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Forget-ME-not

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

Praise the LORD, my soul,
and forget not all His benefits.
Psalm 103:2

Leaving was hard.

I looked around Room 108 one last time. For seven years, I had invested myself in this little blue room by the staircase, creating a haven for my English as a Second Language students. Now, personal items were packed away. Teaching tools were passed on to other educators.

I had said my goodbyes to students and staff. The last 37 years of my life had been dedicated to teaching and learning. And now?

I wasn’t sure what the future held. But I knew God was calling me to a new chapter. He had made that clear.

On the blackboard, my students had written a farewell message:

“We love Miss Linda.” Each name signed brought a smile. I would never forget these students. I would never forget all that I had learned here. I walked away with far more than I had given.

And then, I closed the door on that chapter of my life.

Even when I am old and gray,
do not forsake me, my God,
till I declare your power to the next generation,
your mighty acts to all who are to come.
Psalm 71:18

 

Leaving is never easy. Pastor Amy’s departure from Atonement Methodist Church is filled with love and tears. We cherish her. She has accomplished much as our senior pastor.

But her last message wasn’t about grief, but about continuing the work. As she reminded us, eternity has no beginning and no end. God calls us to pause amid our busy lives and rest in His arms. There, He heals us and prepares us for what’s next.

Pastor Amy is in that place of holy waiting. And while she waits, she invites us to remember what God has already done, and what He has promised to do.

A beautiful symbol of this remembrance appeared on Sunday’s bulletins: the forget-me-not. This small blue flower speaks of memory, faithful love, and enduring presence. Legend says forget-me-nots grew on the battlefield of Waterloo in 1815—a tender sign of remembrance amid hardship. Many were worn on lapels this past Memorial Day.

Amy explained that God is the ‘Me’ in forget-me-not. The Great I AM answers prayer. His love is the greatest gift we could ever receive.

God will not forget Amy’s faithfulness. And we will not forget her.

But more than that, we remember our faithful God. And we move forward in the assurance that He remembers us, He leads us, and He is not finished with our story yet.

Closing Prayer:

Gracious and Everlasting God,
We thank You for the gift of faithful seasons and the gentle guidance You give as we move from one chapter to the next. Thank You for Pastor Amy’s leadership and the love she poured into this church family. Thank You for the memories, the healing, and the hope that she has left with us.

As we remember her faithfulness, help us most of all to remember Yours. You are unfailing, unwavering, and unchanging. When we are uncertain about what comes next, remind us You are already there, preparing the way.

Give us willing hearts to sit in Your presence, to listen for Your voice, and to follow where You lead. Strengthen us to carry forward the good work You have begun, that we may declare Your mighty acts to the next generation.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

“My Friends Call Me Joe”–A Servant’s Heart and Peter’s Legacy

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

FEED MY SHEEP

Amy Peters, Speaker

5/4/25

“My Friends Call Me Joe”

A Servant’s Heart and Peter’s Legacy

Written by Linda Waltersdorf Cobourn, EdD

He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.”

John 21:17

In the Cold of Crisis – The Gift of Presence

My daughter and I were numb with cold and grief. All we knew was that my husband’s injuries were severe—life-threatening. His chest had been crushed by the steering wheel when a truck crashed into Ron’s car on Paoli Pike. Hours later, we sat in a freezing room off the trauma center, waiting to learn if Ron would survive.

Ron’s parents and brother were gathered on the other side of the room, silent and mournful. My friend Chris and her mother were near Bonnie and I, quietly praying.

There had been no update from the operating room for over an hour.

The “ding” of the elevator in the hallway broke the silence. The doors slid open and two men stepped out. I caught sight of their faces as they headed our way.

“Mr. Slawter, Mr. Kounnas,” I said quietly as I rose to greet two deacons from our church. In their hands were thermoses of hot coffee and a packet of sandwiches. “Thanks for coming.”

“My friends call me Joe,” said one with a twinkle in his eye.

“Joe,” I said, and hugged him. Joe was then and after, a God-send.

Peter’s Redemption and Commission

When Peter meets the risen Jesus, he is sorrowful; three times he denied the Savior, and three times Jesus questions him: Do you love me?

“Yes, Lord,” Peter says. “You know I love you.”

“Then feed my sheep,” Jesus tells him.

