Forgotten is an intense word. A word that runs through scripture like a sad, poignant refrain: “My people have forgotten Me.” In the spiritual realm, forgotten expresses alienation from the divine; the last expression of a separated life. But to forget in the human realm has implications also. People are never really dead so long as they are remembered.
In the preface to my mother’s memoir are the words, “…may Ellen’s story never be forgotten.” In “Country Dairy: A Week with Hinie and Ellen,” I write, “Hinie and Ellen have gone to heaven; they’ve watched their last sunset. But, surely as the sun rises in the morning, their lives we will never forget.”
The last years of Ellen’s life were remarkable. As her body withered and faded, she was too weak to stand, yet her spirit waxed stronger. Her skin was as thin as an onion’s, but she glowed with an inner radiance, as though the light of God’s face shone through her, this humble, obedient, emptied pilgrim.
My siblings and I sat amazed as she lucidly carried on conversations with her loved ones in Heaven. One afternoon, as I sat by her bedside, she chatted with my dad, her beloved Henry, who had passed away some years before and now was standing at the foot of her hospital bed. When she returned to “reality” from these conversations, she was a bit dazed; it took her a few moments to establish her whereabouts, so fully had she “seen” the lights of heaven. Imagine my amazement when, some years later, I read an article by Billy Graham in which he noted that God often sends an angel to earth to accompany a pilgrim across the danger-fraught Jordan River. I have no doubt that “angel” was my father. Over sixty years earlier, after pledging their marriage vows, Henry and Ellen processed down the church aisle; now, arm in arm, they would march triumphantly into the pearly gates. What a picture!
Death was not the end for Ellen; it was the beginning. She was dying, but her spirit was alive, so eager was she to enter the Promised Land. The moments I spent with her, during these years, were Kairos moments – moments lived in the present; moments of eternity. Being with her was like being on holy ground. I looked into her worn, wrinkled face and saw the face of God.
Watching her die is an experience etched forever in my memory, powerful and life-changing. It came to me that my mother’s peaceful, victorious death was directly related to the way she lived. I set out to discover the secret of her life.
The more I learned, the more determined I was that her story would never be forgotten; furthermore, I believed her story could serve as a candle in the darkness, lighting the way to hope and faith for others. With that conviction, I picked up the pen, struck the match, and began writing.
*Much of the content of this article is taken from “In the Garden”. More information about the memoir can be obtained from the author at janethasselbring23@gmail.com. “Country Dairy: A Week with Hinie and Ellen” can be purchased at the Country Dairy farm store.
Stay tuned for In the Garden: Ellen, An Ordinary Woman; An Extraordinary Life - Part VIII
