Lord, my heart is heavy today as I grieve the death of a remarkable woman, Sallie. She was as unique as the spelling of her first name, a Southern belle with lots of grit and a wild and passionate love for life and Jesus.

I met her when Paul was in seminary in South Carolina. We attended the same church, and I admired her from afar as she led many women’s Bible studies.

But it wasn’t until we left for the mission field that I really got to know Sallie, and she became a mentor, a cheerleader, and a friend. Twenty years my senior, I gulped down her wisdom and candor whenever we came back to the States on furlough.

We’d visit our home church and Sallie and her husband, Bill, would inevitably have us out to dinner or a day on the lake. They were on the missions committee and were fierce advocates for those of us serving overseas.

I was a young, exhausted, and often discouraged wife and mother. Our first years in France were fraught with a seemingly impenetrable darkness in spite of the world’s perception of la belle France. A heavy spiritual apathy hung over the country, so much so that when we left France, whether crossing a border in Europe or an ocean, I felt the heaviness lift.

That’s where Sallie would find me, licking my wounds, wondering at the effectiveness of our ministry. And she’d welcome me into her beautiful home, serve us a delicious meal on fine china, and then listen as I spilled out my soul.

I was safe with Sallie. I knew she wouldn’t offer a platitude or chastise me for my lack of faith.

Instead, she’d wrap me in her arms and pray for me, calling on the strong name of Jesus to meet  my needs.

We talked of our children, of my struggle with depression and chronic pain, of church woes in South Carolina and France, of the beautiful and fractured body of Christ around the world. And always, always, Sallie pointed me back to Jesus, encouraging me with her spoken words over dinner or a cup of tea or in prayer.

And she wrote me letters, the real kind with her large and loopy penmanship that rushed across the page, so filled up with Christ that she could not fit it all on the stationery, so that the cursive became smaller and smaller at the bottom of the page until she signed it simply “Me”.

About a decade ago, Sallie was diagnosed with cancer. She fought bravely, always filled with hope and faith and a seemingly unstoppable energy. She radiated joy and fun and faith. She radiated Jesus to every person who crossed her path, from her beloved husband, sons, daughters-in-law and grand-children and church family to a stranger she met on the street.

Sallie modeled an effervescent faith that was contagious.

Often she’d give me a book that had meant a lot to her in her spiritual pilgrimage. The last one is inscribed with these words in Sallie’s unmistakable pen: “This one ministered greatly—wanted to share it with you.” Then Sallie wrote a quote from the book “…that whether rich or poor, sick or sound, we might be transformed by Him and become an echo of Christ’s excellence in the world.”*

She indeed was an echo of his excellence.

We tried to see Sallie and Bill on our last two trips to South Carolina, but each time one of them was sick. And Sallie’s cancer was progressing.

I had a long and lovely phone conversation with Sallie in February, before we were heading back to France. I spoke of how the Lord had used her love and influence and faith to help keep me in ministry in France and beyond. She sounded weaker, but no less faith-filled.

In June we learned that she was hospitalized with Covid. We prayed with thousands of others for Sallie. I left her a voice message on her phone expressing my love and our prayers.

Last week Sallie left her earthly tent and entered into Jesus’s presence. What a time of rejoicing for Sallie as she met her Savior face to face. But here on earth, we grieve.

On Sunday we watched the livestream of her funeral, with masked family members and a few close friends present. The rest of us joined via internet from all around the world.

I laughed and cried as photo after photo proclaimed the joy of Sallie—as a baby, as a young mom, with her dear Bill, with her boys, with the grandchildren, with her close friends. There was even a photo of Sallie hugging me in her wonderful, Sallie way.

I was blessed to know and love Sallie. As I remember her life, I praise God for putting her on my path to encourage me along. Now it’s my turn to be that older sister in Christ to other pilgrims who are weary and wondering about where they fit into this crazy, beautiful body of Christ.

May we reach down in our souls until the love of Christ spills out to those God puts in our path, like Sallie’s did for me.

ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and her blog.

*from Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ by John Piper