I drove in the once-familiar farm lane. The garden where I once sang, prayed, and worked the hours away was covered in snow, but I could envision my teen self there again.

I passed the building where the visitation was taking place. It seemed so still. I knew that no energetic white-haired lady was directing a squash washing episode inside today…

As I parked my car and stepped out, the sunlit scene appeared so normal. As though five years hadn’t passed at all.

In a flash, memories flooded back. A vibrant, “Well, Hel-LO!” rousing me from my deep thoughts, and she would be right there. Beaming smile and willing hands, ready to dive in and work alongside me.

She loved how the quietness of her little golf cart allowed her to drive right up behind a person before calling out a greeting. Every time I was startled, and every time I shared her delighted amusement before settling in to work together.

I never could keep up to her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She only declared how grateful she was that I could help her busy daughter in law with the workload that summer.

She lived life enthusiastically and loved to create a good time. Yet she was also very compassionate, always sensitive to the needs of those around her.

I felt completely at home with her son’s family, but I didn’t know what my role was to be when she came over. However, she simply adopted me as one of the family, and I soon learned that she always had room in her heart for people.

One morning, when she brought the mail over as she did every day, I heard her ask, “Is your girl homesick? She seems to be enjoying it, but are we taking that for granted?” She was concerned by the amount of cards and letters my friends were sending me.

I was glad to clarify that I was loving my time there.

When the new baby arrived, I was responsible for two little boys who wanted “Mamaaaaa!” to come home… and something in me wanted my mom, too. The door burst open earlier than usual that morning as she entered with a cheery “Good MORning! I wanted to make sure I come early enough to tell you that you don’t have to make lunch. I have a roast in -all you need to do is pack up the boys and come over! We eat at 12. You’re doing an excellent job of everything, but this time I’m going to give you a break!” She trusted me to take care of her little grandsons… yet she also was grandmothering me.

Over the years, her face would light up in pleasure when she saw me at church, and we would always reconnect. She never lost interest in the young woman I was becoming, long after she met me as an insecure teen girl.

I crossed the yard slowly, and I could hear her singing in her extensive flower garden again… laughing joyously at whatever tickled her with amusement at that moment… voicing appreciation for my help with her yard work.

I blinked back the memories as I stepped into the little building.

Everyone she loved was gathered.

She had been the center of all these people… it felt like any moment, I would spot her in the group, flitting from one person to another, enthusiastically welcoming each one.

But as I paused to view her earthly body, the truth came to me clearly. “She is not here.” She was painfully absent, a fact written on the faces of those present.

My heart ached for them, yet swelled with joy when I thought about where she is.

She’s not here… because she’s there!

What more could I wish for a dear friend than to live forever with the King of Kings? Where they have no need of the sun, for God is the Light in that country.

All of the lives she touched will have an empty space… they depended on her. She faithfully served her family. Now she has left to receive her reward.

May we all look to Jesus for our example on how to live, and by God’s grace we can look forward to hearing those words, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant… Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”