Do you believe this?

When a person passes away, there are all sorts of things left over – it’s hard to know where to put them or what to do with them. Like the place she lived. There it stands with all the people inside, all the caregivers and patients, all the food being prepared and served each day. The same beds, activity rooms, wheelchairs. Someone else is now using Mom’s bed and wheelchair.

And then there's her birthday. It was Monday. What do you do when you have a date on the calendar, but the person no longer uses it? There it stands - empty. You know it should have plans all over it – the planning, making of the cake, gathering together, going home tired. But this April 11th was quiet. Reflective. Still.

Amidst all the things that feel so misplaced, immeasurable treasures have been gained. In the darkness of impending death and just after, I couldn’t think about the next day. I couldn’t picture what waking up would look like or what our new normal would be. Everything just hurt.

Paul Tripp says, “Death is the enemy of everything good and beautiful about life as God planned it. Death should make you morally sad and righteously angry. It is a cruel indicator that the world is broken; it is not functioning according to God’s original design… God encourages you to mourn… You will hunger for the completion of all things. You will long to live with the Lord in a place where the last enemy—death—has been defeated.”

Last week, a friend approached me in the church parking lot. She hugged me. She said how sorry she was. And she told me that when her father died, she left the hospital upset, confused, and angry. She said, “I couldn’t understand how people were smiling. I wanted to shout, ‘Aren't you aware of all the pain that exists in this world?’” She went on to affirm how there is nothing right about death. My heart danced for it was understood. I needed to hear how wrong death was. I needed to talk about that. She was a huge blessing to me that morning.

I felt the same way about buying a dress for my Mom’s Memorial Service. I was weighed down by a sense of “a daughter should never have to pick out a dress to wear at her mother’s funeral. Everything about this is wrong.” The cashier splashed a generous smile across his face as he handed me my change and said, “Penny for your thoughts?” I mustered up a mild grin and thought to myself, “Oh, sir, you do not want to hear my thoughts!” I was hurt. Upset. Angry. Feeling such immense loss. I wept the entire way home, with my black dress neatly folded in a little white bag on the passenger seat.

In the days approaching Mom’s death and just after, I clung tightly to Psalm 23. With all my might, I held the promise in verse 4: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and staff, they comfort me.” I knew that despite the darkness I saw and felt, I was not alone. God had not left me, and He was never going to leave me. And, His care and protection over me would remain my comfort. All I can do is praise the Lord for this promise. He has been so faithful. As He welcomes my tears and collects them all, He comforts me like no other. I do not grieve without hope.

I am sad over the loss of my mother. I am sad that I will never hear her voice (that I actually haven’t heard in years) again. I grieve that I’ll never hold her hands or see those beautiful eyes. I weep at the reality that death will continue to destroy more lives. That I will attend more funerals. But, praise the Lord – all that is within me, praise the Lord that Mom is HOME!

When I was an early teenager, my friends and I prided ourselves in memorizing a verse from the Bible. It was, of course, the shortest verse: John 11:35, “Jesus wept”. Regardless of my motives for memorizing, His Word does not return void and now I delight in this precious story of Lazarus’ death. Jesus joined His friends in their heartfelt sorrow and loss. This shows that there is a reality about the sorrow of death that even Jesus participated in. We do grieve. Jesus did. We do cry. He did as well. And just as He looked forward to the resurrection, so do we.

Paul Tripp says, “As you weep, know this: the One who weeps with you is not content for things to stay as they are. His death was a cry and His resurrection a promise. The living Christ will continue to exert His power and you will grieve no more.”

There is victory. The grave has been conquered. “The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (1 Corinthians 15:26). This has been secured and one day we will see the fullness of this reality.


I have to admit that I was quite anxious about the Memorial Service. The day before, I experienced a great deal of anxiety. I called upon two friends to pray for me. They did and by evening, every weight and concern was lifted.

I have envisioned my Mom’s service since the day of her diagnosis. I know that might sound unusual, but it’s true. A diagnosis of terminal illness just makes you think that way – diagnosis ultimately leads to death. There was no other road to take. It was a long 12 years leading to one destination.

