Rising Beyond Loss

“The death of a mother is the first sorrow we weep without her arms around us.”

— Author Unknown

I woke up one morning to a painful truth: I’m an orphan.

I’ve kept that reality at arm’s length, too afraid to let it sink in. My mother passed away on June 5, 2026, and it has left a hollow space in my life. Her absence feels profound—the sense of being anchored in the world is gone. She was my shield from mortality, my witness to childhood, my keeper of memories, my first storyteller, my champion, encourager, prayer partner, and best friend.

With her gone, I feel exposed, next in line to face the unknown. No one remains who remembers the moments that shaped me. My hedge of protection is gone. I am no longer “somebody’s child,” and that realization leaves me feeling untethered, incomplete, and profoundly alone. This is my new normal, and if I am honest, it terrifies me.

Yet, amid my grief, memories of our years together come rushing back—the laughter, the tears, the way we served side by side in ministry, those powerful Tuesday prayer times and hymn sings, and how our shared faith grew stronger through every trial.

“The bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved.

But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart...”

— Anne Lamott

My mother’s wisdom, her relentless prayers, and her unwavering insistence that I develop an authentic relationship with Jesus still echo in my soul. She never let me believe I could be carried by her faith alone—her words were more than lessons; they were warnings, and they shaped the very core of who I am today.

As I reflect on her life—a life marked by worship, unshakable prayer, and a fierce love for God’s Word—I recognize those foundations have held me up more than I even realized. When I am overwhelmed by loneliness and loss, I sense the same God who carried my mother through suffering and ultimately called her home is now carrying me.

The reality is raw:

My faith must stand on its own. I am forced to confront my beliefs and wrestle with whether I will truly trust God in the darkness or surrender to despair.

Most days, I feel like I am tumbling into an abyss, desperate for something to hold onto. Yet every time I am on the verge of letting go, something pulls me back from the edge—a presence, a strength not my own. It’s Jesus, refusing to let me be overcome by grief and insisting that my story is not over. This is not just comfort; it is a call to rise, claim my identity, and walk forward in faith, even when the way is brutal and unclear.

“The death of our loved one forces us to write a new invisible name tag.

It forces us to grapple with who we are apart from our loved one...

While our identity may change after loss, our identity in Christ does not.”

— Lisa Appelo

What truly comes next after such a loss? How do I reconstruct my sense of self when my identity feels shattered, and how do I summon the courage to face this harsh, unchosen reality—leaning wholly on Jesus, even as grief threatens to consume me?

The label “orphan” once seemed distant and unimaginable to me, yet now it defines my existence. Amid overwhelming sorrow and disorientation, my faith becomes not just a comfort but a lifeline—an anchor that refuses to let me drift into despair. The deeper reality is that, in Christ, I am never truly orphaned. Through Him, I am adopted into a divine family and assured an eternal future with my Creator. This truth does not erase the ache, but it gives my suffering purpose and hope, reminding me that God’s presence and promise of a permanent home are unshakable, even in the darkest valley. From this truth, I can begin to live the new normal.

“I will not leave you as orphans [comfortless, bereaved, and helpless];

I will come [back] to you.”

— John 14:18 (AMP)

John 14:18 speaks directly to the pain of losing both parents. Jesus uses the word "orphan" to show that our loneliness and abandonment are met with two promises: His presence—"I will come to you"—and our adoption. God is my protector, provider, and companion through the Holy Spirit. Jesus does not minimize my loss. By calling me "orphan," He acknowledges the deep void left by my parents' absence. But I am not truly alone. John 14:18 guarantees that God Himself will never leave me. Earthly parents cannot stay forever, but Jesus promises a divine presence—the Holy Spirit—who brings lasting comfort and peace.

My mother’s passing was not an end, but a profound testament to a life lived in unwavering faith and obedience to Christ. The Bible assures me, with hope and certainty, that my mom now experiences the fullness of joy and peace in heaven. The moment she drew her last breath, she was welcomed into the loving presence of Jesus (2 Corinthians 5:8), where all her pain, confusion, and physical suffering vanished forever.

God has gently wiped away every tear from her eyes. Mom is now reunited with her parents, other loved ones, and the angels who went before her, joining the assembly of the faithful made perfect (Hebrews 11:40; Hebrews 10:1-39). She is fully alive— free from pain and untouched by sorrow; resting, rejoicing, and worshipping with a heart overflowing with gratitude. She is basking in the glory of God, at peace, and eagerly awaiting the future resurrection of her body. My mom is resting in her eternal home. Though my heart broke to see her struggle in the end, this assurance fills me with deep comfort.

