Grieving by the Numbers: Glimpses of Glory

By Jan Teel-Nealis

Have you noticed a sequence of numbers that seem to be following you? Have you ever wondered what such repetition could possibly mean for your life? Is there a message in the numbers? 

Author Jan Teel-Nealis is one of the few who have taken the time to stop and find out! She shares these remarkably unique insights with the wo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647737214

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Praise for

Grieving by the Numbers

I got to know Jan shortly after her husband, Del’s, sudden passing. I was amazed by her humble steady faith in her Heavenly Father’s love while in the midst of such sorrow. In John 16 Jesus said, In this life you will have trouble, but take courage, I have overcome the world. Over the following year, I witnessed Jan grieve courageously. As though she believed God’s love was powerful enough to overcome, to heal, to redeem her family’s broken world.

Over the following year, Jan chronicled her and the family’s journey through the valley of the shadow. She wrote candidly about pain and loss. She wrote lovingly about Del—his wisdom and sense of humor. She wrote with revelation about God’s goodness, His faithfulness. And along the way she experienced and wrote down how God heals.

Jan is a gifted writer, a wonderful storyteller. She writes with wisdom and grace. Her words are an invitation into the love of God, an invitation into trust and intimacy. Grieving by the Numbers is a masterpiece on the healing and redemptive nature of God’s love in the midst of sorrow. I am honored to recommend her book. I believe it will release courage and healing to all those who have experienced their own trouble.

—Jason Clark

Author of Prone to Love and God is Not in Control

Grieving

by the

Numbers

Glimpses of Glory

by Jan Teel-Nealis

Grieving by the Numbers: Glimpses of Glory

Trilogy Christian Publishers

A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of Trinity Broadcasting Network

2442 Michelle Drive, Tustin, CA 92780

Copyright © 2021 by Jan Teel-Nealis

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Trilogy Christian Publishing Rights Department, 2442 Michelle Drive, Tustin, CA 92780.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Trilogy Christian Publishing.

Trilogy Christian Publishing/ TBN and colophon are trademarks of Trinity Broadcasting Network.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Trilogy Disclaimer: The views and content expressed in this book are those of the author and may not necessarily reflect the views and doctrine of Trilogy Christian Publishing or the Trinity Broadcasting Network.

Edited by: Captive Ink Media

Front Cover Artwork by: Jennifer Reeve Lynch

Back Cover Artwork by: Charlotte Henley Babb

Musical lyrics have been used with permission and owners retain all rights.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-64773-720-7

ISBN 978-1-64773-721-4 (ebook)

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the offspring of

Delbert Lewis Teel II:

Nathaniel Andrew Teel, Joel Benjamin Teel,

Bethany Hope Sigmon, and Jeremy Luke Teel, and to their seed,

both on this earth, in Heaven, and those yet to come:

Leah Rose Teel, Marcus Harvey Teel, Cadie Noelle Teel, and Elric Harrison Teel, Justice Lee Lewis Sigmon, and Emris Kate Teel.

May the legacy of Delbert Lewis Teel II continue to be displayed in the hearts and minds of those you have fathered. May their seed come to know you early and may your love of God only be eclipsed by the love of God demonstrated in your seed to a thousand generations. It has been my genuine honor to have parented these souls with you.

I will see you on the other side in the twinkling of an eye.

Acknowledgements

There is no creative work ever fashioned that was not influenced by many voices. These voices shape us and become the catalyst for advancing through life. I would like to thank the first voices my ears ever heard, the voices of Albert and Betty Garner, my parents. Thank you for introducing me to the One Voice that I have been so thankful to have whispering in my ears for as long as I can remember. I would like to thank all the pastors, teachers, mentors, and friends who have helped challenge me and inspire me to go deeper into intimacy with God. My sincere appreciation goes to my siblings, Jerry, Rebecca, Diana, and Linda who have always been my biggest cheerleaders and constant anchors.

