was unhappy, but I had faith in the future book to reconcile my angst.

I came across a quote recently that helped me reconcile the reality of life being hard with my faith that God is good. Orson Welles said, “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” That woman chose not to end her story when her sister died. Instead, she built a beautiful life with her husband and three children. And once again, I saw that woman actively choose not to end her story at the funerals of her family. Instead, she was looking to the future of building a new life on the other side of tragedy. She chose not to stop at the hard points in her life but went on letting God finish her story.

I can’t guarantee my grandchildren will be tall. I doubt anyone likes scalding water. I sure do hope they like coffee because I want to take them to some of my favorite coffee shops. But if they don’t, we will find other places to have adventures. And I can’t promise them that hard things won’t happen in their life. But I can promise that if they allow God to write their story, He will help them find hope, peace, and joy!