As I turned into the pew, a woman from across the aisle stood up and came towards me. She said, "Would you mind if I sit with you? I thought you might like someone in the pew with you with those little boys. I wouldn't want you to be alone."
And so my relationship with Miss Betty White began. She flew in that Sunday morning like an angel sent to sooth the fears of a pastor's wife with littles in the pew. For the next three years, with barely a failure, she sat there in that pew with us. She didn't judge me when they threw fits. She didn't get discouraged when they inevitably were rude to her about something. She brought them a little snack bag each week. She held them on her lap. She acted as a bookend on the pew when all they wanted to do was escape. She sang the songs of the faith boldly into their ears. She held them while they slept. She held their hands while taking Communion. She welcomed our new daughter and greatly anticipated our upcoming blessing to join us in that crazy pew.
A woman who had spent her whole life in the church chose to leave her pew, even her beloved SIDE of the church, to venture into a territory unknown with small children. A unmarried woman with no children of her own found value in aiding me, a woman with an abundance of children. The family of the church is so beautiful.
Last Sunday, the churches threw a surprise ordination anniversary dinner for my husband. She walked up to me and said, "I know this is for your husband, but I want you to know it is for you, too. I love you and the kids so much. We are so happy you are here with us. You and your husband are two of my favorite people in the world. And I mean that." I was so humbled and honored by her words. The woman who went out of her way for three years to make me feel included and loved would say this to me? I needed to say it to her.
I couldn't have known and neither could she what those words would mean to me just a few short days later. Miss Betty, our "pew mom," as the children refer to her, died unexpectedly this week. The ache in my soul is great. The empty space in our pew will be vast tomorrow and every Sunday to come.
During our breakfast devotions this morning, we told the kids. They have never lost a grandparent, and this is the closest they could come to that type of loss. Since they are all very young, death is still a relatively unclear subject. Our oldest said, "Miss Betty died?" We said, "Yes, Honey. Miss Betty died and is in heaven with Jesus now." He just stared for a few moments, and we decided to go on with our prayers. Today's prayers were focused on our extended family. When I finished listing the prayers, he quietly said, "And we pray that we get to see Miss Betty at Mt. Calvary again."
My heart broke.
But we will see Miss Betty again, my dear son.
And we get that joy because of what happened on the original Mt. Calvary.
Until then, our dearest beloved Miss Betty, we will be missing you, while rejoicing in knowing that with all the company of heaven, including you, Saint Betty, we are joined at Holy Communion.
And I will smile thinking of you holding the hands of our children during so many Sundays of Communion. You will hold their hands again, my friend. I love you. I miss you.