Reverend Barry Taylor helped to guide me into looking for the supernatural in every element of my life and these pages would not have been written without his influence. Dr. Bob Rodgers voice is woven into the tapestry of my life and walk with God. He helped me to believe, with every fiber of my being, that God is always good, and I can always expect miracles. To Lori Clifton, my thanks for being a covenant sister who stirs me to dream bigger and to take chances with the prophetic anointing that has always been mine to exercise.

To my beloved Pastors Mark and Julie Appleyard, you released me into my Divine destiny by making me teach, speak, and release what my ears were hearing from the realms of Heaven. You have inspired me to dream bigger dreams than I can possibly make come true, so that only with the help of Heaven, can I realize those dreams. The dialogue I hear inside my head these days often has an Aussie accent thanks to your beautiful voices. Finally, my deepest gratitude goes to my Huckleberry friend, my Centurion, my Second Act, the Reverend Doctor Dale Nealis. Your devotion to me and love for me is humbling. May our second time around be greater than our first because we have increased in wisdom and know better than many that our days are numbered, and tomorrow is not promised. May we continually be fascinated with the wonder of our lives together as one in Him.

Foreword

My wife, Julie, and I have been pastors for the better part of twenty-five years. Through those years, the hardest, most heartbreaking, but most rewarding time we have shared with people during our time in ministry has been to walk with those who grieve, and have learned some things along the way.

We have learned that grief is an intensely personal process. No two people will grieve the same way, or for the same length of time, or feel their grief at the same intensity. We have learned that grief, in the western world, is a culturally isolating process. We don’t talk about it nearly enough because it’s uncomfortable. Our patience with those going through it waxes and wanes according to the climate of our own feelings at the moment. The process that others go through as they embark on their grief journey is open to the judgment and criticism of both friends and family alike. We have learned that we typically tend to hide our grief because it’s raw… and it hurts… and it’s personal… and it feels so much better to not let anyone in to offer their opinion or give their advice.

Grieving by the Numbers; Glimpses of Glory offers a different perspective on grief. As pastors and friends of Jan, we have had the very great privilege of walking with her through this very intense, very personal journey. We have learned much from being invited into her process. We have been in awe of the goodness of God at every turn. And we have glimpsed His Glory as He has lavished it upon her in great, heaping helpings.

Jan has done everything differently. Opposite. Untraditionally. Anti-culturally, if you will. Her courage to be open and vulnerable with this most tender time in her life has been rewarded with revelation and insight from Heaven that has brought healing and wholeness to her heart. Her resolve to let others into her process has been rewarded with a depth and richness of relationship with others that has been surprising. Her transparency as she traveled the journey no one want to travel, has been rewarded with an authority to speak into lives of those who find themselves traveling this same unwanted, unasked for journey.

We are incredibly proud of this woman of God, and we pray with all our hearts that as you journey with Jan through these pages, your eyes will be opened to the wonderful way that our Heavenly Father turns ashes to beauty, and your ears will be tuned in to this gentleness of His voice as He leads you through your own journey into the healing and wholeness He has for you.

Mark and Julie Appleyard,

Founders of Anothen Global Ministries

www.anothen.co

Prologue

T

he way that God uses everything in all of creation to speak to us fascinates me. I have always been captivated by the Biblical, or spiritual, meaning of numbers. As the weeks unfolded after my husband’s death, sometimes in a fog and sometimes in a rush, I began to listen to our Heavenly Father’s voice sharing the significance of each week as it correlated with my grieving. Sometimes it was a memory and sometimes it was a character-building revelation. In the weeks following Del’s sudden departure from this side of eternity, I began to write a weekly entry on my Facebook page reflecting on where I was in the process, and believe me, grieving is a process. You do not get over it. You get through it. You learn from it. You are shaped by it and forever changed by it. The loving Holy Spirit prompting me to publicly express my thoughts helped me make it through the fog. Writing each week gave me a sense of purpose to march toward the goal of somehow, setting a marker stone at the end of that seven-day cycle. My sincere hope is that those who choose to walk down this path of remembrance with me will be blessed by these revelations and stories.

