Elizabeth “Betty” Wills Williams, (nee McClure), of South
Rockwood, died October 24th, 2013 at Oakwood Annapolis Hospital in Wayne, MI
surrounded and supported by her loved ones.
She was born in Philadelphia, PA, on September 26th, 1944
to William and Elizabeth McClure.
Betty graduated from Gwinn High School in Gwinn Michigan in
1983, she was married first to Walter “Ace” Nastal, then later to Thomas
Williams.
Betty worked several jobs throughout her life. She was a
bank teller, store clerk, hotel clerk, briefly worked at the Cadillac factory
in Detroit and sold Avon. She was a member of the First United Methodist Church
of Altus, OK and while in MI, ND, and OK she helped in various organizations in
churches, and through groups like the Officers’ Wives Club.
She is survived by her three children, Betty Reaume, and
her husband Scott of South Rockwood, MI; Cheryl Borregard and her husband Bob
of Charleston, SC; and her son John-Paul and his wife Vicki of Archie, MO; as
well as her sister Billie Jo Plyler of Greenville, SC; and brother Tommy
McClure of Gaffney, SC. She had thirteen grandchildren, four great
grandchildren, and several nieces and nephews.
A memorial service was held at South Rockwood United
Methodist Church, South Rockwood, MI at 2:00 PM on October 26, 2013.
*****
It has been said, “Live in such a way that the preacher
doesn’t have to lie about you at your funeral.” I have an obligation to tell
the truth, especially on a day like today. So I’m not going to lie.
There is good, bad, and ugly in every story. There is also
the beautiful. But let me get the hard part out of the way first.
As for the bad and the ugly. There is no sense pretending
that our mother was perfect. Our mother was a person of maddening
contradictions. As such, there are some painful memories associated with mom.
I was sitting in the hospital a few days after we came up,
and I found myself frustrated. It was the feeling that people who have a “less
than ideal” relationship with their loved ones experience around Mother’s Day
or Father’s Day. There you are, looking through the cards, trying to find one
that you feel honestly expresses your feelings and struggling because you know
what you should do, but you find it hard to do.
As a pastor, I spend a little time in ICUs. You can sometimes
read a lot into someone’s family life by the expressions on their faces, or
what they say, or often times what they do not say. I sat there, closed my
eyes, and thought back as far as I could remember, I though to myself, “There
has got to be something good that I
can remember about my mother.”
What I found was a lot of good that I had overlooked. I
remember one day in particular, as clear as if it were today. My mom had to
take me to an allergist. They did some testing; probably where I learned to love needles… and then we went to some
specialty grocer and bought some chocolate animal cookies that were made out of
something else, so they tasted nothing like chocolate. Then we went to Pizza
Hut and got some personal pan pizzas (which is the coolest thing in the world
when you are five) and then went to the park. It was a clear, breezy Fall day.
My sisters told me about days at the Flat Rock Speedway, and
the time that Bozo the Clown came out to the company picnic for the bank; they
are pretty sure that it was the real Bozo
BTW and not one of his helpers.
We remembered that mom had a heart for the “strays”, it never
seemed like I could bring home a person too smelly, or ugly, or strange for her
to reach out to in some way. As I recall, she was always working on making
someone’s life better, often while neglecting her own. She was giving, which is
even reflected in the donation of her body to the University of Michigan, where
she hoped something could be learned from her that might help others.
Our mother was beautiful and was always proud of her
appearance. Between her absent mindedness (if she ever lost her glasses, you
always asked her to look on her head… or her face…her keys were usually in her
hand, or already in the ignition…) and her urge to “paint her face”, it always
took her an eternity to get ready
even if she was just headed to the gas station or even the mailbox.
When I was about five or six, she entered us into some sort
of Officers’ Wives Club fashion show. I think that was her element, being out
in front of people, in the center of attention.
There was really never a question if Betty was there. You
never had to ask. You could either see her bright red hair blazing, smell her
perfume, or hear her talking, laughing, or letting someone know where to go and
why.
Another thing that set mom apart, which was both a blessing
and a curse, is that you never, ever,
had to wonder where you stood with her, or what she thought about something. Yet in a world that is constantly trying to
hide their wrinkles, touch up their photos, and present themselves as perfect;
there is something refreshing about someone like her… not matter how hard it
could be to take at times.
At one time I believed this sort of absolute, unabashed openness
was the highest virtue. But a few life experiences taught me otherwise.
Our mother never, ever, apologized. She was never wrong, and
was always right, even if she was wrong and she knew it. She would stop at
almost nothing to get what she wanted, even if she didn’t know what it was that
she wanted, or why she wanted it.
She was a person who had many good intentions. Her brain was
always storming with ideas, with pitches, with projects. In the Google world we
live in today, she might have been a mogul. Frenetic paced people like her are
what makes the world go around. Perhaps she was a bit ahead of her time.
Our mother’s illnesses did not excuse her behavior, but it
softens the blow for me at least to know that she was not always in total
control of her actions. We know that you are never hurt any more than by those
whom you love most. But even though she never apologized, we can still
forgive. It has been said that you do
not hold a grudge, but a grudge holds you.
So, about forgiveness.
When my sisters were young, they went to church with their
father and even did some time at the Catholic Schools. We went to church off
and on growing up, although I’m not sure how much we paid attention, but it
must have done some good… I am after all, a pastor now.
Mom always used to say, “No rest for the wicked.” Thankfully,
I can say that she is wrong.