And, for those of you who joined us at the service, you know what a beautiful day it was! In all my visions and expectations, I could have never imagined it to be as wonderful as it was. Above seeing so many people who have walked through this journey with us, and superior to the lovely music and beautiful building, there were three things that impacted me dramatically:

1. Three of Mom’s nurses' assistants came to greet the family. My dad hugged each of them and said through tears, “Thank you! You were the best nurses! You cared for Sharon so well! We will always remember you and be thankful!” Tears freely flowed from our eyes.
2. An outstanding message sincerely delivered from our dear friend and Pastor, Peter Bogert.
3. The restoration of memories as my Dad and Mom’s best friend shared personal reflections. In 12 years of losing Mom, a part of us forgot who she was before Alzheimer’s. God is restoring these memories and it is SO good!!

And, now for the really amazing encouragement! Our Pastor began the message by describing what people often say at a funeral to the family who has lost a loved one. “We’re sorry for your loss. We’re praying for you, etc.” And then he said, “What would Jesus say to a family at a funeral?” He took us to the story of Lazarus.

Jesus told Martha, in the midst of her sorrow and pain, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” She said, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.” (John 11:26-27)

No one said these words to us in the receiving line. Either Christ was insane or He was God. Only He was able to declare that he was the only way to salvation and secure it.

As Peter preached these verses, S and I turned toward each other with wide eyes and tears streaming down our faces. Because the evening of Mom’s death, as I stood over the frame that no longer contained her spirit, all I heard resounding in my spirit was this: “Do you believe this? Do you believe that Jesus has and will secure all that He has promised? Do you believe this reality?” It was one of the most challenging moments of my life. And, I praise the Lord that as Martha did; I was able to shout from my heart, “Yes, Lord; I believe!” Even this is a gift from the Lord!

So, Mom is gone. And often times throughout the day I hear myself say, “Jesus, I’m so glad she’s with you now. I’m so glad you have her. Tell her how much we love her. I know you are caring for her so well!”

I do not grieve without hope. I keep moving forward, trusting His promises, and awaiting the many more memories of Mom He will restore to us. I know He is a redeeming God.

The End and Beginning

Psalm 56: 8-- “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.”

On Wednesday evening, my sister phoned to tell me that Mom was showing more signs that the end was near. And, as we wept together, dreading the final moments, knowing that Mom’s body was uncomfortable, I longed for her Homegoing all the more, for the suffering to cease.

12:55 a.m.
I woke uncomfortably. Just couldn’t find the right position. Wondering why I was up at that hour. And then I knew that I needed to pray for Mom.

God woke my brother up at the very same time. As he walked outside, he asked God to take Mom quickly.

4:41 a.m.
Mom took her final breath as Dad walked through the doors of the nursing home.

7:46 a.m.
As I gathered A and I to head out to see Mom, I listened to a voicemail my Dad left for me at 5:25 a.m. My knees dropped to the living room floor. Sobs spilled out everywhere. My cry extended endlessly like a note carrying over eternal measures.

Dad was unable to talk at the time so I phoned my sister. She confirmed what I knew to be true. I thought I’d be ready to hear it. I had envisioned this moment for years. One can simply never be ready.

Soon we were all at Dad’s house.

The day was a whirlwind of weeping, hugging, remembering, laughing, and resting. Phone calls. More weeping. Almost-sleeping. Keeping on. Smiling. Crying.

Dad was the only one who saw Mom shortly after she passed. We all knew in advance that her body would promptly be transported to the University of Penn for an autopsy. In light of the circumstances and with sincere compassion, the funeral director kindly offered us the gift of a private viewing of Mom that evening.

I wept as we drove to the funeral home, as we walked through the doors, and as we waited to be greeted. I trembled. A woman ushered us into another room, telling us to take as long as we needed, to pull up chairs if we’d like. I looked past her, avoiding eye contact, just wanting to see my Mom. Then, I saw her. Her profile. Her frame. And, I heard my thunderous weeping in the still, quiet room. There she laid, but yet not her.

