Remembering Jean Coleman

Remembering Jean Coleman

April 4, 1932 to December 11, 2013

Mom loved lighthouses.  My great-great grandmother and grandfather were lighthouse keepers at Price’s Creek lighthouse near Southport, North Carolina.  She has prints of lighthouses, and little figurines replicas of lighthouses along the eastern coast.  I believe it was beautiful imagery of who she was.  A lighthouse shows the way to safety in the dark and dangerous waters, and if we follow the light, keeps us from crashing into the rocks until we complete the journey.  

When Mom passed away last Wednesday, it was the end of a long and difficult journey.  As most of you know she fought this battle with cancer since 2006, enduring surgeries that would have taken most of us out.  How did she do this and keep such obvious joy and love for her Lord and in her heart?  How did she manage to stay concerned for others even until her last hours?  Why wasn’t she bitter and angry about her situation?  After all, she devoted her entire life to God’s service.  Why wasn’t she demanding to know where her earthly reward was?   How could she show so much joy, and lift others up, and delight others, and make everyone feel loved and welcome?  Was she just faking it?

Mom’s life didn’t start easily.  She was born in Miami, Florida in 1932 and her father left when she was a baby.  She moved from city to city during her childhood and teenage years.  She attended 11 schools between first grade and high school graduation.  She lived with her grandparents for some time.  She didn’t have any real anchors or mentors in her family life, especially spiritual ones.  She remembered life being a mess and always having to find new friends.  If anybody had reason to live life badly and blame her circumstances it would have been her.

In high school she attended church and accepted Jesus Christ as her savior.  She found the anchor that would be with her wherever she went in life.  She decided she wanted to marry a man who wanted to be a missionary, and when she met my Dad that was one of the things that drew them to each other.  She grew to love the Lord with all her heart, and together they left for Brazil in 1962 on board a ship from New Orleans.  They spent a year in language school studying Portuguese, and then moved to the northeast of Brazil in a small city called Garanhuns.  Dad worked with people in extreme poverty and taught them how to grow gardens, raise a small herd of cows, and about nutrition.  Mom immersed herself in children's activities by teaching Sunday School and holding countless fun and educational times with groups of kids.   This week we have heard over and over from her former students who recalled that special combination of snack time and study time.  Mom had a natural gift to create special moments with food and activities.  It wasn’t just eating and drawing on paper, it was an social event!  It had to have stories, and she always added some kind of flourish to whatever food she served, even if it was just a snack.  She made the ordinary special, and she made every guest feel like they were kings and queens in her home.  When she hugged you, it was the most warm, enveloping and loving and accepting hug you have ever felt.  Even this year, at 81 and in the fight of her life, if you visited her and she served you juice and crackers, she would whip up a special blend of fruit and juices in her blender, pour them in to glass glasses, put the glasses on a tray, and arrange the crackers just so on pretty napkins.  It wasn’t just “Would you like something to drink.”   It was an occasion!  It was her way of showing love and making you feel special.  It never got old.

In 1964 she lost a newborn son, Stephen Olin Coleman, due to a completely avoidable medical error.  There was a military coup that took over the government, and tensions were very high for foreigners.  She was far from family and anything familiar culturally, and she understandably struggled for a time with depression.  Dad survived a very serious case of diphtheria, and she nursed him back to health.  With each challenge, she drew herself closer to Christ and emerged stronger.  

In 1975 we moved to the Amazon to create a program similar to the one Dad had developed in the Northeast of Brazil  We lived in the town of Altamira, on the banks of the Xingu river.  The next town over in each direction was over 300 miles on the dirt trans-amazon highway.  Life was hard, hot, dusty, filled with disease, lacking in the normal comforts of life, and lacking in medical facilities. Everything that had to be done was 10 times harder than it was in normal places.  She had to go to the market and buy rice and beans out of a pile on the ground, then bring them home and sort through it all and get out rocks, bugs, twigs, and whatever else found its way in there before it could be cooked.  She had to get meat from the meat market, where cows hung on hooks out in the open, and french bread from the bread store that lasted exactly one day before you could use it as a baseball bat.  Water and milk had to be boiled on the stove before we could drink it.  Life was tiring, and it took a physical toll on both my parents.   Dad was attacked and gored by a bull, breaking ribs and bones and pulling his shoulder out of the socket, and there was a long recovery period.  Death was always close by in the Amazon.  We had friends who lost their lives from disease and accidents, and we all got to see more misery up close than most people get to see in a lifetime.  Both of them lost so much weight that when we look at pictures of them after their return from the Amazon in 1981 we are still shocked.

So let’s review.  We have a lady who had a rough childhood, lost a son, lived through a military coup, almost lost her husband twice, had to take 3 showers a day because it was so hot and dirty, was far from family, and all of her kids were off at boarding school.  She later lost my Dad to cancer, and then for 6 years had one of the most brutal forms of cancer I’ve ever seen.  Why on earth was this a joyful lady, and how on earth could she have an abundance of joy to give?

