Change
Leslie L. Winters
Table of Contents
Change
Dear fellow-griever,
Several centuries ago a scientific man described a certain natural law thus: A body at rest tends to remain at rest, and a body in motion tends to remain in motion. We see this in action every time we drive a car: Starting up requires a lower, more powerful gear than the one to maintain 60 miles an hour, and unless we have a very long space in which to gradually slow to a stop, the brakes must be applied. This is something we expect and have learned to live with, but it tells us one thing: The auto or body resists change.
Several weeks ago my present wife and I went into a familiar shopping place, following the addition of a new section to the warehouse-like structure, and found that many of the wares were located in the opposite ends of the store from where they had been formerly. This change not only required an adjustment to the new locations, but, mentally at least, caused us to raise an objection to the change because it created a temporary inconvenience.
During childhood, my family lived in the city outskirts, which were sparsely settled. A house was eventually built across the street and a family with two boys about my age moved in. This was great and we got along well, playing together much of the time, but hard times came and they had to move. Here was a double change to get used to — lack of help to occupy time and separation from an object of affection. Things were pretty dull for some time.
One of the best displays of accepting change that I have seen was by three sisters living together in the family home of 63 years, whose ages ranged from 79 to 95. On the day after an opportunity to move was presented to them, the usual call was made to check on them, and when asked what they were doing, the reply was, “We’re packing!” Going from a three-floor commodious home to a one-floor contemporary one was entered into with the attitude of having an adventure.
The greatest change that comes into our life seems to be that of losing a mate, followed by the loss of a child or parent. How we want to hang onto the sense of that relationship as long as possible, and we tend to use or create reminders of what once was. Abrading an open sore amounts to self-inflicted torture, and to constantly turn our thoughts to sorrowful memories of the past can become torture to the emotions.
Upon entering the yard after burying my first wife, the thought passed through my mind, “This is the beginning of a new chapter in my life.” While people are “inert,” as a fellow-worker used to tell me, and don’t like making changes, changes brought about by death are something which we have no control over, but must accept. A verse of Scripture which has helped me reads, “Forgetting those things which are behind [past]” (Phil. 3:13).
The bereavement of the patriarch Abraham sets an example for present-day grievers. “Sarah was a hundred and seven and twenty years old: these were the years of the life of Sarah. And Sarah died in Kirjath-arba; the same is Hebron in the land of Canaan: and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her. And Abraham stood up from before his dead, and spake unto the sons of Heth, saying, I am a stranger and a sojourner with you: give me a possession of a burying-place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight. . . . And after this, Abraham buried Sarah his wife in the cave of the field of Machpelah before Mamre” (Gen. 23:14,19).
Abraham’s expression, “That I may bury my dead out of my sight,” stood out to me as that which we grievers must do, not only literally, but in our emotions too. The creating of monuments and anniversaries to our departed loved one only prolongs the anguish of grief and slows the healing process.
Another so-called natural law is expressed by the saying, Nature abhors a vacuum, which is so true of the mind. While our mind is ever busy, and particularly with thoughts on subjects which are new to us or especially impressive, such as the loss of a loved one, we need to make an effort to direct our thought process to dwell on happy memories lest the saddening ones put us in danger of being “swallowed up with overmuch sorrow” (2 Cor. 2:7).
“Finally, brethren . . . whatsoever things are lovely . . . think on these” (Phil. 4:8).
Your grieving friend, Leslie L. Winters
We change — He changes not;
Our Christ can never die:
His love, not ours, the resting-place;
We on His truth rely.
H. Bonar