Letters to Shirley: Thoughts of Hope and Trust

By Debbie Ringwald

Everyone needs someone to confide in--to pour out their feelings of hope and frustration, to describe their fears and share their joys. In Letters to Shirley, the author reflects on the daily happenings in her life, intimate meditations on God, and a trip or two down memory lane. Like real life, not everything is pretty, and even the spiritual moments do not always consist of bowed heads and celestial music. The writings are heartfelt and overflowing with raw honesty, the trustful confidences of one who opens her heart to a true friend. From bleak moments of darkness--including the death of a loved one and a cancer diagnosis--to the dawning rays of the light of hope, the letters reflect a journey of faith and trust and many blessings from God.

And so the letters begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798888516515

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Introduction

Appendix 1

Appendix 2

Points of Interest

About the Author

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Letters to Shirley

Thoughts of Hope and Trust

Debbie Ringwald

ISBN 979-8-88851-650-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88851-651-5 (Digital)

Copyright © 2023 Debbie Ringwald

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Introduction

Ste. Genevieve is a small historic town in Southeast Missouri with approximately five thousand residents. Situated on the western bank of the Mississippi River, it lies about one hour south of St. Louis. Known for its rich French heritage, many of the residents here are also fiercely proud of their German roots. Founded in 1735, the oldest European settlement west of the Mississippi boasts historic homes, good food, strong faith, and plenty of wineries.

The town is named after the French saint Genevieve, who lived in the fifth century and is the patron saint of Paris, France. Genevieve was a dedicated Christian, and in 451, she led a prayer marathon to save the city of Paris from being attacked by Attila's Huns. In addition to being the patron saint of Paris, Genevieve is also known as the patron saint of disasters and fever. Her feast day is celebrated on January 3.

The natural resources of the town of Ste. Genevieve are plentiful. The rich black soil in the flat land of the river bottoms—known as the Big Field (Le Grand Champ in French)—provides acres of the best farmland in the county, and underground mines have some of the purest deposits of limestone found anywhere in the world. These natural resources, along with several small businesses in the town, help to provide a comfortable living for those fortunate enough to live and work here.

But the best resource of all? No competition. Hands down, it's the people who live here.

Our family is blessed to call Ste. Genevieve our home, and it would be difficult to list all the benefits that we have. It's easy sometimes to forget just how blessed we are. We need to remind ourselves that God has lavishly and abundantly blessed all of us, no matter what the circumstances.

At the time of this writing, Steve and I have been married over thirty years, and we have two sons: Steven Jr. and David. Our home is a modest brick ranch-style house in the country, approximately five miles from the city limits of Ste. Genevieve. Farm living, as the saying goes, is the life for us; and in addition to growing corn, soybeans, and wheat, we also raise Black Angus cattle.

My letters to Shirley reflect some of the daily happenings in our lives, as well as my own thoughts and perspective. In the letters, some names of the people mentioned have been changed in order to protect their privacy.

As for Shirley, well, she is someone who is very important to me, the very best friend whom I could ever hope to have. As long as I have known her, I have always been able to tell her anything: the good, the bad, and the not so pretty. In addition to my frequent talks with her, I found that actually putting down some of my rather rambling thoughts in writing helped me to better see some of the many blessings and graces that God has given to me, even when things seemed bleak.

It's my hope that as you read these letters, you'll get a sense of how important she is to me, along with many other people in my life.

Most significantly, I hope you'll get a sense of how important God is to me.

Because the fact of the matter is, these letters are really all about God and about all the other people who are important to me. They are not about me at all.

And so the letters begin.

Mural on Ste. Genevieve City Hall.

The location of Ste. Genevieve is designated with the yellow fleur-de-lis.

A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter;

he who finds one finds a treasure.

A faithful friend is beyond price,

no sum can balance his worth.

A faithful friend is a life-saving remedy,

such as he who fears God finds.

For he who fears God behaves accordingly,

and his friend will be like himself.

—Sirach 6:14–17

Dear Shirley,

You're probably wondering why I feel the need to write to you when I talk to you so often, but sometimes it's just easier for me to put my thoughts down on paper, and writing things down helps me to put things in better perspective. You've been so good to me, so patient, and such a good listener. You've helped me more than I can express, and I hope you know how much I value our friendship. So I'm going to begin by saying thank you for everything that you've done for me. You truly mean so much to me, and I don't think I can ever repay you for everything.

