As we surrounded her, completely encompassing, praying that the Lord would bring her back from death… I saw His glory. I saw His goodness. I saw His love.
My mother did not come back from death. Cancer took her. It stole my mother from me. It pains me to write that and my soul aches. I mourn her. Every bit of who she was… to so many. She had a way about her, she had a way with people. She loved them. All of them. She never met a stranger and she wasn’t easily offended. She helped my family grow a heart for the homeless and participated in every outreach the kids would imagine up.
She was a woman of prayer and faith. But she was humble. So utterly humble. When she served she didn’t let one hand know what the other was doing. She would get down low with people so each one of them would feel loved. She took time to connect with people. Time she sometimes didn’t have but would give it anyway. She changed the world. And I most likely don’t know the half of what she did. Perhaps I never will.
I wanted the Lord to bring her back. Oh how badly I wanted the Lord to bring her back. I prayed and read scripture over her body. We all did. Every single one of us. We did until they came and took her body. We followed her out still believing. My father even told them that if the Lord raised her on the way, just to bring her back to the house. We would be waiting. People from all over the world were praying for my mother. Yet she still passed.
My mom, oh my mother was a mama bear. She prayed and many, MANY, miracles happened because of her prayers. Because of her faith. Death retreated. Sickness vanished. Mental health restored. There is not an area of my life that is not saturated in her prayers. When I was lost and questioning my own faith as an adult and mother, I was held up by her prayers. Her talks. Her own commitment to motherhood.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she would be healed or raised from the dead. But, that didn’t happen. She died of the disease she had faith she would be healed from. A disease I hate.
Yet, peace. A peace that was, and still is, so intimately tangible it filled me. My mothers death brought a huge healing into my family. Bonds were restored and we all watched as each of us spoke life over her. We wept together. We sang together. We spoke the Lord’s Prayer together. We were in unity. Complete unity. Have you ever been in complete unity with every person surrounding you? What a glimpse of goodness. Of the things to come.
My mother was a glue that held so much of our family. She did more than any one of us could. She did it more than any one of us realized. Her shoes won’t be filled. Not by any one person anyway.
Thankfully in my mourning Something unexpected happened. A fire raged deep within each of us. Every single person that humbled themselves at the side of her bed and prayed for her life. We will no longer be a family so easily broken. Nor a people. We will never be the same. We want it all. Every single ounce the Lord has for us. We want it for each other.
I’m so thankful for the Lords loving kindness and grace through this tragic pain. A life gone too soon. I’m thankful that the Lord is willing to take all the broken I bring Him and mold it into something that will serve His kingdom. I’m thankful that her legacy will live on in different ways through her children and her grandchildren. Her grandchildren will know the stalk they come from. The deep faith that has paved a way. Her life will live on. Many more of her prayers answered. The love that she poured out and planted will bloom into more than we can fathom. Because that’s just how the Lord works. He is that good.
This is to you mom. A life lived out fully and completely surrendered to God. No. Matter. What. We will hold each other up. All your children call you blessed!
To the first writing I’ve ever posted that she didn’t read first.
Be in peace mom. I love you always.