I went to a funeral a few years back for a distant cousin, a young husband and father, that I didn’t know well. Towards the end of the service the microphone was opened up to anyone who would like to share a memory and I was interested to know more about this man whose life was cut short in a tragic accident. Person after person stood at the mike to tell that he was a devoted Chief’s Fan. There were no stories about tender parent-child moments, a time of helping a friend in need, or a devoted faith in God….just recollections of his football activites. It made me stop and think about how I wanted to be remembered.

I went to a memorial service this morning for a good friend of mine. She was 54 years young and died after a long battle with lupus. Through all she suffered she never complained, lost cheerfulness, or a faith in Christ. He healed her of many other afflictions throughout her life, but Lupus was to be her test. Her final testimony of cheerul, faithful enduring to the end.

Deborah was a mother of 3 and grandmother to 4. She homeschooled her children and poured her life into theirs. She didn’t have an ambition that didn’t involve the well-being of her family and it showed in the quality of their lives.  She loved music, pink, nature, cleaning, organizing, decorating, cooking, sewing, and being with children.  She was always a ready and welcoming hostess.  If she could do anything to relieve suffering, she did it.  Her smile was contagious and healing.

While she breathed her last breath with her daughter by her side, her young grandson was coloring a portrait of her in the kitchen.   When his mother came to him, he wanted to give his picture to grandma.  She explained that Mamay had gone to heaven.  He asked, “To be with Jesus?”

“Yes, to be with Jesus.”

“Oh,  then I’ll see her again when she comes back with Jesus in Glory for the resurrection.  And I’ll give it to her then.”

Dear readers, that child is barely old enough for school and yet he understands so much.  And that kind of thing just doesn’t happen.  It shows you the kind of parents he has.  And he has those kind of parents because of the kind of mother Deborah was.

I didn’t see Deborah often.  Mostly when I visited her church to sing a special number.  And she smiled huge and closed her eyes and just Enjoyed.  It made such an impression on me and was a great comfort in my nervousness.  I sing for God, because when I sing, I feel his pleasure.  But when Deborah’s there, I sing for her too.  That’s the kind of person she was.

She was a dear friend and her life has changed mine forever.  She will forever be an inspiration to be a better mother, a better wife, a better friend.  I know her suffering has passed and her joy is full, but I can’t help but to fall into a pile of tears at unexpected moments when I think of how long it might be before I see her again.  And yet I know my grief must be a minute fraction of what her family is feeling.  So I ask you to join me as I pray peace and healing for them.