By Elsie Schmied Knoke
And as he spoke of understanding, I looked up and saw the rainbow leap with flames of many colors over me.
~Black Elk
1995 was a bad year; my husband of forty-eight years died in August, then four months later my mother died. What was I supposed to do now after caring for him for ten years, and helping with Mother's care? Lonely days and nights stretched endlessly. Dark and dreary thoughts constantly filled my mind. If I slept at all, I had nightmares. One day my pastor invited me to his Grief Support Group and I went, reluctantly, and met others who shared their feelings, how they coped. Finally, in an effort to dispel the depression that threatened, I resolved to turn my mind to other things, to seeing the beauties of nature, beginning with my first ocean cruise. I was hesitant to travel alone, so I invited four of my teenaged granddaughters for company. On a lovely sunny day in June we boarded Holland America's Nieuw Amsterdam in Vancouver and headed for Alaska. The two older girls, sisters, shared one cabin. The other two bunked with me.
And as he spoke of understanding, I looked up and saw the rainbow leap with flames of many colors over me.
~Black Elk
1995 was a bad year; my husband of forty-eight years died in August, then four months later my mother died. What was I supposed to do now after caring for him for ten years, and helping with Mother's care? Lonely days and nights stretched endlessly. Dark and dreary thoughts constantly filled my mind. If I slept at all, I had nightmares. One day my pastor invited me to his Grief Support Group and I went, reluctantly, and met others who shared their feelings, how they coped. Finally, in an effort to dispel the depression that threatened, I resolved to turn my mind to other things, to seeing the beauties of nature, beginning with my first ocean cruise. I was hesitant to travel alone, so I invited four of my teenaged granddaughters for company. On a lovely sunny day in June we boarded Holland America's Nieuw Amsterdam in Vancouver and headed for Alaska. The two older girls, sisters, shared one cabin. The other two bunked with me.
Each morning I awoke before the girls, walked the decks, and savored the sights, smells, and sounds of the ocean. The girls and I took in all the shows, went on three shore excursions, marveled at hundreds of bald eagles in the wild, and even walked on the Mendenhall Glacier. When they were occupied with teen activities, I relished my moments on deck and tried to banish the dark thoughts and nagging concerns. Watching the soothing waves helped.
For weeks I had debated and prayed about what was happening in my life. My greatest concerns were about the nice widower I had met in the Grief Support Group. I saw him at church each Sunday. He phoned occasionally to chat. We went to dinner and a movie once, riding in the red Firebird he was so proud of. He tolerated my depressed moods and bouts of tears and even managed to make me laugh a few times. But was I being fair to take up so much of his time? I couldn't forget that my husband had been dead less than a year. What was I doing? I was almost seventy. What would my children think? I needed a sign, but the rolling waves of the Inland Passage never showed me any.
The morning our ship sailed into Glacier Bay, I dressed quietly and hurried to the Promenade Deck. Alaskan time was four hours earlier than at home, so despite the ship's clock saying it was 4:00 A.M., my built-in clock insisted it was 8:00 A.M. I walked briskly around the deck and watched the ocean and the lightening sky. On my first turn around the bow I spied a brilliant rainbow spanning the western sky. I was almost afraid to hope, but I couldn't help wonder if this were the answer to my prayers.
Martha, another widow, joined me on my next lap. She also had a knotty problem: deciding whether to surrender her independence and move in with her lonely sister, who had recently lost her husband. We had discussed our respective dilemmas two or three times on previous days without coming any closer to conclusions. Now as we rounded the bow, we admired the intense colors of the rainbow.
"Martha, I wonder -- do you think this could be God's sign for us? You know, like when he showed the rainbow to Noah?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said, "but if it's still there on our next lap, I'll consider it." Our rainbow continued to brighten the sky on subsequent laps, fading only when we went inside for breakfast. We ate in silence, but I felt more relaxed and at peace than I had in weeks.
I spent the entire day on deck, drinking in the glaciers, the blues and greens of the ice, each from different decades, even different geological ages. The summer day was warm, the sky a clear cerulean, the water a mirror, as if posing for reflecting pictures and broken only by the occasional otter splashing playfully in the ocean. Ice walls towered above the ten-story deck, their beauty demonstrating once again God's majesty.
When we docked in Ketchikan, I phoned my widower friend, Cal, but didn't mention what had happened. He was cordial and offered to pick me up at the airport on my return. Cal is a retired engineer, an avid woodworker, and a bicyclist who loves to travel. He and his late wife had not been able to do so during her many illnesses any more than I had been able to travel during my husband's illnesses.
When I returned from our cruise, he visited my house often and I soon realized I was developing strong feelings for him. But I never put a name to our relationship until the night my daughter phoned. When I mentioned I had been out to dinner with Cal, she exclaimed, "Mother! You never told me you were dating!" She sounded happy.
During the rest of that year we attended plays and the ballet and took day trips to state parks in the area in his Firebird. He often brought me flowers; he became very affectionate. In January, Cal knelt down on one knee and proposed marriage. I accepted. After consulting with our pastor, we set a date in April, sold our homes and bought one together. Our wedding arrangements were overseen by the watchful eye of the congregation, some of whom even threw us a shower. In our joy, we invited the entire church membership to attend the ceremony.
