MISSING PARTS

 

So many things we buy these days, especially online purchases, have to be assembled. And what could be more frustrating than to find that one key part is missing? But in a widower’s life, there are many key parts missing.

 One part of what used to be my life was having someone to talk with. I said someone to talk "with" not “to.” I miss just sharing my thoughts about anything, especially the most insignificant things, curiosities, and to know that Linda would listen and comment. The subject matter may have been insignificant, but the exchange of thoughts, the interaction of our personalities, was precious. She was like my alter-ego who could reflect my thoughts back with some interesting additions that expanded my perspective. I was always a little richer after our talks. That’s a missing part that has not been replaced.

 Another missing part of my life is the beauty Linda added. It was Linda who planted petunias in the flower pots on our balcony. She bought them at a particular roadside vendor that had the greatest variety of colors. Last year I was too distressed by her loss to attempt to plant anything. Besides, the COVID shutdowns in Michigan limited the supply and availability. So the flower pots became overgrown with weeds. That increased my sorrow.

The other day I planted some begonias in the half-barrel by the front porch. I got choked up looking at them, thinking how much Linda loved that display. I haven’t gotten around to the flower pots.

 But the beauty Linda added to my life was so much more than her lovely flowers. It was the beauty of her character, her calm, cheerful disposition that brought peace to my life. Linda was content with simple pleasures: watching the birds from our balcony and identifying their songs, walking along the beach at Lake Huron, cultivating and harvesting our vegetable garden. The beauty of her character permeated my life. With that important part missing, this life just doesn’t function well.

I hold out the hope that these key parts of my life—companionship and beauty—may be supplied by someone new. Of course, those elements will come in a new package with other features I can’t yet imagine. But these essential parts must be there for this guy’s life to function well. I need someone to talk with and someone to add beauty to my life.

Priests, Nuns, and Widowers

 There has been a critical shortage of priests in the Catholic Church for  decades. Various reasons are suggested, but one obvious one is that young men are reluctant to make a long-term or life-long commitment to celibacy. 

Non-Catholics are quick to criticize this restriction as unreasonable and unnatural. Yet many of the same people, especially family members, do not hesitate to suggest the same restriction on widows and widowers. As I understand Catholic doctrine, a priest or nun is "married" to the Church. In a similar way, widowed folks are urged to let the Lord fill the void in their lives.

That approach has worked for some widows who have testified, "Jesus is now my husband." Well, I can only speak as one widower: that doesn't work for me! I'm a guy. I have even dared to disagree with Charles Spurgeon's spiritualized interpretation of the Song of Solomon when he suggests that Jesus is our husband. Jesus is the Bridegroom of the Church collectively, not of believers individually. (Spurgeon gets around the obvious problem of Jesus' relationship with male believers by saying our Lord is the lover of our soul, which Spurgeon apparently viewed as feminine.)

The apostle Paul seems to urge a life of celibacy on widowed folks in First Corinthians 7:8, but in the previous verses he clearly states that this is his opinion, not a command, and that "each one has his own gift from God" (v. 7). Regarding celibacy, Jesus told his disciples, "All cannot accept this saying, but only those to whom it has been given" (Mark 19:11). 

I can only speak as one lonely widower, but I am confident that most fellow widowers and not a few widows share my experience: I find this life of forced celibacy to be a daily trial! An old song by Paul Anka comes to mind: 

"I don't like to sleep alone,

It's sad to think some folks do." 

Another verse goes: 

"Loneliness can get you down,

When you get to thinking no one cares." 

So I muddle through each day doing what has to be done. I get a few opportunities to minister God's Word to folks, which gives me a sense of purpose. But after each happy encounter, I'm back to my loneliness. And then comes the dreaded evening. That's when Linda and I would relax and talk, watch an old movie cuddled together on our loveseat. (How appropriately named is that piece of furniture!) Now I sit alone. And I climb into that big bed alone. I never feel as alone as I do then.

So who can be surprised that young men don't wish to commit themselves to priestly celibacy for the rest of their lives? I dread the thought of celibacy for the rest of this year!