How Do You Sum Up a Life?

These are the words I shared in honor and celebration of my mother, Miriam Patricia Irons:

You may feel you know Miriam Irons, especiallly those of you who have known her since she and my father first moved to Bryan in 1986. I suspect that it is the case for most of you that she knows you better than you know her. That's nothing against you. Rather it has everything to do with my Mom who wanted to know everything about you, your family, your in-laws, your friends, your acquaintances, your home towns, your bosses' neighbors, etc. So many of my conversations with Mom were about some connection she made with someone's neighbor, cousin or aunt and I would have to stop her and ask, "Now who are you talking about? And how do I know them?" She'd say I didn't, but she commenced to tell me how I was connected. If you met her, I guaranteed she knew about you, and she may have known about you if you never met her. Let me share some things about Miriam Irons that you may not know.
Miriam Patricia Irons, my mother, was born in Beatrice, Nebraska on November 14, 1935 to Donald and Virdelia Morton. She was 74 when she was born anew to God's everlasting peace on Thursday, June 17, 2010 after battling first with breast cancer and then with colon cancer. Mom was the oldest of four daughters that were born into the Alpine Dairy Farm just outside of Beatrice. She liked to talk about, OK, brag about riding to her one-room school on a horse and driving a tractor at 9 years old. She also confessed about putting same tractor in the ditch and having to have it pulled out.
Mom moved to the "town" school in the ninth grade and graduated from Beatrice High School in 1953. She entered the University of Nebraska and graduated with a degree in Home Economics in 1957. She did graduate work in early childhood education and special education through the University of Missouri but never completed her Masters.
She met my father at Nebraska church camp, the Disciples CYF Conference of the day. Subsequently, Dad came and worked summers on the farm between college semesters. They married on June 14, 1958, 52 years ago this past Monday. They were married 46 years before Dad left us in 2004. They lived in towns in Nebraska, Missouri, and Texas.
I believe that Mom and Dad's first home was in the grand metropolis of Beaver Crossing, Nebraska where Dad preached and Mom taught in a one-room school house. After Dad finished college, they moved to New Franklin, MO. Close to Columbia, Missouri, Dad went to seminary there and Mom did her graduate work. In Dawn, Missouri, Mom taught second grade until a pesky demanding son came along. Mom never taught full-time in public school again, but she substituted, she worked for the Dept. of Agriculture in Missouri teaching recipients how to use government commodity foods. She taught cooking at Kerrville State School. Most recently, you may know, she taught Mother's Day Out in this church (First Christian Church of Bryan) and then at the First Presbyterian Church's Young Childhood Center.
Always creative, she came up with fun ways to teach and engage her students, even her kids. Halloween was a particularly favorite holiday for her. She dressed us up as Uncle Sam, clowns, panthers, walking totem poles, and robots. We never had to worry about being unique.
The song that the choir will sing in a little bit is a good summation of my mother. She approached the world from an attitude of humility. It was so shocking to hear her say a harsh word about anybody. Mom was an adventurer, approahed the world and others with excitment about what she could learn and she never prejudged. As we were growing up, we had a succession of International 4-H Youth Exchange stuents in our house, from Turkey, Thailand, Nepal, Holland, and New Zealand. She was never afraid to try new things - even belly dancing when she was in her 70s! I think it was because of her spirit of adventure that I became an exchange student overseas in New Zealand myself. I think under the right circumstances, Mom could have easily been a world traveler, an international food consultant, or even a missionary.
She loved to show kindness to others, especially those who were on the fringes of society: the little children, the poor, the disadvantaged, children and adults with special needs. She hated injustice and hated for anybody to be excluded for any reason, race, age, disability, etc. She hated exclusiveness and she hated for us to say hate. All three of us who grew up with her can recite: Don't say "hate." You don't hate anybody, you hate what they do.
But something she hated more than anything else was the thought of moving. I know, she married into the wrong profession. Her sense of adventure stopped right there. With a passion and masterfully creative skill, she avoided attempts to move her out of this home and church of 24 years. The only real argument I can remember having with my mother in her adult life was when we talked about her moving after Dad died.
Miriam Irons was a pioneer in the Green Movement. Ralph Nader and the Green Party had nothing on her. She practiced the premise "God doesn't make any trash" on a very personal daily basis. She did her personal part to keep the landfills free of clutter. Her favorite question, "You're not going to throw that away, are you?" In her mind, everything was recyclable. I stopped wrapping my friends houses with toilet paper at an early age, and not for the reason you think. I stopped wrapping houses because "friends" then would wrap mine. And when our house was wrapped, my mother jumped for joy. She ran out and collected the toilet paper in paper bags and I didn't know why at first. Only when we went to the restroom and there wasn't any toilet paper on the roll... just this paper bag on the floor.

Mom had one particular hobby that stands out. She loved to knit and perhaps even more give away dish cloths and pot holders. I would guess that many of you possess one or more of those. To me, they represent her view of God's world, that we are wonderfully knit together, all of us. The adventure is to find out how.

