Author: aflcoker

Left to Right, in order of age: Ann, Minnie, and Martha, taken in Minnie’s apartment.

Memories are meant to be shared. That’s what a friend told me a while back after his wife died. He no longer had that privilege to share memories with his wife, and it left a hole in his heart.

I recently returned home from a two-week trip to New Mexico and Alabama, visiting my two sisters. Most of our time we spent rehearsing memories of our childhood. Those times we treasure as valuable for our continued life travels. It had been 17 years since the three of us had been together, and that event in Terre Haute, Indiana, in 2007 we celebrated the 50^th wedding anniversary for Bill and me. This recent time in Alabama, we concentrated on our Laird family.

One day for lunch we three sisters went to the Dew Drop Inn in Mobile, Alabama. The food was excellent. I’ve never had fried oysters and fried onion rings prepared any better. But that small local restaurant is special for our family. When our Dad dated our Mother who lived with her sister, Julia would enter the living room to say it was time for Tom to go home. They would sing a line or two of “Too Much in Love to Say Goodnight,” and Dad would leave. Walking on his way home, he would stop at the Dew Drop Inn to eat a bowl of chili. That was in the early 1930’s. The Inn is now 100 years old, established in 1924. That’s history, and continues to this day. We tried taking a selfie photo with the sign overhead, but it’s a poor shot.

Then we stopped by the Dutch Ice Cream Shoppe for a few dips of our favorite treat. Ice-cream is a Laird tradition. During our growing-up years, Mother would make two or three gallons of ice-cream each Saturday, which Dad would churn in the hand-operated freezer. Those flavors satisfied our craving for dessert after every supper meal. My favorite flavor was frozen buttermilk, for it’s like a tangy pineapple sherbet. She also made peppermint and vanilla ice-cream with evaporated milk.

Along with rehearsing past memories, we sisters made new memories to cherish for our todays.

Perched and Singing

For several days in March of 2015, I heard a song bird, a sparrow I think, outside my window. I could not see her but I heard her song. She is so like my relationship with Jesus. I cannot see Him, but I listen to Him by reading His Word. After Jesus arose, He appeared to those who knew Him—His disciples. Paul wrote, “He appeared to me also” (1 Cor. 15:5). He appears to me now, to all who know Him and are His witnesses.

Christ is the “present Reality, an efficacious power now” (Oswald Chambers). Yes, I know Christ personally; He is real. Being a Christian is not only a decision for Christ, but a complete surrender to allow Him to take Lordship in my life, to receive Him as my Master and to honor Him daily. If Jesus Christ is not God manifest in the flesh, we know nothing whatever about God. It’s hopeless. But if Jesus Christ is who He says He is, then He is God to me (paraphrased from Oswald Chambers). I have a personal history with Christ, and I am satisfied where He has placed me. I take on no more than He instructs and my energy is renewed day by day.

While birds sing to me now, or I hear the chimes outside my window, I lift my new song to God. Give me insight, kindness, and energy for each day, Lord Jesus. May my sacrifice be one of praise.

A year later (2016), a sweet song bird greeted me with her chirping, and that morning I welcomed her greeting. We went for Bill’s EEG and a follow-up appointment with his first neurologist.

Easter Sunday that year was a glorious sunny day, and we opened windows for cool fresh air. My song bird greeted the morning, and yet it was dark. “Good morning. Happy Easter.”

A few days later, a different bird with a high tweet greeted me, but he flew away as I turned to identify him. I didn’t see him, but the same song bird met me later on the dogwood outside my window. It was a good morning.

It is always a good morning as I read God’s Word and sing a new song to my Lord.

Reepicheep rows toward Aslan’s Country. A faithful follower, he was promised a place in Aslan’s land.

As I pray, I often use the words that start with P in relationship to what God has promised. Those are Presence, Provision, Protection, and Promises. Presence is at the top, for I value God’s presence more than anything He has given me. I would not want to live one day, one moment, without the presence of God. He is real to me and His presence is my mainstay. I am wrapped in His constant presence, for I know He dwells within me.

God provides for my every need, whether that’s physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual. His provision is perfect and unblemished, for I know that all good gifts come from God. Being an American and a Christian has its advantages, and I have the costly privilege of freedom. I do not fear any intrusion in my daily life. That I know is not the case for Christians in other nations, for so many around the world suffer persecution. I am humbled by what I enjoy, for all that my fellow citizens have sacrificed for me.

