Dearest Anita, Rest in Peace

Updated 6 Jun 2011

Anita Aylard died peacefully in her home on April 1, 2010 in the company of her husband, after a painful battle with cancer. Her loving smile and warm personality will be missed by many family members, friends, students, work affiliates, and others whose lives she touched.

It Is Really Him

What do you do—where do you go-- when your world seems at least momentarily to be falling apart?

In the dark days following Jesus’ crucifixion, two greatly disappointed followers of Christ took a seven-mile walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus. Perhaps they needed a place away from the city to clarify their thoughts and feelings. Maybe they wanted to escape broken dreams and disappointment. Or perhaps Emmaus was their home. In any case, they were in deep conversation when Jesus joined them.

Although he was the subject of their conversation, they did not recognize Jesus. Were they perhaps followers who had not experienced a physically close relationship to Jesus? (They didn’t know what he looked like up close?) Were they simply so embroiled in their own emotions that it did not occur to them to closely observe the man who had become their traveling companion. Or were they supernaturally blinded?

The manner of Jesus’ entry on the scene intrigues me. Their words were filled with hopelessness and ignorance. Yet Jesus did not initially correct them. He did not identify himself. He entered in--asked questions-- listened to their hearts.

Thinking Jesus must be ignorant of the great happenings in the city, they said: You must be a stranger. Don’t you understand? Don’t you realize what has happened? (Luke 24: 18). The depth of their distress and confusion is expressed by the simple words: We were hoping. "They were hoping…that He was going to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:21). Their hope had not been just for themselves but also for Israel. Now they had were losing hope. They continued speaking of rumors that Jesus’ body was gone and of disciples who had seen a vision of angels. Through all their rambling talk, they still did not recognize the Savior there with them ready to enter their world of disappointment.

At the appropriate time in their dialogue, Jesus interrupted them. “O foolish men and slow of heart to believe…” (v. 25). Don’t you realize, he said, that the Christ had to suffer these things"? (v. 26). ) I believe there was compassion in his rebuke, for he carefully explained everything about himself, beginning with Moses (v. 27).

Jesus was there-- on the road--listening and explaining. When they arrived at Emmaus, they hospitably urged him to stay (v. 29). So he did.

Then there was a communal moment. When Jesus broke the bread “open-eyed, wide-eyed, they recognized him” (v. 32, The Message). Then he vanished (v. 31). Why did he abruptly, supernaturally leave? I suspect it was time for them to begin to exercise faith. And they did. They spoke together of how their hearts were on fire as he talked to them. And immediately they returned to Jerusalem where they related their experiences to the eleven and other disciples.

The next event is paraphrased clearly in The Message: “While they were saying all this, Jesus appeared to them…. They thought they were seeing a ghost and were scared half to death…. He said ‘don’t be upset and don’t let all these doubting questions take over. Look at my hands, look at my feet—it’s really me.’” (v. 36-41 The Message).

There is a parallel here to our faith journey as twenty-first century Christians. Sometimes circumstances turn out differently than we had hoped for our loved ones, our country, the world, ourselves. We say, “But Lord, we thought . . . we hoped…” Yet all the while Jesus may be there ready to hear our hearts and commune with us. Sometimes we are so blinded by circumstances or the rush of life that we do not invite him to break bread with us or really see him when he does. He may be saying, “Look at my hands, look at my feet—it’s really me.”

This is my prayer today:

Oh Jesus, my Savior and Lord, I invite you to my Emmaus. Come. Stay. Open my ears to hear as you teach. Allow your truth to penetrate my blindness. I have listened long enough to disappointed hopes. May my heart burn with the reality of your presence. May I recognize you in the breaking of the bread.

Yearning for Worship

“My soul longed and even yearned for the courts of the Lord” (Ps. 84: 2).

Sometimes Scripture resonates immediately in our hearts and minds as we read. My devotional reading this morning expresses one of my deep longings during the early months of my sickness. I had been unable to participate in corporate worship. God graciously has allowed me to return to church for this current season on my cancer journey. And this day, I understand Psalm 84 at a deeper level.

The Psalm may have been written when Sennacherib was in power and assaulted Israel and Judah (2 Kings 18). The psalmist seems to be excluded from the temple worship. He sees that even the swallows are able to nest at the temple, while he is unable to experience the nearness of God through worship with his people (Ps. 84:3). Then he pictures the joy of those who journey from the valley of Baca (or weeping) and are refreshed by spring rains. “They go from strength to strength” and “every one of them appears before God in Zion” (v.7). Oh joy! The faithful worshippers are together in the presence of their Lord.

Then, as I once did, the excluded Psalmist prays with longing and yearning that he may join this celebrant holy time in Zion (v. 8-9). How I feel his yearning. I, too, missed voices raised in song and praise. I longed to once again serve communion, pray with another at the altar, greet at the door. I missed my offering counting volunteer group, serving on councils. I missed the ministry my husband and I were able to do together in our retirement years. I yearned to be with the church family in even brief encounters to share a smile, a word, an experience.

