We knew this day was coming. And we dreaded it.
I came to know Debbie in high school. Actually, “came to know” is a bit of an overstatement. She was a year ahead of me. We played in band together for a year — she was a fantastic flautist; first chair I think, section leader I know (you fellow band geeks will know what I’m talking about) — but I didn’t really get to know her well. She always seemed somewhat . . . beyond . . . me. But we ran in the same circles, with the same friends.
We reconnected just a little bit a couple of years later when I transferred from Montreat College to Auburn University. She was there, rooming with one of my best friends — 4 crazy girls in a 2-bedroom apartment — so I got to hear stories. Lots of stories. On the few occasions our paths crossed, I was struck by how she had blossomed — truly become a stunning young woman. Still playing flute in the AU band. But I still didn’t know her well.
Over the years after graduation Debbie and I crossed paths a couple of times, usually at a wedding of one of our common friends (we were actually in one together). Curiously enough, for all its many flaws, it was Facebook that really cemented our friendship. As I posted about political, social and religious issues, she would comment or message me, and we were able to share our common views and beliefs. We were also able to catch up a bit on our personal lives. Debbie had gotten married to a wonderful Christian man (Andy), and God had given them 3 kids: Ryan, Garrett, and Meghan.
As I look back, I see a conversation in 2014 we had about her IBS issues and a CAT scan. (That was Debbie — hadn’t seen me in years, and still willing to discuss her gastronomical issues!) It all seemed very minor then. She said she was just “getting old(er)”. I think that was the last I heard from her directly. Then in April of 2019, Debbie was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She fought the cancer like a tiger, which, if you knew Debbie, would not surprise you a bit. And for a while it looked like she might be winning. But God had different plans for Debbie, and just after 8:00 this morning, He took her home.
Here’s something I wrote to a friend a few days ago when she told me that Debbie was doing poorly, and that death was on the horizon:
I . . . don’t know how to respond. It’s times like this that my faith seems so weak. I know that God is preparing Debbie for glory, but for the rest of us it can seem like hell wins. It will certainly feel like that for Andy and the kids, and her parents. At least for a while.
. . .
I take comfort that, even though none of us understand why this is happening, Debbie’s faith is in her Redeemer, and she will see Him in her flesh.
And we will see her again, you and I. At the feet of Jesus.
Here’s what I remember about Debbie: she was always smiling. Always. She loved her family fiercely. She loved animals, especially her horses. But she loved Jesus more than anything else in the whole world. Now she is sitting at His feet, worshiping, loving, and clothed in a glory we can’t even begin to imagine.
As our good friend Laura reminded me, for those of us left here without Debbie, here is our hope, from 2 Corinthians 4 and 5:
16 So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
1 For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 2 For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, 3 if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. 4 For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened–not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. 5 He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. 6 So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, 7 for we walk by faith, not by sight. 8 Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.
I will miss Debbie. She won’t return to us, but those of us who know Christ will go to her.
In situations like this, I find comfort and healing in a song by the Christian vocal group Truth, called “If You Could See Me Now.” Here it is on YouTube.