We know the answer.  She had joy because God shines brightest through the most broken.  She had joy because every day she lived for Him, and to serve Him, and to show others what His love could do for your heart and soul.  The harder life was, and the more broken her body became, the more she immersed herself in the reading of His word, the singing of hymns even at home, and the reading of devotions.   His loved just flowed through her out to us.   She was a lens through which we saw His love, and that lens became clearer the worse things got. 

The majority of us are pretty good at faking how we feel sometimes.  There isn’t one of us here who, when asked “How are you”, have said “I’m fine” when we really aren’t fine.  We have a shell that we sometimes work hard to keep intact so that others see us as we would like them to see us.  We won’t want to be a burden, or we don’t like some traits or feelings we have, and so we cover it up and put on the game face.   But when life breaks down, and our bodies start to break down, our true nature starts to break through.  We can’t keep up the facade.  The shell is eventually shattered, and the true nature is all that’s left.  Everyone who knew her knew that the more her body broke down, and the harder it was to talk and eat, and the worse she felt, the more God’s character shone through her.  She was more beautiful than ever.  You could see it in her eyes and in that smile even as it got more crooked.  As her outer shell shattered, we were able to see her heart ever more clearly and it was inspiring and a testament to God’s work in her life and her true character.  

She looked even more urgently for ways to be of service to him.  At 80 years old she was driving and picked up a lady who was walking with difficulty in her neighborhood and brought her to her house to befriend her and make sure she was ok.  We were alarmed and cautioned her against doing such dangerous things.  She laughed and said “I’m 80 years old, she needs to hear the gospel, and if she knocks me over I’ve lived a full life.”  Waitresses and waiters all over town knew her by name.  Every time we went somewhere to eat (and she often had to take her own food because of her special diet), she would leave a daily devotional with a hand-written note inside it personally addressed, and the tip for the meal was inside all that.  So if they wanted the tip, they had to see the sweet note thanking them for their service and encouraging them to try out the daily devotional.   She kept long lists of people to pray for, and when she was in pain she would pull it out and pray for other people because, she said, it took her mind off her own problems.  It was great to be on her prayer list, because she earnestly and truly prayed for you often.  Her gentle joy and persistent example and witness led many people to Christ over the years.    God took a lady with a broken childhood and a difficult life and channeled joy, hope, and peace to others through it.  What a great example for all of us that knew and loved her.

So what do we do with this story and with her life?  Do we look at it like a work of art and admire it?  I would like to suggest that the best way to honor Mom’s memory is to live what she lived for.  Now it’s our turn.  It doesn't matter if you came from a great family or a broken family.  It is our responsibility in each generation to neither blame our bad parents nor to coast on the heritage of great ones.   Each one of us can be the light that she was by loving God like she did.  Let’s understand what made her that way.  Let’s seek out the truth.  Let’s love unconditionally. Let’s love the broken.  Let’s look for how we can sacrifice to help and love others.   We can understand that even if we are broken that He works even better in us.  Nobody could ever say of mom “Oh, of course she loved God.  She grew up in a Christian household and had a great life.  So would I!”  We can feel that joy and fulfillment that she felt, and we won’t be bitter and angry when things don’t go our way., and we will be a joy and encouragement to others.   We will because we will be doing these things not for our own glory, but for His.

And so, just as I did when Dad passed away, I say to Matthew, Emily, Mary, Caroline, Miriam, Christina, Samuel, Aiden, Kayleigh, Ryhlee, and Cooper:  If you want to know what she was like, study the fruit of her life, which was the fruit of the spirit.  You will see love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Let’s be like her, and let’s look forward to her awesome hug that will be waiting for us in heaven.  We saw her beautiful sunset.  Now let’s join her for the perfect sunrise, and smile next time we see a lighthouse.  I know we all can’t wait to see her there.

The Most Beautiful Sunset

Throughout my life I have had the privilege of traveling all over the world both for pleasure and for business. Of all the varied landscapes I have seen, no place I have visited feels so much like home to me than the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina. Year after year I keep going back and discovering new hidden views and delights, often in a place I have driven by dozens of times before. Photography has been my hobby for many years now, and I will often take a quick trip into the mountains to see what I can find. Sometimes it’s a grand view of a new sunrise or sunset. Other times it’s a tiny unexpected flower or insect, and often it is a waterfall that cascades in a way that is different from the last time. It is not so much the pursuit of a photograph as it is a journey of discovery. It forces me to slow down and see beyond the glance, to walk around something and see if from different angles, and to find curves and see how light falls. If I happen to be able to capture what I find with my camera, then it’s a bonus. Coming home after a day of discovery with no photographs is not a failed trip, because the process is what is rejuvenating.

Sunset on the Blue Ridge Parkway - September 2013

This past summer I drove up into the mountains on one of these journeys of discovery, hoping to find a sunset. It was a short trip, and late in the afternoon. I wound my way up the smooth curves of the Blue Ridge Parkway to a few places where I knew I could see the sunset, but the closer I got, the more the day turned cloudy and hazy. I was in the right place, but as darkness fell it became obvious that this was not going to be a day for sunset pictures. “That’s ok.”, I told myself, “Not all sunsets are beautiful.”

