Sometime during her earthly pilgrimage that concluded in 1912, hymn writer Jennie Wilson penned this pregnant and poignant line: “Time is filled with swift transition.” It is found in her popular tune “Hold to God’s Unchanging Hand.” Unique and universal, there is no denying that transitions are, and yet they do discriminate. The transitions we each face are not graded on a curve. They do not impact us equally at all times. Even so, the biggest ones don’t accept bribes either. Similar to winter, in one form or another, transitions are inevitable. Like it or lump it, they are coming. They knock on life’s front door; uninvited and aggressive solicitors demanding to be given what you hold dear. In other moments, as we well know, there is no knocking at all, no preemptive preparation or warning. We are jolted into frenzied shock and agony, descending the stairs to find transition standing in the living room of our hearts wearing a ski mask, a rank intruder, an angry stick-up kid, against whom we feel defenseless. In fairness, though, transitions are not always so abhorrent. That is probably true of most of what we traverse every day, moving about from this task to that, enjoying the mundane and the new. Certain transitions make us smile. Others not so much.

As necessary and good as they are, some transitions are hard to process. The Lord is worthy of praise, honor, and glory forever and ever. That will never change. In perfect and sovereign mercy, rightfully so, he gives and takes away (Job 1:21). While I have no doubt that the company she now keeps “up yonder,” which is an unfathomable improvement from life in these wild parts raging with fickle, frail, disobedient human flesh, I sorely miss Jean Young. December 15, 2018 marks the day she underwent the ultimate transition at age 86. Maybe you, too, have have known someone who is hands-down, without question good for your soul. For me, that was Mrs. Jean, as I called her. She was my stand-in grandma and friend for a handful of years and I truly miss her.

Selfishly, I wish that we could hangout in her quaint Belton home once again or chat on the phone, two friends sharing a noticeable age gap just shooting the breeze, talking mostly about God. She possessed more wisdom than any years of seminary can teach. She was a resilient Christian woman with a servant’s heart, who could crochet like nobody’s business. Arrhythmia wasn’t kind to her, but the Lord sure was, as was her church, the First Baptist Church of Belton, which was how we become acquainted. She had been praying for me and my wife since I was ordained there in 2009. Our paths crossed through FBC Belton’s senior pastor, who officiated my wedding and ordination, and some years later simply began corresponding. Perhaps because of some voids in my own heart and on account of my temperament, I don’t take it for granted when people accept my phone calls or reply to my letters and cards. Therefore, I found it pretty neat that we would e-mail updates about our lives every few months to one another. Here was this octogenarian white woman from a small town in rural Texas and a 30-something black man hailing from urban enclaves of the East Coat, who became a pastor, sincerely engaged in the life of the other because of a shared love for God. That is the kingdom at-work. I am overjoyed that the Holy Spirit connected our lives and flabbergasted to know that because of Christ that connection doesn’t stop when our hearts do.

I miss Jean’s humility and humor. She was an encourager of encouragers, always telling me to keep preaching God’s truth and faithfully shepherding God’s people. She would tell me to not feel bad that I prioritize my wife’s well being and our relationship above ministry. I appreciated how she wanted to know what was going on in “my life” because, as pastors do, the bulk of my days are spent doing that for others. With her it was nice to have a break, to converse with someone who wasn’t afraid of death, even as much as she loved life and sought to make a difference with each day gifted to her by God. Her laugh was infectious. She was witty and had a way of making you feel welcome beyond belief. I hope to always remember her voice because it sounded like that of an angel endowed with a Texas drawl as sweet as sweet tea. Jean was “good people,” a needle in a haystack increasingly hard to find in our crazy society. Furthermore, she was a hearty Christian, with a robust understanding that everything in life wasn’t supposed to revolve around her taste buds. She wanted FBC Belton to thrive even when the music changed or she didn’t understand all of the new ministry decisions being made. It was her church. But first, it was God’s church and if whatever was happening was with the intention to reach new generations for Christ, then she was all-in and would happily adjust as needed.

In an age when we actually celebrate people being ornery, bitter, or jaded, I feel privileged to have known Jean and been known by Jean. She helped illustrate for me that who you are and how you treat people matters greatly. Time and time again, she stared back at pain dead in the eyes and chose joy. Hallelujah! We need the witness of saints like Jean who dared to be unashamedly honest about life’s myriad struggles, yet while pointing to the truth of God’s enduring favor and goodness to those who love him (Romans 8:28). Jesus is the exclusive transformer of those who submit to him. He is who was and is and is to come, our sole portion in life and in death. When surrendered to God, the Holy Spirit siphons strength through our weaknesses, so that we might follow the divine blueprint for him using us in our generation. In my life, people older than me have far out-shined my peers in demonstrating the aptitude and appetite for bonafide friendship. I get that this isn’t everyone’s story, but it has been mine. Perhaps the pursuit of legacy has influenced these experiences, them wanting to symbolically right wrongs or otherwise finish their marathon well. I don’t know. I don’t need to know. What I do know is that Jean, and people like her, never made me feel like an afterthought. She had no obligation to me or my well-being. I had nothing wildly substantive or spectacular to offer her; only conversation and care. And that is what she gave to me and I will not take her investment in my life for granted.

I am rather reserved at times; okay, most of the time. Peppered with some mixture of nature and nurture, it just is who I am. And yet, I am not the least bit afraid of tears. There were some other issues going-on in my life at the time, which may have led to the intensity of the moment, but I had a good cry in my car upon learning of Jean’s transition and I didn’t feel bad at all. She was my friend and I miss her dearly. You would as well if you had known her. It is sobering to no longer have her around, to encourage her with some semblance of how she encouraged me. Her voice was more calming for me than I am sure she ever knew, but I am glad that I didn’t dance around telling her while she was here how much she meant to me. It is easy to become a weeping poet when it is too late. I never want that for people in my life.

While I want to be a prayer warrior, as Jean was, I also want to be joyful, intentional, and grateful like her. All of that, and so much more, is an acquired taste that should be normative in the body of Christ. Unfortunately, however, we are so inebriated from the wine of the world that we routinely devalue God’s best for us. Jean loved God and loved others like me whom she could have chosen to keep at a distance. But instead, she chose to invest in me because of the Gospel. And I am better for it. By his grace and mercy, may one day someone be impacted by me the way I was impacted by Jean.