Life is busy, as it is for everyone, and as you know, there's been a lot that has happened, especially in the last several months. I might sound jumbled and jump around a lot, but you're used to that with me. There may be several letters to you, so make yourself comfortable. And even then, I know I can't include everything, or I will probably forget something. So I'm just going to start.

First of all, God is so good! But you're a much wiser person than I am, and so you know that better than I do, yet I will repeat it quite often. Such an understatement. I wish I could do something really nice for God and surprise Him, but as He knows what I'm up to even before I do, I think that's out of the question. But wouldn't it be neat to maybe throw Him a big surprise party and have some of His best and brightest in heaven help to plan it? I think I would get Padre Pio, John Paul II, Mother Teresa, and Therese of Lisieux to help with the planning. And Mary Magdalene, of course. She loves Jesus so much! Guest speakers would definitely be St. Peter and St. Michael the Archangel. And St. John the Beloved, the only one of the Twelve who did not abandon our Lord. Gotta love St. John!

Okay, I'm getting off track already. But do me a favor and try to think of something that I can do for God, okay? I know I must drive Him and His Mother nuts sometimes, and they probably just shake Their heads at me. But They love me so much. Honestly, it brings tears to my eyes (in a good way) when I think really hard about it.

So where to start? People are good too, by the way, and I see generous and caring hearts so often. I'm grateful to God for them too, and I ask Him to bless and protect them every day. Some I don't even know, but He does, and He hears my prayers to watch over them.

Well, let me, at least, try to begin. In the fall of 2021, we all got sick with bad colds. David had been doing his student teaching at the time, so maybe he brought home a virus. While all four of us were draggy and had various cold symptoms, it seemed like it took Steve and me longer to shake it. I assumed it was probably because we were older. I don't think any of us missed work, but talk about dragging through the day. I think I could have slept twenty hours a day and still been exhausted.

Steve's symptoms seemed to hang on longer for him, and he began telling me (in great detail) about issues he was having when he went to the bathroom. Honestly, I really didn't want to hear all the descriptive details, and I was still riding the struggle bus myself, so many times, I didn't even pay attention to him. Or I told him I didn't want to hear about it because I thought he was being rather crude with humor that I didn't find funny at all. Exhaustion and too much on my plate can make me cranky and not very sympathetic. And besides, he really wasn't too understanding with what I had going on, so deal with it. Suck it up, put on your big-boy boots, and offer it up for the holy souls. (And do it quietly please. Why don't people come with mute buttons?)

By the way, you know that sometimes I say words that I shouldn't. It's a very bad habit that I've been trying to break all my life, with varying and limited degrees of success. So for the sake of making this easier to read (and less offensive to you) and also because, many times, I may be writing in the Presence of Jesus in the adoration chapel, I absolutely refuse to write down any bad words.

I will, instead, write the name of a candy bar. (I need to put this into practice in real life as well.)

As I was saying before I interrupted, we all had bad colds. Even the simplest things took so much energy from me that I simply didn't have, and I felt like DSH (darling sweet husband) was sharing way TMI (too much information ) regarding his personal bathroom habits. He kept going to work and was a little cranky (but not any more cranky than I was), so the days just dragged on while we waited impatiently for everyone to feel better.

You know, of course, that he works shift work at the local mine plant in addition to working on the farm. A typical day for him involves working an eight-hour shift at his job (or more, if he works a double shift) and then coming home and going to the farm to work and/or to tell other people what to do at the farm. Seriously, sometimes I think that cell phone is glued to his ear. Depending on the shift he works depends on if he's working at the job first and then the farm or vice versa. (Side note: I've accused him of being a workaholic many times over the course of our thirty-plus-year marriage career. He's in denial and refuses to admit it.)

So after his issues had gone on for a few weeks, early one morning, our elder son, Steven, said to me, I'm really worried about Dad. He's been in a lot of pain.

I looked up quickly and responded, Pain? I didn't know he was in pain. He didn't tell me he was in pain. (Or did he? Did I tune him out that effectively? Maybe he said he was in pain, and I totally ignored him.)

