Tribute to my Mom
The Lord mercifully took Mom into the next chapter of eternity in the late hours of October 21, 2022. The following morning, I wrote this tribute to my earthly mother.
A Tribute to Mom – Sara Louise Stebbins Davis
October 9, 1936 – October 21, 2022
Mom grew up in challenging circumstances. She was born right in the middle of the depression of the 1930’s. Her father was a pastor, and this meant some austere times, but God always provided. This context gave her a sense of God-dependence and an art of making something beautiful out of little provision.
She was raised in a legalistic application of the Christian faith. The long shadow of “does” and “don’ts” provided a moral compass but sadly it squeezed some of the joy out of life that was waiting to burst from her passionate heart. Even so, her faith and commitment to Jesus was at the core of her life.
Along with Dad, Mom served the local expression of the church with sacrifice and commitment. Together, they were a living parable to me of what was declared centuries prior by Cyprian, a bishop of the ancient church, “If God is your Father, then the church is your mother.” My life as a servant leader of the church was shaped by their example.
Together. Some names just go together. Chuck and Louise. They were inseparable. Mom brought passion and dreams of adventure. Dad brought steadiness and devoted love. They were a united front in the home. They gave my sister Judy and me the gift of not allowing us to pit one against the other. They had a united front. And thus, it was natural when others referred to them as a unit, Chuck and Louise or Louise and Chuck.
I am uncertain to when Sara became Louise. Sometime in her childhood her middle name became her reference point. And Mom delighted in being called “wez” or “weezy.” And “gramweeze” was her favorite title. Oddly, the last few years of her life she became Sara to her caregivers at the home where she resided.
Mom was proud of her family heritage. She was a Stebbins before she was a Davis. She had an unwavering sense of honor for her father and mother, John and Philena. She also had a deep sense of identity rooted in her childhood home, Mahaffey, Pennsylvania. Whether it was returning to the parsonage next to the old church building while Da-Da was still pastor, or returning to the campground during the summers, Mom cherished her roots.
These roots were inseparable from her Christian and Missionary Alliance heritage. Mom was denominationally loyal. As an alumnus of The Nyack Missionary College, later named Nyack College (now Alliance University), Mom was also institutionally loyal. It is not surprising that her two children attended Nyack College and eventually worked for the institution: Judy in admissions and me as a professor.
Mom loved to cook – as she would say – “put on a spread.” Just about every Sunday we would return from church to the smell of a roast in the oven. And she could bake – pies, cinnamon rolls, raisin filled and an assortment of Christmas cookies. Preparing food and feeding you was one of her loudest love languages.
Once while I was in college, I was touring with Missions in Review from Nyack College. We were about 50 college students and college representatives. The bus pulled up in front of our Howe Road home and we piled out. An hour later, we had devoured a smorgasbord, all prepared by Mom. It might have been one of her happiest moments in life – institutional loyalty and love language met at her table.
We regularly had traveling pastors, friends, and touring missionaries in our home. Mom loved to entertain. And she did it with a flare. As a result, I grew up with a sense of which bread plate was mine or what utensil to use for the next course. Mom, the depression influenced child, was able to put on a proper five course meal.
However, while Mom could sit us to a regal meal, she could also improvise on the spot. A quick phone call to a neighbor would unleash an impromptu picnic on our screened-in porch in the middle of summer. The neighbors’ hot dogs and our hamburgers became the center of a shared table. Food, the table, conversation, community – in hindsight, this was the stuff of Jesus as much as her service inside the church building.
Mom also had a sense for decoration. However, she was wedded to one theme – Colonial American – though she mixed in a bit of British style. As an eight-year-old, I knew how to identify Queen Anne legs on a chair or table. I also learned the proper balance required in decorating a wall or an end table. As a result, even though we lived a simple middle-American, middle-class life, I developed an appreciation for finer things. I think that sense of style came from my Mom. She would often quip, “you have a wine taste on a beer budget.” That alone was an interesting line for a woman who never had a drink of alcohol.
When I think of Mom, I think of the following qualities.
Hard working. Dad and Mom would never pay to have work done at the house, as long as they had energy to do it themselves. When we moved to Strongsville from Parma, we settled in a new development called Pomeroy Place. All the trees had been removed to put in these cookie-cutter houses. Dad and Mom traveled to Pennsylvania with a U-Haul to dig up evergreens and maples, encased roots in large balls of dirt protected with burlap sacks and twine. Once home, they dug the holes where these reclaimed trees would bring life to the barren property. Then they raked out by hand the entire front and back yards to plant seed to grow a lawn.
After Dad passed, Mom was already in her dementia care unit, I had the privilege of preparing that very house and yard which they had lived in for 50 years, for sale. It was mid-Covid, so laborers were few and I had the honor of doing it their way – do the hard work yourself. Rugged and rotting landscaping dug up, 10 yards of mulch put down, 50-year-old carpets removed, interior repainted, wood flooring installed, new carpet installed, 50 years of collected furniture (including a basement full of furniture received from two estates) and knickknacks all passed on to charity or the dump. Hard work – Dad and Mom modeled the way.
Family and faith loyal. Mom loved her family and wanted the very best for us. That love began for the nuclear family in which she was raised. It was expressed in her unwavering trust and commitment to Dad. And she sacrificed for her church family. I learned the importance of service – they served on committees, mom played the piano, they led the youth group through all my elementary years. It is not surprising that one of my top love languages is “acts of service.”
