Would it be ok if I get a bit more personal than normal? You see, today would have been my Mom’s 71st birthday and my heart feels so very heavy today. I woke up craving fresh air and the rainy morning didn’t curb that need. I put on my waterproof jacket and hit the pavement. Sometimes we just need to walk in the rain, don’t we? 

12 years ago, my Mom went home to Jesus after a 5-year battle with breast and ovarian cancer. I miss her daily, but these special days always hurt more acutely. She was just so special. There has never been anyone else who loved me as she did, who hugged me like her. She hugged with all her might. And it felt safe and it felt like home.

My Mom suffered so much over her lifetime. She walked through so many seasons of loss and ache. She didn’t live long, but her years were full. She had lovely, joy-filled seasons too. She laughed and loved well. She was clever and witty and oh so wonderfully goofy. She loved corny jokes and crossword puzzles. She was the best Grandma to my babies and filled up their early years with so much joy.

But she also suffered so deeply. Under her famous smile, she carried a deep ache. She walked through fire time and time again. Some of it I witnessed, and in some other seasons I only saw the scars she carried—ghosts of grief written across her face. Sometimes when she thought no one was looking you would see the dark clouds brewing above her. She carried herself with gentle grace, never calling attention to herself. She was the epitome of a woman with a gentle and quiet spirit. She rarely complained. But I know she was so weary.

Not long after she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, we had a conversation that changed me. She shared that she was at peace. She knew that cancer might end her life sooner than she hoped, but she had also spent years praying for God to receive glory from her one small life. She seemed to somehow innately know that it would be her suffering that would make Jesus look more glorious. She was so wise. She was not afraid to walk through sorrow and pain because she lived in light of a bigger picture. One where Christ redeems every tear, every broken dream, every painfilled day. He was worth it to her—He was worth all of it. Jesus was the One her heart loved. And if he led her into the valley of the shadow, she was determined to walk beside him. Her faith was raw and real.

Mom had a special chair in the study where she would meet with Jesus every morning. My whole life, I would wake up to find her in that chair. The house would be dark apart from her little lamp. God’s Word was her treasure. She studied it with diligence. She clung to the promises she found there when her life began to fade.

One afternoon I stopped by to visit and found her sleeping in her chair. Cancer had taken its toll. Her body was ravaged, dark circles marked her face, and her bare head was wrapped in a scarf. She looked so tired. But on her face, she wore this unfading beauty. Even as she slept, she looked content and peaceful. Her favorite song was set on a loop on her cd player. The lyrics filled up the room as she rested. I sat down next to her and began to cry. Death was inching nearer. She would not be with us much longer. She was ready.

We are a moment, You are forever

Lord of the Ages, God before time

We are a vapor, You are eternal

Love everlasting, reigning on high

Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty

Worthy is the Lamb Who was slain

Highest praises, honor and glory

Be unto Your name…[1]

Mom just loved Jesus so much. She walked closely with him. Sometimes I was so angry with him as I watched her suffer, especially in those final days. But she was at peace, and it was so powerful and awe-inspiring to watch.

6 years after Mom died, my world completely shattered again as my husband’s unfaithfulness came to light. I walked through horrific betrayal, abandonment and unwanted divorce. My life, my home, and my heart were impossibly broken. 

There have been many days over the last 6 years where I have questioned God’s goodness in my Mom’s homegoing. My pain has been so immense as I’ve walked through the darkest days of my own life.

You see, I’ve just really needed my Mom. She had a way of loving, supporting and helping to carry my burdens that were special to her. Her hugs cured a multitude of pains. 

But as time passes and the sting lessens, realization is dawning that, while her hugs would have brought great comfort, what I needed most was

her race finished,

her hope obtained,

her treasure won,

her faith made sight. 

Mom walked through fire. But she never stopped walking. She kept going—kept pushing forward. Her eyes were set on her One True Love and she didn’t waver, even in the face of horrific suffering. Her heart was set on pilgrimage. She was concerned with the glory of her Jesus, come what may.

Mom’s last word on this earth was HOME. She said it over and over and over again as her body began to shut down. 

Home. 

On January 2, 2011, my Mama finally made it home. Her faith became sight and her welcome was no doubt so very dear. Home. Home at last. Oh how that stirs my faith and fires my resolve and breathes sparks of hope into my weariness. One day, all of my pain will too be finished and fully redeemed. The sorrow we face in this life will pale in comparison to the glory to come. 

Therefore we do not give up. Even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

I miss Mom every day, but what a legacy she left me. What a gift she gave me—a life well lived. A pilgrimage of sorrow traversed with eyes set on Jesus. A journey through the valley of the shadow near the heels of her Good Shepherd. What an example to press on today.  Thank you Jesus for my beautiful Mama. Today I honor her. I give her “the reward of her labor and praise her at the city gate” (Proverbs 31:31).

Friends, if you find yourself in the darkest pit or most fearful valley today, may I call you to keep going? You have no idea who might be watching. You may feel like you’re stumbling and dragging, plodding and making slow progress. But with each step forward—resolve set like flint across your face—you are breathing hope into those following behind. Stumble, fall, inch, crawl but PRESS ON. Keep going. It will be so worth it in the end. Your journey might be what calls someone to take one more step in twelve, twenty, fifty years' time. 

We just have no idea the story God is writing with our one small, faithful life. 

In honor of Susanna Jessee Murbach on what would have been her 71st birthday. I love you Mama Moozle. I long for the day when I follow in your footsteps and step across the threshold, finally HOME, my faith made sight. I will see you soon, but until then, I will strive to make my one small life all about Jesus, just like you.

I love you,

Rachel Roozle

[1] Be Unto Your Name by Robin Mark. Mom’s favorite version was sung by Travis Cottrell. Have a listen here.