Category: Memorials

True stories of hope in the midst of grief.

Walter and Frances – A Love Story

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn MemorialsLeave a comment

Love story

Walter and Frances Blackley were married on the Tuesday before Valentine’s Day, February 13, 1945. They were married for 58 years. In February 2003, they both passed away, ten days apart, around Valentine’s Day. So each time Valentine’s Day rolls around, I remember them and their wonderful love story. The following are the words from their memorial services.

On February 8, 2003 I said…

Luke 2:25-32 NRSV

This scripture text contains one of the most beautiful prayers found in the Bible. In fact, it is more of a hymn than it is a prayer. It is a wonderful hymn of celebration consisting of verses found in the Hebrew Scriptures from the book of Isaiah. It is the last hymn of righteous and devout man named Simeon.

Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of al peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for the glory to your people Israel.

This was the last prayer of a righteous and devout man, named Simeon. I want to suggest that this was also the last prayer of a righteous and devout man named Walter Blackley.

Simeon was able to sing this prayer, because Simeon was given the blessed opportunity to hold the Christ Child in his arms. Simeon was given the opportunity to hold the hope for the world in his arms. Simeon was given the blessed opportunity to hold grace in his arms.

More than perhaps anyone that I know, I believe Walter was also a holder of grace.

Allow me to define the concept of grace for you by asking you a few questions:

What do you call a seventy-something-year-old man who was able hit a baseball and ran the bases with his grandson during a little league’s parents’ day?

I believe you call that grace.

What do you call an eighty year old man riding a jet ski with his thirteen-year old granddaughter?

I believe you call that grace.

What do you call someone who valiantly served his country in the Second World War, surviving untold horrors, without loss of limb and life?

You call that grace.

What do you call someone who contracted malaria that sent him home to a military hospital until the end of the war where soon after he married his girl named Frances with whom he shared 58 long years of happiness?

What do you call the gift of a small farm which provided needed therapy which helped a war veteran overcome the dreadful experiences of war?

You call that grace.

What do you all someone who was given the gift of three beautiful daughters and the gift of four beautiful grandchildren? What do you call the miracle of Vida Mclawhorn who has and continues to confound medical science and inspire us all?

You call that grace.

Walter understood that these gifts—this gift of abundant life, this gift of vigorous health, this gift of miraculous strength, and the gifts of love—were all completely unearned and underserved gifts of God’s amazing grace.

This is what I believe made Walter such a wonderful man.  This is what I believe made him so endearing and so loving to so many people.  This is why I believe Walter lived is life and served others in the community with such incredible integrity. This is why he treated everyone the same regardless of their ethnicity and regardless of their religion.  This is what gave this endearing man such a wonderful sense of humor.

Walter understood that it was God’s grace which kept him going so strong so late in his life.  Always in a hurry.  One of Walter’s all time favorite sayings was:  “C’mon Frances, we got it go!”

It was the amazing grace of God which enabled him to mow is own lawn every summer, even this last summer. . .with a push mower.  Walter Blackley was indeed a holder of grace.

Like Simeon, Walter had been given the wonderful opportunity to hold the Christ Child in his arms.  He had been given the opportunity in his eighty-six years to hold the promise of strength and the promise of help in times of trouble which was found through his relationship with Christ.  Walter had been given the opportunity to hold hope and salvation in his arms.

I believe this is what compelled this man to attend Sunday School and worship so faithfully Sunday after Sunday.  Walter came to church, even during the past year when the pain in his neck and shoulder was the greatest, because Walter realized that all that he had, and all that he had received were unearned, undeserved gifts of God’s amazing grace.

I believe the best news for us is that we who loved Walter and were loved by Walter, are also holders of grace. We are holders of grace because we too have been given a wonderful gift.  We too have been given a gift which was completely unearned and undeserved.  For we each of been given the gift of Walter—of  knowing him and loving him and being loved by him.  And when we can consider this, I believe our mourning and grief can be and will be transformed into thanksgiving and joy.

And in what may be more difficult, I believe we should also consider that we are holders of grace because have also been given the peaceful, gracious death of Walter.  I have heard many Christians tell me that they do not fear death.  It is dying that they fear. Christians do not fear going to be with God, it is the pathway to God that we fear—it is the suffering we fear. Yes, the way that Walter died is yet one more reason that I believe the last prayer of Simeon was the last prayer of Walter.