Peter, once known as Simon the hot-headed fisherman, becomes the “rock” of the early church. He was the first of the disciples to recognize Jesus as Messiah (Mark 8:29) and one of the first to arrive at the empty tomb. He becomes a leader transformed by grace and commission—serving not out of pride but out of love.

In my moment of deepest need, Joe lived out that same commission. Coffee and sandwiches may seem small, but to us in that room, they were the hands and feet of Jesus. Joe fed God’s sheep—literally and spiritually—by showing up and loving well.

A Faithful Life Well Lived

Samuel Joseph Kounnas “fed the sheep” of Jesus in every sense of the word. A family man married to Mary for 71 years and father to three daughters, Joe made his living as a mechanic. But his real joy was in serving the Lord however he could: teaching Sunday School, running the bus ministry, or driving a van full of senior citizens. His impact on others was great.

On Thursday, May 1, 2025, God called this faithful man home to Heaven. While those who knew the amazing Mr. Kounnas called him “Joe,” God undoubtedly greeted him as a “good and faithful servant.”

Joe wasn’t rich or famous. It’s doubtful many people outside Delaware County knew his name. But Joe lived as Peter lived: humbly, obediently, and with steadfast love for the Lord. Whether it was coffee and sandwiches, a handshake and a hug, or a quiet hospital visit, Joe did what he was told.

He fed God’s sheep.

Closing Prayer:
Lord Jesus, thank You for the life of Samuel Joseph Kounnas, a man who showed us what it means to serve with quiet faithfulness. Thank You for the ways he lived out Your command to feed Your sheep—through kindness, presence, and love. Help us to follow his example, to see needs around us, and to serve not for recognition but out of love for You. Comfort all who grieve Joe’s passing and strengthen us to carry forward the legacy of faith he left behind. In Your holy name we pray, Amen.

A Note from the Author to the Kounnas Family:
To the entire Kounnas family, thank you for sharing Joe with us all these years. His kindness, faithfulness, and servant’s heart have left a deep and lasting impact. I grieve with you, and we rejoice in knowing Joe is now in the presence of his Savior.

Linda

 

Resurrection People

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

 

The black night crushed down on me, a weight greater than any I’d ever borne. My soul felt devoid of all light.

Widow. I was a widow. A few hours ago, my beloved husband Ron died, leaving a hole in my heart I feared would never be filled. The tears streamed down my face. I reached across my bed for Ron’s pillow, needing the comfort of his familiar scent as I waited for the first pink threads of morning.

As I sat in the darkness, I realized I wasn’t the first to grieve a loss that shattered the world. The disciples, too, knew the weight of silence and sorrow. That silent Saturday must have stretched endlessly for them. The Man they had believed in, hoped in, and planned their futures around had died. Those few who had stayed on the hill of Golgotha had seen His battered body lowered to the ground, limp and lifeless. They had believed in Jesus’ earthly kingdom. They did not yet understand that Jesus of Nazareth had come not to lift their physical burdens but the heavier weight of sin on their souls.

Now what? I asked God the night Ron died. Now what?
The disciples surely asked each other the same thing.

“It is finished,” He had said. Did His followers understand the magnitude of what He had uttered?

The Greek word translated as “It is finished” is tetelestai, a term used in the ancient world to indicate that a debt had been paid in full. Jesus wasn’t just announcing His death—He was declaring our redemption. He spoke not of defeat, but of fulfillment. Not of loss, but of love.

Paid in full.

It was a dark night.

But morning came. I got up and wiped my tears, moving into my first day as a widow.

The women approached the tomb, ready to offer one final act of love for their Lord.

And everything changed.

Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her (John 20:18).

Oh, what joy there must have been at the news! Immediately, Peter and John ran to the tomb and found it just as Mary had said: empty.

The resurrection isn’t just about Christ; it is also about us. We are invited to live each day in the transforming power of God—new life, new hope, and new purpose.

Making us Resurrection People.

John Wesley spoke of the resurrection not only as a hope for the future, but as a call to transformation in the present. He said, “By the resurrection of Christ, God hath given us a proof of his power to raise our souls from the death of sin, to walk in the newness of life.”

As Resurrection People, we are continually being shaped, reshaped, and made more like Christ through the Holy Spirit.

It means we let go of bitterness and embrace forgiveness.
It means we choose compassion over convenience.
It means we live with joy, even in hard times, because we know the story did not end at the cross; it burst forth from the empty tomb.

