Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I watched you finish your race. Through the 22 years that I knew you, I watched you grow and change continually. Every year, you spent more time in the Word of God and every year, you spent more time helping others. You weathered hard times, managed the impossible and your character grew. You wrote books, music and started businesses. You were a loving pastor, laughing and crying with people, staying up all night counseling through tough times, loving them in birth, marriage and even death. You started churches, held conferences and traveled the world in Jesus' name. You were a visionary, preaching ideas well ahead of your time and bravely bearing criticism as it came on all sides. You ran an excellent race, you fought a good fight, you kept the faith.
You lived life vibrantly as if there were not enough time in each day to do everything you wanted to do and indeed, your time was shorter than we all knew. The month before cancer took your life, you constantly bore witness to your faith and hope in Jesus and spread it to everyone you saw, encouraging them to live in love, even when you were dying in pain. When the end comes and medications, pain and fear break down our inhibitions, many people are helpless to keep any darkness they have inside at bay. But your words got better, more encouraging, more helpful, more kind.
When you died, I knew nothing could be better for you, but we were left heart broken. Even more than losing a mom, a mentor, a pastor and friend, we lost your dreams. You were one of the craziest dreamers I have known. You wanted to start businesses, publishing companies, drug rehabilitation centers, orphanages. You had plans for a Bible school, a ministry school and a prophetic training center. You sounded assured that you would own a plane someday and use it to fly ministries around the world and to bring medical supplies to Africa. You weren't crazy, you just knew that nothing was impossible.
For each of us who spent personal time with you, we received the gift of your crazy dreams for our lives. You threw light on people's hidden strengths and helped them to dream for themselves. You believed I would be a great author, an artist, a song writer and you said I would probably be a great attorney or judge if I wanted to be. I wish that I believed in myself half as much as you believed in me, and some days, I would give anything to hear those words of crazy vision spoken over me again.
You had no fear of dreams. Most of us are afraid to believe we'll do anything but just get through life without much suffering. It seems foolish or even arrogant to imagine ourselves accomplishing significant achievements just like children imagining themselves to be kings, princesses or even rock stars. We all want to believe, but we don't really--and we make fun of those who do. But since you were my mom, I believed you could do anything. So the death of your dreams was as great a loss as the death of my best friend.
As much as you did in your life, you still always had a great "someday" where your plans would succeed, finances would flow and your dreams would manifest in reality. You poured your heart into people in hope that they would become their best selves and also achieve their dreams. After you died, your people scattered, your plans eroded away and many things devolved back to the sad way they were before you touched them. Now very little remains of your life's work except the memory and inspiration of your life that lives in me.
I remember the sad day that my husband and I took boxes and boxes of your books to the dump. We were unable to store them anymore and had run out of ideas of places to send them or ways they could be used. As Ben dropped all your precious words and ideas into the piles of stinking garbage, I sat in the car and cried, whispering apologies to you, and praying to God that all your work may some how not be wasted.
Now when I look at my life and my future I am both inspired and discouraged by what happened at the end of your race. I look at how much you were able to accomplish, your endless energy, your commitment to the kingdom of God and your life abundant with love for people, and I want more than anything to be just like you! But then bitterly, I find myself looking at all your hopes and all your dreams that have turned to ashes, and I wonder if one as hard working and full of faith as you could work for years and barely begin to reach her dreams, how could someone like me dare to hope for a beautiful "someday" where my life makes a real difference and changes history?
I know you would say it was all worth it. You used to talk about passing on the torch, saying that you didn't care if you were the one who leaped over the walls of the kingdom, or if you were one of the people that others stepped on so that they could get over the wall. You would say we are all in the same race just as we are all part of the body of Christ. To me, it looks like your torch got thrown away, but you would say that you were proud to have born it as long as you did and that you just passed it on. Part of me cries out, "Not good enough!" You should have received more in this life for your faith. There should have been cheering crowds at the end of your race. The light of your torch should have multiplied, not disappeared.
Did you finish well? Tragically, your dreams didn't come true and your work has been largely forgotten. Yet, you finished as you lived, in a consistent step toward being with and like Christ. I must conclude from your life that finishing well does not necessarily mean that you receive the physical manifestations of your dreams and visions, but that you live as if all things are possible and that all things will be accomplished in Christ whether in this life or beyond. While you lived, you did fight the good fight, you did finish the race, you did keep the faith. And I guess that is all that really matters.