Category: Life

Posted in Life

What is that smell?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When I opened the car door, I caught a whiff of something unusual and recited Will Smith’s line from “Independence Day” when he pried open the alien spaceship to welcome the alien who had come to destroy the earth.

“What is that smell?”


Rolling my eyes, I leaned in to smell the child seats in the back. Someone in potty training must have leaked. I wasn’t taking any chances. I took the seats out, took the covers off, and threw them all in the washer with an extra dose of Buff City laundry detergent. They came out smelling so nice. I reinstalled the car seats and left the windows open for the day. Problem solved.

The next day the odor was back. There must be old food in the car. The grandkids leave a lot of crumbs and uneaten snacks in the back. I’ll surely find something under the seat. I thoroughly vacuumed the car, finding lots of crumbs, lollipop sticks, and snack wrappers, but nothing very offensive. No rotten cabbage or open ketchup packets. No dirty diaper. I drove around with the windows open that day, and much of the smell went away. Mission accomplished.

One day later…

“What is that smell?” It was worse than ever. I can’t drive around like this. I’ll pass out. I had just had the car in for some routine maintenance. For the first time in a few oil changes, I took it to the dealer. They always check the cabin air filter and usually try to sell me a new one. No one mentioned it this time, so I just assumed it was OK.

After watching a YouTube video on replacing the cabin air filter, I unhinged the glove box, popped off a few clips, and exposed the cabin air filter. When I pulled it out, it was covered with white fuzz and bits of black foam rubber. Strange. But as soon as I pulled it out, I knew this is where the smell was coming from.

I threw it out and headed to the auto parts store. When I got home, I went to slide the new filter in but noticed there was still a little bit of fuzz in the slot. So I began to pick it out. There was more than a little bit. It looked like all the filling from a stuffed animal had been packed in, probably by a mouse who thought this would be a nice place to build a nest. The mouse had also chewed off some black foam rubber insulation for extra comfort.

After I pulled out some mouse fur I came across some internal organs. So that’s why my car smelled like someone had died in there. Someone had died in there. I am not an expert on mouse anatomy, but I think I saw a liver and a little bit of intestine.

I thoroughly vacuumed out the filter compartment. I reached inside and pulled a bunch of dried leaves and pine needles from beneath the fan blades. I sprayed the new filter with Febreeze and slid it in. I clicked the glove box door back into place and ran the AC for a little bit. I may have caught a whiff of dead mouse, but it quickly went away.

I don’t remember seeing any mice running around our house or yard. My across-the-street neighbor had plenty of them running around in his attic before a rodent-control guy caught them. He had mice because my other across the street neighbor thought it was fun to throw peanuts, bread, chips and other leftover food into nearby vacant lots to feed the wildlife. Unfortunately, the wildlife near us includes rats and mice. Thanks a lot. Yes, I’ve asked him many times to quit. That plea goes in one ear and out the other.
In addition, I drive that car just about every day. We don’t leave it sitting in the driveway more than a day at a time. So either the creature worked all night to build a nice little nest. Or he came back repeatedly to finish the project.

Cause of death? I don’t know. The mouse may have gotten stuck and starved to death. He or she may have gotten chopped up in the fan. Carbon monoxide poisoning? I don’t know.

But my car smells so nice.

Posted in Life

Cash

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by lucas Favre on Unsplash

My errands for the day included a trip to the farmer’s market for strawberries and the barber for a haircut. For both I would need cash, so my first stop of the day was the ATM.

Cash? Oh, yeah, I remember cash. Paper money, green ones, fives, tens and twenties. I have a place for them in my wallet, but rarely is that place filled. I hardly ever have cash. And neither do many of you, I’ll bet.

I pay for everything with a credit card that I pay off each week. Gas for the car, food at the grocery store, restaurants, dog food, big box home improvements, coffee shop, prescriptions, car repairs. I give to my church online, pay all my bills online, and do most of my shopping online. Why carry cash? For strawberries and a haircut, and a few boxes of girl scout cookies.

When I have cash in my hand, the money feels real, the transaction feels real, the expense feels real, the product feels real. Electronic banking, giving, buying, investing, paychecks, and bill pay seem surreal. Like it’s not even happening. So much of what we give and pay for, by and receive is virtual, a service, and not even tangible. It’s a strange world, isn’t it?

Cash is for babysitters, tree trimmers, churches I visit, Christmas and birthday presents, a roadside fruit stand, a football team fundraiser, and a kid’s roadside lemonade stand. For all the things that are real.