Our own tombs are also empty. My husband’s earthly body might lie in a grave at Lawncroft Cemetery, where the carillon bells he so loved ring hymns into the air, but his soul has been transformed. No longer in pain from the many years of physical and mental illness, he now rejoices at the feet of his Lord and Savior.

As we enter the season of Eastertide—the 50 days leading us to Pentecost and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit—we’re given space to practice resurrection. To discover what new life in Christ means on a personal level. To move forward in a life shaped by the hope of the risen Lord.

As Resurrection People, we are not perfect but transformed.
Not finished but made new.

So this Eastertide, let’s not just celebrate the resurrection.

Let’s live it.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Do you have a story to share about your own walk with Jesus? I’d be happy to help you write it for the church blog! You can follow me for more stories about faith, hope, and widowhood at lindaca1.substack.com .

 

Foxes and Hens

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

REFLECTIONS ON THE SUNDAY SERMON

Linda Waltersdorf Cobourn, EdD

 April 6, 2025

Mark Peters, Speaker

FOXES AND HENS

Very early in the morning, the chief priests, with the elders, the teachers of the law and the whole Sanhedrin, made their plans. So they bound Jesus, led him away and handed him over to Pilate.

Mark 15:1

 

            “Count off by twos,” Mr. Matthews instructed as we lined up at the door of my second-grade classroom. “Today we’re playing Foxes and Hens.”

Most of my classmates were delighted to be able to run outside on a warm day in April, but I groaned. Running kicked up my asthma and made breathing difficult, and the sun high in the sky hurt my eyes and reflected off my new eyeglasses in strange ways. I was never very good at running games; I was destined to always be a hen, never a fox who was stronger and had more power. The fox could capture the hen, but the hen could only run around clucking. It didn’t seem at all fair to the hen!

As an adult, however, I have had to reconsider the role of the hen. After all, Jesus Christ compares Himself to a mother hen. Luke 13:34 says this:

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.

Jesus clearly laments for Jerusalem. The Book of Luke mentions Jerusalem 90 times, yet the city had continued to refuse to accept Jesus as Messiah. In verse 31 (Luke 13:31), some of the Pharisees had warned Jesus to leave the area because “Herod wants to kill you.” But Jesus is not intimidated by Herod. He tells the Pharisees “ ‘Go tell that fox, ‘I will keep on driving out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will reach my goal” (Luke 13:32). The coming death of the Savior will not be part of Herod’s plan, but about the establishment of the Kingdom of God.

Jesus, who longed to gather the people of Jerusalem as a mother hen gathers her chicks, did not fight, as a fox would, against His arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. He could easily have called down angels to save Him, but He allowed Himself to be led away (Matthew 26:56) as the lamb to the slaughter (Isaiah 53:7).

I imagine, as Mark described to us on Sunday, the image of the hen, wings spread wide, breast exposed, making no move to shield herself as she gathers her chicks. Her wings provide shade from the sun and warmth from the cold and protection from predators.

And what if the chicks refuse to come? She will continue to wait for them, patient and vulnerable, leaving herself open to harm.

It is an image to hold onto as we complete the days before Easter Sunday. The image of the mother hen, mourning for the children that will not come, leads me to think of three things:

  1. We are called to radical vulnerability. In the face of danger, Jesus gives us His own body. He offers Himself as our refuge. Can we do the same for others?
  2. We are called to lamentation, for those lost, for missed opportunities, for Israel.

We may not be able to save them, but we can mourn for them and pray for them.

  1. We are called to return to Him. What does He ask of us? What role are we to play in the Kingdom of God? Can we take the risk to love sacrificially, as He does?

The people of Jerusalem were not willing to come to Jesus.  Are you willing to come?

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR.

Everyone has a “God story” to tell! Please talk to me about sharing yours. If you’ve enjoyed reading this and would like to read more about my faith walk, please join my free blog at: lindaca1.substack.com

 

Where Jesus is Present

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

REFLECTIONS ON THE SUNDAY SERMON

Linda Waltersdorf Cobourn, EdD

 March 23, 2025

Pastor Amy Peters, Speaker

WHERE JESUS IS PRESENT

 

 While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat; this is my body.”