And I believe we also need to consider that we, like Simeon and like Walter, have also been given the gift of the gift of the Christ child.  We too have been given the gift of the promise of strength and help in times of trouble. As God had delivered Walter through so many of life’s storms, we can know that God can and will do the same for us.  God will see us through our grief and our pain, and God will one day see us through our deaths, as God has seen Walter through his. We are indeed holders of hope, holders of salvation, and holders of grace.

And hopefully, we too will one day be able to sing the prayer of Simeon and the prayer of Walter Blackley:

 Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel.

_____________________________________

On February 19, 2003 I said…

I need to say it, because during the last three days, we have all have been thinking it. We have said it silently to ourselves and out loud to others.

Frances was always just a few steps behind her husband, Walter.

It was like Walter had called from heaven, “Come on Frances, we got to go!”  Frances was always a few steps behind Walter because Frances loved to tell a story. Walter would say, “Frances, we’ve got to go” or “They’ve got to go. They’ve already heard that story ten times!”

And she would respond, “Well, I’m going to tell it again!”  Then she would say: “That man’s been rushing me since the day we got married!”

Yes, Frances loved to tell a story.  And this woman was the perfect story teller because she knew a little something about everything.  She was one of the most well-read ladies that I know.  She was also one of the most faithful Christians that I know.  Thus, many of her stories, her grandchildren recall, were like Aesop’s Fables. She had a story for everything, and each story taught us a valuable lesson about life. Carol, Janice and Vida, your lives and your children’s lives have been enriched forever because of those stories.  You are who you are—strong, caring, compassionate, loving, Christian—because of the many wonderful stories Frances told.  Her stories taught you to avoid gossip and pettiness.  Her stories taught you not to sweat the small stuff; to respect and to love everyone the same.  Her stories taught you to work hard, to be fair and to keep it simple.

Her stories taught you about love. That love is patient and kind. That love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. That love does not insist on its own way.  It is not irritable or resentful.  It does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

Many of us have said to one another and said to ourselves that Frances died the way Frances lived: Ten steps behind her husband, Walter, telling stories.

Frances spent the last ten days telling and retelling a wonderful love story that mimics a fairy tale.  Eleven days ago, Frances had the rare opportunity to share this love story with her entire family and a host of friends:

A love story of a seventeen-year-old beautiful stenographer from Salisbury named Frances who had eyes for a handsome, confident 25 year old named from Franklinton named Walter— A love story of a courtship that was only six months old when the couple was separated as Walter was called to serve his country during the Second World War— A love story of a long distance  relationship which endured two-and-one-half years as the two sent exchanged love letters between Salisbury and New Guinea— A love story of a young man who came home from the war to meet his girl in Salisbury on a Monday, and to elope the next day on Tuesday, the day before Valentine’s Day.  Frances told us of a love story which encompassed fifty-eight years of marriage— A love story about a couple who were completely devoted to their family, supportive of every  good thing their children did— A love story of a couple who always stayed together, always worked together, always worshipped together and always played together— A love story of a couple who spent many Saturday nights dancing together in their living room to ball room dance tunes emanating from their television tuned to the Lawrence Welk Show.

This past week I believe that Frances also told us another love story.  However, this story was not told with mere words. This story was told more with her life. This story was told more with her tremendous faith in God.  One of the grandchildren showed me Walter and Frances’ big family Bible.  Throughout the book, from Genesis to Revelation, there are dates written on the pages with two initials, “W.” and “F.”  Beginning in Genesis, Walter and Frances read the Bible together and then dated and initialed each passage.  They did this for years until they finished reading the Bible from cover to cover.

Yes, Frances loved to tell a story, but more importantly, Frances loved to tell the story.  With her life and with her faith, and with the word of God engraved on her heart, with tremendous fortitude, Frances shared with us the love story of God. –The love story of a God who has promised to never leave us or forsake us.  –The love story of a God who walks with us in the valley of the shadow of death no matter how many times we are forced to walk there –The love story of a God who promises to be present with us through the storms of life and to see us through them—The love story of a God who always gives us the strength that we need to face any trial and any tribulation—The love story of a God who is always in our world working all things together for the good—The love story of a God who has given us the wonderful gift of God’s self, the gift of the Spirit and the gift of the Church.