Mom's legacy lives on in me and my two sisters, Janel and Megan; in our respective spouses: Donna Irons, Clay McQuerry, and Justin Loflin. Her legacy lives on in her grandchildren in: Kimberly Johnson, Joel Johnson, Bethany McQuerry, Ami Irons, Casey McQuerry, Timothy Irons, Zachary Loflin and Kaylee Loflin; sisters and brothers-in-law, Deanna and Wally White of Missouri, Linda and George Mahathy of Tennessee and Virginia Young of Missouri; and numerous extended family and friends.

You are all aware, I'm sure, that I ended up in the ministry following my Dad's footsteps, but it was the example, commitment and faith of my mother which provided the greatest reinforcement of my calling. When I was fourteen, my maternal grandfather, Donald Morton, died. It hit me hard, the first death of a loved one I had really experienced. I remember traveling in the funeral car to the service and my aunts and uncles were joking, laughing, and having a good time. I was furious and my Mom could tell. I couldn't believe that they were laughing and I said so, scowling as only a 14-year-old can. Mom said, "Don't you believe Grandpa is in heaven that he's found joy and peace?" I responded, "I don't know what I believe" and stomped away to the service. It was the utter joy and confidence in her eyes that remained with me.

Mom, if you had any doubt, I've come around. I believe there is a place of eternal peace, of overwhelming grace and acceptance. It's an adventure like no other. You'll never be asked to throw anything away - and I don't believe you'll have to worry about moving.

Life as a Ferry

Sunday afternoon, so much loving support flowed from Bryan, Rockwall, and elsewhere as we memorialized my mother, Miriam Irons, in services at First Christian Church in Bryan. For a Sunday afternoon, it was an amazing turnout. My daughter, Ami, and my neice, Bethany McQuerry, lifted us all with song On Eagle's Wings at the beginning of the service and we just stayed there. My mother was, among other things, an practical advocate for those on the margins of society, an ecological guerilla in her personal efforts to recycle EVERYTHING. God made no junk in her opinion, human or otherwise. She was adventurer as well. She loved meeting new people and trying new things and found something valuable in every new experience. Mom's adventurous spirit is something I'm trying to reclaim in myself during this summer Sabbatical.

I debated long and hard about whether to continue with the next phase of my Sabbatical plans after the services for my mother. As with any death, there is a plethora of minutia to deal with in addition to the mental and emotional work of grief. In the end, in part because of mother's sense of adventure and because my sisters were such great help with the details, I decided to proceed with my seminar in Wisconsin. Dog tired and emotionally drained, I was ill-prepared for the grief attack that knocked me off my feet. To navigate one's way to Washington Island, one has to take a ferry. I knew that. It didn't help. There, on the ferry in the middle of Lake Michigan, the ferry proved to be the perfect manifestation of what I was feeling with the death of my mother: lost, in between, no ground on which to stand, nowhere to move, and left to the movement of the water. I decided that grieving is a long period of living life as a ferry. The nice thing is that one eventually gets to shore and to solid ground again. I'm thankful that I have the grace of God and the cloud of Jesus' disciples surrounding me with their care to help me move to shore.

There's a Hole in the World

When I decided to focus this first month of the Sabbatical upon family, I had no idea just how intense this would be. I had planned to spend time with my mother in June before any long-distance travel. Unfortunately, I had to see her in the hospital and witness the agony she was experiencing from the results of her chemotherapy. We all thought it would be a temporary recovery time. Her pain intensified and her struggle to breathe worsened. On Monday, I returned to Bryan with my two sisters in Bryan as Mom was moved to the Critical Care Unit. She had double pneumonia and e-coli poisoning. I likened it to a perfect storm of ailments. The steep incline back to recovery along with her already compromised immune system was too great and she found her eternal peace Thursday evening.

The time around my mother afforded the greatest concentration of family time with my two sisters ever, at least as adults. In spite of the severity of the crisis, I was impressed with just how great a team we made, the three of us. Mom was aware, I know, that we were there and that we were together. Even with all of the pain, I know she was smiling inwardly for she loved it when we were gathered as family.

The memorial service is tomorrow. We came back to Rockwall to regroup. As my sister Janel and I drove away from Bryan, I looked in the rear-view mirror and sensed this great vast emptiness. I turned to my sister and said, "There's a hole in the world." There was a hole in the world when my father died, but now, there's a really big hole in the world. The hole can never be filled in. It's quite disorienting. There's a great sense of lostness when both parents have gone on to eternity. All the old earthly anchors seem to have vanished. The song, "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" came up on my iPod and I would have lost it if I had not been driving. I'm reminded of Genesis 1:2 where it says, Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. Somewhere in all of the emptiness I'm experiencing, I know God's Spirit is hovering. It's settling upon the depth and darkness of my grief and shining a new light. It will take time, but the new lasting, eternal light will lead me to an even stronger anchor for the years to come.

