My Mom

I just received word from my brother that my mom has died.

I'm sad. But I'm glad for her.

She went quietly, in her sleep--the way we all sort of hope to cross over into eternity.

She was a solidly born again believer--for over 76 years.

Dad and Mom have been in a care facility for about a year. Both having memory problems.

But they knew both of us (Dave and me) when we last visited shortly before coming to Swaziland. Mom had trouble putting words together to form a sentence, but I could almost always help her by figuring out what she was trying to say (I think it's that female thing).

They had celebrated their 70th anniversary in April this year. She was 88.

I learned the basic stuff daughters learn from moms--cooking (though I've never been as good a cook as she was), cleaning (you could eat off the floor, but you'd better not try!), shopping, driving, mothering my babies, and most importantly of all, serving Jesus.

My three brothers and I played musical instruments along with Mom on the guitar, Dad on the saxophone. Our first family "performance" was at Berean Assembly of God, in the basement before the upstairs was finished, playing "Mansion Over the Hilltop."

Although Mom ministred mostly in music, she was also a servant of giving...she'd do laundry, bake cakes, take meals to widows, babysit for young moms needing a break...

I'm sitting here in Africa wishing I could be there with the family right now. We have a call in to the travel agent, hoping to find a seat or two on a flight going to Iowa (hard time of the year to do so). But I know being here as a missionary is with the blessing of both parents. They have been our biggest spiritual supporters. I'll miss her prayers...

When she fell and broke her hip a over year ago now, I went to the hospital to see her. It was night...no other visitors were there. I gave her a handful of little love gifts, a magazine of cookie recipes, some warm socks, a nighty, and some chocolate candy. She was glad to see me, but very tired. I held her hand and prayed with her, patted her head, stroked her gray hair, and sang to her as she went to sleep. "All night, all day, angels watching over me..." When I left the room, she was sleeping.

The next few times I saw them both was at the care center. I'm so glad the people there are loving and kind. They really showed tenderness and love to my parents. For that I am grateful. It's so hard not being so far away when I thnk of that.

My concern goes to my 91-year-old dad now. Questions arise...will he understand that she died? How will he handle it? How long do we have him? Will he just grieve to death? God is still God...He is able and will help my dad through this.

And then I think of Mom...she doesn't have the problems with forming sentences now. She's praising God in perfect words. She's not hobbling around on a patched-up hip. I can almost hear her singing...

And just maybe she's finally getting to sing with Vestal Goodman!