Posted in Life

How does God “lead?”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The words of Psalm 23 easily roll off my tongue. The Lord “leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake” (Ps. 23:3). I’ll join in with the prayer of Psalm 5:8, “Lead me, O Lord, in your righteousness…make your way straight before me.

But what does that mean exactly? What does that look like? How does God lead me?

It was easy in the wilderness. “The Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead them along the way, and by night in a pillar of fire” (13:21). Pretty basic. When the cloud moves, you go. When it stops, you set up camp for a few nights.

But that was a long time ago. You’ve probably noticed that when there’s a big decision to be made there aren’t any arrow-shaped clouds directing you. And when you are lying awake at night wondering what to do, someone must have forgotten to light the burner on that column of flame.

The primary way God will always lead me is with his Word. The “path of your commandments” (Psalm 119:135) will always lead me in “what is right” (Psalm 25:9). The light and truth of his Word will always direct me (Psalm 43:3). Rather than simply wondering what God wants me to do, I can spend a little more time meditating on his Word, letting it either narrow down my choices or reveal what I ought to be doing.

God’s kindness also leads me – to repentance (Romans 2:4). Another day of sunshine or rain is a reminder that I’ve been blessed not according to my behavior but because of his steadfast love. I often need to be led back to him. Not down a path or towards an opportunity. But to my God. I’m grateful he does that like a Shepherd guiding me to food and water rather than a Cowboy driving cattle into the barn!

And then of course, “Christ always leads us in triumphal procession” (2 Cor. 2:14). When you are in the parade celebrating God’s grace, you never have to wonder. With eyes fixed on Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith, I’m always on the right path. It’s amazing how clear the path is when he reminds me of who I am at the water of baptism. I’m reassured of my way when he reminds me of who he is at the altar, where I enjoy pasture of grace.

If you are afraid of making the wrong decision or stepping outside of God’s will, remember that if you stray he always comes looking for you. He always runs to embrace you when you realize you’ve made a bad choice. He still loves you and you always get another chance.

In fact, if we are declared righteous by faith, doesn’t that mean he’s already made all the right decision for us? That is a very freeing reality.

I believe it says a lot about God that he hasn’t made all our decisions for us. Instead he lets us discover what it’s like to taste something new that we might or might not like. He lets me decide to sleep in or get up early. I can choose any pet I want, change the station to listen to different music, and eat an extra cookie. I can choose to retire, go say hello to a stranger, add chocolate chips to my pancakes, sit silent in worship or sing my heart out. I can give a few bucks to a beggar or few hundred to my kids.

You know, when I think about it, it’s people who always seem to have more to say about my decisions than God does. Other are quick to question and condemn, not God. He’s slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. That must be why the writer of Ecclesiastes states, “There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil” (Ecc. 2:24). It’s all a gift from God!

Posted in dying, Life

The best and the worst

Posted on by William Douthwaite

After two worship services this morning, I headed out to Stuart Meyer hospice house (in Palm Coast, FL) to see Kay. By the grace of God I last saw Kay on Wednesday, the last day she was awake and aware. I was glad to talk with her, give her communion and pray with her. Within hours, the doctors found a brain tumor and plans were made for hospice care. From that time one, she was unconscious.

Early this morning, I realized I’ve known Kay for more than twenty years. Before we built a new sanctuary, and before we paid someone to be an office manager, she was a volunteer, answering phones and helping me get ready for Sunday morning. I did the memorial for her husband ten years ago. I will soon do hers.

A lot of pastoral care happens on the extremes of life. I am there at birth and baptism, and then at death and funerals. In between I get to be a part of weddings and marriages, confirmations and graduations, and birthdays and anniversaries. I get to share in the best of life as well as the most difficult times.

That’s what makes this job pastor so unique, interesting and rewarding. I get to ride the waves of celebration, wade through the muck of disappointment, cradle a new life in my arms and hold a hand one last time before their last breath. The words of encouragement, hope, strength and comfort are always my Lord’s and never my own as I represent Him in times of both life and death, beginnings and ends, joy and sorrow, and laughter and tears.

I began my day by holding a newborn baby in my arms and welcomed her into God’s family. I ended it by holding the hand of a child of God about to take her last breath in this world. What a privilege to experience both!

Posted in death, Life

Don’t be sorry.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When my Dad died three weeks ago, the news quickly spread and I cannot begin to tell you how many people said to me, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I understand the sentiment behind those words. In fact, I’ve spoken them to those grieving the death of a loved one. But as I heard those words spoken to me, I thought, “Why are you sorry?” It’s not like you did something wrong. Are you sorry that I have to go through this? Are you sorry that I will no longer be able to go and visit my father? What is it that you regret?

