October 29, 2020
“I wish mom had written down some of the stories of her life.” My mother listened to this lament from her cousin’s daughter, taking it to heart. The result sat in my lap this afternoon and evening, a scrapbook of memories from her earliest recollections to just a few years ago, stories I had heard before mingled with revelations heretofore unknown. On the floor at my feet was a bag of Bibles and devotionals, treasures from the years of mom’s faithfulness, all marked and noted in her tiny, exquisite script. I would not have been surprised to have found one Bible all marked up, but three... And there were other Bibles I hadn’t removed from her shelves.
The notations and underlinings revealed the secretary in her; no haphazard scrawls. Every passage underlined had been done with a ruler. The texts most often noted spoke of patience and endurance through difficult times, made more poignant when laid alongside her memoir. Children don’t always see the struggles of their parents, and the idyllic childhood I experienced came at a price she willingly paid. There were tears in those pages, but not even a hint of self-pity or resentment. The trials as well as the joys she saw as instruments in God’s hand, molding her for better things. Throughout were words of gratitude, concluding with her longing to see Jesus face to face.
Tonight that longing has been realized, and I will have the honor of officiating at her funeral Saturday. There will be tears, but also laughter and great joy, knowing that the deepest longing of her heart has been fulfilled, enabling me to give thanks for a life well lived because of the Savior she loved.
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