What I noticed first was her stillness. The final days of her life were so unsettled. Her body’s response to the lack of food often woke her from sleep. But, that night, as her precious, thin frame laid there in that room, it was still, not bound by a broken sinful body anymore. We could not help but reflect on the fact that she looked peaceful, absent and free. My Dad cried out, “She’s not in here any more… she’s FREE! She’s free!” It was undeniable.

We must have spent an hour there, just staring at her and talking. Commenting on her lovely skin, noticing the effects of a long physical battle, reflecting on the smile we had not seen in so long. Her expression reminded us all of days long past. And, something about her laying there made me think of all the times I’d walk into their room in the early morning, to greet her sweet, sleeping face in bed. That’s how she looked to me. It was an hour filled with tears, joy, weeping, sorrow, and thankfulness. We took the opportunity to remember and also reflect on all God did through her in the midst of an awful disease. And of His goodness. And of Mom’s wonderful spirit through it all. Such a gift from the Lord. I’ve never seen the Fruit of the Spirit more present in anyone than in my Mom through Alzheimer’s.

As we stood there, Dad told us about a conversation that I remember well. When we told Mom she had Alzheimer’s for the very first time, she asked Dad, “Will I be okay?” He simply said, “Yes, you will be fine. I will take care of you.” And she was fine with that answer and never asked him again. He kept His promise and she made it a blessing for him to do so. It was the most beautiful picture of trust. We have been blessed as children to watch their story unfold and even to see it come to completion.

It came time to leave the funeral home. I wrestled with it. How could I possibly say goodbye to this face? How could I leave her body lying there? It was anguish. Utter defeat. Misery. To turn my head, yet turn back again, knowing I’d never see her again in this world. Could I stay the night? Was I crazy?

I knew that she was gone, but I just wanted to hang onto that image, to never forget. To hold her one last time. But I knew it was all different now.

There were so many times these past few weeks that I just sat by Mom’s side, staring at her, taking it all in, wanting to comfort her every feeling, her every sense and pain. I wanted to memorize her face, her eyes looking at me. To remember those hands in mine.

I never knew death could be such anguish. I had never imagined how deep the pain would throb and twist. It’s a part of this world that God never intended us to experience. It is crushing. The weight of it all. How I’ve never really grasped what Christ did on the cross for us – taking on all sin and death – taking our place, feeling separation from the Father.

Romans 8:38 assures me that when we are united with Christ in His death and resurrection, we don’t have to experience this separation for eternity. (For those apart from Christ, eternal separation from God does exist – Luke 16:19, Matthew 5, 25, 18, Isaiah 30.) As believers, when our bodies are resurrected, death is ultimately defeated!

1 Corinthians 15:54-57

“Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:
Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?

For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power. But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

I must confess, there were times when I felt such confusion. When standing over the lifeless body of my mother, I faced the reality: Do I believe all that I say I do? Do I trust the resurrection of Jesus? And, I wrestled again with the injustice. I almost felt as if the disease had won. After all, she was gone. She died from Alzheimer’s. It took her. Or, did it?

In Matthew 27:46, as Christ hung on the cross in great distress, he quoted Psalm 22:1: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” He experienced separation from the Father in bearing our sins. But, as the rest of the Psalm indicates and as was His promised resolution, the victory was about to be secured. Deliverance was coming! Only God could take suffering and death and bring victory and redemption! Only Christ in His perfection could stand in our place.

Romans 6:23 says, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” We deserve death. He offers life.

Romans 5:10 shares that Christ’s death and resurrection is necessary for our salvation. We’re reconciled through His death and life.

Christ knew that the Father would be faithful. And, I know that I can never be separated from His love (Romans 8:38). And, I aspire to be like Abraham, who didn’t waiver in trusting the Lord, who was fully convinced that He would do as He promised.

Christ secures eternal life for all those who trust in Him. I put my whole heart, my entire life, my trembling body in the face of death, my entire trust in Him. And, I am completely confident that there will be no separation. And, there never was for my Mom.

Sweet victory. She is FREE! Praise the Lord – she is FREE!

Jesus lives and so shall I. One day I will also rise and meet Him! What a day that will be!

Today, as spring ushers in and I see new life blooming, I praise the Lord that through death, my Mom now sees LIFE.