Yesterday I attended the life celebration of a friend. His oldest daughter was one of the speakers. I thought back to giving my mom's eulogy four years ago, and then I wondered, what would my children say if they gave my eulogy? More importantly, what would I want them to say? I would want them to say something like this:
Mom, knew God. Not just went to church or had a Bible she picked up on Sundays, but she knew God. Face to face. Intimately. He was her best friend, and she trusted Him completely. Not a day went by when she didn't talk to Him and about Him. Prayer for her was a constant conversation with Him. They talked about everything. She told Him her whole heart, and she always knew He cared about every single detail.
She refused to let circumstances or people dictate how she lived, what she expected, or who she was. It wasn't that God had the final word. He had the only word.
We always knew Mom loved us. There was never any doubt about that. She had this ability to know when we needed to hear that she loved us, that she was proud of us. She had this knack for saying, "I'm so proud of you, and I'm so proud to be your mom," at the moments when we couldn't figure out why she was proud of us at all.
Mom always made time for us. Playing games, snuggling, talking. She always had time to talk, and nothing was taboo. She never freaked out about anything we said or any topic we brought up, and she always helped us find our way through things.
She never told us who we were or what to do with our lives. She just said, "You're an answer. You need to ask God what He made you the answer to. Then live that with passion. Be fearless because the God who made you to be the answer won't let you fail as long as you seek Him."
One time I asked Mom if she thought I was normal. Without a second hesitation, she said, "Oh Lord, I hope not. Normal never changed the world. I pray you live extraordinarily you."
That's how Mom lived--extraordinarily her.
She was a warrior. Courageous. Fearless. She never backed down from a giant. That was just one more dead body for her to step over on the way to where she was going. If you needed someone to help you get to where you wanted to go with your life, Mom was all in. She was right with you. She'd fight for you, drag you if you were wounded, protect you when you were down, but if you just wanted to sit and wallow, you were on your own. Mom had no patience for whining or wallowing.
As fierce as she was, Mom wasn't hard. She was kind and compassionate. She loved deeply, and if you needed her, anytime day or night, she was there. She didn't just talk about Jesus, she lived Him.
Mom was usually right, but when she wasn't, she apologized. She tried to never let pride come before people. She valued people and was willing to build bridges and find ways through misunderstandings to find them.
Mom lived in a state wonder. She loved the adventure of life. Where a lot of people get hurt and use it as an excuse to go and hide, she saw fear of any kind as the enemy, and she hit that enemy head on every single time. She did make it a point to let us know her avoidance of bungee jumping wasn't fear, but her choice not to put God to the test. Mom chose not to be afraid of pain or hurt in life. She said it was going to come whether we hid or not, so she chose to take it on face to face and explode with life despite the risks.
She loved life.
Mom was bigger than life, but never saw herself as bigger than anyone.
Mom lived big and taught us to live big, too. There are so many things we could tell you that we learned from her, but these are three of the biggest:
First, God is everything. Anything you need is found in Him, including yourself.
Second, she loved us fiercely with her whole being, and she always covered us and protected us. She was a safe place for us always. She was a gentle person, but you never wanted to see Momma Bear because you messed with her cubs.
Finally, life is an adventure. Live it loud and big and with fearless passion. Just like Mom.
If your kids gave your eulogy, what would you want them to say?
This is what I would want my kids to say when I'm dead and gone, so this is how I choose to live while I'm here.
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