Reverend Barry Taylor, my former pastor, and the founder of Liberty Ministries, was the first mentor to begin to bring revelation to me regarding the significance of numbers in the Bible. Although I had always felt God was communicating through the numbers in His Word, it was Reverend Taylor who taught me to look deeper. With his encouragement, I began researching how numbers tied into spiritual revelations in the Word of God. Those who practice Judaism have understood the spiritual significance of numbers for thousands of years. God’s Word is rich in symbolism and revelation. My personal conviction is that His Word is perfect, and it is always speaking. It is a living thing, not a book of mere history and dead ideas. Although the Holy Bible is a completed work, God has never stopped speaking to those who are attuned to His call. We hear His Voice whisper in the splendid colors of autumn and the refreshing brilliance of springtime. We hear Him roaring in claps of thunder that make our hearts swell in response. We see Him in astonishing flashes of lightning that reverberate His majesty and splendor.

When I was a child, we were given paint sets and pictures of masterpieces that were only outlined in black and white, like puzzles. Each section had a correlating paint number to help you replicate the original artist’s colors. They came with a palate of paints that corresponded to the numbers. At the end of your work, you would have created a piece of art that looked similar to the original. One found it hard to picture what the finished work would look like when only patches of color fragments were being applied to the hardened canvas, one chosen color at a time. The canvas was often ugly and distorted as the various shades that would make up the whole picture were applied. The practice of completing these canvas replicas was referred to as painting by the numbers. So, it seemed fitting, since the unfolding of weeks were painting a new canvas in my life marked by the correlating numbers, to reference my journey as Grieving by the Numbers.

Grieving by the Numbers was born of the simple act of journaling my sorrow in response to the way Father God was meeting me at the weekly markers every Thursday following that fateful day that Del returned to his Maker. After the first few entries, I had requests from others who were suffering the loss of a loved one to share what I had written. Before too many weeks had passed, I knew I had a book. May the entries and stories I share bring you hope, laughter, and comfort. If you have not yet met Father God, may you find His comfort toward this widow an introduction to the kindest Person you will ever know.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter One: Our World is Shaken

Chapter Two: Preparing for Farewell

Chapter Three: The Gathering

Chapter Four: A Life Well-Lived

Chapter Five: Supernatural Provision

Chapter Six: Emerging from the Fog

Chapter Seven: The Journey Toward Hope

Chapter Eight: Ireland’s Promise

Chapter Nine: My Second Act

Chapter Ten: Free to Dance

Chapter Eleven: My Huckleberry Friend

Chapter Twelve: Beauty for Ashes

Epilogue

Conclusion

Appendix

About the Author

Introduction

M

y first memory of my husband is linked to a small church that my family and I attended from the time I was four years old. Housed in a humble building, Calvary Tabernacle Assembly of God was in Ballwin, Missouri, a suburb of St. Louis. As with most Sunday mornings, we started our day by gathering in a cozy Sunday School class where we were taught Bible lessons appropriate to our age groups. That particular Sunday, we had to combine classes because one of the teachers was absent. This was how I came to cast my eyes upon a handsome young man wearing a plaid short-sleeved shirt and sporting a bolo tie. (This was a very popular fashion statement among young men that season, as it was a throwback to cowboy days, most likely influenced by the abundance of television programming with an emphasis on the Wild West.) I was enchanted. There was something in his teal green eyes, his quiet demeanor, and his gentle spirit that took my heart by surprise. How can a little girl possibly know, at the tender age of nine, that she has met the one who will be her heart’s desire for the rest of her days? I have no answer to this question. I will tell you that there was never another person who captivated my heart like this young man. My obsession with him only grew over the years.

When people would ask my beloved husband, known to me as Del, how he met me, he would not recount that scene in the Sunday School class. Instead, he would tell them, My earliest memory of her was as a little girl with dark hair and dark eyes, playing the role of an angel in a Christmas play at our church. (This was the church where we first met.) By the time that memory was burned into his brain, I had been longingly chasing after him for two years! That play took place when I was eleven years old, and I had been enamored with him from the time I laid eyes on him. He was four years older than me, a huge gap when the spread is between nine and thirteen years of age.

