Jeannette

This is adapted from my talk at my mom's memorial service. 6/29/38 - 7/10/16

We’ve known this day was coming for a long time. And for a long time, I knew I wanted to share some things about Mom. Then I knew I didn’t want anything to do with it. Because every time I began to think about it I couldn’t figure out what to share.

Do I tell you about her childhood? The oldest daughter of two girls. Her dad a bi-vocational church planter. He pastored, painted, worked as a carpenter, built churches and worked hard and required the same from his girls.

Do I tell you about mom’s servant heart? The selfless years as a wife? Raising children, then grandchildren? Teaching Sunday school? Serving in church leadership?

Do I tell you about her gentile touch? She read somewhere that everyone needs 8 hugs a day to survive. She believed it. She was never afraid to lean in and grab your hand. To caress and comfort. And in my case, to correct.

Do I tell you about her wisdom? The people she met with. The people she challenged. The people she counseled. The number of people I heard her on the phone with or who sat at our dining room table sipping coffee? The number of times that person was me?

Do I tell you about her wit? Her playfulness? Her willingness to put a pot on her head and march around like a soldier because that’s the game her grandsons wanted to play? Coming down to their level to elevate them to hers?

Do I tell you about her commitment to relationship? How they were the most important thing to her? How she taught me maintaining them is worth sacrifice?

Or do I tell you about her 15 year struggle with Alzheimer’s? A third of my life. A quarter of her marriage. The gentleness she maintained? That she never got mean? She never cussed at Dad. The words weren’t in her. Do I tell you about her single greatest fear as she faced it? That she might somehow damage to the name of Christ.

I decided not to tell you any of those things. Because I need to write about who she would want me to write about.  Her Jesus.

You see, the thing about Mom is, the reason she was who she was, is because her life was a reflection of Jesus.

Like her he was a selfless servant. Walking teaching, preaching and feeding those who followed him. How often when he was tired was he pursued and gave more. Like her he reached out and touched, the sick, the lame and even the lepers. His touch brought healing and gave life.

Like her his wisdom brought comfort counsel and correction. And it was available freely to the sinner and the saint. The Pharisee and the tax collector. It’s available to us.

Like her he was a lover of children. He elevated their status and called them to him. And I’m sure they were times full of wit and laughter.

Like her he was committed to relationship. God, coming from the limitlessness of heaven bound by creation and the limits of a body, for his children, his people for us, for you, for me, for her.

He also knew a relationship with us would mean sacrifice, one he was willing to endure. A price had to be paid for our sinfulness, our rebellion. And he paid that price and faced it like she faced her fate, with grace and gentleness.

I can’t tell you about mom today, because Mom didn’t like to be talked about. She never looked to be elevated because she didn’t want to be seen as the source, only as a mere reflection of Jesus. And if she was here today, she would tell you if her life and any impact on yours then praise God. Because he is the one who served you, touched you, laughed with you, comforted you, counseled you and chased a relationship with you. He is the one who died for you. He loves you and he is enough for you. He is enough.

He was for her. He can be for us too. And he is for her still.