girltalk Blog
Happy Friday, y’all. Friday is book club day here at girltalk.
Last week we read chapter eight and received a front row view into the lives of the Prentiss family during the Civil War. Chapter nine (the first half of your assignment for next week) takes us right into life after war and Elizabeth’s full return to pastor’s wife duties. I found the most wonderful quote describing her perspective of her role…
“She counted it one of the joys of being a pastor’s wife that she had the opportunity of being the first on the scene of human tragedy or need, bringing consolation of Christ. She wrote to a friend: ‘You can’t think how sweet it is to be a pastor’s wife; to feel the right to sympathize with those who mourn, to fly to them at once, and join them in their prayers and tears. It would be pleasant to spend one’s whole time among sufferers, and to keep testifying to them what Christ can and will become to them if only they will let Him…’”
Being married to pastors ourselves, we can all attest to the truth of these words. However the caring for others is not solely the privilege of a pastor’s wife. Many of you have stories of how you have been carried through trying seasons in your life by the love and support of another. Perhaps it was your pastor’s wife or maybe it was the leader of your small group or a faithful mentor. We want to hear your stories. So the second half of your assignment for this week is to hop on your e-mail (by Thursday night) and send us a story of how a woman has brought you the “consolation of Christ.” The author of the winning story, and the woman who cared for them, will receive a copy of the next book club selection as a gift.
Our friend, Valori, sent us another quote about redeeming the time that was just too good to keep to ourselves. So here it is for your benefit as well:
“NO unwelcome tasks become any the less unwelcome by putting them off till tomorrow. It is only when they are behind us and done, that we begin to find that there is a sweetness to be tasted afterwards, and that the remembrance of unwelcome duties unhesitatingly done is welcome and pleasant. Accomplished, they are full of blessing, and there is a smile on their faces as they leave us. Undone, they stand threatening and disturbing our tranquility, and hindering our communion with God. If there be lying before you any bit of work from which you shrink, go straight up to it, and do it at once. The only way to get rid of it is to do it.” Alexander MacLaren
Okay! I’m getting straight up from my computer to go rid myself of that unwelcome pile of dirty laundry which I should have done yesterday, but didn’t!
2007 at 10:36 am | by Carolyn Mahaney
Early yesterday morning, John Piper’s father went to be with the Lord. John’s wife, Noël, e-mailed me the journal entry that John penned soon after his father’s passing. We are posting it here today not only to ask you to pray for this dear family whom we all love, but to allow the life of William S. H. Piper to inspire each of us to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which we have been called (Eph. 4:1).
Tuesday, March 6, 2007. 2 a.m.
The big hospital clock in room 4326 of Greenville Memorial Hospital said, with both hands straight up, midnight. Daddy had just taken his last breath. My watch said 12:01, March 6, 2007.
I had slept a little since the last morphine shot at 10. One ear sleeping, one on the breathing. At 11:45 I awoke. The breath’s were coming more frequently and were very shallow. I will not sleep again, I thought. For ten minutes I prayed aloud into his left ear with Bible texts and pleadings to Jesus to come and take him. I had made this case before, and this time felt an unusual sense of partnership with Daddy as I pressed on the Lord to relieve this warrior of his burden.
I finished and lay down. Good. Thank you Lord. It will not be long. And grace upon grace, hundreds of prayers are being answered: he is not choking. The gurgling that threatened to spill over and drown him in the afternoon had sunk deep and now there was simple clear air, shorter and shorter. I listened from where I lay next to him on a fold-out chair.
That’s it. I rose and waited. Will he breath again? Nothing. 15 or 20 seconds, and then a gasp. I was told to expect these false endings. But it was not false. The gasp was the first of two. But no more breaths. I waited, watching. No facial expressions. His face had frozen in place hours before. One more jerk. That was all. Perhaps an eyebrow twitch a moment later. Nothing more.
I stroked his forehead and sang,
My gracious Master and My God
Assist me to proclaim
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honors of thy name.
Daddy, how many thousands awaited you because of your proclamation of the great gospel. You were faithful. You kept the faith, finished the race, fought the fight. “Make friends for yourselves with unrighteous mammon that they might receive you into eternal habitations.”
