There are those extraordinary people that God—in His loving kindness—puts into your life without any real fanfare, but that make such an imprint that one cannot reimagine life without them.
-Cheryl Peachey
Ours may have been an unlikely friendship. Our social, economic, and educational backgrounds were worlds apart, and yet Betty Lou had an attractive, authentic faith that was impossible to ignore. Curiosity compelled me to get to know her, but her depth of character created a loyalty that caused me to stay and form a friendship that will transcend time as coheirs of the same Heavenly Father. Wife of the late Judge James McClure–who left a similar, beautiful legacy–Betty Lou became an extraordinary friend to me. This is our story:
My dearest Betty Lou,
A rare home. Your elegant gardens carefully planned to bloom beauty from early spring until frost, were meticulously cared for by a man who both gardened and loved with his whole heart. I knew there was something different–something genuine, heartfelt, and good–mingling in the dusty air of your lovely, historic home that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. Once upon a time, the long, curved staircase gracing the entryway must have been a spectacular slide for your daughters, giggling like the von Trapp children. I glimpsed memories of once polished candlesticks, buffets boasting hearty, tasty fare for celebrations, or delicacies for tea parties, laughter making the large dining room intimate and cozy. Third-floor rooms used in decades past held stately fireplaces for warmth, designed similarly to those in upstairs and downstairs rooms, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases….oh, the books!
Your housecleaner was retiring after decades of service, and as a replacement, I was welcomed with a genuine warmth from you that mirrored the gratitude I would hear for the next sixteen years, each and every time I said goodbye. “Thank you.”
Thank you, Betty Lou! I never expected to receive more than I gave in my years of service.
You taught me so much about life, just by living yours. Let me count the ways. Just a few of my favorite things, for fear this letter morphs into a book.
No pretenses. Though I was simply a housecleaner, the manner in which you treated me was always genuine, kind, and without partiality, as if I had the same esteemed reputation. That respect makes one want to live up to being honorable…you know? Though your dining table stretched long with multiple leaves, making a long oval to make room for friends and family, I knew your position. In all relationships, you had a round table. There was no head, no foot.
Enduring faith and steadfast trust. The silver-framed black and white photo of a beautiful, smiling girl with corkscrew curls–she could have passed for Shirley Temple–who was she? I guessed it could have been you as a girl, or maybe one of your daughters, and yet questioned the significance of it, knowing you had five daughters. I later learned it was your firstborn daughter, Betsy, who had died of leukemia at age six. I wondered why your laughter, ringing throughout the house every time you spoke on the phone, didn’t hold a hard edge; your sparkle for life remained untainted. Your mother’s heart remained soft in the wake of great grief, and I wanted to know why. I saw many around me suffering great loss; why were some grouchy, angry ladies?
A few, like you, seemed only to grow in joy and depth of character. I knew Christ was your hope, and the surety of a reunion with Betsy again someday brought you great peace, and yet…there was something more. I experienced it firsthand as your loyal, loving husband, the father of your six daughters, and the Honorable Judge James McClure was diagnosed with leukemia, and then met Betsy in glory. Your trust that God was good, even when life didn’t feel good, enveloped you in peace that passed human understanding. Instead of focusing on what could have been, you focused on being grateful for what was.
Perseverance. It wasn’t a coincidence that as Jay enrolled at Penn College, and I was needed to provide an income for our family, that I was needed to attend to your personal care, transitioning from weekly cleaning to sufficient income to keep us afloat. You were such an encouragement to me to fully support him and told the stories of army wife life, and a butcher who assumed your liver was for a dog when it was your dinner. How we would laugh at your stories! Even in your late sixties, you attended college and exercise classes for seniors and lived by example. You never stopped learning, and because of you, neither do I. I hope to go to college someday, and I know you would exclaim, “It’s never too late!” Just as Jay graduated from college and could provide for our family again, your need for my care ended. That was no coincidence either. As your memory faded with the disease, I realized why your former housekeeper, your gardener of thirty-some years, and myself all remained loyal to you and your family for as long as we could serve you.
God’s faithfulness, goodness, and provision were represented in and through your life in countless, tangible ways. This is your legacy, my dear Betty Lou. Our loss is great, but your gain is unimaginably glorious. You’ve left me, and many others, an inheritance of unparalleled treasure: a legacy of faith so rich, that although you’re no longer here with us, we are forever changed and eternally impacted. So now, I will follow in your footsteps, and instead of regretting that your presence is no more, I will choose to be continually grateful for what was…and for what you meant to me until I see you again.
Until that day,
Cheryl Peachey
A couple weeks away from the historically popular goal-setting day of New Year’s Eve and I’m thinking a lot of the overwhelmed feeling of defeat and failure we often feel in the areas of our lives that are a top priority. I have a changed perspective that initiated an immense amount of positive life-changing hope for me when I encounter feelings of failure.