On that same note, I not only have God’s provision, I live in a nation that protects my freedom and rights. God has protected me over my 85 years of life, and yet I’ve not been exempt from harm. I have had struggles and problems, but God has seen me through them all. I pray for the persecuted church and their need for protection, for safety against terrorist attacks.

God’s promises are sure and show His character of love, mercy, and grace. His love is eternal; His mercy is everlasting; His grace is sufficient for today and always. I know I can trust God for whatever He promises in His Word and for all my days.

Therefore, whatever my future brings, I am assured of God’s presence, provision, and protection.  I’m confident He will guide me with His promises.

The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White, Illustrated by Fred Marcellino

In The Trumpet of the Swan (© 1970) by E.B. White, a young boy discovered two trumpet swans near a pond while camping in Canada. After one visit, quietly viewing the swan on her nest of five eggs, Sam returned to his tent and wrote in his notebook before going to sleep:

   “I don’t know of anything in the entire world more wonderful to look at than a nest with eggs in it. An egg, because it contains life, is the most perfect thing there is. It is beautiful and mysterious. An egg is a far finer thing than a tennis ball or a cake of soap. A tennis ball will always be just a tennis ball. A cake of soap will always be just a cake of soap––until it gets so small nobody wants it and they throw it away. But an egg will someday be a living creature. A swan’s egg will open and out comes a little swan. A nest is almost as wonderful and mysterious as an egg. How does a bird know how to make a nest? Nobody ever taught her. How does a bird know how to build a nest?” (p. 28).

E.B. White has put into a boy’s mind the thoughts of new life. A swan laid an egg and after 35 days of incubation in her nest, a new “living creature,” a baby cygnet swan, comes out of an egg.

The young boy, Sam, observes this mystery and yet his point of view is a mature understanding of life and its beginning. Birth of swans is mysterious and wonderful––from an egg to a cygnet. The birth of a human baby is wonderful and mysterious––from conception in the womb to the birth of an infant human. From conception to birth, a human is always a human. God’s ways are a mystery yet understandable if we only open our hearts and minds to the truth of creation.

Two long-time friends visited me lately and I found them to be a sweet gift from God. First Stefanie came from a conference in Michigan. She had planned the trip to include Indianapolis, because she wanted to be here for Bill’s birthday on June 17. But she did not change her time frame after Bill moved onto Heaven. Her previous visits with us always included a walk with Bill, playing ping pong, and arm wrestling. The latter contests Bill won, and I don’t think she faked her loss. Stefanie told Bill she would be in better shape next time. Because of their good connection, I wondered how we would spend our time together.

Stefanie and I did walk together, surprising me with enough energy to make it around the block using my cane. We also went to a park for a sack lunch and a trail through the woods. She had work to send back to the university in New Zealand, so that gave me time for reading.

One special treat involved Stefanie driving us for a weekend in Terre Haute and Brazil, Indiana– visits with friends from our former days, including Sunday worship at World Gospel Church. Members, surprised to see us, gave many hugs and brief chats to catch up with our lives. Eating with friends added more conversations, showing we are still connected.

With Stefanie still here, Linda arrived for a two-day visit on the way from her 50^th Reunion at Asbury College and back home in Wisconsin. I knew Linda and Stefanie would connect well, because both are verbal about their testimony, reciting Bible verses relevant to their spiritual journeys. I admit that’s also convicting. Mealtimes lasted longer than usual due to times of sharing our lives. It also gave me opportunity to talk about Bill, caregiving, and his last days on earth. Both friends found my ramblings of interest as they asked questions.

Yes, I am grateful for friendships that last throughout the years. They are gifts of faith from my Lord. A favorite Bible verse comes to mind, and it’s my way of expressing connection with Jesus. He told His disciples (and us): “I have called you friends” (John 15:15).

Monday 2/4 – I feel that my “sermon” yesterday was a bust. Speaking on Scripture, I tried to layout what the Bible is (the story of Man & of God’s Redemption of Man), what we should understand in approaching it (linguistic, literary, historical contexts), and how to read it (open heart, seeking mind), critically, interacting with the text; interpretatively (recognizing cultural differences & relating principles to our circumstances) & depending on the Holy Spirit to illuminate the text.

I was too long (as usual) & I don’t think I was able to communicate what I was trying to get across. I really feel that my academic interests keep me from good sermonizing. People are not interested in those things; just how to live.

I have asked the Lord to open some door of service where I can do more of what I’m capable of doing and will do less damage to the church. Or perhaps the better thing would be for me to retire & let WGC find the person who can help them “grow.”

