Bittersweet November

photo source

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat
falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone;
but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
- John 12:24




Every day we experience something of the death of the Lord Jesus, 
so that we may also know the power of the life of Jesus 
in these bodies of ours. Yes, we who are living 
are always being exposed to death for Jesus’ sake, 
so that the life of Jesus may be plainly seen in our mortal lives.
- 2 Corinthians 4:10ff (JB Phillips)




Life at best is bittersweet.
- Jack Kirby

bit·ter·sweet

adjective /ˈbidərˌswēt/

1. (of food, drink, or flavor) sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

2. containing a mixture of sadness and happiness.

This November marks the tenth year since my husband Ernie went home to heaven. It is also the month of his birth; he would have been 72 years of age if he were still alive today.

On November 2, I woke up in a pensive mood. It was Ernie's birthday—a special day that I wanted to celebrate all by myself. At 8 a.m. I was dressed and ready to go to L' Fisher Hotel for their buffet breakfast. In my tote bag was my journal where I had planned to jot down some of my thoughts about the past ten years, while enjoying a leisurely breakfast.  

When I reached McDonald's, a thought suddenly entered my mind, almost like a command: "Do not go to L' Fisher for breakfast, eat at McDonald's instead." There was no hesitation; I entered McDonald's and ordered a big breakfast for myself.

After breakfast, I crossed the street to go to Grace Pharmacy to pick up a few groceries. Then my phone rang. It was Lyndon asking about the whereabouts of my second son Worshiper. Lyndon and wife Ann were at the hospital to pray for our friend Melanie who was in her third day of confinement. Lyndon called because Melanie was having difficulty breathing and was asking for her son Daniel who was arriving from New Zealand that morning.

I told Lyndon that Worshiper was at the airport to pick up Daniel, and that they were probably already on their way to the hospital.

About half an hour later, I received another phone call. This time it was my son. "Mom, where are you? I think you better come to the hospital... they are doing CPR on Tita Lanie."

I rushed to the Doctors' Hospital and went up to Room 302... but Melanie, my best friend, was gone. 

She passed away just a few minutes after her son Daniel arrived.

Autumn 2013, Virginia

There is a season for everything,

a time for giving birth,

a time for dying;

a time for tears,

a time for laughter;

a time for mourning,

a time for dancing.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1, 2, 4

Joyce Rupp in her book, Praying Our Goodbyes, writes these beautiful words in her opening chapter:

Every autumn reminds me of my vulnerability. It carries the truth that life is fragile, that there are no sure guarantees for a trouble-free life, that there is always some dying in living, that change is inevitable.

That just about sums up my location statement for now:  Autumn.

In the Ancient Paths seminars that we conduct, one of the questions I ask during the first small group session is this: "What name would you give the season you are in right now?"  

The second half of this year marked a new season for me. When Marla Elisha my fifth grandchild passed away on the last day of June, there was no doubt that I entered a painful season of loss, a grieving season.

First Born son and his wife God-given are hard-hit the most, but I myself am also going through a personal grief journey.

I thank God for teaching me the importance of viewing my life from the perspective of seasons. Knowing the season I am in helps me understand what He is doing, and allows me to cooperate with His purposes.

When I look at the splendor of the fall season, I am amazed at how the leaves change their color from the different shades of green to various hues of yellow, orange, gold, red, and brown.  Fall is my favorite season, although where I live, we do not even have an official autumn season. What I know of fall is from the books and poetry I have read about it, and from the one-time first-hand experience I had of it in 2013, when I visited my sister who lives in the East Coast of the US, and stayed with her for four months.

Fall represents so many things in life. It is a harvest season, but it also speaks of relinquishment, and letting go. 

What makes autumn so beautiful is the way the trees so willingly let go of their foliage. There is no struggle or resistance, just a perfect cooperation with the way God our Creator has designed it. After the glory of summer, there is a quiet and gentle transition to fall, and in the words of one of my favorite authors, Lilias Trotter, in autumn, "even the fair petals must fall."

Indeed to the onlooker, it is a seeming waste.

But God has a beautiful reason for autumn. After the fruit is harvested, the leaves have to go, to prepare the trees for a season of rest.

How wonderfully God has designed His creation! And as humans, we too have our cycles and our seasons of activity, fruit-bearing, and rest.

I've had my hopeful spring seasons of new life and budding opportunities. Glorious summers of success and accomplishment. But now that I am in my mid sixties, melancholy fall, so to speak...I have to admit this isn't how I envisioned this season of my life would be. 

Some people have perfectly laid-out plans, and either by ingenuity, or self-discipline, it seems that they are able to achieve it.

I am not like that at all. 

Truth be said, I have not come up with any specific plan as to how my life would be—except that I turned my pen over to my Scriptwriter, and did the best I could given the circumstances I found myself in.

Productive years of raising children, building a home, growing in maturity.

And yes, there have been victories and trophies, shining moments of honor. 

And now comes autumn.

I see myself as standing alone in the backstage, the curtains are drawn and the lights are off.

Doubt sets in. 

Maybe I am not really good at making strategic plans. That is not a put-down, or a label I have attached to myself. It is just an honest description of who I think I am.