One of the first things that Frances said to me after Walter’s death was, “Jarrett, I have said it before, and I will say it again: “If you are going to have to go through trouble in this world, there is no better place to be than the church.”  Frances loved her church.  She knew that it was through her church and through her many relationships in the church that she was going to be alright.  She was so looking forward to attending her circle meeting on the Monday after Walter’s death.

Frances’ tremendous faith was unwavering.  She was so strong, so hopeful.

Over and over and over again, with her life and with her faith, Frances has shared with us the love story of God— The love story of a God who promises each of us who have lost so much recently that we too, are going to be alright— The love story of a God of resurrection and of hope— The love story of a God who is in the business of transforming our sorrow into joy, our despair into hope and death into life— The love story of a God who has brought life, abundant and eternal to Walter and Frances through resurrection and who is working even now to transform our shock and grief and pain into peace.

I believe God has already done that for many of us. When we first heard the tragic news of Frances’ sudden death, we were shaken and dismayed beyond belief. But then the God of resurrection came, and the God of resurrection began to work. And it was not long before the look of bewilderment on our faces was transformed into great big smiles.

“Come on. Frances, we got to go!” he said.

“That man has been rushing me since the day I married him!” she quipped.

“Come on Frances, they have heard that story already ten times!”

“Walter, you are going to have to wait, because I am going to tell it again!”

And that is exactly what she did.

She told us one more time the story— the story of unseen things above— the story of Jesus and his glory, the story of Jesus and his love.  She loved to tell the story, because she knew it to be true.  It satisfied her longings as nothing else can do.

My prayer for the Blackley family and for all of us who grieve is a simple one. Remember the love story of God which was shared over and over again by this beautiful woman.  May the love story of God, which was Frances’ story become our story.  May this story fill us with courage and with strength. And may we spend the rest of our days sharing this story with others, until that day comes when we will see the couple again face to face, as we will one day see God face to face.

Grace and Gratitude: Remembering Ronnie Avery

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn MemorialsLeave a comment

The Second Miraculous Catch of Fish

From Ronnie Avery’s Memorial Service February 8, 2004.

Luke 5:1-11 NRSV

“Grace” and “gratitude.”  The two words come from the same Latin root and belong together.  Grace is when God does something for us that God did not have to do.  And the only way to respond to God’s amazing grace is with humble gratitude.

The soon-to-be disciples were in a boat with Jesus just offshore.  Jesus asked Simon, who had been fishing all night without catching a thing, to drop his nets out in some deeper water.  When he did they filled up the boat with so many fish that the boat began to sink!  They signaled another boat to come over to help.  Then they filled that one up!  They barely got back to shore before the boats sank under the weight of the fish.

These fishermen had never seen anything like it before. It was a miracle. It was also grace. Jesus did something for these ordinary fishermen that Jesus did not have to do. That is the definition of grace. And the fisherman responded with humble gratitude as they “dropped everything” to follow Jesus. They left their old lives behind on that beach, to worship and to serve Jesus for the rest of their lives.

The disciples responded to grace the same way Ronnie Avery responded to the grace that he received.  Ronnie would be the first person to tell you that he was on a road in the summer of 2003 that was leading him to a place that he did not want to go.  When he was hospitalized in July of that year, gravely ill with congestive heart failure, he realized this, and was filled with fear.

That day in ICU Ronnie said that he prayed a prayer that went something like this: “Oh God, not now.! Please don’t let me die now!  Please save me God, and I promise I’ll get myself right and start living for you.”

He said when he opened his eyes from that prayer, he saw me standing there in front of him for the very first time.

I had a short prayer with him and said, “Ronnie, I sure am glad to meet you, but I am sorry that it had to be under these circumstances here in the hospital.”

I will never forget how he responded. He said, “You’re getting ready to see a lot more of me, because I am going to be sitting on a pew in your church the first chance I get, and I am going to be sitting on one every Sunday that I possibly can!”

