As I’ve said, before the beginning of January, I always choose my word for the year. This year, I chose power. I never get a clear idea of how impactful and far-reaching the word I choose will prove to be. I’m always surprised how the Lord broadens my vision of him, the world around me, and even my own personal study of his Word.
This year, I wrote down on note cards Bible verses specifically using the word power. On the headboard of my bed, I have Colossians 1:11 (RSV): “May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy.” I’ve found this verse particularly significant while enduring many of the events happening in the world right now, including having to endure masks; watching the dark abyss called politics; and having to say, “See ya later,” to my precious pup Chester. I feel as if 2021 is saying to 2020, “Hold my beer.”
The wardrobe in my bedroom has 2 Peter 1:3 (RSV) taped to it: “His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence.” Knowing this helps me remember that he has the power to help me navigate these perilous times and find peace in the midst of the turmoil. I have verses taped to the microwave, the bathroom mirror, and the front door of my house. I even have one on the top left corner of my television screen: 1 Corinthians 4:20 (RSV), which says, “For the kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power.” The verse on my bathroom door reads, “Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours” (Mark 11:24 NIV). That verse doesn’t specifically use the word power, but I wrote these verses the day the Powerball was close to a billion dollars, and frankly, after hearing the announcement of a winner, I had a hard time feeling the accuracy of that particular verse.
One of my favorites hangs on my bedroom door: Revelation 5:13 (NIV), which says, “Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying, ‘To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb, be praise and honor and glory and power forever and ever!’” This verse became a safe harbor during January.
Mom left for heaven on Wednesday, January 13, 2021. The previous Saturday, she enthusiastically fussed at her TV, completely wrapped up in a Razorbacks game with my brother-in-law, Jim. On Sunday, she was not feeling well, so her caregivers decided to move her into a hospice environment and attempt to regulate her meds. On Monday, Ginger called, telling me I needed to get there as soon as possible. I packed up right then and headed to Fayetteville.
We all knew Mom had been living on borrowed time for a few years. We knew congestive heart failure continued to sap her energy and ravage her body more and more. But she always rallied when surrounded by her kids and grandkids.
I’d spent a few days with her just a couple of weeks earlier, during the Christmas holiday. She was alert and thrilled every day I walked through the little apartment my sister, Jacqui, and bonus sister, Ginger, painstakingly decorated for her.
Relaxing in her recliner, which most times doubled as a throne, Queen Eunice watched the Game Show Network or browsed through the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette on her iPad. Word puzzles and fill-in-the-blank Bible studies littered a little table comfortably within arm’s reach beside her.
She would light up in a radiant burst of life when any of her kids or grandkids walked through the door. Leaning forward and taking our face in her hands, Mom assured us of how much we were loved. Her pride in her family never went unvoiced. We never left her side without knowing how important and valuable we are.
To the right of her recliner, on a little side stand, sat a digital picture frame, a Christmas gift from my brother a few years earlier. She motioned us down onto the love seat next to her, and together we watched picture after picture scroll through the frame. All her kids knew the email address for the frame. We imagined her unbridled excitement when she discovered the treasure of a new picture or two added to her priceless collection.
On the small kitchen table behind her sat a large red bowl filled with candy. It was mandatory, almost a religious rite, that we leave her cozy abode with a handful of bite-sized goodness. Even the day she left her apartment for the last time, the guys wheeling her out on a stretcher were required to stop and fill their pockets.
Only two people were allowed in the hospice room at a time. Jim whispered his love to Mom, switched places with me, and went to his car to wait. Jacqui and I sat on either side of Mom’s bed, each of us holding one of her hands in ours. We stroked her face and arms as she slept and labored to breathe. We quietly declared our love for her and promised we would all look after one another. We prayed and asked Jesus to welcome her home. We encouraged her, reminding her of all the precious friends and family she would be hugging soon and the applause, whoops, and shouts of excitement and welcome she would hear as her own personal angel carried her to the shores of heaven.
Jesus, standing there to meet her, grabbing her up in his arms, with a twinkle in his sparkling eyes, would say, “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so happy to see you. You did such a good job. Welcome home.”