Steve was working midnights, so when he got home around 7:15 a.m., I looked at him closely. He looked rough, I thought, but maybe it was because he had been up all night. And if the truth be told, he looked better than I did. But anyway, I asked him in my best loving, concerned wife voice that I had just how he was feeling.

He was eating a bowl of cereal and, without looking up, grunted, Okay.

I pursued the subject in a timid voice. Steven said you've been in pain. I didn't know you were in pain. Did you tell me you were in pain?

Still not looking up, he just snapped, Well, you said you didn't want to hear about it, so I just stopped saying anything. Yes, I've been in pain!

Gulp. Bad wife.

Well… Snickers.

*****

The evil one (title not capitalized on purpose as he doesn't deserve that dignity) will always attack and try to bring us down through the people we love the most and through the things to which we are the most attached. For most of us, that is our immediate family. Most of us would rather suffer ourselves—or, at least, we say that when we're not actually suffering—than to see someone we love suffer. To see someone you love suffer (whether physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually) and not be able to alleviate that suffering is awful. I know that's an understatement, especially for those of us who are control freaks.

We all suffer, of course. It's part of life, and how we deal with suffering is as varied and complex as the individual. I would love to say that I'm a silent sufferer and that I offer everything up for the atonement of my sins or for the holy souls in purgatory. And sometimes, I do just that.

Many times, I don't.

*****

Once I realized that DSH was in pain, I started to try to be nicer and pay closer attention to how he was feeling. He was still going to work and doing the normal routine at the farm, but his symptoms were becoming more frequent and noticeable, especially now that I was actually paying attention. It was early December by this time, and he made an appointment to see the urologist, but the soonest that he could get in was in early January, which was over a month away. That's a long time to wait if you're in pain and discomfort.

One Saturday evening, he was working and called me. From what I remember, our conversation went something like this:

DSH: What are you doing on Monday?

Me: Taking my dad to the dentist, out of town.

DSH: Oh. (Slight disappointment in voice. Long pause.)

Me: Why?

DSH: I was wondering if you could take me to the emergency room.

Me: (Slightly alarmed, getting off the couch) Do you need to go now? Leave work and come home, and I'll take you. Or do I need to come get you?

DSH: (In tone of self-sacrifice) No. It can wait until Monday. Besides it's Saturday night, and they wouldn't be able to get anybody to come in for my shift.

Me: (Voice getting louder) If you have to go to the emergency room, leave work! They will find someone.

DSH: (Sounds of voices talking on the two-way radio at work, static) No, I'll be okay. (Talking on radio) 10-4, I copy that. Moving forward. (Back to me) I gotta go. Bye."

Well I was about to fall asleep before I got his call. That was out of the question now.

Being the good, dutiful, and loving wife that I had recently become, I immediately texted him and told him again that if he needed to go, we should go. (I mean, seriously. Who plans a trip to the ER two days in advance?) He texted back and said that he could wait. I texted him that I would wait up, and if he wanted to go when he got home, I would take him.

His reply was Will they be open now?

It's an emergency room. They're open 24-7.

(This is not the time to yank my chain.)

He, of course, worked the entire shift. And when he got home, he told me that maybe we would go the next day after we went to Mass and after we went to the armory for David's National Guard Christmas breakfast.

For a guy who was usually very spontaneous, he sure was preplanning this ER trip carefully.

The next morning, we (DSH, Steven Jr., and I) all went to 6:00 a.m. Sunday Mass and then drove to the armory in Festus, which was about thirty minutes north of Ste. Genevieve. I could tell that Steve was uncomfortable, but we ate breakfast with David and headed home soon afterward. We were tired, so he retreated to the bedroom, and I sacked out on the recliner in the living room to take a nice nap.

About an hour or so later, he came into the living room and asked if I could take him to the ER. So we headed back up to Festus to go to the hospital.

*****

Many times, we're all moving at such a fast pace, our days so crammed with busyness that we don't even pay attention to the most important people in our lives. If we're not careful, weeks and months can go by when we're just going through the motions of doing all the jobs that we need to do and checking off all the tasks of the day, only to repeat the same actions again tomorrow. Stuck in a rut, it's very easy to get entrenched in the Groundhog Day cycle where every day is the same, and nothing you do ever seems to really matter.

Until, of course, something happens out of the ordinary to change that routine, to break that cycle.