I watched, wondering if there could be other reflexes. I combed his hair. He always wore a tie. The indignities of death are many but we tried to minimize them. Keep the covers straight. Pull the gown up around his neck so it looks like a sharp turtleneck. Tuck the gappy shoulder slits down behind so they don’t show. Use a wet washcloth to keep the secretions from crusting in the eyelashes. And by all means keep his hair combed. So now I straightened his bedding and combed his hair and wiped his eyes and put the mouth moisturizer on his lips and tried to close his mouth. His mouth would not stay closed. It had been set in that position from hours and hours of strained breathing. But he was neat. A strong, dignified face.
I called Beverly first, then Noël. Tearfully we gave thanks. Get a good night’s rest. I will take care of things here with the doctor and the nurses and the mortuary arrangements. I will gather all our things and take them back to the motel. “I wish I had been there,” Beverly lamented. Yes. That is good. But don’t let that feeling dominate now. In the days to come you will look back with enormous gratitude for the hundreds of hours you gave serving daddy. It is my turn to be blessed.
The nurse came to give him his scheduled morphine shot. As she walked toward me I said, “He won’t need that any more.” “Is he gone?” “Yes. And thank you so much for your ministry to him.” “I will notify the doctor so he can come and verify. I will leave you alone.” “Yes, thank you.”
The doctor in his green frock came at 12:40 and listened with his stethoscope to four different places on daddy’s chest. Then he pulled back the sheet and said, “I must apply some pain stimuli to his nail base to see if he reacts. Then he used his flash light to text daddy’s eyes. “The nurse supervisor will come and get the information we need about the mortuary.” Thank you.
Alone again I felt his cheeks. Finally cool after the fevered and flushed fight. I felt his nose, as though I were blind. Then I felt mine. I thought, very soon my nose will be like your nose. It is already like your nose.
The nurse came. No thank you, an autopsy will not be necessary. Mackay Mortuary on Century Avenue. My name is John, his son. My cell phone is . . . . “You may stay as long as you like.” Thank you. I will be leaving soon.
Now I just look at him. Nothing has changed in his face here in the darkness of this dim light. Just no movement. But I have watched his chest so long, even now was that a slight rise and fall? No, surely not. It’s like sailing on the sea for days. On the land the waves still roll.
He has four-day’s beard and dark eyes. I lift an eyelid to see him eye to eye. They are dilated.
Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for 61 years of faithfulness to me. I am simply looking into his face now. Thank you. You were a good Father. You never put me down. Discipline, yes. Spankings, yes. But you never scorned me. You never treated me with contempt. You never spoke of my future with hopelessness in your voice. You believed God’s hand was on me. You approved of my ministry. You prayed for me. Every day. That may be the biggest change in these new days: Daddy is no longer praying for me.
I look you in the face and promise you with all my heart: Never will I forsake your gospel. O how you believed in hell and heaven and Christ and cross and blood and righteousness and faith and salvation and the Holy Spirit and the life of holiness and love. I rededicate myself, Daddy, to serve your great and glorious Lord Jesus with all my heart and with all my strength. You have not lived in vain. Your life goes on in thousands. I am glad to be one.
I kissed him on his cold cheek and on his forehead. I love you, Daddy. Thank you.
It was 12:55 as I walked out of room 4326. Just before the elevators on the fourth floor in the lounge a young man in his twenties was sitting alone listening to his iPod with headphones. I paused. Then I walked toward him. He stopped his music. Hello, my Father just died. One of the greatest tributes I could pay to him is to ask you, Are you ready to meet God? “Yes, Sir.” That would make my father very happy. You know Jesus is the only way? “Yes, Sir.” Good. Thank you for letting me talk to you.
As I drove out of the parking lot I stopped. The moon was a day past full. It was cold—for Greenville. I looked at this great hospital. Thank you, Lord, for this hospital. I will probably never lay eyes on it again.
Our thoughts and prayers are with the entire Piper family. We trust that God will continue to reveal to them His sweet nearness and sustaining comfort.