Ronnie told many people that on that day, in that moment, his life miraculously changed forever.  Not only was he suddenly and miraculously healed of a disease which had plagued his entire adulthood, it was in that moment that he began to live his life like those fishermen—fishermen who one day dropped everything, left their old lives behind them, to live a brand new life following Jesus. And this was the real miracle.

The very first Sunday that he was able, Ronnie was sitting on a pew in church, just like he said. A little over a month later, Ronnie joined the church.  He came every Sunday and every Wednesday night he could.  He gave faithfully our church’s budget.  He contributed generously to the fund set up by the church to help pay the tuition for my doctorate.  He loved his wife more sincerely.  He loved his siblings more deeply.  He loved his children and stepchildren and family and everyone he knew more earnestly.  Although he was weak and tired, he spent the entire first day of 2004 loving his sister-in-law, Donna, in the emergency room of Wake Forest University Hospital in Winston-Salem.

He repeatedly told me that he wished he was well enough and strong enough to do more.  However, the truth was, Ronnie did more for the Lord in six months than most people do their entire lives.

Ronnie would tell people that I changed his life.  He even said that I saved his life. However, we all know this was not true.  And deep inside, Ronnie knew that was not true.  God saved Ronnie’s life. God changed Ronnie’s life. I just happened to be the one who happened to be standing at his beside after his fearful prayer to God.  God used me to give Ronnie something that God did not have to give Ronnie: grace. Amazing grace: free, unearned, undeserved and unmerited.  And Ronnie responded like fishermen with humble gratitude and sincere thankfulness.

God also used Ronnie’s family members the same way God used me. God used so many people through the steadfast love they had for Ronnie.  They loved Ronnie with a love that was unwavering.  Each of his siblings, Steve, Dianne and Shirley, loved Ronnie with the steadfast love of their mother, Mary.  With his faithful wife, Becky, they never gave up on him. They showered Ronnie with the grace of God—unearned, undeserved and unmerited.

At Ronnie’s funeral service on February 8, 2004, I shared something that I had never shared with anyone before.  I tried to share a little of it with Ronnie on the way back from Winston-Salem on January 1, 2004.

Ronnie told many that I changed and saved his life.

What many did not know was the extent of which Ronnie changed and quite possibly saved me.

There is a disturbing and alarming statistic concerning pastors.  After just ten years of ministry, 30% of pastors drop out of the ministry.  After ten years, many pastors wake up and just decide that being a pastor is simply not worth all of the heartache and heartbreak. Trying to please people is a very demanding and stressful job. Not to mention, impossible. Many pastors decide that the burden that is placed their families is simply not fair. And many come to a place where they feel they are ceasing to make a difference. So they drop out and leave the ministry all together. You will find many of them selling insurance or real estate.

Personally, since I have been a pastor, I have always experienced a strong call to pastoral ministry. There was never any doubt in my heart or mind that serving as a pastor is what God was calling me to do, until 2003.  That marked my eleventh year of ministry.  I was at the point where 30% give up and drop out.  The first six months of that year were the most difficult six months of my entire ministry. The heartache of trying to please everyone and the heartbreak of failing to please everyone was wearing me down. The church was taking in fewer new members, and we were failing to meet our budget.  Church attendance was down, and I was at the darkest point in ministry wondering if I was really making a difference in anyone’s life.  I was contemplating joining the 30% of my colleagues by seeking another profession.

Then came a hot day in July. I went to the hospital to visit with the family of Howard Evans and Venetia Kue. I got off the elevator on my way to see Venetia and ran into Donna Mosley. She told me about Ronnie and sent me directly to see him in ICU.  And I have never, and I will never be the same.

For you see, on that day God showered two people with grace. Amazing grace—unearned, undeserved, unmerited. God was not finished with Ronnie, and God was not finished with me.  After ten years, God was still using me and calling me to be a pastor.  God may have used me to save and change Ronnie, but I will thank God the rest of my life that God used Ronnie to save and change me–as God used Ronnie to change so many others.

Ronnie continually told me that he wished he could do more for the Lord through the church.  I tried to tell him in the car on the way back from Winston-Salem  just a month before he died, and I hope to God that God has told me now, that he did more for the Lord than he ever knew. Ronnie saved my ministry and quite possibly my life.  And I will thank God for Ronnie Avery the rest of my life, as will many others.