And so I exult with this Psalmist THIS day--no matter what the future brings. I thank God for this respite time when I am able once more to worship with God’s people. I am unable to participate fully as I once did. Yet one day in his courts—even at the sidelines--is better than a thousand outside. I’d rather stand at the threshold of God’s house than dwell outside (v. 10). And so I greet a few friends, worship in song and praise, listen to the preached Word of God, take communion with my husband and sense that I am in a holy celebrant place.

For the Lord God is a sun and shield, he gives grace and glory and no good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly (v. 11).

I join the Psalmist in saying, “How blessed is the one who trusts in you!” (v. 12).

Jesus Wept

“Jesus Wept!” a young student yelled out victoriously in our church junior high classroom! It was years ago, but I can still remember those Bible drills. Students would shout out verses from memory as the youth leader had us recite Scriptures. At the time I was caught between a smile at the kid's cleverness in finding such a short verse to memorize, and a feeling that he was cheating. The purpose of the drill was lost. We were to be hiding meaningful Scriptures in our hearts. I had little comprehension then of the power of those words. Jesus wept!

Two remarkable incidents of Jesus weeping are recorded in Scripture for us. When Lazarus died, his family and friends were heartbroken. At the tomb they mourned him. Jesus arrived and witnessed their grief. Saint John uses simple, profound words to express Jesus’ sorrow. “Jesus wept.” (11:35) and he was “deeply moved.” (11:38).

Was our Savior weeping because he had lost a friend? Was he grieving with family and friends as he saw their pain? Was he feeling the sting that sin had brought to humankind through the fall? In any event, it is a profoundly human response to grief. He wept.

The second incident happened to be my devotional reading this morning—Luke 19. In some ways it seemed to me an unlikely passage of comfort for my morning devotional. And I was coming to the Scripture in need of comfort on this day. I didn’t want to read about cities being destroyed. But I read the passage and the devotional thoughts which followed. And somehow, on this reading, I see this passage in a new light.

Jerusalem was headed the wrong way. As a city, they were rejecting the Messiah. Our Savior, who saw the past, present and future, approached the city. Here he was feeling compassion that embraced a whole city. “He saw the city and we wept over it” (Luke 19:41). This morning these words diminish all my questions about the whys and wherefores and overshadow my repugnance in reading of this destruction. Instead these words come to my lips as a prayer:

“Jesus, it encourages me to know that you wept over a city that was going to be destroyed. You also wept when you saw death. Somehow this morning I can set aside the questions of sin and its effects, the brokenness of humankind which sometimes mars its beauties, unrealized dreams, unasked for or undeserved pain, disappointment, loss and death. Your tears comfort me.”

With David I pray this psalm:

‘ O Lord, my heart is not proud,
nor my eyes haughty;
Nor do I involve myself in great matters,
or in things too difficult for me.
Surely I have composed and quieted my soul:
Like a weaned child rests against his mother,
My soul is like a weaned child within me.
…. hope in the Lord
From this time forth and forever' (Ps. 131).

“ My Savior, these moments in your arms are not for solving unanswered questions or things too 'great and difficult' for me. These are sacred moments. I weep. And I simply take comfort in your tears.”

The Path of Faith and Hope

Sometimes we are blindsided by unpleasant, unwanted happenings that completely change our lives.

My husband and I returned from our “Mitford” experience in Elysburg, PA, with beautiful memories of time with our daughter, son-in-law, new granddaughter and our in-laws. We were ecstatic as first-time grandparents, filled with plans and dreams for the future and immediately booked our next flight for another visit. We returned to our home and church life with a sense of God’s smile upon us. Our cup of joy was truly full and running over!

Within a matter of weeks my routine physical exam resulted in an unexpected phone call from the doctor. My mind could not hold his words, though they were spoken gently, slowly and clearly. “Cancer…advanced”… “appointment with you and your husband next week.” I cannot remember how I lived through those first hours and days. I do remember that a painful bout of pancreatitis, also out of the blue, put me in the hospital weeks later on Christmas Day and delayed my cancer treatment for several weeks.

Thankfully my pancreas has settled down and I have been in cancer treatment now for several months. The chemo leaves me weak and unable to perform my normal tasks without help from family. Some of my days are spent mostly in bed. Don and I had to cancel our plane tickets and resign our church responsibilities. In short, our lives have been turned upside down.

I did not choose this road of sickness that I must travel. But I do have a choice about the way I travel. Difficult as it is, I am choosing to at least attempt the way of faith and hope. It is not automatic or easy; nor is the road straight or smooth.

It begins with the “why” question or at least a surprised, “how can this be!” There are many “answers” to these questions but none is emotionally satisfactory to the sufferer. However, I have discovered that walking in faith and hope requires me to put that question on hold. Or at least submit it to God to answer in His time.

My friend, Idy, asked me recently what I was experiencing spiritually through my sickness. At first I wanted to say, “not much.” But then I took it as a challenge to assess what God is doing in my life through this time of upheaval.

I have discovered that through the struggle, God’s lovingkindness has been evident. He is present in many subtle ways through my loving husband who is my primary caregiver, my caring son, daughters, and son-in-law, extended family, friends, neighbors and church, who give encouraging words, gifts, and prayers. The loving bond between Don and I has a new dimension—loving through unwanted diagnosis, pain, fear, loss and an unknown future.

