Of Loss and Legacies

Suzie Richey (Han Pun Cho) at Osan Air Base, Korea somtime around 1957-1960

Born during the Japanese occupation in Korea, my mother-in-law experienced things that no child should ever experience, including the loss of both her parents by the time she was 14 years old. In her late teens, she worked as a telephone operator at the Osan Air Base in Korea, where she met a handsome American in uniform. With the things she learned during those terrible years under an oppressive government, she and my father-in-law built a life and a family together. While I didn’t (or couldn’t) fully appreciate her suffering as a child, she loved like no one I ever knew and devoted her life to her sons and, later, her grandkids. She made me want to be a better woman.

Two weeks before Christmas of 2021, we lost our beloved Suzie-in all her roles-to the complications of an unexpected fall. All of the lights of Christmas grew dim. Nothing would ever be the same.

Sally Lewis (Sally Ann Widdowson) at Pennsylvania School for the Deaf, May 1953

Born in 1934, my mom lost her hearing at six months old due to scarlet fever. In 1940, she was sent to a residential all-deaf school in Philadelphia, three hours away from her home in southern Delaware. There, she learned everything required to integrate into a hearing world. Influenced by the glamor of Hollywood during the 40s and 50s, she loved fashion and became an excellent seamstress. With auburn hair and a 22-inch waist, she caught the eye of a charming farm boy from Pennsylvania with an unmistakable likeness to Elvis. They married two years after graduation and over 64 years, they endured many hardships, not the least of which was Dad being called into the ministry for the deaf. When Dad passed away in 2019, I was able to spend some intense one-on-one time with her, either at my sister’s place or during the many times she was in a rehab facility. There was a rarely-spoken love we had for one another, which we declared through an I L Y hand sign as I left the room.  

A week before Christmas of 2022, Mom passed away from her many health issues. The sounds of Christmas went silent, and suddenly, I was an orphan.

The one-handed "I Love You" sign that my mom and I would sign to each other.

As the number of people around the dining room table has been taken away like a twisted game of musical chairs, I’ve fumbled around the numbness that these holidays have become. Gathering pieces of Christmases past, like being part of the silent Christmas pageants at my dad’s all-deaf church and the more recent traditions my husband and I so lovingly created for our kids, I still can’t capture the “mystery and magic” secular or otherwise. While my husband dutifully puts the manger scene in the front yard with the obligatory set of ever-changing lights to amuse me, I struggle. Struggling to put ornaments on the tree and a simple wreath on the door. Struggling to keep up appearances for the sake of…who I don’t even know, and struggling to find that elusive joy that’s vanished from my callused soul. And as if that weren’t enough…

It's a 28-year-old tradition. Mary and Joseph are showing their age.

It’s probably my age, but I’ve come to the terrifying realization that none of us are getting out of this gig alive. Neither you nor I, in our finite, simple minds, can hand-pick a convenient time of our passing because it doesn’t exist. Only the God of the Big Picture, the Creator of our souls, the God who doesn’t make mistakes, gets to decide what day our life begins and ends.

"Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all of my days were written in your book and planned before a single one of them began.” Psalm 139:16 NASB

For someone who can’t even decide what to make for dinner without messing it up, this scripture is a huge relief to me.

But as inevitable as death is, how, Lord, do I manage this pain? 

The Advent

This hardwired Baptist couldn’t decide if she wanted to mess around with the meaning of Advent because it would require more than a two-minute Google search. But someone threw the word “anticipation” at me, and it’s been following me around ever since. The other challenge I faced in writing this piece was “How do I encourage and comfort those suffering from loss without serving up a bunch of meaningless platitudes?”

Like the meaning of Christmas itself, all roads lead to the perfector of our faith, our loving Savior. 

HOPE

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for…” Hebrews 11:1a ESV

This goes deeper than when you hope you don’t have a car accident in the disastrous construction zones on I-83 and 322. What of lasting value am I hoping for that requires faith? If I hope that all of my family members will have a saving faith in Jesus Christ, I have to have faith that God is working out His purpose in my life, even without knowing the Big Picture.

“Do you trust me, Janet?” His voice is gentle but persistent in my ear.  

In the interest of full disclosure…

I’ve been battling a deadline with this blog, and it was only after I mentally handed over my current worries to Him and decided to have faith that God (who loves me) was going to have His Way, with or without my permission. This morning, six hours before my self-imposed deadline, God led me away from my scheduled study in Matthew and walked me over to the book of Hebrews 11 in Tony Evan’s Study Bible. This is what he wrote:

“God longs to be more than just theology on a shelf. He wants to be real to you right now. To accomplish this, sometimes He allows you to get in, or even puts you in, what seems like a hopeless scenario.” “God lets something die for the express purpose of letting you experience a resurrection. He does this because He knows that when you see Him for who He really is, you will never view life the same way again.”

Oh, Brother Tony, that’s good.

PEACE

“…let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God which passes all understanding will guard your hearts…” Philippians 4:6b-7a ESV

This passage is written with such clarity that it’s nearly impossible to take it out of context. (That is not a challenge!) I know that no tear is wasted, so I want to be able to use my battered heart to help others going through the same thing. In presenting these requests to God, either in a journal, before a small group, or screaming in anguish in the (relative) privacy of my car, I can trust that He will answer these cries in His perfect timing.

LOVE

“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called Children of God; and so we are…” 1 John 3:1 ESV

Let that passage sink in, and move you. If that isn’t enough, search “God’s love,” you’ll find a list of passages across both Testaments that speak of His love for us. This is the kind of love that should spring us into action and love one another, as Jesus says in Matthew 22. These deaths that I have experienced have led me to an awareness and sensitivity to those going through similar experiences. God decided that this was the best way to get my short-sighted attention.

JOY

“…And do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10 ESV

Make no mistake; I do not believe that God allowed the passing of my dear loved ones just to teach me a lesson. I still do not understand why my dad suffered a humiliating, painful death, nor do I understand why He would take my 14-year-old son’s beloved grandmother away from him at such a tender age. While I must trust His will, some things will remain a mystery on this side of heaven.

In processing this heavy sadness, I have found joy in living out the legacies of my beloved family members. It comes in the form of my grandma’s molasses cookies, sharing God’s Word through writing for a church blog instead of at the pulpit, living out kindness and generosity the way only my little Korean mother-in-law could do, and making last-minute gifts on my Mom’s 1956 Singer sewing machine. Yes, they are primarily temporal, but I will take these gifts that God has given me and use them to glorify Him. 

Amidst our pain from whatever the circumstances, what gifts can you bring to the altar?