Tuesday – How many times have I felt like I did yesterday!! This a.m. I know that one sermon doesn’t provide a reason to rearrange one’s life. I think of Paul’s statement in 2 Cor. 4:9 – “we are knocked down but not knocked out.” So I’m getting back up, and at age 66 I’m asking the Lord Jesus for three things:

1. His Spirit to enable me to see Scripture more in its narrative form & not simply from a grammatic-historical perspective. (Maybe that means I need to stop underlining words, etc. except as a means for finding a passage later.)
2. Help me with this 30 minute rule by “freeing me” from the need to tell everything I know and focusing in on the point that I want to communicate.
3. To stop my hand from jerking when I write, so that I don’t need to be so slow & deliberate when I write. This primarily for the sake of time & legibility. (Unless this problem has a greater purpose – to remind my whence I’ve come & how my bout with depression has been used to awaken me spiritually.)

William B. Coker, Sr., found in his journal of 2002. I’ve left all his punctuation and structure.

Following are notes from Bill’s journal while attending Academy of Spiritual Formation in 2002.

There are times when I get tired of religion. We live under a microscope looking at ourselves, examining ourselves. Is it well with my soul? Am I pleasing God? How do I become a better person? How should I act? Is this okay; will it not only meet God’s approval but also that of others who are trying to be religious?

Why am I so rotten on the inside? Is it just a witness to my fallenness or the evidence of my humanness? If the former, why doesn’t God take it away? I’ve asked Him to! If it is the latter, why am I feeling guilty?

O yes, I’m on a journey; in the process of becoming, I’m told. Becoming what? A perfect saint? A completed human being? Wholly sanctified? Pure in heart?

I understand that in becoming conformed to the image of Christ, I need to grow in grace and in the knowledge of Him, be led by the Spirit and walk in the light. I know full well that I haven’t arrived; but sometimes I feel that the drag in my life, the guilt that I wrestle with, has more to do with religion than spirituality. I am weary of the judgementalism of those who’ve got “real religion” and my judging others.

As I said, there are times when I get tired of religion, weary of taking my spiritual pulse, checking up on my soul. I just want to live, to love god and others, and anticipate….

Only one more session and the Academy is history. It’s hard to measure what this has meant. Certainly, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Its impact is greater than the presenters have shared or the readings we have completed. Perhaps the most significant is the community itself––our times of worship, of being together, even the unstables. Yes, it’s been the people. I’ll miss them; some more than others, but all of them in one way or another.

Back home: We so often take relationships casually, until we face the loss of them. The loss always leaves a hole, which may be partially filled by new ones. But the deeper the relationship the more remaining emptiness. I understand why, as we grow older, the holes increase and the empty places leave a longing for a day of restoration.

Bill took time out from playing solitaire on the computer to read one of his books.

Not too often, but often enough, people ask how I’m doing. They refer to my husband Bill’s death in March. My response, “I’m fine. Really.” And I’m not trying to cover up any sadness. Everyone’s grief journey is different, and I’m finding that out while attending weekly meetings of a GriefShare program at our church. I have fresh grief, for my journey has been brief in one way. It’s been only two months since Bill stopped breathing and went Home. But his journey through dementia started over ten years ago, and during that time I’ve been grieving the loss of what he used to be––my husband of 66 years and my pastor many of those years.

Now as I listen to his podcast, I envision sitting in the congregation, learning biblical truth as he preached for 19 years at World Gospel Church in Terre Haute, Indiana. During the past couple of years Bill would get our attention with what we called his “talks.” His main theme was to “do what’s right and good.” Much else he said did not communicate well. Now as I read my Bible, I notice those words of right and good. Such as, “You shall do what is right and good in the sight of the Lord, that it may go well with you” (Deut. 6:18, ESV).

I can testify that God has enveloped me in His peace. “My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful” (John 14:27, NASB). I cannot explain that, but I want to credit prayers, those from family and friends. Going through my stack of sympathy cards several times, I’ve notice that most of the signers say they are praying for me and my family. It may not be long-standing, but even if they pray once while writing and addressing their cards to me, that has meaning and shows results.

That photo at the top of this blog post, which I shared from a writer friend on my Facebook page, cites the expression on May 4^th: “Let the fourth be with you.” The Fourth Person in the fire with the three Hebrew children is our Lord Jesus. Yes, He has been with me, and I would not want to spend one moment without His presence. While what I miss the most about Bill is his presence with me, it would be far worse for me not to have God’s presence abiding in me.