Matthew 26:26

“This is a very special time,” Sister Veronica reminded us as we entered the church, a single file of children dressed in white dresses or suits. “Your First Communion is the only time that Jesus Himself will come into your heart. Every other communion will be the reminder of this time.”

We all nodded solemnly and headed towards the altar, rosary beads draped over our prayerful hands in imitation of the statue of the Blessed Virgin.

Following my brother to our assigned pews, I caught sight of my parents, smiling as their children prepared, for the first time, to receive the Eucharist. The weeks of catechism class had imbued me with awe for this special moment in my life, but Sister Veronica’s words concerned me.

This was the ONLY TIME Jesus would come into my heart? Why hadn’t I been told this sooner? How could I possibly keep Him in my heart? I wanted more of Jesus, not just a once-in-a-lifetime meeting.

Image result for Matthew 26:26

My seven-year-old self did not need to worry; while Sister Veronica had intended to remind us of the solemnity of the occasion, she had somehow missed what I know as an adult to be true:

Jesus is present everywhere.

The sacrament of Holy Communion was instituted by Jesus as He ate the Passover Supper with His Disciples; the broken bread was a symbol of the Body He sacrificed for us; the wine was a symbol of the Blood spilled for us. And while Holy Communion serves, as Sister Veronica stated, as a reminder of the sacrifices made and a “bit of Heaven,” it is not the only time we are invited into the presence of Christ.

He is in the morning sunrise. He is in the chirping of the birds. He is in the person sitting next to you. He is in all who call Him Savior. He is in Atonement Methodist Church.

John Wesley’s approach to Holy Communion is, as Pastor Amy reminded us on Sunday, threefold:

Holy Communion Images

  1. Christ is PRESENT in the act of Holy Communion. This is illustrated in Charles Wesley’s hymn:

This is the richest legacy
Thou hast on man bestowed,
Here chiefly, Lord, we feed on thee,
And drink thy precious blood.

               Communion is the “grand channel” of God’s grace to us.

  1. Revival and Communion go hand in hand. Our lives are transformed by the acceptance of the Bread and Wine, the Body and Blood.
  2. Holy Communion is pastoral, meaning it focuses on our spiritual growth; it is inclusive and caring.

 

We are entering a time of change at Atonement. As Pastor Amy retires and moves onto other callings, we need to remember what God has started here in Claymont. We need to base our continued trust in God that he will finish what he has started. He has told has already told what we are to do:

Image result for care for one another

Care for another.

 

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
    his love endures forever.

Psalm 118:1

Psalm 118 is the final song sung at the traditional Passover meal. Its verses remind us that God is with us always and will not let us stumble or fall. No matter what the future holds for us, God will continue to channel his grace to us. As we enter into a new season at Atonement, let’s reflect on the last two verses of Psalm 118.

You are my God, and I will praise you;
    you are my God, and I will exalt you.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
    his love endures forever.

Image result for a channel of God's grace

And ask God how you can be a channel of his grace to others.

 

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR.

Everyone has a “God story” to tell! Please talk to me about sharing yours. If you’ve enjoyed reading this and would like to read more about my own faith walk, please join my free blog at:lindaca1.substack.com

 

Journey of the Magi: An Advent Pilgrimage

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

Journeys are never easy. Each year as I set up my creche, I wonder about the mysterious Wise Men who journeyed from the East. We have only a few scant verses from the Book of Matthew about them:

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”

Tradition has it that they were three astronomers who had been tracking the moving Star and believed in the prophets who foretold the coming of the Messiah.

Surely, I would think to myself, these three men—not Hebrews—were changed by their journey. It was the idea that eventually led me to write a previous Christmas story, A Star for Zachary, which told the tale of an elderly man who was a shepherd on a hill the night the Heavenly Angels announced the Holy Birth. His life had been changed forever.

T.S. Eliot’s poem, “Journey of the Magi”, holds the same fascination for me. Eliot penned the poem in 1927, the same year he became a British citizen. While the poem itself tells an allegory of the Three Wisemen’s journey to the Christ Child, making frequent reference to prophecy and Bible verses, it was also written by Eliot as an analysis of his own conversion journey to faith.

For me, the last five years have been an immensely difficult journey, full of obstacles and doubt as I was plunged into widowhood and the single parenting of an autistic adult. Yet along with the difficulties were also amazing discoveries of my own abilities as a writer, the building of a readership, and the decision to make the 2023-2024 school year my last as a full-time teacher.

