As I am sitting here in my cozy dining room, just two days before Christmas, I am feeling an ache I can barely put into words. How can the human heart hold so many emotions at once and not simply break? This year, God has been so good to me, guiding me through valleys I never thought I’d cross, and I’m reminded that my hope is securely anchored in Him. One day, all of us who believe will see Him face to face, in that radiant city of gold, worshiping at His feet.
Yesterday, my husband’s Aunt Diana received the ultimate reward for her faith: a homecoming into eternity. I can almost picture her stepping through those beautiful gates, greeted with open arms by her mama and daddy, and her Savior’s voice whispering, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
Aunt Diana was the definition of what it means to be Jesus here on earth. She welcomed everyone with open arms, an open heart, and an open home; she truly never met a stranger. I still remember the first time I met her at church 11 years ago. I introduced myself, and she simply smiled and said, “I know who you are,” before pulling me into a big hug.
A little background: our church was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and reputations, both good and bad, got around quickly. At that time, I was coming out of a really hard season in my life, and Diana happened to be close with several people whose relationships with me had grown strained. But when she met me, there was no trace of judgment or condemnation. She just embraced me and said she was happy to meet me. That was who she was: full of grace, compassion, and genuine love.
To know her was to love her. She radiated joy wherever she went and she wanted everyone to know the source of her joy. She had a huge heart for the broken and talking about her faith to others was her biggest purpose in life, and she lived her life in such a way that made others want to be better.
She was always singing. She had a voice of an angel, and to hear her worshipping at church was such an otherworldly experience. She got lost in the songs she sang to heaven and in those precious moments, you could sense the intimate relationship she had with her Lord and it was one she wanted everyone to know.
She was selfless in every sense of the word. Even in her final moments, lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines, she was still thinking of others, texting her loved ones with updates and making sure they would be okay.
She was strong and resilient. Fittingly, her mama’s maiden name was Strong. When Brent and I went to visit her at the hospital Saturday evening, we gently joked with her that the name suited her perfectly. Even in that moment, she carried a quiet strength, one that didn’t need to be loud to be felt.
She was truly more of a mother figure to all of us. She was the matriarch of the family; of her sisters, she was the oldest, so she always took it upon herself to step in when someone needed comfort, advice, or a steady presence. She loved fiercely, protected endlessly, and made sure no one ever felt alone.
One of my favorite memories with her was sitting in her kitchen, cooking and baking together, her home always smelling warm and inviting. The scents of nutmeg and vanilla would fill every corner of the house, making it feel like a home away from home. We loved experimenting with new recipes, and when something didn’t turn out quite right, we laughed, ate our mistakes, and tried again until we finally got it right.
I also loved going through her jewelry collection. She would pull out a well-worn piece from her stash and tell you the whole story behind it. Everything she owned carried a special meaning or memory; nothing was ever just a thing to her, just as no person in her life was ever just someone. She met everyone with intentionality, purpose, and love. Each piece of jewelry was a chapter of her life, worn with love and shared with pride.
That was my Aunt Diana: a woman after God’s own heart and a warrior for the lost. This is not goodbye forever; it is simply goodbye for now. Until the day we meet again in paradise, worshiping side by side and cooking and baking up a storm just like we did here on earth. Until then, I will carry her with me, in every prayer, every hymn, and every warm, familiar scent of home, and I’ll hold onto the promise that heaven feels a little more like home because she is there.
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