Mom took her last breath.
We sat silently for a few seconds as we sensed the electric power of the Holy Spirit envelop the small room. Jacqui and I reached across Mom and grabbed each other’s hand. Tears flowed freely as Jacqui calmly pressed the call button. We waited for the nurse to come in, place her stethoscope against Mom’s chest, and listen for a pulse. I watched quietly and was finally able to say, “Is it over?” The nurse nodded and told us she was sorry for our loss.
Jacqui and I stood at the end of the bed, holding each other tightly, waiting for the nurses to come prepare Mom to be moved to the funeral home in Searcy. I looked at Jacqui and said, “I don’t know how people who don’t have the hope we have survive this.”
At Mom’s visitation, friends we’d known all our lives, school buddies, Mom’s coworkers, college teachers and classmates, and even several of my precious friends from church and Creative Living Connections class came to support me and my family. If you ever have wondered if taking a few minutes to be with someone makes a difference, trust me, it does. John and Pat Knott showed up. I determined before I arrived at the funeral home that I had cried enough and wouldn’t need to during the visitation, until I looked up and saw them walking down the aisle. Then Randy and Janet Granderson and David and Cheryl Richards came in. I started up again.
My most vivid memory of the day is talking to David. He said, “If you want to see what your mom’s legacy looks like, look around.” I did. The room was not a room of sadness, mourning, or grief. People were hugging, laughing, telling stories about Mom, and catching up with each other. Each person there, each relationship, connected through the love and care Mom’s unique personality had exuded. The atmosphere emanated exactly the warmth and joy Mom always had hoped everyone around her would feel during her journey on earth. It was comfortable. It was healthy. The friends and family gathered that day experienced a bit of the lightheartedness, comfort, and frivolity of heaven. Thankfully, my childhood buddy Sherry Barnett Hunter stood right beside me for more than an hour, reminding me of the names of people I couldn’t remember or flat-out didn’t recognize.
As I looked around, I was reminded of a quote from C. S. Lewis’s final book in the Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle:
The things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at least they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.
We followed Mom’s body to a tiny cemetery in Romance, Arkansas, where she would be buried close to Ginger’s mom and dad on one side and a tiny country Church of Christ on the other, which I’m sure gave her great satisfaction.
Another great friend of more than forty years, Doug Langston, brilliantly officiated the service. It was perfect. He is close to each of us siblings and offered tender insight on how Mom had influenced us and the world around us. His precious wife, Paula, was with him. Paula is another childhood friend. I attended church with her when we lived in Shreveport during our junior high years, before she and Doug met. I love how the Lord brings relationships full circle.
I would also like to add that as a gift to Doug, the family bought a gift card to one of Doug’s favorite hangouts in Searcy: Wild Sweet Williams Bakery. Seriously, they have some of the best pastries on the planet. I bought the card for him. It was for $102.37. I thanked him in the card by saying, “I bought the gift card for you. Then I decided I really needed a cinnamon babka.”
A couple of weeks ago, we kids were trying to decide what we thought Mom would want etched on her tombstone. One of my suggestions would have been “Dear Jesus, do not let her make meat loaf.” Mom was a great old-school southern cook, except when it came to meat loaf. It was wretched. I decided it wasn’t worth mentioning. Jim said he found out we could do a video hologram about basketball with a laser beam switch for $20,000.
After further discussion, we knew she would love a verse from the Bible, so we threw out a few ideas: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7 NIV), “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forever more,” (Psalm 16:11 ESV), and “No eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9 ESV). I recommended the end verses of Psalm 23 (ESV): “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” I offered that if it was too long a passage, even the last part, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” might be appropriate.
After finding out that we could get whatever we wanted etched, we decided those verses would be the best. We knew Mom would love it.
Jacqui kept Mom’s Bible. Those sweet, ancient pages, worn with years of reading, studying, and memorizing, had cherished verses circled. A couple of days ago, Jacqui was browsing through and sent me a picture from Mom’s Bible:
My last power verse is the following: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13 NIV).