I have never encountered, and never will, a person whose resolute, remarkable, and relentless faith so courageously confronted adversity, shattered barriers, and carried her through storms that would have undone others. Her journey was not merely one of endurance, but of victory—she finished well. There will never be another Lillie Mae Barnett.

In His deep mercy, God granted me the privilege of witnessing her final transition, a moment that revealed her relationship with Him as the bridge that carried her home. As she was passing into the arms of Jesus, and with the few minutes I had with her, I sang Amazing Grace, anointed her head with oil and began praying strongly and loudly for her, I thanked her for all she had done for me in my life and then I put my phone to her ear to listen to a song she introduced to me in January: See What The Lord Has Done, a song of testimony, gratitude, and faith and breakthroughs. It celebrates God's faithfulness in fulfilling promises of healing and, ultimately, of heaven, and encourages believers to trust Him during periods of waiting:

See what the Lord has done

See what the Lord has done

What we've waited for has come to pass

See what the Lord has done

— Nathaniel Bassey

As her breathing grew worse and more labored, at the moment of the final word and musical note in the song, she breathed her last breath. For five months, sleeping in numerous hospital and rehab beds, and as her health declined, Mom suffered, waited, worshipped, and thanked Him, and God has fulfilled His promises. God gave me a sacred gift. Holding her hand, singing, and praying gave mom the ultimate comfort, and it is a profound blessing that we shared that peaceful connection in her final moments. We were on holy ground. The spontaneous prayers and the stillness I felt testified to the deep bond my mom and I shared throughout our whole lives.

Even as loss carves deep wounds, separation is never final. The relationship I have with Jesus is not a platitude but a guarantee—one that bridges the agony of present absence with the hope of ultimate reunion. In these raw moments, the Holy Spirit does not just console me but calls me to reckon with God’s presence, urging me to wrestle with my grief and move toward a new normal. This is the place where I must choose to keep going.

So, what is the new normal? It is not mere survival or passive acceptance, but the intentional pursuit of legacy—carrying forward what was entrusted, even when the path is marked by loss.

The call now is to advance with unwavering determination, to finish well, and to reclaim the purpose for which I was uniquely created. Life will never be the same, but in the face of grief and change, I must choose to rely on God’s sustaining power and the steadfast support of my family and community. That is how I will step into what comes next.

To honor my mother is to refuse complacency:

It is to live a life radically surrendered to Christ,

to love boldly, and to ensure that His story is proclaimed

through every action and word.

Receiving such a pure, faithful charge from my mom in her final days is a sacred trust. She reminded me of Luke 10:27, which calls me to an others-focused lifestyle, grounded in unconditional love for God and my neighbor. Mom’s advice to “follow the call” and not worry about money reflects obedience to ministry and deep faith. I can only move forward with this legacy; it requires balancing my spiritual calling with everyday reality.

So, how do I honor Mom’s legacy? First, I must stay anchored in prayer, centering my daily routine on Scripture so that the ministry remains focused. Second, I must build a community by reaching out to mentors or peers who understand my calling and can support my mission.

As her pain increased, her resolve to teach and guide me increased that much more. Our final talks together can be likened to ministry planning. God was speaking to me even as He was preparing to take her to her eternal home. This practical time of planning prompts me to write down her specific advice and exhortation to continue discipling and winning souls for the Kingdom—advice that I will always reflect on whenever I face challenges or doubts. She reminded me of the Word’s promise that my sins were cast into the sea of forgetfulness and that God remembered them no more (Micah 7:19, Isaiah 43:25, Hebrews 10:17)—that I must forgive myself, trust in God’s unconditional love and forgiveness, and move forward with what He has called me to do in faith and resolve (Philippians 3:13-14); that He would uphold me with His righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10) – always reassuring me throughout my life that God gave me a spirit of power, love and a sound mind, not fear (2 Timothy 1:7).