I like to be neat and orderly... but today, I don't think those words would describe my life.

My husband went home to heaven ten years ago. That was completely unplanned. And where I am today... well, it isn't exactly what I want it to be.

It would have been ideal if Ernie were still around today, and if our family were enjoying a healthy five month old Baby Marla, instead of visiting their graves several times a year. 

But people don't live forever. Sometimes they die.

And as my friend Ruby reminds me: "What about sickness, and ill-health... could we not say that Abba Father has a far better plan in bringing them home to heaven and giving them their complete healing there?"

Yes, of course! Who could argue with that?

However, I am not just talking about the death of a loved one. Autumn, for me, also represents the death of dreams, the death of opportunities, the realization that our plans do not always end up being fulfilled.

If I may count the times I have encountered disappointment in life, I am sure my ten fingers would not be enough.

But as I enter another autumn season, a season of loss, a season of relinquishment and letting go, I do not want to measure it in terms of  of how often I have been disappointed by unmet expectations and unrealized goals.

Rather, I want to flow with the perfect plans of God for me.

David in his Psalms couldn't have phrased it more perfectly:

Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed.
And in Your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were none of them.
- Psalm 139:16


The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
Indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.
- Psalm 16:5-6

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.

My life is a tapestry in the making, And while I can only see it from the underside, I must not forget God sees it differently from above.

God Himself says it: I hold your lot; you have a beautiful inheritance. 

It's all a matter of perspective.

As I entered the last quarter of this year, I was preparing myself for 2019. It is the year of the open container, Ayin Thet in the Hebrew calendar,which began on Rosh Hashanah.  The open vessel represents an empty womb that is ready to receive new life;  this year represents new birth.

I was in an expectant mode of looking forward to creative miracles, creative provision, and experiencing God as the Father from Whom comes every good and perfect gift.

During our Women of Purpose retreat last October, each one of us offered up to God whatever we felt we needed to let go of, an act of emptying our hearts, to make room for the new things that He wants us to experience in this next season of our lives.

Then, so unexpectedly, Dan Ramirez, the husband of my friend Jing, died on October 27.

We were all so saddened by his sudden passing.

To many of us, Dan's death was a seeming waste.

For Jing, that was a major emptying,

But there can be no doubt about it, earth's loss is heaven's gain. There may be grief, but hope eases the pain of loss. God is doing a new thing.

I wanted to celebrate Ernie's birthday on November 2... and as I had mentioned, I was planning to jot down my thoughts about this season while eating a leisurely breakfast. 

Instead, I had to rush to be with the family of Melanie who went home to heaven that very morning, again, so unexpectedly.

I was not prepared to lose her. Nobody was. 

None of us expected her to die. We all thought God was already healing her, and that soon the cancer would be overcome; and that she would have a wonderful testimony of how God allowed her to survive the disease.

Melanie and I danced joyfully around the hall at the Negros Island House of Prayer seven times on Shemini Atzaret, September 30. We enjoyed the good food in celebration of the event, the day after the Feast of Tabernacles.

On October 15, we were together at the dinner table after our Monday night Bible study, again enjoying the delicious meal and the company of our other friends. There was to be a two-week break, and the Bible study was to resume on November 5. 

Indeed, Melanie's death came as a surprise to all of us.

How I wish I had spent more time with her, my beautiful friend who has loved me so unconditionally and so generously. No other friend could ever take her place.

As I am in the process of coming to terms with this deep loss, the words of Lilias Trotter speak comfort to me: Even the fair petals must fall.

And yes, Joyce Rupp is right. Autumn reminds us of our vulnerability, and that life is fragile. There is always some dying in living, and change is inevitable.

But I do believe in a divine exchange when confronted with so great a loss as this, for instance, the 50:20 vision of Joseph who spoke to his brothers these words:

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good...
- Genesis 50:20

Whatever the enemy intends for evil, God can turn around for good.

There is life that comes out of death, there is value in exchange for ashes.

The beauty of autumn is in its picture of humility, the bare trees standing tall in their stark nakedness, ready for the new life to burst forth in the next season.

I love the picture of nobility that this season depicts. The glory of summer gladly makes way for the noble humility of autumn.

Yes, even the fair petals must fall.

It is indeed a bittersweet November, but I am embracing this season of loss, knowing that there is a coming day of far better things to come.

It is easy to lose sight of the big picture when things are not what we want them to be.

But I believe this is the best season to live my life before an audience of One.

I sense Abba Father speaking to my heart, "Embrace this season, believe that I am the God who makes all things beautiful in My own time."

One of my favorite quotes is from Ugo Bassi, who writes these amazing lines:

Measure thy life by loss, and not by gain;

Not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth.

For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice;

And he that suffereth most, hath most to give.

And then, here's another one, by Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet:

A poem that has encouraged me:

Life is But a Weaving

Grant Colfax Tullar

My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;

And I in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper

And I the underside.

Not ‘til the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;

Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those

Who leave the choice to Him.

photo source

This song of worship, by Brian Littrel, is a fitting one for this month:

And of course, this one as well:

Two blog posts about Melanie:

A Friend Named Melanie

A Touch of Kindness