Luke 14: a note about carrying crosses from the back of my Bible

I wrote in the back of my Bible sometime before July 2007 the following words:

“And anyone who cannot carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. Luke 14:27. Picture Jesus struggling up Golgotha. Picture 20 centuries of disciples behind him carrying their own crosses. Difficult people, disabilities, undeserved public shame, disappointments – they are many. As for my cross – it is the difficult obedience of supporting Diane…of serving her as Christ loved the church.”

I guess at the time Diane and I were in disagreement about a parenting issue. Since then my cross has changed from supporting Diane in spousal solidarity to missing her and forever sticking my fingers into the holes that appear hourly in the leaky dike of a Diane-less life.

Twenty years of living together and virtually every place Joe and I drive past, every part of the house, has a bittersweet memory. One small trick I have learned just today – when that happens, thank God for the good things about Diane associated with that memory. Just a moment ago I was doing the dishes and saw some water splashed on the beautiful Pergo floor I gave her for Mother’s Day in 2002. That floor would have been warped years ago if she hadn’t been diligent to insist that whoever spills the water needs to clean it up right away. And so I did, and so I do, and thank you God for giving me a homemaker who knew how to take care of things so that they would last.