I’m pondering this because I really didn’t feel that sad about my Dad’s death. Mom died fourteen years earlier, and I know that he’s been lonely since then. He lost some of the ability to care for himself about six years ago when we (his children) sold his house and moved him in with my brother. His kidneys failed three years ago, but after we gathered to be with him, he recovered. He didn’t want to eat anymore about two years ago, but after we gathered to be with him, and with a few bowls of ice cream, he regained his appetite. So in some ways, it’s been a long, three-year goodbye. Rather than being sorry he’s gone, I’m actually a bit relieved. I’m glad he fought the good fight of faith. I’m glad he finished the race (for him it was a marathon!) and finally crossed the finish line. I think we should be cheering rather than crying!

The last time I went to see Dad, he was basically unconscious for three straight days. We talked to him. We talked about him. We read scripture and sang songs for him. Not much response. I couldn’t help but wonder, “How long?” You just never know. A body created to live isn’t going to easily give up. All you can do is wait.

My memories of Dad are good ones. I remember the things we did together, the things he taught me, and the home and education he provided for me. I treasure the name he gave me (he was Junior, so I got to be the Third). Instead of feeling like I lost something, I feel like I gained so much. His ninety-five years were filled with family, love, church, work and hobbies. Rather than feeling empty, I feel so full of all the things Dad gave me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve lived near Dad. I’ve lived most of my life pretty far away and only got to see him a few times a year. So I don’t miss his presence, not like those who daily spent time with him. Instead, his death makes me more aware of all the parts of him that shape me.

A few folks have shared with me that they were a wreck for months after their father died. Some can barely hold back the tears when a departed loved one’s birthday comes around, or the anniversary of a death. I feel bad that I don’t feel worse, if that makes any sense. Maybe it’s my British (not Vulcan) heritage that enables me to contain my emotion.

The one thing that occasionally brings a tear to my eye is the mental image of my Dad seeing Jesus face to face. That had to be and is going to be the best moment ever, and that’s what makes emotion swell up in me. Oh, and imagining the shout of the archangel, the sound of the trumpet and then the resurrection. I always tear up when I think of that day. But rather than sadness, it is overwhelming gladness.

So you don’t have to be sorry. You can cheer along with me. You can be thankful along with me. You can share that joy with me.

Posted in aging, Life

That little voice never ages!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Molly Hogan, an 82 year old cross-fitter from Boston said in a recent interview, “You know that little voice inside that talks to you? It doesn’t age!”

From my own experience, I’d say she is spot on. Even though I’m now in my sixties, I never fell like I’m sixty. I think and speak and interact with people as if I much younger. Like thirty years younger. Every once in a while though, little reminders yank me back into reality.

Like when I need an extra day of rest between workouts. When I was younger, I would pound out the miles running, sometimes working out ten or more days in a row. I can’t do that anymore. Every two days, I need to recuperate.

Or when I suddenly realize I’m the oldest guy in the room. By a lot. I forget that when people look at me, they see an old guy with lots of gray hair. Most of my workout buddies see someone the same age as their parents!

My kids always want to be sure I’m OK. I feel like I did when I was their age, but they have begun to consider me someone to keep an eye on if I’m alone or driving late at night or on a ladder doing some painting. I appreciate their concern. I forget that I was concerned about my parents in the same way.

It’s cool that part of you never ages. It’s that little voice!

Posted in Dad, death, Life

What do you say at your father’s funeral?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I was the third of three preachers at my Dad’s funeral. My son Adam (pastor at Our Redeemer Lutheran Church and School, Dallas, TX) went first, followed by my brother Jim (Pastor at St. Athanasius Lutheran Church, Vienna, VA), and then me. Here’s what I said.

“[The women] departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. And behold, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” (Matthew 28:8,9).

That’s a game-changer, isn’t it? It’s a life-changing moment for the women who came to the tomb early on the first day of the week. It’s a life-changing moment for Jesus’ disciples who were hiding in an upper room. It’s a life-changing moment for us who have gathered here today in the name of the one – Jesus – who met them and said, “Greetings!”