Please join me on this Christmas Journey as we follow the Wise Men along the route to Bethlehem and reflect for a few moments on the Great Gift that leads us to Christmas morning.

After the End: Finding Rest

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

And there was a certain royal official whose son lay sick at Capernaum. When this man heard that Jesus had arrived in Galilee from Judea, he went to him and begged him to come and heal his son, who was close to death.” ( John 4:46)

I leaned my head against the wall for a moment, pausing to try and infuse some strength into my weary body. The walk from the parking lot, through the medical pavilions, and down the long hallway to the main hospital seemed to get longer every day. There were times when I ran down the hallway at top speed, anxious to get to the trauma ward or the surgical unit, afraid it would be my last chance to see my husband. There were other days, like today, when I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I felt exhausted, convinced I could easily melt into a puddle of tiredness onto the beige rug of the hallway. Desperately, I needed rest.

But after years of caring for a chronically ill husband, rest was not likely to happen.

The nobleman in John 4:46 would have known what I was talking about. While we are not told how long his son was ill, we can surmise it was not a sudden illness. Can you see him pacing the floor of his son’s room, sitting by his bed and holding the hand of his child? Can you imagine him calling upon all manner of healers and doctors to try and bring relief to his boy? I can; for years, we left no stone unturned to try and find a cure for Ron. We traveled up and down the East Coast, seeking answers to his chronic pain. I can empathize with this father, then, who likely had connections as a nobleman, perhaps was even in the employ of Herod.

Maybe he’d been given false hope. Maybe along the way a charlatan or two had promised a cure. In our twenty- year battle, we encountered more than a few of them as well.

Resources for Family Caregivers During the Covid-19 Crisis - IonaBut then the nobleman, this worried father, heard that Jesus was nearby, just 20 miles away in Cana. Had he heard of the first miracle Jesus had done at the wedding, turning water into wine? It is clear he knew something of Jesus; he addresses him as “sir”, which in the Greek is kyrie, meaning “lord.” It seems from what is told in the book of John that he had traveled alone; his servants later met him on the road. What is also clear is that he had faith that Jesus could heal his son. When Jesus said, “Go thy way, thy son liveth,” (John 4: 50) he did not question it. He knew it to be true.

Even as Ron suffered for so many years with so many maladies, I never stopped believing in God’s ability to heal him. I did sometimes wonder why He did not. It was often hard to reconcile that to a Father I believed loved Ron.

To me, the most important part of the story of the nobleman is not the healing of his son; we have many examples of Jesus’ ability to heal. What strikes me is this: This worried and heartsick father, probably weary from sleepless nights keeping vigil at his son’s bed, did not immediately run home. No. He believed what Jesus said. He believed his son was healed. I can hear across the years the sigh of relief he breathed. I, who have experienced the exhaustion that comes with caregiving, can also feel the weight of his body sag as his shoulders round, his head bows, and now bereft of the adrenaline that kept him moving forward, can now rest. That night may have been the first good night’s sleep he had in a long, long time.

Tag: sleep ‱ Run Hard. Rest Well.And it happened because he took Jesus at His word, never doubting his son was now well.

I, too, take Jesus at His word. So many years of caring for an ill husband had left me depleted. During the years of caring for Ron, a restful night’s sleep was only a dream. According to Crossroads Hospice, “caregivers must sacrifice a great deal from their personal and professional lives.” I was among the 60% that still worked full-time (and often had two part time jobs as well). I can concur with the 55% of caregivers who say it is an overwhelming way to live. I need time to recover in body, mind, and soul.

God did not heal Ron. But God did take Ron home to heaven to live with Him. And it is now, as I approach the one year anniversary of his home going, that I am finding rest.

How can you take Jesus at His word? What promise can you claim today?

Holy Saturday

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

On Easter Sunday, 2015, I wrote “Letter to the Other Driver.” It was about forgiveness to the man who had caused the car accident that changed our lives on March 1, 2000. The forgiveness my children and I offered was hard won.

But as we near the joyous end of Holy Week with the crescendo of “HE IS RISEN!” it is important, I think, to mark our ability to celebrate without bitterness.

Have a Blessed Easter.

HE IS RISEN. HE IS RISEN INDEED.