In that ICU room, Ronnie said, “You’re getting ready to see a lot more of me, for I am going to be sitting on a pew in your church the first chance I get and I am going to be sitting on one every Sunday that I possibly can.”

Now I hate to admit it, but deep within my sometimes cynical self, I thought, “Sure you will.”  I didn’t graduate from seminary yesterday.  I had been a pastor for eleven years.  I know how most people work.

When most of us are given a gift which is completely undeserved, unearned, and unmerited, a gift that changes our lives, at first we are grateful.  But then our gratitude begins to wane. I expected to see him on a pew one Sunday, maybe two Sundays, but I certainly did not expect to see as much of him as I did, and I never expected that he would have the impact on my life that he did.  That’s the way grace and gratitude works with most people.

But thank God, Ronnie Avery was not most people.

Like fishermen dropping their old lives in the sand to leave them behind for a brand new life, Ronnie Avery certainly dropped his old life in exchange for another.

How did he do it?  Why didn’t his gratitude wane like most people?

Because Ronnie lived everyday of the rest of his life acknowledging that God had done something for him that God did not have to do. God had showered Ronnie with grace. Amazing grace—free, unmerited, undeserved, unearned. And Ronnie was grateful.

Think of what the church of Jesus Christ could be and what the church could do, if all of us made this simple acknowledgement: That God has given us something that God did not have to give us.  The gift of life.  The gift of friends and family.  The gift of himself.  The gift of resurrection.  The gift of life everlasting.

Think of the difference we could all make if we woke up each morning with the prayer that I believe was Ronnie Avery’s prayer everyday:  “Today God has given me something that he did not have to give me, something that I did not have coming to me—something completely unearned, undeserved, unmerited.”

I believe our lives will truly bear witness to the love and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. We will be the people God is calling us to be.  We will be the church God is calling us to be. And there is no telling how many people, and even pastors, may be changed along the way.

Gaye Johnson: A Saint Remembered

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Memorials4 Comments

all-saints-day-1A eulogy delivered to First Christian Church, November 3, 2005 by Jarrett Banks

When some of us who loved Gaye received word on Monday that she was gravely ill, call it superstition, call it childishness, or just plain silliness, some of us thought to ourselves and even said aloud, “Please God, don’t let this very good, very kind woman die on Halloween.”  For whatever reason, most people would tend to agree that there are perhaps better days on the calendar to pass away.

However, I do not believe a better day exists on any calendar, Christian or secular, for a woman as loving, as compassionate and, yes, as saintly, as Gaye Johnson to go to be with the Lord than November 1.  Because this day, the day that Gaye died, is the day Christians have historically and traditionally celebrated as All Saints’ Day.

It is the day that Christians throughout the centuries have marked to remember remarkable people of faith who have gone before us to be with the Lord.  And there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that knew Gaye and loved Gaye that she was indeed a remarkable person of faith.

For six years, I had the wonderful privilege to work with Gaye, along with A.C. and Vivian Turnage, every second Tuesday of the month, passing out food to the needy and assisting people financially through Farmville Benevolent Ministries.  It was a wonderful privilege, not only to be able to serve the poor in our community, but to serve with this saint who indeed had the compassion for others of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

It takes a special person to volunteer and commit to such service each month.  Distributing food and helping folks pay rent and utility bills is enough to make anyone a saint in itself, but Gaye enjoyed going the extra mile.  She loved to bring a trunk load of jars of molasses.  Each month anywhere between thirty and fifty people would come by the community center, or where we currently are at Lost and Found, and get a small bag of groceries and then line up at the back of Gay’s Buick to get their molasses.  That’s something she did not have to do.  Giving them canned goods would have been a plenty.  But like her Lord, Gaye gave to all, especially to those who needed the most, abundantly and extravagantly.  Anyone who has ever tasted her chocolate pies knows a little something about Gaye’s extravagant love.

Indeed, this entire town has tasted of this extravagance as her ministry to others through Farmville Benevolent Ministries was not her only service to this town.  Many days after she left Farmville Benevolent Ministries, she would hurry to the community center to deliver meals on wheels.  She also volunteered in the soup kitchen and played Bingo with the residents of Farmville Healthcare.  Gaye volunteered reading to Kindergarteners who needed extra help through the FACTS program.  No, I can not think of any better day for this dear saint to go to be with her Lord who is now giving himself to her as she gave herself to others abundantly and extravagantly, than All Saints’ Day.