My beautiful and sweet mother, Jean Coleman, has cancer. She was diagnosed in 2006 with Lichen Planus, a form of oral cancer. All cancers are awful, but hers has been a particularly brutal form. Normally this kind of cancer is associated with habits like smoking, drinking alcohol, or chewing tobacco. Not only did Mom not do any of these things, she has probably lived the purest life of anyone I know. She and my Dad spent their lives serving other people, often to great personal sacrifice. They lived and worked in Brazil since the early 1960’s helping the poor and hungry learn to care for small herds of cows, plant gardens, understand nutrition, and learn skills to build a sustainable life. Their last few years were in the Amazon, on the banks of the Xingu River in a remote town called Altamira. They worked along the Trans-Amazon Highway with dozens of families. It was a dangerous and dusty place, far from family, health care, and most luxuries.

My Dad (left) and one of the families my parents worked with in Brazil

In September of 2006, she had radical surgery to remove her palate and much of the structure of her mouth. She had an amazing surgeon who was able to take a section of her arm and graft it into a new palate. She was never able to eat solid foods again, but being cheerful and resourceful, she quickly crafted recipes for herself that were nutritious and tasty. When we would go out to eat, she would bring her food in a kit and the restaurants were always accommodating. Sometimes, they would make something special just for her that she was able to eat. Mom viewed the extra time she had been given as an opportunity to lift others up, and to share God’s love wherever she went. She kept lists of people’s birthdays, and sent out cards for every occasion, always with an encouraging note and often some special surprise inside. She lived her life as if nothing was wrong, and worked every day not to be a burden to anyone.

Adventure on the Segway at The Biltmore Estate, Asheville, NC

Over the next 6 years, the cancer returned twice and her surgeon was able to remove the affected areas, and after a brief period of recovery she would be back to her cheerful and independent self. After Dad passed away in 2007, we were able to move her close to our home and enjoy her company and attend church with her every week. Following each of her surgeries, her surgeon would remind us that it was very likely that her cancer would return at some point with a vengeance. In July of 2013, it did. She had another major surgery that removed all the original graft, plus as much cancer as they could, leaving her with no palate and her upper jaw gone. The cancer had invaded her bone, and so she was out of options for more surgery. Radiation was an option, but only as a palliative measure that would delay the invasion of cancer into her mouth. Over the last several weeks, the tumors have grown faster and faster, limiting what she is able to eat and causing misery that nobody should ever experience. She has kept her cheerful spirit most of the time, but the toll of years of cancer made her weary and it was sometimes overwhelming. She is in constant pain, a constant state of change, losing control of her body, and there are no options for treatment that are not miserable. Radiation might temporarily help, but it would burn the inside of her mouth and her face, and no treatment means waiting until the tumors take over everything. It would be easy to conclude that hers is not a beautiful sunset.

Jean Coleman

Not long ago I took a flight in the late in the afternoon. It was a dreary drizzling day. “No chance of a sunset as we climb out today”, I thought. As we passed through ten thousand feet I saw a few bursts of blue sky between the tops of the clouds. Suddenly, we popped out of the top and I saw a beautiful sunset ducking behind the horizon. The clouds looked like a bed of pink cotton and the sky above was bright blue. As the light rays bent with the setting sun, the hues changed from blue to orange to pink, and finally everything settled into the deep blue evening star-filled sky. It’s not that there wasn’t a beautiful sunset that night. The problem was that my perspective under the clouds kept me from seeing it. When I was able to rise above the clouds, rain, and haze that obstructed my view not only was the sunset stunning, it was even more beautiful than I could have ever seen even on a clear day from the ground.

Mom’s sunset is full of rain, clouds, haze, and all kinds of other obstacles that could make us sadly shrug our shoulders and wish her sunset could be beautiful. Over the last 7 years, and especially over the last few weeks, I have had the privilege of witnessing her example of strength, cheerfulness, selflessness, and encouragement that one by one have lifted my perspective to a higher plane. Each time she worked through her list of people to pray for, each time I heard her singing a hymn with difficulty, each time she kept writing cards to family and friends, and each time she worked so hard to do something for herself so we would not have to, I was able to see those glimpses of blue sky and began to see the fullness of her beautiful sunset. Each morning that I was able to walk into her bedroom and caress her face and she would wake up with those beautiful smiling eyes lifted me higher. Recent days have been more difficult, and as I sit now by her bedside in the hospital I am able to see beyond her broken body and gaze not at an ordinary sunset, but the most beautiful sunset. One of God’s children who has devoted her whole life to serving others is rising above the clouds and pains of this world, and as she nears her eternal welcome the rays of heavenly light open their arms wide to welcome her home to a perfect rest. What to us now seems like a beautiful sunset will be for her be the dawn of a perfect heaven.

Sunrise on the Blue Ridge Parkway - October, 2013