If you'd like to see my mother's tribute, click on the following link: http://www.hillierfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Miriam-Patricia-Irons1401407283/#/ObitAndService

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

My reading at this moment includes Donald Miller's book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life. I was initially drawn to it when I read that both Anne Lamott and Max Lucado were avid fans. Donald Miller is an interesting non-fiction writer and has a quirky way of looking at his life. One of the jewels so far in Miller's book is the following idea: "A story is a character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it." He challenges himself as well as his readers to answer in that context, "How good is my story." He peppers his thoughts throughout with Biblical references, but not the texts you might expect.

Count Yourself Twice

The first month of this Sabbatical is focused on family and this week provided several vivid reminders of this. Ami and Tim both needed some support as they prepared to embark on the mission trip with the other youth from the church, so I didn't go to Oklahoma City as originally planned. So, on Sunday morning (very early), I found myself at a very familiar place at a familiar time - at the church. I thought I could wear my Sabbatical invisibility cloak and merely be a parent seeing my teenagers off on the mission trip. Alas, Donna Falk, our associate minister, asked me to give a prayer and blessing for our missionaries. An intereting thing happened right before I was asked to pray. Austin Lanzone, when counting the group to see if everyone was present, commented when he gave his total, "I may have counted myself twice." What a wonderful thought for those who are now representing us in Tennessee. Count yourselves twice, once for the person you are and the family you represent and once for Christian you are and the recongition that you represent Christ to all you help and all you meet. "Count yourselves twice" is a great reminder for us all of our lives as disciples of Christ.

After the early morning sendoff, I took the advice of my coach, Eddie Hammett, and visited Prestonwood Baptist Church in Plano. I thought I was prepared for big and loud, but those expectations were far-surpassed. This church, with many similarities to a moderate-sized shopping mall, was like no place of worship I had ever seen. They quadruple the size of our typical worship attendance in their musicians and singers alone with their 500-member choir, orchestra, rock back, and songleaders. The message was based on Romans 8, why bad things happen, and centered around the pastor's year-long battle with prostate cancer.

Speaking of cancer, I am now in Bryan, Texas with my mother. The chemo she is taking for her colon cancer has put her in the hospital with low-white blood cell counts and severe gastrointestinal issues. Your prayers have been encouraging and will continue to be.

Speed-Dating with God

It was a weekend of watershed events.
What a joy it was to attend my daughter Ami’s graduation from Wichita Falls High School this past Saturday. I was so pleased to celebrate with a wonderfully relaxing supper with Ami following the ceremonies – on a Saturday night! Pardon a little fatherly bragging: Ami worked hard to reach 20th in her graduating class. As many of you know, she’ll be attending TCU in the fall, majoring in music education.
Sunday morning, we attended worship at Park Place Christian Church, the first congregation in which I served as Senior Pastor. Memorial Day weekend meant that there were a lot of empty seats, but I was still delighted to reconnect with many familiar faces. It was interesting to participate in a worship service fifteen minutes longer than ours at First Christian Church Rockwall. Needless to say, it felt quite relaxed, even slow at times. Perhaps it was the fact that I am still struggling to relax combined with the fact that Wichita Falls represents an easier slower pace than our Dallas suburb. I am so used to keeping our worship service moving at a steady pace. I told friends and family that the longer worship at Park Place made our worship service feel like “speed-dating” with God.
As I pondered this idea of speed-dating with God, it occurred to me that we can have this attitude no matter how long a worship service is. We do it regularly, quickly assessing how God fits with our life while in the next chairs sit our work, our family, our recreation, our belongings, our obsessions, our gripes, etc. It’s not about the quantity of time we give to God; it’s about the commitment we are ready to give to God. Are we prepared to make our relationship with God more than merely a chair we sit in for a while once a week? And while we are there in that seat, are we prepared to really to get to know God and seriously examine just how this relationship can impact our lives? Do we have this idea that we can move on and graduate from a committed life with God?
All those thoughts out of just 15 minutes longer in worship…

Your Mother Raised a Wonderful Child

I'm trying. I really am trying - to stay away from church that is. When I went to the office Monday to pick up some things I left, Ron Sumter, the Sabbatical interim told me in uncertain terms, "I don't want to see you here this summer!" Certain things I couldn't not do, such as going to visit Lizzie Mae Taylor on the occasion of her 95th birthday. Betty told me at last count Lizzie Mae had 118 cards, one day before her birthday.
While out in the community the first day of the sabbatical , I asked a man using a walker if I could open the door for him. He allowed me to do so and responded, "Your mother raised a wonderful child." I thought that the man most likely says that to everyone who does something nice for him. That's not a bad thing at all. On a deeper level, I can hear the man's words as an affirmation from God. God affirmed many times in scripture, and not just to Jesus, "You're a wonderful child, my blessed creation. You are precious in my sight." We too often make our relationship with God so complicated and get caught up in trvialities. We lose sight of the fact that our faith begins with God's overwhelming love for us! That's a simple and appropriate place to begin the Fruitful Journey: "Your mother raised a wonderful child."