The play that Del was referencing had me assuming the role of an angel who admonished the other characters in the script to, Bring to God the gold of which He is worthy, rather than the silver of second best! How fitting words these would be for him to remember, as this was the standard that my late husband set. He was truly known as one who brought gold to whatever circumstance or situation he was challenged with in this life.

There is a story about Alexander the Great that reminds me of Del. Alexander was once passing by a beggar who cried out for assistance from the great conqueror. Alexander responded by tossing several gold coins in the direction of the beggar. His attendants questioned the generosity of their king, protesting, Sir, copper coins would adequately meet a beggar’s need. Why give him gold? Alexander’s response tells us much about his sense of nobility as he replied, Copper coins would suit the beggar’s need, but gold coins suit Alexander’s giving.

This was the pattern of Del’s life. He truly brought his best to everything he set his mind to do. He never settled for bringing silver or copper. He gave gold. When inducted into the National Honor Society (as Del himself was in high school), one is told that his or her motto in life is to be noblesse oblige, which means, nobility obligates. Del lived his life with this code of conduct.

As Alexander the Great faced death, his final request was to have the path to his burial covered with gold and treasures and to have his hands dangling outside of his coffin. His men respectfully asked him to explain his strange request, not wishing to fail to execute his final wishes, but concerned that his mind might be failing. He told them that his treasures could not save him, and he was leaving the world empty-handed, just as he had entered it. We all leave the world empty-handed, but we leave behind a legacy if we are faithful. Del was faithful. His legacy endures.

I am aware that we tend to deify those who have passed before us. I want my readers to know that the pages that will follow are a true depiction of a love story and my personal journey through grief. Del and I had good times and hard times, as all couples do. Our solid foundation on The Rock, that is Jesus, carried us through trials, and the knowledge of The Father’s always-good love enriched our relationship. Our Heavenly Father tenderly led me, week by week (and sometimes moment by moment), through the loss of the one for whom I felt I had been born into the earth. I so admired and respected him and thought that life would not go on without him. As many widows and widowers have learned before me, life does go on, with or without our permission. Please join me as my love story, and the story of a life well lived, unfolds. Accompany me on my journey of discovery as I walked out of the darkness of my widow’s mourning and into a day of becoming a bride again. You will behold the glimpses of glory that I was exposed to all along my tear-soaked path.

Chapter One

Our World is Shaken

October 9, 2013

Del awakened me while it was still dark. We were in the master bedroom of our home in Matthews, North Carolina. Del referred to it as our forever home and we gave it the name Serenity because that is what we had found in this place we had been renovating for the prior three years. The rambling ranch was only our second house since moving to the Charlotte, North Carolina region in 1984. My husband had worked for IBM (International Business Machines) for thirty-five years. He would tease that the acronym stood for I’ve Been Moved, because of the company’s tendency to transfer its employees to whatever location made the most business sense in any given season.

The gentle wakeup call from my normally quiet husband was unusual. I looked at the clock beside my bed; it read 5:30 a.m. He was dressed in his office attire (business casual) and looked as handsome as ever. He smelled of aftershave. I always loved being awakened to that fragrance and the way that it would linger in the room after he would leave for work each morning. As he gently touched my shoulder Del said, I think I’m in trouble. I could tell that he was in pain, even in the very dim light coming from the bathroom that adjoined our bedroom.

Panicked, I was now fully awake. What is it? I asked, jumping out of bed.

I’m gonna need some help. This admission was an astonishing one from a person who prided himself on independence and self-sufficiency. I knew this situation was critical.

Do you want me to take you to the hospital? I asked incredulously.