My thoughts took me to one New Year’s Eve. It was a brutally cold night, and we decided to stay home and skip our traditional watch night service at church as we would pray into the new year with our congregation. About 11:45 pm, Mom called me to the dining room while my siblings slept. I was about 13 or 14 at the time. Mom began imploring me to follow the call of God without hesitation, and to never look back. She opened the bible to Luke 9:57-62, and we read about the cost of following Jesus. Jesus challenged three prospective followers about the cost of following Him, exposing common excuses and making it clear that discipleship demands complete commitment and absolute priority. As Mom read each verse, she repeated them, looking me in the eye in the sternest way.

“I must do what must be done before the setting of the sun.

I give my life to Jesus Christ, God’s only Son.”

— Unknown

The final verse (62) cut me to my core: “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” Mom wanted to be assured that I was listening to and understanding my God-given calling and the dire need to fulfill it—that souls depended upon it.

The bottom line is that she wanted me to understand that my work and ministry must be motivated by a sincere desire and commitment to serve for the glory of God alone. Souls are dying. Time is of the essence.

I miss my mom—not just her voice or her smile, but the peace of her presence. I miss her soprano voice filling the house every day with hymns and worship songs. I miss the sounds of her daily cries and intercession for her children, grandchildren, and family and friends, and the wholesome meals and fellowship. The challenges and struggles we shared.

I miss my mom.

There’s something about a mother’s love that stays with you, even when she’s not around. Her words and wisdom still guide me, her prayers still cover me, and her lessons still echo in my heart. No one can ever take her place because she wasn’t just a person; she was home, my fuel for navigating life. Sometimes I wish I could call her, hear her laugh, or tell her how much I love her just once more, and that I understand things now, or even brainstorm and collaborate on the next outreach project.

I miss my mom.

Even in her absence, her undying love gives me the strength to keep going. I hold on to her memory with gratitude, remembering the advice, the hugs, and the sacrifices she made for her family and community. Just a few days before she died, on a visit, she looked me square in the eyes and asked: “Are you prepared to lose your mother?” “Will you leave the faith when I die?” Of course, I affirmatively answered no to both questions. I will not depart from all that she taught me (Proverbs 3:5-6).

A charge to keep I have,

A God to glorify,

A never-dying soul to save,

And fit it for the sky.

— Charles Wesley

Mom lives in every kind thing I do, every smile I give, every victory I achieve, and every opportunity to move that much closer to fulfilling my God-given calling because a mother’s love never truly leaves. It lives forever in the heart. I love you, Mom, forever.

“You can count the seeds in an apple, but you can't count the apples in a seed.

When you teach, you never know how many lives you will influence...

you are teaching for eternity.”

— Karen Jensen

Karen Jensen’s powerful quote sums up the incredible life my mom lived and the countless souls that fill heaven because of this obedient servant of God. It illustrates her generational impact of pouring into others. Just as a single seed contains the potential for entire orchards, one disciple you mentor or teach can go on to influence countless others. That is my mom’s enduring legacy.

Mom did not keep her focus on what she was going through,

but on what she was going to.

“For I consider [from the standpoint of faith] that the sufferings of

The present life are not worthy to be compared with the glory

that is about to be revealed to us and in us!”

— Romans 8:18 (AMP)

Lillie faced many challenges and struggles for most of her life, but her tested, unwavering faith kept her focused on sharing the Gospel and telling His Story, persevering through the pain, even up to her final days. As she walked through her trials, she waited for the glorious revealing and her soon-to-be eternal home. She fixed her eyes on Jesus, not her own strength or perspective. Her persistent resilience constrains me to do the same. Mom did not focus on what she was going through, but on what she was going to. I can still hear her, as she did throughout my life, saying: “Keep your focus on Christ, not on your feelings.” She knew what was on the other side, and as she got closer to the end, her anticipation, resolve, and joy began to grow in a way I had never seen before. Amid this excitement, her love for me and intent to pour into my life remained until the end. Those moments of intimacy and tender talks sustain me now and cause me to center on and anticipate my reunion with her someday.

Despite my loss, I choose to rise above and press on through this sacred journey. I seek my true significance in Christ, striving to serve wholeheartedly so that every step brings glory to Him.

I shall have life everlasting

Holding my Savior's hand

And I shall have joy for the asking

Holding my Savior's hand

Free from this world and its sorrows

Free from all doubts and fear

I shall rejoice forever

Holding my Savior's hand

Holding my Savior's hand

Viewing the Promised Land

Nothing on earth shall stop me

From holding my Savior's hand

— Robert Anderson and Yolanda Reed

Copyright 2026 William S. Barnett. All rights reserved.

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