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. Psalm 116:15
2007 at 11:50 am | by Nicole Whitacre
Filed under
Motherhood
Yesterday morning, I dug out Jack’s birth records in preparation for my doctor’s appointment. My little guy did not—and still does not—have such a little head. According to the birth information, he was 7lb 13 oz and 21 inches long and his head circumference was a whopping 14 inches! I don’t remember thinking my baby was all head when he was born. I thought he was perfect—as only a mother does.
My reason for checking on this was to be able to tell my doctor (who did not deliver Jack) what size head I was incapable of delivering naturally. He laughed when I told him the size of Jack’s cranium. “You know they say a big head means a big brain,” he said. I know, all too well. My son already has a better memory than I do.
After examining me, he said that my little girl’s head isn’t so small either. I guess I’ll be outnumbered in the memory department shortly. The doctor is not prepared to make a decision about whether I will have a natural delivery or a c-section. But he has plenty of time, as nothing much seems to be happening at the moment.
As he left the examining room, he said, “I’ll see you next week, unless you surprise me.” So, I’ll update you all next week too—unless Tori surprises me.
2007 at 7:51 pm | by Janelle Bradshaw
I’ve been busy with my camera lately and wanted to give you a peek at how the kiddos are growing…
My friends will tell you that I’m not fond of animals. Okay, I really don’t like them! But I did find this little story sent to us by our friend, Julie, pretty funny and…maybe even cute. Enjoy!
Janelle for the rest of the girls.
Debby Cantlon, who plans to release Finnegan, the young squirrel, back into the wild, bottle-fed the infant squirrel after it was brought to her house.
When Cantlon took in the tiny creature and began caring for him, she found herself with an unlikely nurse’s aide: her pregnant Papillion, Mademoiselle Giselle.
Finnegan was resting in a nest in a cage just days before Giselle was due to deliver her puppies.
Cantlon and her husband watched as the dog dragged the squirrel’s cage twice to her own bedside before she gave birth.
Cantlon was concerned, yet ultimately decided to allow the squirrel out and inter-species bonding began.
Finnegan rides a puppy mosh pit of sorts, burrowing in for warmth after feeding, and eventually working his way beneath his new litter mates.
Two days after giving birth, mama dog Giselle allowed Finnegan to nurse; family photos and videotape show her encouraging him to suckle alongside her litter of five pups.
Now Finnegan mostly uses a bottle, but still snuggles with his “siblings” in a mosh pit of puppies, rolling atop their bodies and sinking in deeply for a nap.
Finnegan and his new litter mates, five Papillion puppies, get along together as if they were meant to.
Finnegan naps after feeding.
Finnegan makes himself at home with his new litter mates, nuzzling nose-to-nose for a nap after feeding.
With the Prentiss family in Europe this week, we thought it would be a good time to let you know about a radio interview with the author of Elizabeth Prentiss: More Love to Thee, Sharon James. You can hear Mrs. James share how she became interested in the life of Elizabeth Prentiss, how she went about researching the book, and learn further details about the life of this extraordinary woman. Listen here, and read chapter eight before next Friday.
2007 at 4:59 pm | by Carolyn Mahaney
In response to yesterday’s post about Shopping for Time, a dear friend sent us the following quote by nineteenth century Scottish pastor and poet, Horatius Bonar:
“Let us ‘redeem the time.’ Desultory working, fitful planning, irregular reading, ill-assorted hours, perfunctory or unpunctual execution of business, hurry and bustle, loitering and unreadiness,—these, and such like, are the things which take out the whole pith and power from life, which hinder holiness, and which eat like a canker into our moral being.”
And if you, like me, were wondering what in the world “desultory” meant, my friend wisely included the definition in her email. It means: marked by lack of definite plan or regularity or purpose; jumping from one thing to another.
Hmmm, I’m not sure I like that new word! It too closely describes the way I approach my work at times. And to think that my “desultory working” can “eat like a canker into my moral being”—that’s certainly not a pleasant thought!
Seriously, Mr Bonar’s words provide a fresh challenge for us to be careful and wise in how we use our time. Thank you, Valori, for sending this quote our way!