Dear Driver of the Red Pickup Truck that ran a light on Paoli Pike on March 1, 2000,

My daughter and I were coming out of the hospital yesterday when I asked her if she thought you–the driver who caused her father’s grievous car accident–ever thought about Ron and his family. We were walking up an incline and she, with her longer and younger legs, was a bit in front of me. She did not immediately answer me. I thought perhaps she had not heard me.

Then she stopped and turned, the freckles standing out in her pale face. Visiting her father when he is so ill is never easy. “Probably not,” she said. She shook her head and smiled sadly. “His life wasn’t changed forever.”

So true. You, the other driver, received a ticket and, eventually, your insurance company sent us a check for the amount of income Ron would have made in a year. The company probably raised your insurance rates. The check did not completely cover the out-of-pocket medical expenses for the first three years.

This is fifteen years later and the medical expenses do not end. Ron is spending yet another holiday in hospital, away from his family. In the last 15 years, he has been hospitalized, on average, twice a year. He has had 26 major surgeries. His body is a mass of scar tissue. What we have paid out in medical bills would have seen all three of our children through college without the need to take out student loans.

I work three jobs to keep us afloat. I am always tired and frequently lonely. Our children have all been raised to adulthood without a “real” father. These things are sad. We still regret the circumstances of March 1 that brought us here.

But we have moved on. We have survived. And in our survival, our adaptation to a husband and a father so altered, we have found a new reality. We do not forget–we can never forget–but we adapted. We loved the old Ron, and we learned to love the new.

Perhaps what I say next will not matter to you because, as Bonnie observed, your life was not changed. But sitting in church on Easter Sunday morning–again without Ron–and realizing just how precious is the gift of forgiveness Jesus gave to us, this thought occurred to me:

We’ve forgiven you.

It did not come easily or quickly. The more surgeries Ron needed to endure, the more our lives changed and we learned to live with the specter of chronic illness, the more we held onto our anger. We needed to blame someone. So, it wasn’t until six months after the accident that our oldest son, Dennis, voiced his thoughts. “You know, Mom,” he said, ” I used to be really angry at the guy that hit Dad. Then I realized that it was just a mistake. He didn’t wake up that morning gunning for Ron Cobourn. It just happened.” His siblings nodded in agreement. It was time to forgive you.

We never told you.

And perhaps it makes no difference to you, but it made a difference to us. Forgiving you meant letting go of our anger. It gave us more energy to focus on Ron. The last fifteen years have been difficult, but not without joy. Our two oldest have found wonderful partners for their lives. Our youngest is buddies with his father. And I have achieved not only a doctorate in education, but found my voice as a writer.  Ron continues to be as involved in our family life as his health allows. One of our favorite memories is of our daughter’s wedding last June. Ron was unable to walk her down the aisle, but with the assistance of several friends and his walker, he danced with her briefly, something he had vowed he would do. Everyone at the wedding cried.

And so, nameless and faceless driver, we have come to another Easter, another hospitalization, another close brush with death. We remember March 1. It changed our lives forever.

Perhaps it did not change yours at all, but I like to think that it did, that once in a while you think of Ron and maybe pray for him.

I prayed for you this Easter morning, you who accidentally and without malice so injured my husband and altered our lives. We have survived. Jesus has risen. We are forgiven.

And we forgive you.

A Widow’s Valentine

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

The Lord tears down the house of the proud, but He sets the widow’s boundary stones in place. Proverbs 15:25

Last week one of my students, Anna, asked me what I thought I would get for Valentine’s Day. I looked at her with surprise and said softly, “Anna, my husband died. I thought you knew.”

“Oh, Dr. Cobourn,” she said. “I’m so sorry. You always talk about him as if he was alive.”

And I thought it was a lovely compliment. Ron is still very much a part of my life.

I placed a rose today, dear,

Where you take your final rest.

I said a little prayer, dear,

For I knew I’d had the best.

 

A loving faithful husband,

One so kind and true

And although you’re now in Heaven

My heart still beats for you.

 

A rose you gave to me each day.

Would I be your Valentine?

And with this rose I tell you,

Beloved, you are still mine.

 

BLUE CHRISTMAS

Posted on by Linda Cobourn

A BORROWED TREE

I am pulling plastic containers out of the basement storage space and handing them to Allen to carry upstairs. I’m doing my best to get in the holiday spirit, despite the recent news that my father now resides in a long-term care facility, recovering from pneumonia and fed by a tube because he can no longer swallow. The largest container, long and red, sparks some fleeting joy: my father’s Christmas tree, brought home from the beach house last November before Dad and my stepmother moved to the assisted living facility in Virginia. For twenty years, the tree sat in the front window of the house on School Lane.