Everyone knows that we pastors are not supposed have favorites.  We are supposed to love everyone equally.  But I’ve got news for you, we pastors are human beings, and like all human beings, we have favorites.  To stay out of trouble, we just try our best to keep it undercover.  We just try to pretend that we love everyone the same.

With Gaye, I must not have done a very good job in pretending, because Pam has introduced me to every member of her family as Mama’s boyfriend.

There was nothing in the world that I would not do for my girlfriend, Gaye.  And I am not the only one who felt that way about this saint, named Gaye.  Many of you who were in this room last night saw an extraordinary sight as hundreds of people filled this room to let Gaye’s family know how much she has meant to them over the years.  But, for me personally, nothing was more extraordinary than seeing Gaye’s childhood friend, Dan Satterthwaite come though the line to speak to the family.  Last night, I said to Dan who has been very ill, very weak for a very long time, “Dan, I can’t believe you are here.”  He said, “I can’t do this for everyone, but I’d do anything for Stella, as I call her.”
As I said, Dan, grew with Gaye and became very good friends with Gaye’s husband Shane.  They hunted together and Gaye, Shane, Harriet and Dan loved to go and spend time at the beach together.

Not long, after Dan was diagnosed with his cancer almost two years ago, Gaye told me one Tuesday after Benevolent ministries, that when I went to the hospital to be sure to crawl up in the bed with Dan and give him a great big kiss on the cheek and tell him it is from me.

Well, like I said, I’d do anything for Gaye.  So I marched right up to the third floor in the WestTower, walked in Dan’s room, crawled in his bed and laid one on him.  You should have seen the look on his face!

He looked at me like, “Preacher, are you crazy?”  But when I told him that it was from his good friend Gaye, he said, “Well, that’s alright then.”  Now for all of you who know Dan, that’s more than enough to reveal how saintly this woman was.

But what truly revealed to me how saintly this woman was, when I went to see this woman in the hospital this past week, Gaye, so ill, that she had a sign placed on the door restricting visitors, one of he first things she asked me when I entered was how her ol’ buddy Dan was getting along.

Even when she was facing her own death, Gaye was still more concerned about others than she was about herself.

The First Christian Church, the entire community of Farmville, and yes, even this world, has experienced a great loss this week.  But if Gaye had to die, as one day, we will all have to die, there is no better day on any calendar for her pass away than November 1—All Saints’ Day.  For if there as ever been a Saint, Stella Gaye Johnson certainly was one.  Thanks be to God for the wonderful privilege of knowing and loving and being known and loved by this saintly woman.

Why Me, Lord?

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Farmville Enterprise, Memorials4 Comments

HospicePlace_lgEarly one summer morning, a very sick mother was on the patio enjoying the outdoors with her daughter at a hospice house for the terminally ill. Morphine has a way of erasing the memory, so the daughter was helping her mother recall some of the names of the friends and family members who had been so faithful coming to visit her.

Then they sat quietly on the patio listening to and watching nature wake up all around them: the birds singing, butterflies dancing and flowers bursting with color. After a few moments the daughter looked at her mother. Her heart broke. This one who had always been so strong, so vibrant and so active was quickly slipping away. Her body had never been more weak or more frail.

The mother looked at her daughter with eyes that began to fill with tears. And as tears began to stream down her cheeks, the dying mother asked a familiar question. It is a question that every human being living in this broken world asks at some time or another. Sometimes we ask it about others and sometimes we ask it about ourselves.  When life is difficult, when life is unfair we ask it. Sometimes silently, sometimes shouting, we ask it: “Why me?” “Lord, Why me? Why!”

After her mother asked the familiar question, the daughter, in her thoughts that were shaded with grief, understandably joined her mother.

“Yes, mother, why!  Why you!  Why do you have to have this stupid disease? Why do you have to leave all of your wonderful friends and family? And why do you have to leave us when you are still so young?  It just does not make any sense. You are such a good mother, such a sweet person. Why? Why do bad things happen to good people?”

