Today, a memorial is taking place somewhere in the rugged Black Hills for my aunt, Debbie. She passed away in March after her third bout of cancer.

Hi, valued blog audience. It’s been a while. Moving across the country, starting a business, taking another swipe at my book – changes have occurred! But as I reflected on my aunt today, I realized there are things about Debbie that people ought to know, things worth a guest appearance on my own blog. As you can probably infer, Debbie was a tough soul. But her soul was tender, to which a long road of suffering will carry only the true disciple.

Out of four aunts on my father’s side (poor guy), Debbie was one of two I am close to (or really know at all). I have some precious memories. We flew across the country to visit a family member in 2003 who was fighting (and won) a cancer battle of their own; Debbie got us lost in downtown Philadelphia looking for the perfect Philly cheesesteak. She drove across two states to make my brother’s wedding in 2015. We witnessed the 2017 solar eclipse together from near her home in Idaho Falls, then talked at length on the way back as the spectators choked the rural Interstate 15 down to a crawl more apropos to its run in east L.A. (where she used to live). We prayed together on the phone during tough times – the salvation of those close to her, the breakup of my family, 9/11, COVID. Or maybe it was that just-because family reunion that saw a carload of us spontaneously break into “Jack and Diane” while hurtling down Bear Canyon. (In my relatively beige life, these are highlights.)

Our last conversation took place less than 48 hours before her passing (perhaps even less than 24, I don’t remember), and despite the morphine, she was still her spunky self. Sincere props to her husband and son for connecting us in time. It’s haunting and rare to converse with someone that close to Heaven’s front steps.

So I had more than enough time with Debbie to know that she was no stranger to suffering. She’s certainly undergone more than I could possibly bear. I will respect her privacy by carefully choosing the details here, but the lessons she bore from them – well, they were right out of Scripture.

Debbie was a hopeful woman. She beat cancer twice and maintained optimism in her third bout. She would talk about prayer seminars, healing conferences, and experimental treatments (of the cheaper and less intrusive variety). Yet in all her pursuits, she made the decision to trust God. It wasn’t a settled emotion for her – it was a decision. She didn’t feel trusting – she decided she would trust. It was right out of Daniel 3 – she knew God had the power to heal again, but if He did not, she would still worship.

Towards the end, she started to demonstrate a trait that can only come from God – forgiveness. She started believing that her illness was being caused, or at least contributed to, by bitterness. There’s some scientific reasoning behind such a belief. Goodness knows a full life will leave you with some enemies to harbor resentment towards. I’ve got some myself.

But, again, reflecting what could only be the Lord’s presence in her heart, the forgiveness she was learning she valued for its own sake, not just its potential to allow healing. After a lifetime of what has plenty of power to turn the average person hateful, sour, and withdrawn from God, she chose forgiveness. It was that light that she emanated as she started climbing those front steps.

This is one of the reasons the Lord, aggrieved and reluctant, allows suffering in our lives sometimes. I was reading 1 Peter 1 this morning and noticed, for the first time, his repetition of the goal of gaining the imperishable. Debbie did. No ordinary human being finishes on the note that she did. Only a follower of Christ does.

She did get some earthly victories. She spent her final years with a husband devoted to her care. Her sons are walking with God. And God did extend her life with two healings from cancer.

But in perhaps the most important thing of all, the imperishables, God granted her great victory. Now she is relieved of her suffering and lavished with her rewards, never to perish again.

I miss her. I miss her sense of humor and her million-watt smile.

But I’m also inspired by her. I’ll catch up to her someday. Meanwhile, the angels praise God for his handiwork on the newcomers.