 

selective focus photography of ornaments hanged on green pine tree

Photo by Robert Thiemann on Unsplash

I’ll put it on my foyer, I think, and decorate it with the precious glass bells that were my grandmother’s, the plastic icicles from the year Dad served in Germany, and the various ornaments my late husband and I had collected over 44 years. I’ll put some of my mother’s ceramic houses around the base and add a few of Dad’s childhood cars.

It will feel more like Christmas.

I try to hand the box to my son.

Allen pulls his hands back, refusing to touch it. “What’s that?”

“Pop Pop’s Christmas tree. You remember we brought it home from Rehoboth last year.”

My autistic adult son crosses his arms and glares at me. “That’s Pop Pop’s tree.”

THE LAST TREE

I take a deep breath. I do not want to have this conversation now. Allen has FaceTimed his grandfather and is aware that Pop Pop is not doing well, but the concept of death as forever is still murky for Allen. His acceptance of his own father’s death was hard-won. I’m not sure I have the energy for the process again. “It’ll be nice to have it up, don’t you think, “ I say. “ We can put it in the front window and remember how it looked in Pop Pop’s house.”

Allen remains stubborn, shaking his head. “No. It’s still Pop Pop’s tree.”

I nod, choosing my words carefully. “Yes. But Pop Pop gave it to us.  He wanted us to have a big tree. He and Peg will have the little tree in their apartment.” I do not mention that PopPop will probably never see the apartment again and that Peg has taken over a poinsettia to the care facility. More than likely, this will be my father’s last Christmas.

 

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a green vase with red flowers on a table

Photo by Ray Shrewsberry on Unsplash

Allen shakes his head vehemently and yells, “It’s still his tree! Pop Pop’s not dead yet!” Tears stream down his cheeks.

Suddenly,  I understand. While Allen has accepted his grandfather’s serious condition, he’s not ready yet to see the tree as belonging to us. It would make his grandfather’s impending death real. Silently, I shove the tree back into its spot and pull out another, smaller box.

“We’ll put this one up instead,” I tell my son. He swats at his tears and carries the box upstairs; I follow with lights and trims.

THE BLUE TREE

In the foyer, I pull the little four-foot tree out and set it up on a table.  It is not green, but a teal shade of blue. As we start to trim it, I remember my own reluctance to put up our 6-foot tree the December after my husband died. While Allen continued to expect his father’s return daily,  I found myself overwhelmed with the holiday and grief.

My daughter and I had been yarn shopping at Hobby Lobby when I’d told her,  “I can’t do the tree this year. Dad and I bought that tree together four years ago. I just can’t do it. Allen and I will just do without a tree.”

“Allen will want a tree, “ Bonnie said, ever conscious of the needs of her autistic younger brother. “Get another tree. One for just you and Allen. One for your Christmas.”

I picked up the little blue tree off the shelf. It was different. There were no memories attached to it. “Your father would hate this tree,” I told my daughter as we set it up later that day.

“True,” she said. “He liked red and green for Christmas. But he’d be okay with the blue tree because you liked it.”

I knew she was right. The little blue tree helped me move on to a new life.

 

Allen and I spend an hour trimming the tree, carefully choosing which ornaments to use. We put a few houses beneath it and top it with a star. Allen plugs in the lights and we stand back to admire it. My father’s approaching death puts a pale over the holiday.

But it is still Christmas. The season of miracles.

A FOREVER TREE

I put my arm around my son. “Maybe next year we can put up Pop Pop’s tree,” I whisper. I think of all that will likely transpire in the months between now and then, moments of both joy and sorrow.

Allen heaves a deep sigh. “I guess he won’t need a tree if he’s in Heaven.” He returns my hug. “But if PopPop needs the tree back, I’ll be okay with the blue tree forever.”

I think of the joy in Heaven at this time of year. Is there a better place to celebrate Christmas? I think of how happy my mother, gone for 21 years, will be to see Dad again. I think of my husband smiling down on us and our little blue tree.

“A forever tree,” I say to Allen. “That would be a miracle.”

 

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