I’m afraid so, came his quiet reply. There was a tinge of sadness in his voice, an expression of enormous pain, as he clutched his chest. I remembered the term golden hour as it related to heart attacks. I knew the first few minutes of an episode were critical and felt I could drive him to the hospital myself faster than an ambulance at that time of day. I threw on my clothes and a hat to cover my bed head. I pitched everything I thought I might need in the coming hours into a bag and jumped into my minivan. From the time he awakened me to the time I pulled up in front of the hospital, twenty-two minutes had passed. We both prayed all the way to the hospital, and I mentally relived the hours that led up to this frantic trip to the emergency room.

All that we had gone through the night before came flooding back to my mind. We had toured the under-construction home of our middle son, Joel, and his wife, Laura. My engineer-to-the-core husband took notes on little index cards of where every plumbing line and wire was placed in the still-open walls of the house. As he walked into each of the future bedrooms of our granddaughters, looking at the view from each of their future bedroom windows, I heard him quietly musing, So this is where they will view the world as they grow up. He walked into the living areas of the house and observed, This is where their friends will come to see them, or This is where they will be picked up by their boyfriends. He waxed melancholy at the thought of that prospect, and we both joked about how their daddy would be watching too. Del grew suddenly very tired as we were wrapping up our tour of the house. Our daughter, Bethany Hope, had just closed on her house that day too and was planning to move the following weekend. We had talked about going by to see her place afterward.

As we left the construction site of Joel’s new house, I said, You know, Bethany is going to want you to come and see her new place too.

I know, he said remorsefully. I just feel washed out. I need to get home and recover. My concern grew when we made it back to our home. I followed him as he walked back to his office. He sat down at his desk, reaching for the baby aspirin, and popped one in his mouth.

Is that the first one of those you have taken today? I asked suspiciously.

I don’t know, was his reply. I didn’t know if he truly couldn’t remember or if he was trying to allay my concerns.

Do you need to see a doctor? Are you going to be okay? Should we go to an Urgent Care? We had gone over these questions before. No, he wouldn’t see a doctor. Yes, he was going to be okay. He was just tired, he said, and needed to get a reset.

I went into the kitchen and made him some dinner. Since he didn’t eat heavily when he wasn’t feeling well, I opted for cream of rice for dinner. This was a meal I knew I could prepare quickly, giving him the much-needed energy that seemed to have drained from him during our little excursion. I kept hovering over him, but he appeared to be mellowing out and doing better. Del finished his dinner and said, That was perfect! He was always quick to express his appreciation, making even something as simple as a bowl of cream of rice seem like an extravagant meal. I think I am going to go watch my soaps! he said with enthusiasm. This is how he referred to his evening lineup of favorite television shows. Tuesday night was NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service) night. The first episode was set in the Washington D.C. area and the second was set in Los Angeles. Del loved the characters, and the stories were fascinating to him. He escaped to his evening’s distraction, and I engaged in other pursuits. Without appearing to be overly pesky, I kept going back and forth between my office and his just to chat with him and make sure he was recovering from his earlier energy drain. At about ten o’clock that night, he came into my office to sit with me and share a glass of red wine. Our habit was that he would pour one glass, I would take the first sip, and he would finish the glass. I said, I think I am going to turn in early tonight. Del was a night owl who required very little sleep, and I had adapted to his ways over the years, so it was very unusual for us to go to bed before midnight. On this night, he decided he would go with me. I was relieved because I really wanted him to get some rest.

As we lay in bed, we went through what had become an almost nightly ritual. I said, Thank you for choosing me, Mr. Teel!

To which he would respond, Thank you for saying, ‘Yes!’

Next, I would express my concern, Please take good care of yourself. You are not replaceable.

To which he would protest, One day, you are going to marry some young buck and go on the adventure of a lifetime. I’m holding you back.

Stop saying that! I would protest. I don’t want to go on an adventure without you! I would declare sincerely.

On more than one occasion in more recent evenings, he would say, You are going to be fine. It was as if he knew something was going to happen. I wrote it off as fatalism, but I had an uneasy feeling, especially on this night.

As I pulled up outside of the emergency room that morning, I told him, "Honey, you get out and sit on that bench and wait for me. I will park