Finish Line

Finish Line. Please indulge me a long post as I remember our mother Beatrice Joyce Hatfield. Dr. Kenneth Turner says the key word in understanding the Old Testament as a whole is "remember." For a few minutes I want to remember Mom, her passing, and her life.

 Friday we knew Mom's earthly journey was nearing the end. She was approaching this life's finish line. Yesterday at 3:10 PM she crossed the finish line. Her great, big, beautiful heart beat a final time. Since 7:45 in the morning we had witnessed her rhythmic breaths at almost perfect five second intervals. Kathryn, John, Ellen, and I were there in that quiet moment when Mom breathed almost imperceptibly one final time. We were blessed with the presence of Connie, Maggie Roberts, and Charity from Journey Hospice. The room was wonderfully quiet, as we cut off the oxygen machine just a few moments before her passing. I asked John to pull up Harvest's song "Behold God" which is based on Isaiah 12. And then there were no more intervals, no more breaths, no more labored effort...our mother, the wife of our father - passed into eternity. Heaven's gain is our temporary loss. It was like all of the bright hope and promise of 1 Corinthians 15 funneled down into our experience in a matter of moments.

I will always be glad I shared both our father and our mother's passing with my siblings. If Solomon could conclude "the day of one's death is better than the day of one's birth" then I am happy to have shared the day with my fellow womb-sharers! :) One takeaway was how much Kathryn, Ellen, and John loved and honored Mom. They could not conceal their affection. Their tears, plus the tears of Connie and Maggie, will always be precious to me - because real tears of compassion and sorrow convey the very affection of our Lord Jesus Christ. And who loved more than Him?

Mom lived and loved well. She was far from perfect; that was an essential part of her legacy to us. I never felt like I had to earn her love.  She was special and beautiful to us; we were special to her. She still thought of me as “Markie the baby” even into adulthood. I guess some stuff sticks to you in a way you cannot exactly sling off. But I didn’t mind. I think we kids were entirely secure in her love.  In Isaiah 49:15 God uses the undying, loyal love of a mother to express how He cannot possibly forget Israel: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.” Mom could not have forgotten us. My friend Jim Jordan muses that if the Christian life is not centered on love, then what is its center?  Mom’s life was a life of love. She loved the God of her salvation, her husband, her children and grandchildren, her mother and father, her siblings, the church, and her country. The last chapter in the book “Charity and Its Fruits” (on 1 Corinthians 13) by the great theologian Jonathan Edward’s is “Heaven is a World of Love.” Mom helped prepare us for heaven by making our life a world of love.

Mom expressed love in others through interest in their lives, generosity, and lavish hospitality. I don’t think she ever really met a stranger. To this day I am not afraid to talk to anyone, even a perfect stranger. This is due entirely to my mother’s influence and example.

I always thought our mother was striking in her beauty. You noticed her when she walked into a room. The picture below was taken in 1996 when she was around 61 years of age is the lone evidence I offer to support my assertion. She had virtually perfect skin until her final breath. Her hazel green eyes were warm and inviting, her smile equally radiant. Yet I loved her inner beauty, a beauty that remained evident even during these last five years when Alzheimer’s was exacting its inevitable toll. I could enjoy sitting in her presence, holding or rubbing her hand. I would smile or just laugh, tell her how pretty she was and how much I loved her. I felt so at ease, never rushed, just sitting there. By almost any standard we were not accomplishing anything great or significant, but I would not trade anything for the memory of just sitting with Mom. For she was the one who bore us, loved us unfailingly, dried our tears, bandaged our skinned knees, nursed us in sickness, comforted us through the normal trials of school/girlfriends/work, etc. Expanding the list: laundry, vacations, countless chauffer trips, gardens, meals, athletic endeavors, mediated disputes between siblings, church (3x per week), Sunday evening fellowships, the Yacht Club, tennis, thirteen years of visiting her mother in a nursing home, etc, etc, etc. How can I make an exhaustive list? She was there for us – living and modeling life at the same time.

Enough said – I know we are simply grateful for Mom’s life, love, and legacy. I hope I can love as Mom loved. I hope I can live as Mom lived. I have long appreciated how the Apostle Paul begins many of his letters with a word of thanks for his readers. For example, in Phil. 1:3-4 he writes “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy…” Mom, today we remember you with joy, and we thank our God for you! And we trust she is enjoying the indescribable privilege of God’s presence…