Ramblings from the Cove...
By Lars Gren
Some Final Words...for now
There is a time to work, a time to rest, a time to be silent, a time to speak and a bunch more of “to do’s” according to The Preacher. No doubt most of us have read that list or at least have heard of it and all of us could say that the list is just a description of everyday life especially in the use of words. Imagine the incessant roar if all those words could be heard at the same instant in one place. If that could be heard it might make those who roll to a stop next to you at a traffic light very pleased. With their windows rolled up, the radio blaring full volume, tweeters, woofers or whatever at ear splitting levels thus enabling the sound waves to “vibrate” your car as you sit waiting for the green—to go light. Yes, they would be well pleased with such a cacophony.
Most words are soon forgotten—try remembering last week’s conversation with a friend unless it was something nasty that was said. At this stage I have a hard time in the afternoon remembering what I said to someone in a morning’s phone conversation. But there are a few things that may be universally true and remembered for a life time. For those with children—what was the baby’s first word spoken? Hope not “kitchy-koo” with a baby’s intonation. We knew of a couple who were determined to have their child say a truly significant word. They picked out a four or five syllable word and sure enough after constant coaching and drilling out it came one day from the little “nipper.” No, I do not remember the word.
Then there are the words at the other end of the spectrum when death, that takes no holiday, enters in. At that point we who are still in this life will think of the last word or few words that is said prior to the silence that engulfs the departed. For me it happened in a foursome of golf. The four of us teed off to play a short par three. Charley said to my father and me, “We’ll get you on this one.” Charley and his partner had just won the last hole and were only one down. We all landed in a small area in front of the green. Dad and I walked. Charley and his partner rode a cart and were to shoot their second shot first. We stopped, waited, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Charley’s right leg touch the grass. Then as he raised himself out of the seat my eye took in the image of Charley flat on the ground. That was it and since then, some forty five plus years ago, his last sentence has been ever in my mind.
There are also memories of unspoken words which at a poignant time should have been uttered. For me there was the desire in the intensive care unit to use the first=person singular pronoun to say the sweetest word that can be heard but opting for the first-person plural, “We love you.” Although the “I” would have been true as was the “we” but it would not come out. Perhaps it was understood for the reply was, “I know it.” There may have been other words later but they are not in my mind—those were the last I remember and they are still in my mind after nearly forty-two years.
Now if you have not left me to go back to reading an interesting book or article you may be asking, “Where in the world is this Rambling bit of nothing going? It’s weird!" Well it has to do with Elisabeth. No, she is present and, as of now, she is hail and hearty with a good appetite and no replacement parts. Her difficulty is in speaking and in picking up a pen to write a few words. Those gifts have gone the way of all flesh. This has not kept us from traveling to see friends and to attend a few conferences where we have had the privilege of making her books available. At such venues she is often asked if there is another book coming. She is grateful for that sort of interest but she has not written anything for a number of years in the genre of an article or a book. That ended prior to 1995. As to letters, Elisabeth slowly scaled that down until now we use some of her many answers to prior questions which are very much similar to those of
today—after all there are no new questions--and then I add personal notes to the letters from the two of us. Yes, the recipient and I for sure know that there is little similarity—if any—between my bumbling attempts in correspondence and her replies which were so well written and cogent. But there we are.
So just stay with us or break for tea and come back and read Elisabeth’s last words. Until now only the two of us have been privy this bit of’ “Elisabeth.” During the mid 90’s, she had in mind to do two more books. One would be on marriage and the other on old age. She worked on-and-off with thoughts and outlines, and then would put it away since it seemingly “went nowhere.” I suppose in reading over what she had put down, it gave her the sense of “chewing on stewed Kleenex.” Not that she ever practiced that, but that was her answer to one young lady who at a conference said to her, “It must be wonderful to be able to read what you have written for others.” One day she said to me, “I think that I have written enough and have said what I needed to say. After all, I’ve written on marriage in Let Me Be a Woman and The Mark of A Man as well as The Shaping of a Christian Family. As to writing on old age,
it is not coming together.” Now why have I said all of this to get to this point? Well, I thought that those of you who are kind enough to open up this file might have an interest in seeing Elisabeth’s last bit of work in the hopes of a worthwhile book.
The "Notes and Outline" file gives you an idea of how she at times outlined her thoughts. The "Draft" file containes some of the “fleshing out” in draft form. It was never easy work for Elisabeth. She always said writing was the most difficult of her tasks and in a letter of hints to perspective writers, she ends her advice with this:
One final word: don't be a writer if you can get out of it! It's a solitary job, sometimes a rather lonely one (who's listening? you say), and it requires relentless self-discipline. The world is _not_ waiting with bated breath for what you turn out. A writer has to be some kind of nut to stick with it. But if, like the psalmist, you say, "My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned," then perhaps you will have to write.
And that’s it from the Cove.
God bless y'all,
Lars