Just like us, those women and disciples were dealing with death. On Friday, Jesus had been crucified. Some had heard the sound of nails driven through his hands and feet into the wood of the cross. Some had been there through the three hours of darkness. Some had been there to hear his last words and witness his last breath. Others had wrapped his body in linen and laid it in a tomb. A few witnessed the rolling of a huge stone across the opening of the tomb, to seal it shut. It was a dark day. A sad day. A tear-filled day. A Friday.

But these words are from Sunday, the first day of a new week. The earth shakes. An angel comes rolls away the stone from the tomb. The guards pass out. And the angel says to the women, “He is not here, for he has risen, as he said.” (28:6). The tomb no longer contains a corpse. It is empty. Jesus is no longer dead. He is alive. Jesus’ words about death and resurrection are no longer a prediction. They are now a reality.

This moment really does change everything.

  • Jesus is clearly not just a man or a great teacher. He is truly the eternal Son of God.
  • We can believe every word Jesus says.
  • We are not simply sinners who will always fall short of God’s glory. Jesus died in our place to pay for our sins. We are forgiven. We’ve been declared righteous. We will share his glory.
  • The grave cannot hold God’s people. Not for very long. “For the Lord himself will [one day] descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise” (1 Thess. 4:16).

These truths certainly changed everything for Dad.

  • Baptized ninety-five years ago, he became a child of God.
  • He sought and found the truth in a lifetime of hearing and reading God’s Word.
  • Words of absolution from his pastors (and his sons) continually and consistently announced  God’s forgiveness for all his sins.
  • And now he waits, along with us, for that day, for that voice, for that trumpet and for the resurrection!

These truths have certainly changed things for me! Just about every day I look at the picture of Mom and Dad holding me on my baptism day, September 29, 1957, and remember that I too am a child of God.

Next weekend, when I am back in the pulpit, I’ll be preaching about God’s discipline. The writer of Hebrews says that’s how you know you’re a child of God. Discipline was a little bit different when I was growing up, but Dad never hesitated to remind me that I was his dearly loved son!

I’m not sure how he did it, but somehow Dad got us to fight over who got to read the bible at family devotions. We had to keep a calendar to keep the peace. I don’t remember ever doubting that God’s Word was true.

One of the greatest gifts Dad ever gave was making sure we met Jesus on the way. In the Word. In worship. In song. In prayer. In life. And in death.

Very few people will ever hear of Dad’s faith. Yet his quiet faithfulness, left a legacy. Three pastors – so far. Three generations of children, grandchildren and great grandchildren – all zealous for the Lord. What a great gift to receive. What a great gift to pass along. And what a great gift to celebrate today!  

Preached at the funeral for William Douthwaite, Jr. (1924-2019) at St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, Ridley Park, PA on Friday, August 16, 2019. The entire service can be viewed here.

Posted in death, Douthwaite, Life

Finally, a funeral

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Funeral for William Douthwaite, Jr.
St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, Ridley Park, PA

We had been getting ready for this funeral for three years. That’s how long it had been since my Dad fell, his kidneys failed, and my brother, sister and I gathered to say goodbye to him at age 92. By the time I got there, though, he had rebounded and returned home after a few days in the hospital. Rather than a funeral, we started making arrangements for assisted living.

Two years ago, still in the memory care unit of a very nice assisted living facility, Dad stopped eating. Rather than another trip to the hospital to find out what was wrong, we admitted Dad into hospice so he could stay where he was. Once again, we gathered for what we thought would be the end of his ninety-three year earthly journey. However, his appetite soon returned, especially for ice cream and other desserts, and we did not need to make any arrangements.

This summer, after about three days into the Dallas portion of my vacation, I got the call that Dad had a fever that wouldn’t break, and was less and less lucid each day. The hospice nurse predicted he would only last a few days, if not a few hours. I quickly booked a flight as my sister boarded a train, and we once again gathered to be with Dad.

This time was indeed different. Dad was on oxygen, was not responsive, and indeed looked like he was at the end. My sister and I spend three days there, watching and listening to his rhythmic breathing. We read to him, sang some hymns, and agreed that even though this might be the end, we would never bet against Dad recovering.

At the age of ninety-five, though, his body just couldn’t fight the infection. No eating or drinking for days took its toll on his strength. But not till he stuck around for another six days. I had returned to Dallas and then home. My sister had gone home and returned over the weekend.

The call from my brother came early Monday morning, August 12. We had gotten home late, so we didn’t hear the phone buzz the first ten times. Finally, I heard something about 4 am, and my brother confirmed that Dad had died shortly after two, with him, my sister and sister-in-law holding his hand. Calm, peaceful, and pain-free, accompanied by families on this side and angels on the other. Not a bad way to go at all.

