I didn’t ever meet Dianne, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t even reach sixty, but that didn’t matter either. A lot of things about Dianne didn’t seem to matter. The fact that she was plagued with crippling health problems and constant pain – that didn’t matter either. She had a lot to bitter about, but she didn’t let those things matter.
She spoke openly about her suffering, but she was a fine example of someone who didn’t let herself be defined by the things that had happened to her, but instead redefined those things in the light of who God had made her to be. She was physically inactive, but spiritually active. Not just spiritually active, I suppose, but spiritually vibrant; spiritually contagious even. For those of you who don’t know, she prayed faithfully for me and many others on a regular basis, and those prayers did matter. When Dianne phoned you and said, “I was praying for you yesterday and I felt like God was saying…”, well, you’d better have listened. She was the sort of person that caused Satan to break out into a cold sweat. That may sound a touch melodramatic, but I have experienced first hand how God used her to thwart the enemy’s little schemes, and I know I’m not the only one.
Of course, like all men and women cut from that beautiful cloth, she would be nonplussed and embarrassed to read such things written about herself, but that’s all part of the deal, isn’t it? Brokenness and humility are both the things that God uses, and the things that prevent us from getting carried away by our usefulness.
I didn’t ever meet Dianne, but I will miss her and part of me wishes she was still here. We are poorer without her and there’s a lot of work still to be done, but she’s earned her rest.
One day I’ll thank her face to face, because – one day – we’ll have that first meeting.
Amen.