Violet

Today I traveled with Mary & Martin to Woodburn, Indiana, for the funeral of Violet, our great-aunt. This blog entry was read during the service.

An excerpt:

In The Great Divorce C.S. Lewis talks about the kind of woman who becomes the “mother” of all who enter her door. Violet was this sort of mother, for whom “every young man or boy that met her became her son. … Every girl that met her was her daughter.” In the book, Heaven celebrates her with a great, golden fanfare. Because the quiet, sacrificial service of a mother has enormous spiritual influence: “like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end?”

When I was very little, Aunt Violet visited Ecuador. We played together every day. Though I forgot that friendship, that mutual enjoyment, she did not. For each of my birthdays, she sent me a card; at every family reunion, she greeted me warmly.

As I grew older, I returned less and less warmth to her until finally, for no good reason, I was as cold as ice to her. Her service to me became truly sacrificial.

(These days I have been repenting of many things. But enough about me.)

And so every participant said what a wonderful mother (grandmother; foster mother; spiritual mother) Violet had been. And when the last witness left the podium, Violet herself was given the final word. Her voice was played over the loudspeaker. It was a bit like a movie flashback, a bit like a voice from beyond the grave. In the recording, Violet was giving an interview to her granddaughter, Jill, about Jill’s daughter, Violet — about how well she loved that little girl.

Though I had barely taken the trouble to know Aunt Violet, her voice sounded so familiar, so joyful, it was as if she had never really gone. It was as if being with her again would feel like the most natural thing in the world.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.