Over the next few days, my brother made arrangements for the funeral that had long ago been planned for Dad’s long time church in Ridley Park, PA and internment next to Mom at a cemetery in Aston. I booked flights for my wife and I, my son, and one of my daughters who brought her youngest along.

That Friday (August 16), a few family, friends and church members gathered to worship, remember Dad’s life, and look forward to the resurrection. My son, a pastor from Dallas, my brother, a pastor from Vienna, VA and myself co-officiated the service and all took a turn preaching. My sister played the organ and my nieces played violin. It was a unique and fitting moment for a man whose quiet faithfulness had left a legacy of three pastors (so far), and three generation of faithful children, spouses, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

When you live to be ninety-five, you outlive most of your family and friends. Dad was the youngest of seven children. His last remaining sibling had died some fifteen years before. Five of my cousins who were still in the area joined us that day. About half-a-dozen members of the church who had known Dad were still around and attended the service. A few folks from my brother’s church and some area clergy friends also attended.

While neither my brother nor I wanted to preach at my Mom’s funeral fourteen years ago, we both wanted to speak for Dad’s. I didn’t know how I would feel. You never really do, until you’re in the moment. My voice cracked just once, when I spoke of Dad, along with us, waiting for “that day, for that voice, for that trumpet and for the resurrection!” (1 Thessalonians 4:16). My brother Jim spoke on Dad’s favorite verse from Romans 8, that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love in Jesus Christ. My son Adam reminded us that even though our hearts and minds are filled with great memories, the best is yet to come when we get to be with the Lord.

My brother and I draped Dad’s casket with the funeral pall as my son reminded us of Dad’s baptism. We took turns reading scripture. Isaiah 55:6-13; Philippians 1:18-26; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 28:1-10. We preached around some great hymns. “For all the saints,” “The Lord’s my shepherd I’ll not want,” “My hope is built on nothing less,” “I know that my Redeemer lives,” and “Jesus lives, the vict’ry’s won.” It sounds like a lot, but only lasted a little more than an hour.

The procession to the cemetery had to navigate some interesting interstate traffic, but we all made it. After a brief committal and military honors, many of us gathered at a nearby restaurant for lunch, memories, laughter and a few pictures.

I had to get my son back to the airport for an evening flight home. My brother’s family, my sister and my family then hung out at our hotel suite that evening. That night was much more relaxed.

And just like that, it was over. Everyone returned home safely the next day.

I’m still trying to figure out how I feel. I don’t feel sad, but I know I’ll miss Dad. Our recent visits weren’t much. It’s not like I’ll miss our conversations. He typically sat and snoozed while I sat and visited with him. I’m a bit relieved. I didn’t get up there to visit him very often, and I always felt a little guilt about that. My brother, on the other hand, was there every day. This will leave a bigger void for him. We didn’t shed that many tears. Smiles and laughter predominated those last few days and the funeral service. Dad always made us laugh before, so why not now?

Most of all I’m just thankful. I’m thankful for what he taught me, for my memories of him, and for the faith he and Mom passed along to us kids.

Posted in Life, Stories

A big slice of today

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I had the first appointment of the day when I recently took my car in on a Friday morning for some routine maintenance. With computer, journal and coffee in hand, I found a table when I could read, write and wait. Other than a few service people, the place was mostly empty. Over the next hour or so, I watched as the receptionist, sales, finance, managers and, eventually, a few customers arrived.

As I eavesdropped on casual conversations about their plans for the weekend, one outburst caught my attention. “I’m ready for this day to be over!” He passed by so quickly I never got to find out anymore details. But I thought to myself, “What a dismal way to begin your day!” The sun is barely up, and you are already yearning for dusk.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe he had a funeral to attend, a root canal scheduled or knew he was about to get chewed out by the boss. So he just wanted to get it over with.

I wonder if he’s the only one. Are there others who just want to get life over with? What happens to your soul when each day crawls by with nothing but boredom, pain or loneliness?

When I catch myself just wanting it to be over (and yes, sometimes that happens), I remind myself that I really don’t know what this day will be like. I don’t know who I’ll meet, what I’ll learn, or what will arrive in the mail. I have to remember that what I dread usually only takes up a small slice of a day rather than defining the whole thing. Most compelling stories begin with a person with a problem who learns something about themselves and creates new possibilities. I want to be a part of such stories, so I don’t want the day to be over until I’ve experienced all of it. In other words, give me a big slice of today!