One of the stories that I remember the most is one from the
Gospel of Luke 23. It seems very fitting today. The passage reads:
33 When they came to the place
called The Skull, there they crucified Him and the criminals, one on the right
and the other on the left. 34 But Jesus was saying,
"Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And
they cast lots, dividing up His garments among themselves. 35 And
the people stood by, looking on. And even the rulers were sneering at Him,
saying, "He saved others; let Him save Himself if this is the Christ of
God, His Chosen One." 36 The soldiers also mocked
Him, coming up to Him, offering Him sour wine, 37 and
saying, "If You are the King of the Jews, save Yourself!" 38 Now
there was also an inscription above Him, "THIS
IS THE KING OF THE JEWS."
39 One of the criminals who were hanged there was hurling abuse at Him, saying, "Are You not the Christ ? Save Yourself and us!" 40 But the other answered, and rebuking him said, "Do you not even fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 "And we indeed are suffering justly, for we are receiving what we deserve for our deeds,; but this man has done nothing wrong." 42 And he was saying, "Jesus, remember me when You come in Your kingdom!" 43 And He said to him, "Truly I say to you, today you shall be with Me in Paradise."
There is much that we could say about
God’s wrath and his justice, but there is as much, if not more to be said of
His grace and mercy.
Over the last fifteen years or so since
mom moved back to MI, I talked with her extensively about the grace of God,
about the sacrifice of Jesus, and about the need for all of us to make our
peace with God by grace through faith and repentance.
One of the worst reputations that
Christians have acquired throughout their history is that of having a sense of
moral superiority to unbelievers, and even to one another. Sometimes in our
search for piety and holiness, we give the impression that we think we are
better than everyone else.
Perhaps in a very much unexpected
way, my mother’s imperfections highlight the perfect grace of God. That someone
prone to relapses, to mistakes, to fear and anxiety, and insecurity, could be
redeemed. I believe that it is when God’s grace is extended to those whom we feel
least worthy or even likely to receive it; to the strays, to the undesirables,
that it is seen in its most perfect state as pure, selfless, love. Love which
is patient, love that is kind, that is not jealous, does not brag, is not arrogant,
that does not keep a record of wrongs suffered, and that reminds me that
sometimes I am so busy trying to follow all the rules, that I forget that the
first one is love.
If our mother ever truly called out
to Jesus, believing in the power of His resurrection, and turning away from her
sin and herself toward Him in faith, that He has received her into His kingdom.
Even if it were in her last moments. I just wish I did not have to wait so long
to find out.
All of us, at some point and time,
will give an account for our lives to the One who gave life to us. What we do, and
what we have done, and what we believe are ultimately between us and our
Creator.
The best part is this, that for those
of us who die in Christ, death is like blowing out a candle before the dawn. A
reward awaits us that would be particularly enticing to our mother. A new body,
free from sickness, and pain, and confusion. A new home, free from fear, and
disarray. Where the treasures stored up are free from mice, and rust, and moth,
and where everything that we have ever needed, or wanted, pale in comparison to
what we will behold. For eye has not seen, nor has ear heard, nor has it ever
entered into the hearts of men what God has prepared for those who love him. Where
there is no sorrow, no sickness, and no faith because what has been hoped for
has become sight.
In the meantime, let me offer a few
thoughts.
I think one of lessons I can learn from mom is that intentions
do not nullify consequences. Regardless of what you mean, the outcome is what
it is. So be careful what you say, and what you do, because you may not have
the chance to make things better, and even if you have the chance, you might
not be able to fix things.
Be as good to your family as you are to others if not better.
It is easy to give ourselves so much to our work, and our play, that by the
time we get home we have nothing left to give to those who matter the most in
our lives.
When you think about calling someone, just do it. When you
think you should go see someone, you probably should.
Remember birthdays. It dawned on me when the funeral home
asked me that I had never committed my parent’s birthdays to memory…
Lastly, don’t feel guilty for feeling relieved when you reach
the end of a long, hard journey.
Grief can
separate a family, or it can bring them together.
Alvin
Straight, was an elderly, World War II veteran. One day he received news that
his estranged brother has suffered a stroke. That night, he made up his mind to
go visit him and hopefully make amends before he died.
Unfortunately,
Alvin's legs and eyes were too impaired for him to drive, and his daughter was
mentally handicapped. So, he cashed in his paycheck, purchased a thirty
year-old John Deere 110 Lawn tractor, hitched a trailer packed with camping
gear and a cooler and sets off on the 240-mile journey from Laurens, Iowa to
Mount Zion, Wisconsin at the break neck speed of five miles per hour.
During his
six week journey, he is heckled by passers by, meets helpful strangers, and in
my favorite episode of the story meets a runaway teen.
Offering
her a place by the fire, he listens to the girl talk about why she hit the road.
Then lifting a stack of twigs, takes one out and breaks it. “See,” he said, “If
you take them out one at a time, they break easily… but if you bundle them
together, they are harder to break. That’s family.”
My hope, and prayer is that everything that we have been through as a
family will somehow make us stronger. That it will lead us closer to God, and
closer to one another. That we could reconcile with one another wherever necessary, and that ultimately we could all be reconciled to God.
Let us pray.
1 comment:
JP what a wonderful job you did for your mother. She was a very difficult person, hard for people to love. As I read your sermon, I thought of how God is partial to the least and the lost. That is how I see your mom. Her mental capacity may have been impaired but God knew her heart. Her illness took alot away from all of you including her, but God knew her. She asked me to sponsor her to a Walk to Emmaus and I just evaded her about it because I knew she would have a difficult time and was probably not mentally able to do it. I was always sorry about that- but somehow I know that God touched her. I also had a difficult time as a child with my parents, but God redeems all of that and uses it for God's glory. I am so proud of what you have become. God's grace is sufficient....for all of us. God bless you and your whole wonderful family. Margie Van O
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