As I kneeled on the hillside next to the baby blue urn filled with ashes belonging to my mother I felt as crushed as the white and gray that was about to meet my palm. I leaned forward feeling as though I was going to scream the cry out, it hurt so badly. Nothing prepares the human soul for a moment like that. To reach into the urn that holds the remains of what used to be a strong body that offered so much comfort and kindness seemed impossible. Her face and smile and comfortable shoulders and hearty hug flashed through my mind and I could not believe what was before me to do. I released from my palm the very last contact I would ever have with her physical body on earth. I looked down as the ashes cascaded through my fingers and then at my empty white hands.

My dad thoughtfully poured himself into each and every moment of planning this service for her and in his opening invitation said, “The spreading of ashes is an expression of the communion that exists between the Church on earth and the Church in heaven: the deceased passes from the community of believers into the welcoming company of those who need faith no longer but see God face to face.” He then named the third reason for our gathering as “entrusting the Holy Spirit to give each of us hope, courage, and the eternity mindedness we need to live out our days without her.” Yes Lord, please, double portion of the courage.

As we moved through liturgy, song, and scripture, I found myself with a grinsob (where you are happy and it breaks your heart all at the same moment). I was picturing her like a memory slideshow throughout the years offering these exact words to me or singing them in the kitchen. The words in our program were not just words someone once said that we hope to believe and repeat, I realized as we were going through the service that I had vivid memories of her offering the very real scripture and song to me. In all the flashbacks, her face is so alive and her voice so sure as she gave me these words for my life.

Even as a young girl, I struggled with fear and anxiety and my mother sang and recited Isaiah 43 regularly - “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name, and you are mine! I am the Lord your God, the Holy one of Israel, your Savior, I am the Lord… Do not fear… When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and the waves will not overcome you...” As we read them during her service, I knew even in death she wanted me to hear those words again. A few minutes later in the service we began singing and the image I had of her in hundreds of church services standing beside me raising her hand high during the stanza from In Christ Alone that says - “No guilt in life, no fear in death - This is the power of Christ in me; From life’s first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny. NO POWER OF HELL, NO SCHEME OF MAN, CAN EVER PLUCK ME FROM HIS HAND; Til He returns and calls me home - Here in the power of Christ Ill stand.” She would smile so big, like take that you who that stole so much, you do not win, I stand in the power of Christ - loved and redeemed. She knew it and she shared it as often as possible with a low tolerance to let darkness win.

Towards the end of the service we affirmed and attempted to celebrate where we believe mom is now. I stood by and watched as each family member went up one by one to spread her ashes. It was exhaustingly painful to know the unique depth of loss we each were experiencing to continue in our grief of life without her as our wife, mom, or sister. While I hate the separation now, I love to picture her free. I grinsobbed again at the end of the service as we listened to the following part of the song:

The wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed and I'll be whole
Sun and moon will be replaced
With the light of jesus face
And I will not be ashamed
For my saviour knows my name
It don't matter, where you bury me
I'll be home and I'll be free

So we planted a tree in her honor right there beside the welcome to windy gap sign that campers will walk under as they arrive to their cabins. And we all loved having something to honor her on sacred grounds that invite teenagers to consider a relationship with a God who loves, heals, and restores. The very God that pursued her heart as a young woman and changed her hope forever. I am so thankful there is a tree marker there that we can continue to visit and that we can picture as hundreds of campers begin arriving this summer for one of the best weeks of their lives. And as we walked away that day, I am awed to continue to accept that my mother has seen the light of Jesus face, and I am far more curious about heaven than I have ever been.