None of us could've imagined tragedy striking our little town. We see each other at MOPS, church, 4-H, piano lessons, the grocery store and when we say "Hi, how are you," sometimes it may mean "Let's catch up later, but not now."
When I think of Annie, I think of her saying, "Let me tell you how BIG my God is...." These words were a good indicator that this was no quick hello. If God was doing something with Annie, she was the first to let you know. In a Sunday evening service last summer, she candidly told her story--a story that told of great personal pain. One of the old women later said, "That was a breath of fresh air!" And because of Jesus, Annie really was a breath of fresh air.
It now seems like an incredibly twist of irony but a couple of months ago, she got a call that her mother was not expected to live long. Annie was upset because she had not seen her mother for several years and couldn't afford to go. God provided the plane ticket and, needless to say, her mom made it. What we didn't know, was that Annie would not.
Most people who knew Annie found out just 24 hours ago that her life was in the balance. Someone organized a prayer meeting. About 50-60 people huddled together in small groups. There were the very old and the very young alternately crying and praying. This was the small army that assembled to plea for Annie's life; our faith was the mustard seed and Annie's health the mountain. Certainly with so many mustard seeds in attendance, God would move.
There was a beauty that because of this shared pain, we found unity. That a fragile thread was all that held each of our lives intact was vividly seen in the circumstance that brought us together. Twenty first century medicine was not healing Annie. Modern man was failing and it all lay in God's hands. None of us would ever say we thought we had control, but here was God--an untamed Lion who would do what pleased Him most.
The announcement was abrupt. Death announcements always are no matter how you phrase it. As we left the building, you could hear things like,
"Hey, I'll see you later. Thanks for being my friend."
"Take care of yourself, okay?"
"I love you."
We left slowly, none really wanting to go. Life does go on. The sun will rise and set. The dog will want to go out in the morning. The mail will come at 1:30. Our kids will need to be fed. Husbands will go back to work. But we'll also call each other more and ask "How are you doing--I mean, really, how ARE you?"
Sometime during the day, we'll try to picture Annie in Heaven--then realize the pain is too fresh to attempt it. For now we are all looking up in awe at this silver thread that holds us so thinly between life and death. Annie is gone and we are here and she will be greatly missed.
(Tribute written by Lori Dressel, a friend of Annie's, a graduated MOPS mom, and former MOPS coordinator)
A memorial service honoring Annie's life will be held at EBC on Saturday, March 8, at 5:30pm.