Tennessee's spring in 1997 was at its most glorious. The redbuds and dogwoods put on a spectacular show for our northern guests while Southern magnolias and azaleas burst with crimson and white blossoms. All seven of our children flew in from distant parts of the country to participate; his sisters and their families drove down from the Midwest; two of his cousins came from Ohio and Missouri. My late husband's brother and his wife drove in from across the state.
On the day of our wedding, it rained lightly at intervals, but the sun finally showed itself in time for our evening ceremony. When my brother arrived to escort me to the church, we both marveled at the glorious rainbow in the eastern sky. I may have had doubts that the rainbow I saw in Glacier Bay was a sign, but I firmly believe that this one on our wedding day was showering God's blessing on us.
Cal and I have been married for twelve years now and each day our joy and love grow deeper. He still brings me flowers. No more dark thoughts plague me.
We spent our honeymoon on a Caribbean cruise, trying nightly to count the millions of stars and watching the Hale-Bopp comet process regally across the sky. Together, we experienced both the rough Atlantic and calm Pacific oceans on our recent voyage through the Panama Canal. On the last night aboard, we had the rare pleasure of viewing a full lunar eclipse away from all city lights. One year we plan to share the beauties of a different Alaskan cruise. God has been good to us.
For weeks I had debated and prayed about what was happening in my life. My greatest concerns were about the nice widower I had met in the Grief Support Group. I saw him at church each Sunday. He phoned occasionally to chat. We went to dinner and a movie once, riding in the red Firebird he was so proud of. He tolerated my depressed moods and bouts of tears and even managed to make me laugh a few times. But was I being fair to take up so much of his time? I couldn't forget that my husband had been dead less than a year. What was I doing? I was almost seventy. What would my children think? I needed a sign, but the rolling waves of the Inland Passage never showed me any.
The morning our ship sailed into Glacier Bay, I dressed quietly and hurried to the Promenade Deck. Alaskan time was four hours earlier than at home, so despite the ship's clock saying it was 4:00 A.M., my built-in clock insisted it was 8:00 A.M. I walked briskly around the deck and watched the ocean and the lightening sky. On my first turn around the bow I spied a brilliant rainbow spanning the western sky. I was almost afraid to hope, but I couldn't help wonder if this were the answer to my prayers.
Martha, another widow, joined me on my next lap. She also had a knotty problem: deciding whether to surrender her independence and move in with her lonely sister, who had recently lost her husband. We had discussed our respective dilemmas two or three times on previous days without coming any closer to conclusions. Now as we rounded the bow, we admired the intense colors of the rainbow.
"Martha, I wonder -- do you think this could be God's sign for us? You know, like when he showed the rainbow to Noah?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said, "but if it's still there on our next lap, I'll consider it." Our rainbow continued to brighten the sky on subsequent laps, fading only when we went inside for breakfast. We ate in silence, but I felt more relaxed and at peace than I had in weeks.
I spent the entire day on deck, drinking in the glaciers, the blues and greens of the ice, each from different decades, even different geological ages. The summer day was warm, the sky a clear cerulean, the water a mirror, as if posing for reflecting pictures and broken only by the occasional otter splashing playfully in the ocean. Ice walls towered above the ten-story deck, their beauty demonstrating once again God's majesty.
When we docked in Ketchikan, I phoned my widower friend, Cal, but didn't mention what had happened. He was cordial and offered to pick me up at the airport on my return. Cal is a retired engineer, an avid woodworker, and a bicyclist who loves to travel. He and his late wife had not been able to do so during her many illnesses any more than I had been able to travel during my husband's illnesses.
When I returned from our cruise, he visited my house often and I soon realized I was developing strong feelings for him. But I never put a name to our relationship until the night my daughter phoned. When I mentioned I had been out to dinner with Cal, she exclaimed, "Mother! You never told me you were dating!" She sounded happy.
During the rest of that year we attended plays and the ballet and took day trips to state parks in the area in his Firebird. He often brought me flowers; he became very affectionate. In January, Cal knelt down on one knee and proposed marriage. I accepted. After consulting with our pastor, we set a date in April, sold our homes and bought one together. Our wedding arrangements were overseen by the watchful eye of the congregation, some of whom even threw us a shower. In our joy, we invited the entire church membership to attend the ceremony.
Tennessee's spring in 1997 was at its most glorious. The redbuds and dogwoods put on a spectacular show for our northern guests while Southern magnolias and azaleas burst with crimson and white blossoms. All seven of our children flew in from distant parts of the country to participate; his sisters and their families drove down from the Midwest; two of his cousins came from Ohio and Missouri. My late husband's brother and his wife drove in from across the state.
On the day of our wedding, it rained lightly at intervals, but the sun finally showed itself in time for our evening ceremony. When my brother arrived to escort me to the church, we both marveled at the glorious rainbow in the eastern sky. I may have had doubts that the rainbow I saw in Glacier Bay was a sign, but I firmly believe that this one on our wedding day was showering God's blessing on us.
Cal and I have been married for twelve years now and each day our joy and love grow deeper. He still brings me flowers. No more dark thoughts plague me.
We spent our honeymoon on a Caribbean cruise, trying nightly to count the millions of stars and watching the Hale-Bopp comet process regally across the sky. Together, we experienced both the rough Atlantic and calm Pacific oceans on our recent voyage through the Panama Canal. On the last night aboard, we had the rare pleasure of viewing a full lunar eclipse away from all city lights. One year we plan to share the beauties of a different Alaskan cruise. God has been good to us.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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