The question came unexpectedly from my five-year-old grandson.
My late mom’s pastor had gathered our family to explain how her funeral service would go and asked if we had any final questions before we processed into the church.
Raising his hand, my grandson inquired, “Will we see Momma Bettie again?”
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The poignancy of his request brought tears to the eyes of almost everyone in the room.
As I pondered seeing my mom again in heaven, my grandson’s query brought to mind C. S. Lewis’s famous sermon, “The Weight of Glory.” Given at Oxford in 1941, Lewis posed the thought-provoking statement, “There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.”
This Christian belief — that we are both image-bearers of God and have eternal existence — was the basis from which Lewis preached. And for followers of Jesus — he provided an eternal perspective — not only that our life has purpose and a higher calling, but how we should truly love those around us.
As Lewis concluded his sermon, “Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat — the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.”
This conviction informed my mom as well. For she believed the Gospel changed everything.
Spending time with her during the last week of her life in hospice was both deeply sad and amazingly redemptive and beautiful. It was such a blessing to witness her saying goodbye to family and friends — as she reflected on her life, gave advice, and let the light of Christ shine forth from her as she faced death with no fear.
When I asked my children to reflect on a favorite memory of my mom, they reminisced about spending time in her home — including watching movies she selected for our evening entertainment. From To Kill a Mockingbird to Anne of Green Gables to an obscure black-and-white classic, we never knew what she’d planned for us to view together.
One of the most memorable films we enjoyed was Coat of Many Colors — the story of a young Dolly Parton and her family growing up in poverty in the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. In fact, 13 million viewers watched the premiere on December 10, 2015 —prompting NBC to re-air the film on Christmas night that year we visited.
The film was powerful not only because it showed the real pain and trials of Dolly and her family, but also because it showed redemption and reconciliation.
Reflecting on Dolly’s recent passing, I thought these themes, in many ways, captured my mom’s heart and approach to life as a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and friend.
Growing up in humble surroundings, she too looked for redemptive elements in life — whether it was family, church, community, literature, art, film, or music
Along these lines, she kept an old Baptist Hymnal that she found at a garage sale with her Bible. As I was preparing for her eulogy, I found an inscription she wrote at the front: “There is great strength in these hymns. The words come to me even in my sleep. I love to wake up with a song already playing in my soul. The songs are planted in my heart through years of singing them.”
Flipping through the hymnal, I discovered that she had hearted the song “I Need Thee Every Hour.” I now understood why, in her final days in hospice, when she barely opened her eyes, she started singing with me when I read the song “Lord I Need You, Oh I need you, Every hour I need you” from the timely Worship Initiative devotional that aired that week.
It was a beautiful, powerful moment that demonstrated these songs sown in her spirit—and the hope and comfort they brought to her as she faced death. As a matter of fact, the last week in hospice showed me not only her deep love of the Lord, her family and friends, but also a heart for reconciliation.
As I read through Gone From My Sight: The Dying Experience that week — provided by many hospice facilities around the country to walk through this process — I learned how “unfinished business” can be a big factor “in determining how much resistance we put into meeting death.”
Due to a challenging family situation, she had not seen two of her grandchildren since my father’s funeral eight years earlier. Nevertheless, when they heard about my mom’s condition, they arrived just in time to say their goodbyes. Knowing she had prayed to see them again and be reconciled, I was so thankful for the sweet time she had with both, leading her to tell my nephew that she could now die.
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It would be the last conversation she had before passing two days later.
In regard to my grandson’s question the afternoon of my mom’s funeral, the pastor responded beautifully, explaining that we would one day see her again — not in the feeble, frail state she had left the world — but as St. Paul described to the Church of Corinth, in her heavenly body. For “in Christ all shall be made alive…[and] raised in glory,” (I Corinthians 15).
A great comfort as we ponder the weight of eternity.
