Meditation on Psalm 139

Funeral of Lester Stomberg

Dec. 20, 2013

      “O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely. You hem me in, behind and before,
   and lay your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.  Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.  If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.  If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night’; even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you. For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! I try to count them—they are more than the sand; I come to the end—I am still with you. …  Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

*** 

     Lester was cutting quilt squares from a pile of old blue jeans in the church basement when I struck up my first conversation with him.  I was impressed with Lester Stomberg, not just because when he smiled, his whole face truly shone with joy. And not just because he was the only male member of Friendship Circle, our church’s quilting group. I was impressed because he was strong enough to cut through tough denim with an ordinary pair of scissors—something I could never do.  And he didn’t seem to mind the tedious job, while his wife, Audrey, and several other older women sewed blocks into strips or pinned, hemmed, and tied the quilt “top” to the backing.  I soon learned that Lester didn’t just do the “grunt” work for the ladies.  He also sewed and made his own quilts and pillows. On one of my visits to their home in Clara City, he gave me a quilted maple leaf pillow that he had made.  People sometimes comment on it when they see it on the sofa in my living room. I always say proudly, “My friend, Lester, made it.”

    In addition to quilting, Lester and Audrey made colorful rag rugs. Lester showed me once how he worked a large, wooden loom in one of the rooms of his home.  This was another hobby he learned later in life with Audrey—after they retired from their many years of farming. Lester worked the loom with his arms and his legs until the exertion was too painful and he finally gave up making his attractive yet very functional rag rugs.  I am blessed to have one of his rugs on my kitchen floor.

     Like the simple but elegant quilts that Audrey and Lester made, with repeated patterns of bow ties, triangles, squares, leaves, and other shapes, my visits with Audrey and Lester fell into a pattern of prayer, coffee, something sweet to eat, and talk about God and family. We said goodbye with hugs, and I left their home with body and soul feeling full.

      When the couple could no longer make it to church because of Lester’s health, the elders and I brought them Communion. I remember how we sat around the living room together, holding our tiny cups of juice and pieces of bread. I told the story of the Last Supper, when our Lord broke a loaf of bread and, after giving thanks to God, gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take; eat; this is my body.” And, in the same way, he took the cup, and after giving thanks to God, said, “Take; drink; for this is the cup of the new covenant, sealed in my blood, poured out for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.”

      Communion, to many people, is about remembering—looking back with gratitude on the suffering of Christ and His willingness to give up His life for our sakes. But Communion is also about the future, the promise of how someday we will be with Jesus, face to face. And we will sit at His table and feast with Him in God’s Kingdom that will have no end. And Communion is about the present—our life in Christ now and our intimate relationship with Him.  In Communion, Christ comes down to us in Spirit, recreates and transforms us and unites us with Him and one another.  We are refreshed, renewed, and empowered to walk in His self-giving ways. Communion is a reminder that God is with us still—and will always be. As the Psalmist cries out to the God who searches us and is acquainted with all our ways, “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.”

     When Lester grew weaker, he came to live at the nursing home in Clara City. When I visited, we talked about the stress of the separation—how difficult it was for him to be away from Audrey and she from him.  How the nursing home wasn’t home—and how Lester longed to be with his wife of more than 60 years—where he belonged. When Audrey moved into the nursing home with Lester some time later, I thanked God. But now they were both missing their home and their former way of life.  It was a very hard move.  What seemed to help the transition was when they were finally able to have their sewing machines with them and continue the hobby they had enjoyed together. It was as if God knew that this special thing they enjoyed—sewing and quilting—would be a soothing reminder of home and the life that they had known.  For our Creator knows us best. And this loving Lord who knows our hearts, our thoughts and our words before we speak, knows the number of our days. And He has a plan for each one of us.   

      When Lester’s son called to tell me that his dad was in the ICU, I worried about his illness but also how difficult another separation from his wife would be. I was concerned about Audrey, too. But I should have trusted that the Lord was still in control.

    When I visited Lester in the hospital, he was alone and too sick for smiles, sweets or conversation. I touched his hand and prayed for his healing and comfort. Then I sat silently, listening to the machines whirr and hum, remembering my conversations with he and Audrey—and how when we hugged goodbye, I always left with body and soul feeling full. And it dawned on me that there was a reason for this. God was always with me.  And He always will be. When I seek to serve Him by sharing His compassion, He gives me peace.

      When the call came that Lester had passed away with his family gathered around, I listened to the story with both sorrow and joy. Audrey told me that God had prepared her for this moment. She knew Lester was with the Lord.  She said that although tears were running down her cheeks, she was happy that he was no longer suffering.

     Friends, be comforted that God is with us—and will always be.

     His peace awaits you now—as you seek to serve Him and share His compassion with someone in need.

     Nowhere can we flee from His presence or Spirit. Nowhere can we go that His hand will not be upon us.

    The Lord who made a way for our salvation through His own body will take care of all our tomorrows. 

     No difficult thing is too difficult for Him.