*****

The ER was packed when we arrived, and we knew it would be a long wait. COVID-19 was starting to pick up again, so many people were there because of that. It was a fairly nice day for early December, so after he was registered, we asked if they could just call us when he was ready to be seen. Not a problem, so we went outside to walk around and soak up some of the pre-winter sunshine.

Every hour or so, we would check back in at the desk until, eventually, it was getting dark and we just waited inside. When he was called back, the usual vital signs were taken, and they took his health history. It was a rather short history as he was on no prescriptions, didn't smoke, rarely drank alcohol, and other than having a few extra pounds, he was in pretty good health for a sixty-three-year-old.

He told them about the symptoms he was having, which seemed to indicate that it was a prostate problem. Blood work was done, and a CT scan of his abdomen was taken.

By this time, it was past 7:00 p.m., so I texted my boss to let him know what was going on. I was still planning to take my dad to his appointment the following day, so I would be in to work after that. Without going into a lot of detail, I also told my boss that I had Steve at the ER, but I didn't think it was anything serious. (Okay, okay. Anytime you're at the ER, it's probably serious. What I meant was, no heart attack, stroke, arterial bleeding, and the like. In other words, Steve wasn't on his deathbed.)

While there are many times I don't like the fact that I'm addicted to my cell phone, it does come in handy when you're waiting somewhere for a long time. Texting friends and family, watching videos, reading articles, proofreading the company website—I did keep myself busy and still managed to converse with DSH. We also hadn't eaten since breakfast, and as eating is one of our top priorities in life, we were going over our many options of where to go once we were finished in the ER. As time passed, however, and more and more of the restaurants were closing, our choices were becoming limited.

The ER staff was wonderful and checked on us as often as they could while we were waiting for the test results. They were still extremely busy but very professional, patient, and helpful. When the doctor finally came in, he said that the test results showed that Steve's PSA level was within the normal range, but he had an enlarged prostate. It also appeared that he had an infection and abscess on the right side of his prostate.

They started an IV drip with an antibiotic, and because they didn't have a urologist on staff in the ER, the doctor said he was going to call a urologist at another hospital for his opinion. He explained that he himself was not that familiar with this type of situation, and he wanted to make sure that they didn't need to admit Steve to the hospital.

That got my attention. Admit him to the hospital?

He questioned Steve some more and then went to make the call. After about fifteen minutes or so, he came back and said that we could go home after the IV drip was finished, mainly because Steve didn't have some of the more usual signs of an infection. He had no fever, he could walk without trouble, and he didn't look sick. We did, however, need to see the urologist in St. Louis the next day to see about draining the abscess.

After the IV drip was finished and the discharge papers were completed, we finally left the ER after about nine and a half hours. Now we could get some lunch!

All the restaurants were closed by this time except the drive-through at McDonald's, so we went through there and parked in the lot across the street to wolf down our food. No sooner had we started eating than the lights at McDonald's turned off for the night. We had just made it there within minutes of closing time.

You know how I said at the beginning of this letter that God is good? Yep, this was proof of one of those times.

Oh, and my McDonald's burger was pretty good that night too!

My God in turn will supply your needs fully, in a way worthy of his magnificent riches in Christ Jesus.

—Philippians 4:19

Dear Shirley,

When we finally got home that night, we were exhausted. It's amazing how just sitting around can wear you out. I had already gotten in touch with Aunt Gertie to ask her to take my dad to his dentist appointment, and even though I wanted sleep, I was too wound up to rest well. I was looking up the directions to the urologist, which didn't seem to be too bad. But I'm not a city driver at all, so I was trying to map out the route in my head as well. And thank goodness, one of my sons had programmed the coffee maker for the next morning so I didn't have to do that. (Yes, I've developed a bad caffeine addiction over the years, but it's mainly just for coffee in the morning.)

Eventually, we both settled down for the night. Steven and David were already in bed, and the house was quiet. My mind was racing, thinking of everything that had to be done. Was I forgetting something? The Christmas tree was not up—not a big deal. St. Nick hadn't come, but he couldn't yet because the stockings weren't hung. Hopefully, we can get Steve into the urologist tomorrow. Year-end at work and for the farm—did I get everything finished as far as the bookwork? Christmas shopping—um, probably going to be delayed even more. Not even sure if I have my list