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"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also." (vv. 1--3)


This past week marked the one--year anniversary of my mother's death. For a year now, I've been planning to write something about the week of her passing. I guess in many ways I've been avoiding it. How could I possibly sum up the life of the most influential woman in my own life? I can't. So instead I focus on her new life.

My family discovered my mother's cancer in July, and she passed away in August. We hardly had enough time to deal with the fact that she had cancer before we were dealing with death. Since she was only 66, we hadn't really even considered that death was looming. I say, "we" meaning my father and seven brothers and sisters. Personally, I had. Before my mother passed away, I had performed 36 funerals. With each funeral, I was reminded that one day I would be on the other side. One day I would grieve as my parents passed away. I wouldn't be the minister. I would be the family. However, thinking about it and being ready for it are two different things.

On Sunday afternoon, we received the call that mom had taken a turn for the worse. Not knowing what the week would hold, I went to my office and prepared for the next week's service. I quickly wrote a sermon, chose the hymns, and selected the call to worship. I wanted to be prepared to stay the week and still be ready to come home for the next Sunday's service. On Monday morning, we drove the four hours to the hospital. As we visited Mom after arriving, it was painfully obvious she was slowly slipping away.

She wasn't really eating at this point. Her main nourishment came through the IV tube. A nurse came in and offered some ice cream. Mom struggled to say, "We like ice cream." It was an understatement. I remember summers as a kid. It may just be nostalgia, but I remember making homemade ice cream every Saturday night. We each took turns cranking the old puke--teal '60s model ice cream freezer. If you didn't crank, you didn't eat. Dad always joked about Mom's love of ice cream, saying that she could sit naked in an eight--foot snow bank and eat an entire gallon of ice cream. Yeah, Mom loved ice cream. Ironically, "We like ice cream," turned out to be the last words she spoke. It was very fitting.

She held on through Tuesday barely breathing and too weak to speak. You could literally see the life draining out of her as her eyes began to sink back. My brothers and sisters and I gathered around her on Tuesday evening. Recognizing that the quality of life was no longer a reality, we tried to comfort her. We all said our good--byes and told her it was okay to pass on to a better life in heaven. Being raised as preacher's kids, we all were strong in faith and comfortable with her life continuing in Christ. Finally, at 3:50 Wednesday morning, Mom took her last breath. I had just come into the room about five minutes beforehand to take my shift of staying with her. I considered it a privilege to have been present with my mother as she went to heaven.

For years I have been disappointed with Christians who fail to see the joy of death. I don't dispute the need to grieve, because it is both natural and necessary. When we lose someone we love, it hurts. But to grieve without having hope in eternal life is not Christian. We have hope because Jesus has promised us that death is not the end of life but only a transition to a new life. We grieve for our loss, not the loss of our family member or friend. Our loss is their gain.

But now, as death became personal, my theology was being tested. Mom's funeral was on Saturday of that week. After my preparations from the previous Sunday, I was back preaching at my church the day after the funeral. One of the church members asked me how I could preach the day following my mother's funeral. How could I not? What better place to be than church? What better task to do than preach? Mom brought me up in the faith. She would certainly want me to live and express that faith she had taught me. Besides, I had been with death all week. It was now time to live. It was time to live my life while Mom lived her new life.

After Mom passed early that Wednesday morning, my family was still sitting in the hospital waiting room where we had camped out over the past three and a half days. We were still in shock and half asleep as we were trying to figure out the next step. As we were talking, I suggested we go to the local Braum's Ice Cream store and order a Butterfinger Mix in Mom's honor. A Butterfinger Mix from Braum's was her all--time favorite. We all laughed. We could laugh because we knew we did have something to celebrate. Mom was no longer suffering and probably eating ice cream in heaven. Since it tastes so heavenly on earth, I can only imagine what it tastes like there in the sweetest of places.

So here it is a year later. It's actually three days after the anniversary of my mother's entrance to heavenly life. I'm finally writing my thoughts. What finally forced me to sit down and write this? Well, my church had an ice cream social yesterday. Not that you don't already know it, Mom, but I made your favorite - Butterfinger. And it was good - as sweet as saving grace.