Mueller for Christmastime

For sixty-two years and five months I had a beloved wife, and now, in my ninety-second year I am left alone. But I turn to the ever-present Jesus, as I walk up and down in my room, and say "Lord Jesus, I am alone, yet not alone—Thou art with me, Thou art my friend. Now, Lord, comfort me, strengthen me, give to Thy poor servant everything Thou seest He needs." And we should be not satisfied till we are brought to this, that we know the Lord Jesus Christ experimentally, habitually to be our Friend: at all times, and under all circumstances, ready to prove Himself to be our friend.  —George Mueller 

I love this. Unlike Mr. Mueller, I did not spend two-thirds of my life with my spouse, but his words ring true and real.

For the grieving person, time is so significant. He says he was married not sixty-two years but sixty-two years and five months.

And I appreciate and know so well the feeling of feeling so very alone—so without the one I thought would always be there—yet feeling so upheld by Jesus. In a way I have never felt before.

I've paced and wondered and feared—walked "up and down in my room." I've asked "why me?", "how can I do this alone?", "will I always be alone?", "I'm too young to be alone!", "Doesn't my girl need a dad?"

And I love his prayer. Lord Jesus, you are my friend! My friend! Comfort me, strengthen me, give me everything YOU see that I need. Many times, I feel I have so many unmet needs. But He supplies all my needs, so they must not truly be needs. Not yet anyway.

This Christmas season has me a bit fearful—not a lot, but a bit. It's the unexpected things that make me so aware of Chris' absence. This past weekend, I watched The Nativity Story. I did not remember until I watched it alone that Chris used to translate all the Hebrew for me... He was not there for me to ask, "what are they saying?" He enriched my life in so many big ways—but lots of small ways too.