She was a very good person. She was a compassionate mother, a very involved grandmother, a faithful sister and a devoted friend. She was the selfless type who lived to help others. Even after her terminal diagnosis she continued to put the needs and interests of others before her own.

In recent weeks, she made it a priority to spend time with her grandchildren. She told them not to worry because she knew Heaven was real. She said, “One day, you might feel a faint nudge on your shoulder. It will be me.” She told them if they found a penny, then they should always pick it up, because it was from her.

She possessed a special gift to love all people unconditionally regardless of what they looked like or where they were from. She could always see the good in others as she could in all circumstances. And as generous as she was with her love, she was also generous with grace and forgiveness.

This generosity spilled over everywhere she went. It is hard to count how many regarded her as a second mom. Even during these last difficult months, her generous spirit established instant relationships with all sorts of people. She made friends with her doctors, her nurses, with every caregiver, and even with those working in housekeeping at the hospital or hospice house.

It was said that the mother lived her life the way she cooked her meals. Her daughter would often tease her about her cooking. She would taste her food and say, “Mama, I think I know what your secret ingredient is! It’s sugar! Mama, you add sugar to everything, don’t you?!”

That is just what she did. It is who she was. Wherever she was and whomever she was with, she added a little bit of sweetness to everything she touched.

So, O Lord, why? Why do some of the sweetest, most pleasant, most loving and forgiving people we know suffer and die at an early age? Why her? Why my mother? Why, Lord, why?

As they sat outside on that patio, the daughter understood her mother’s question, “Why me?” It is just so unfair! It is so unjust and so unbelievable!  The wave of enormous grief was overwhelming. It hit her all at once: pain and sadness and anger and despair. “Yes,” the daughter thought, “Why you, Mama!  Why you!  Why!”

In that moment, the daughter wanted to say something to comfort her mother; however, before she could say anything, her mother had a big surprise for her.

Her mother simply finished her question.

As tears rolled down her face, the mother began to smile and continued to ask: “Why me? Why am I so lucky? Why have I been so blessed? Why me? Why do I have so many friends? What have I done to deserve such a wonderful family?” Sitting outside enjoying God’s beautiful creation, she was asking the creator of all that is: “Why have I been blessed with such a wonderful life?”

She understood the sheer grace that is in all of it, in all of this miraculous mystery we call “life.” And she was grateful for it.

And thinking about how grateful her mother had always been, the way she lived her life, the daughter smiled, for she knew that she should not have been surprised when her mother completed her question.

The daughter knew that there are basically two kinds of people in the world. There are people, like her mother, who are sweet and kind, generous with love and forgiveness. And then there are others are bitter and mean, stingy and selfish.

She now understood why, as she thought: “Mama was sweet because of gratitude. And folks who are bitter are usually ungrateful. They think that others and the world owe them something. Sweet people like mama have an understanding that all of life is but a gift.”

She was the mother, the sister, the grandmother and the friend she was because she understood all of life is but a free gift of God’s amazing grace. So, on that patio, when she asked: “Why me? Why am I so lucky?” none of us should have been surprised.

But that is what God’s grace does. It surprises us.

A few days later, the mother, who was at perfect peace, died.

Time passed, but the grief the daughter experienced did not. The immense grief that came in waves and overwhelmed her came less frequently. However, every time it came, if she was paying attention, she could feel a faint nudge on her shoulder, or she might look down and find a penny, and be reminded to pause and give thanks.

Instead of being bitter over the years the disease took from her mother, she became grateful for the sacred years she had with her. Thus, in what seemed very strange at first, each time the waves of grief would come, the daughter would stop and thank God for her grief. For grieving only meant that she lost someone wonderful–someone she did not deserve to have.

And although thanking God for grief seemed strange, instead of being surprised and shocked that she was being grateful to God for the pain, she would ask God, sometimes in silence and sometimes in a shout, but always with a smile:

“Why me, Lord? Why me! What did I do to deserve to be loved by and to love someone as special as my mother, a true gift of God’s amazing grace!”

And like her mother, the daughter discovered a perfect peace.

A re-telling of Ashley and Mandy’s  remembrances of their mother,

Nadine Petroff Martin, July 5, 1949 – September 17, 2013