I do not know what difficult, painful things may lie before me (and us) but now, in this moment, I choose to hope and trust and accept each day as a gift from God. My hope is not in healing, though I am praying for that. My hope is in a God who has promised to shepherd me all the days of my life.

I don’t know what that will look like or how it will feel. But looking back over my life, I realize that I have never been in “want.” I have often visited “green pastures” and “quiet waters” not only in nature but also through family, friendship, and meaningful work and ministry. Regularly my soul was restored through corporate worship and intimate conversation with family and friends. Many times the Shepherd has guided me in right paths when I was blinded by ignorance or human frailty. Countless times my cup has overflowed with joy. And now in the presence of my sickness, He has provided me a home, family, friends and the beauty of his world for my enjoyment. He has given me his Word and the words of many of his saints to encourage and instruct me.

And so I pray: “ ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’ Lord help me not to fear…” ‘For I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’” That is where the path of faith and hope lead.

We've Found Mitford

“We’ve found Mitford,” I wrote victoriously to my friend back on the West Coast. It is Elysburg!

It is not in the South-- but rather in rural Pennsylvania where my son-in-law has accepted a position as pastor of Elysburg Presbyterian Church. My husband and I spent five beautifully rich weeks in Elysburg with our daughter Jill, husband Matthew and new granddaughter Grace.

If you have read Jan Karon’s books, you have probably laughed and cried with Father Tim as he serves God in the little town of Mitford, North Carolina. He banters with the men in the Main Street Grill. He visits the sick, listens to their life stories. He laughs, gives advice and prays with and for the people. Perhaps what charms most of Jan Karon’s readers is the simplicity and earthiness of these people’s lives. They all know each other. They talk to one another when they pass on the street. They give to those in need. The motto of the town is “we take care of our own.” They are people of hope.

In Elysburg, I experienced community. When Don and I took our morning walks along the country road, neighbors stopped to chat and ask about our new grandchild. One of the neighbors saw Don taking pictures along the road. He took us in his truck up the hill to a beautiful orchard so Don could get view pictures of Matthew’s church. We also came away with a bag of delicious apples and stories of local lore.

People from the congregation brought us produce from their farms, shoo fly pie, casseroles, freshly baked apple pie, and gifts for the baby. When the fire chief died, the town mourned. And Matthew, as one of the pastors in town, mourned with the community. Pastors from other denominational churches came to Matthew's installation service to celebrate with us.

Jill and Matthew arrived home from the hospital with the baby, greeted by balloons on the lamppost and pumpkins on the porch. When Jill was concerned about her new baby that first week of her life (as most mothers are), a nurse in the church came by the house after a long day of work, with her stethoscope, love, and lots of good advice and encouragement.

During our stay in Elysburg we attended a block party and enjoyed Polish and German dishes, steaming hot homemade soup and lots of conversation. There are no fences between the spacious yards and it seems there were few fences between the people. Lights were strung between the trees and kids played while adults visited. We experienced community.

Of course Mitford people do have hard times. They are occasional victims of crime. They get sick. They face death and disease. What makes them unique is that they experience life as a community. And many of them are anchored by faith in God. I know well that Elysburg has both feet in the real world. People suffer, sin, worry, and experience all the ills prevalent in the twenty-first century. But they do it as a community.

Our last Sunday in Pennsylvania, we attended Matthew’s official installation service as pastor and said difficult goodbyes to people we had grown to love. As we were leaving, Jim, one of the leaders in the church, came up to me to give me a hug. “I know it is difficult for you and Don to leave Gracie. But don’t worry. We’ll take care of her. And we will take care of Jill and Matthew too. That’s what we do. ” A hug and a promise! That is community!

Pennsylvania Reflections

Oct. 6, 2008

As I sit here beside my daughter, I sense a commonality with her in the struggles of her mother heart and my own. Jill has been a mother for less than a month. She wants little Grace to be content. She sacrifices herself, her time, her freedom, her rest, her comfort. She longs to hold her baby, protect her from infant discomfort. She ponders how, when, how much to let her daughter cry or be scheduled by realities her infant innocence cannot comprehend. She longs to hold on to each moment, to savor the flavor of these infant weeks. Experience tells me she will tenderly hold these hours in her heart forever.

I, too, want to savor these moments, hours, days, make them last forever. Joy, quietly deeply, fills my heart in seeing my daughter as mother. I, too, will treasure these hours forever. I, too, wish (as I have for 38 years) to shield my daughter from pain or even distress. Even now, were it in my power to do so, I would smooth out every pathway, pull out all the thorns and weeds, allow only sunny sky days for her, solve every problem, shield her from life’s harshness, perplexities, disappointments or misfortune.

Mother, daughter, mother, daughter. We know as mothers that we cannot always protect our daughters from pain, nor should we. But we are women who deeply love. Love links us, flowing from one to the other. We will continue to love, protect, admonish, nourish , encourage, and give to those we love as long as we have breath.