So, how am I doing? Fine. Really. God is with me, moment by moment. I give sincere thanks for your prayers along my grief journey. I have loss because Bill is not here, but he is not lost. I know where he is and one day I will join him in God’s good timing.

Old Books (not Bill’s bookshelves)

I am thinking still about resolutions for this year. The word that emerges again and again is “discipline.” Disciplines regarding time (back to reading habits when we had no TV hook-up); discipline of my body (preparing my body for the extended time which I want to have); discipline of my spiritual growth (prayer and fasting, maintaining my Greek and Hebrew, reading in the area of spiritual formation from classical literary texts).

All this sounds great but may be too ambitious, the reason why most resolutions fail. Rather than establishing a rigid goal, I want to cultivate this discipline so that should the Lord allow me to be around a year hence, I will see improvement as well as further need for development.

For a new series, I have begun focusing on the Apostles’ Creed. I want to emphasize not only the critical importance of knowing what we believe but also the crisis generated both personally and in the Church – to say nothing of the impact on society and culture – by our failure as Christians to understand our faith and how it is determinative for our values, ethics, morals, and piety.

My reading of Dorothy Sayers’ Creed or Chaos has shaped the direction this series is taking. My reading of Heschel’s Man Is Not Alone is compelling me to look at faith from the aspect of God’s ineffability and man’s “awe,” as well as from revelation contained in the Scriptures.

I am being wonderfully stimulated by this challenge to me personally but am also wrestling with diversions – my need to establish an exercise program; my desire to get some outside work done; my own mental weariness and failure to spend more productive time in my study; my slow reading – along with my pastoral responsibilities (visiting the sick, supervising our youth ministry, developing a strong educational program for children); my involvement with Emmaus; whether or not the pastors’ forum is going to fly; and spending quality time with Ann.

Just thinking about this makes me realize why many pastors drop our or fall into the sin of sloth. I feel the threat of this latter, particularly as I realize there is far more to read (what I wish I had done earlier in my life and what I genuinely want to do now) than I’ll ever be able to accomplish. It would be easy to throw up my hands and say, “forget it,” and become satisfied with doing no more than is absolutely necessary for giving a homily.

[ Gleaned from a journal Bill Coker kept in 2002. ~AC ]

Photo taken by Tabea Gutschmidt outside our home on Hwy. 40, Terre Haute, IN

Opening the linen closet door, I looked at the towels and said, “I can use a blue towel now.” Those had hung on the towel rack for Bill’s use, but no more. With Bill’s death on March 7, 2024, changes are in small increments and often subtle and insignificant within the larger picture.

No longer is Bill on the other side of our queen-size bed or traveling in the passenger side of our car while I drive to church and errands. His chair in our study is empty, and his computer not in use. No longer is he pointing to our clock on the wall to alert me when it’s time for a meal. In church I sit in the third seat from the aisle where Bill sat, leaving two seats for Becky and Paul. At first I occupied his seat at the table, but that felt abnormal, so I moved to my position.

I busy myself going through Bill’s things, distributing them to either family or bagging up his clothes to donate to a local mission. Even the dress clothes will be used by men going for job interviews. Interestingly enough, most family members were more interested in what they can use. One grandson wanted his grandpa’s plastic shirt stays. I like that. Two grandsons-in-law chose several ties, but there are plenty more. Since our first son has the same name as his dad and same initials, his choices seemed appropriate. When my father died, each of us children wanted one of his handkerchiefs as a memento.

While listening to Bill’s podcast episode during breakfast, his photo is on my phone and yet I’m not sad. I’m glad we decided to continue his sermons on Words of Endearment with Bill Coker, thankful that our tech guys thought of recording a brief announcement about Bill’s death and our intention to proceed ahead.

Strangely enough, I’ve had few tears, and I’ve not concentrated on any regrets or shame. Most moist eyes have come when people relate how Bill has influenced their lives. Those thoughts have been verballing expressed and written in the vast number of cards received. It’s touching to receive remembrances from student grads at d’Iberville High School in Mississippi where Bill taught the first two years we were married as he pastored North Biloxi United Methodist Church on the Gulf coast.

Yes, there is loss for me and I think of that when people say, “I’m sorry for your loss.” In another sense, Bill is not lost. I know where he is, and one day I’ll join him. But for now I don’t have to go find him like a “lost object.” He is with his Savior and Lord, rejoicing.