I also learned the liberating practice of tithing and the giving of sacrificial offering as a young child. First fruits were just that and you gave them back to God before caring for your everyday needs. Such an unwavering stance kept God as Jehovah Jireh, the Lord our Provider, and positioned us in a place of trust. As a result, those practices today are habits of grace and not obligations for me. In fact, I would say that they set the foundation for my life of living out of the hilarious bounty and generosity of God.
Spirit of adventure. Mom liked a good practical joke. She was known to turn a hose on you in backyard fun. Mom liked to fill life with laughter. She was very conscious of caring for her house but was not opposed to cooking hotdogs over the family room fireplace. I think my sense of adventure and exploration was partially a gift from Mom.
It was a combination of loyalty to faith, hard work, and adventure that played a significant role in my vocation of serving church and mission. Dad and Mom supported my sense of calling. They did not completely understand the commitment that that calling would have on my time. Mom’s country preacher father had a bit more flexibility in his calendar than I did serving in Metro New York. The “ministry game” had changed a bit. And when that calling directed us to Mali, West Africa, with their only grandchildren, I know it was a heart wrenching sacrifice. But Dad and Mom gave us back to God as babies, so they had already stewarded us well.
I am not sure how heaven works. I hope Dad and Mom have some sense of how their stewardship of my life is bringing a multiplication of fruitfulness. We have and continue to minister to thousands of people in dozens of countries. We have led a life of influence that bears fruit well beyond the boundaries of our biological family. I am not sure how much Dad and Mom embraced a gospel of the kingdom theology but their tribute to King Jesus grows daily. There are other people on this earth who did not know Dad and Mom but are grateful for the opportunities that they created for us by giving me a stable beginning to my life.
Memories of Mom that bring a smile are many.
I went to Cleveland Indians games with Dad, but Mom would prepare a full picnic lunch to carry with us. In those days, you could bring anything into the stadium.
Dad did most of the spanking (“wait until your Dad gets home”) – totally politically incorrect today – but I think it was his and Mom’s most difficult expression of love toward me. And so needed for this wild stallion. I remember Mom’s final paddling. She used a yardstick, and it broke on the first strike of the back of my legs. We both started laughing and that was her last effort of corporal punishment.
Every winter Mom ordered maps from different places around the country. Her adventurous spirit would get unleashed in planning long vacations to remote places. We never went on those vacations. Too much risk given the long shadow of the depression but enough to satisfy her inner passion and imagination.
Most of our vacations centered around Mahaffey and Irvona, PA. Although, we did vacation a couple of times at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, the place where Dad and Mom honeymooned. The shore was set into my heart with those adventures. In fact, today I recount these memories of Mom while attending a family event at Bethany Beach, just south of Rehoboth, and where we have been doing family reunions most of our adult life. I am here with Dad and Mom’s real legacy – myself and Ing, Linnea, Christian, Jordan, Sasha, Uriah, Charles IV, Declan, and Grant. We are a fiery bunch – lots of ambition – even down to the great-grandsons – it is a GramWeeze fire.
Going to the kitchen after Sunday meal and wiping up the congealed gravy from the ceramic cooking pot with wonder bread.
Apple pie, blueberry pie, rhubarb pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, cherry cheese pie with graham cracker crust. All at one time. “Can I have a sliver of each?” And of course, a la mode.
Cinnamon rolls at home or sticky buns on those special visits to Miller’s restaurant.
No wonder I won wrestling tournaments as a heavy weight without wrestling a match, because no one was in my weight class.
And the serving of food did not stop as we grew older. Visits to me as a student at Nyack College with a car full of food, including a stuffed turkey with all the fixings. I was suddenly popular in Moseley dorm.
She loved Ing. Ingrid’s kindness and listening ear won her over.
She loved Christian, Linnea and Jordan, and took on their spouses Sasha and Uriah as her own grandkids.
She would have been over the moon with her great grandkids. Sadly, dementia began taking her mind, so she did not really get to enjoy them completely. And to have Charles Andrew Davis IV – I do not think she ever forgave me for not naming one of my sons Charles.
Dad serving Mom breakfast every morning – Lego waffles drenched in syrup and a side of grapes. I always added the bacon when in town to Mom’s delight. Mom spent the rest of the day eating Chip Ahoy chocolate chip cookies. She definitely had a sweet tooth, which I also inherited.
Finally, visiting Mom in her care unit, always brought a round of kind words from the nurses and aides. Sara is such a sweet presence. We love her. We are going to miss her. Mom faded in her ability to know us but got sweater with each passing year. Finally, she experienced God’s mercy in being taken quietly in the night. God heard our prayer to welcome her into the presence of Jesus and be reunited with her family.
“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord . . . blessed is the one whose quiver is full” (Psalm 127:3ff).
“Your children will be like olive shoots around your table . . . behold, thus shall the person be blessed who fears the Lord” (Psalm 128:3ff).
Mom, Sara Louise Stebbins Davis, today I celebrate you. And I rejoice in your reunion with Dad, Jude, Da-Da, Mom-Mom, your brother John, your sister-in-law Ruth, and all the Stebbins-Chappelle-Davis-Conley clans who have gone before.
Heavenly Father, today I praise and thank you, you have blessed us through faithful parents, who loved you and us.