2007 at 5:38 pm | by Nicole Whitacre
Speaking of due dates, we have one more (less important but not insignificant) delivery in March: the manuscript of our next girltalk book. We’re calling it Shopping for Time: How To Do It All and NOT Be Overwhelmed. At the risk of overtaxing your kindness, we want to solicit your prayers for this “birth” as well.
What’s Shopping for Time all about? Let me give you a brief summary.
It’s a well-documented fact that women are savvy shoppers. We can unearth a bargain from the back corner of a discount store. We can also spot a bad deal as easily as if it was wearing a neon tag.
But the Bible also exhorts us to be savvy shoppers of our time: “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15-16).
The reality is, however, we don’t often manage our time with the same skill that we shop the sales. Instead of looking carefully and walking wisely, we are often running frantically from one demand to another. Or we wander through the changing seasons of our life, easily distracted by whatever catches our fancy.
In this book, we suggest five simple keys to help us as women “make the best use” or “shop” for time. This book is not an attempt at a Christian-coated time-management book. Rather, we want to provide encouragement and practical help for women to bring glory to the Savior through every season of life God has appointed for them to walk through.
So, we would covet your prayers—for wisdom, speed, and most of all, that we would make the best use of our time and glorify God in this book-editing season.
PS—The book is scheduled for publication this summer. We’ll let you know when it’s available.
2007 at 4:54 pm | by Nicole Whitacre
Filed under
Motherhood
I have reached the point in my pregnancy where I’m counting the weeks until the due date instead of the weeks that I’ve been pregnant. Only four to go!
With the delivery drawing near, I want to humbly request your prayers. As I’ve shared before on this blog, my delivery with Jack was followed by serious complications. We were reviewing the events last night at dinner with my family….
On Friday morning, February 21, 2003 I was induced. By mid-afternoon, my labor was regressing instead of progressing. Jack’s head was stuck and the doctor determined he was experiencing some distress. So, she performed a cesarean section. By God’s grace, he was a healthy little boy.
My recovery appeared to be going so well, they actually discharged me from the hospital on Sunday morning. On Monday afternoon, however, I stood up from the couch and felt a horrible pain in my abdomen.
The next three days were a blur. If I sat still for an hour or more, I could almost feel normal. But to move at all was excruciating. Between a one and a ten, something close to ten. Steve, and Janelle (who’d come to help because Mom had to stay with a sick Chad) cared for Jack and me heroically. It was assumed that I was, well—there’s no way to put this delicately—constipated, and that things would soon right themselves. But the pain only got worse.
Finally, on Wednesday I was admitted to the hospital for observation. Thursday morning, after the second CAT scan showed my condition deteriorating, emergency surgery was performed.
When I woke up, Steve told me that my colon had ruptured and subsequently been repaired, and that my appendix was inflamed and had been removed. I had an infection. In many ways this was only the beginning of the trial. The recovery was long and arduous—I won’t bore you with all the details. It included many days in the hospital, loads of antibiotics, and numerous complications. After being discharged from the hospital, Steve, Jack and I lived with my parents for several months. My mom nursed me full-time and she and Janelle took turns getting up with Jack in the night. Finally, in June a second surgery was required to complete the repairs and I began to mend.
We still don’t know for sure what happened. There are half a dozen plausible theories. My current favorite is something called “Ogilvie Syndrome” which can occur following various types of surgery, including cesarean section.
The good news is that there are treatments (both medicinal and procedural) to prevent my colon from rupturing a second time. The much better news is that my health and my life are in God’s hands.
The plan for this upcoming delivery still has not been finalized. I hope to know more after my doctor’s appointment next week. If Tori’s head is not too big, the doctor would like to try to deliver the baby naturally. But a cesarean may once again be necessary.
Recently, I was speaking with my dear Aunt Betsy, and she told me that she was praying that my delivery would be extraordinary for it’s ordinariness. I liked the sound of that. So that is my prayer request—for my physical body anyway. Most of all, please pray that, “the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in [me] and in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ.” 2 Thessalonians 1:12.
Thank you, my friends.
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Happy Friday, y’all. Friday is book club day here at girltalk.
