The Love of Lisa
All To Jesus, I Surrender
Do you remember the pain,
the ache in the night,
the silence in the middle of noise,
and the noise that screams inside the silence?
The rage.
The emptiness.
The hole in your chest
and the hurt that travels straight through your back,
the unbearable knowing
that what was lost
can never be returned?
That is what it feels like
to miss Lisa.
She entered this world as Tiffany,
a name meaning the manifestation of God.
Later, she became Lisa,
God is my oath.
One name described how she arrived.
The other described how she lived.
She was God’s love made visible,
in the laughter that could rescue a heavy room,
in her devotion to her husband and children,
and in the unforgettable nicknames
only she could make sound like love.
She loved Prince,
the Indianapolis Colts
and Super Bowl Sundays so much
that every birthday became a celebration
of football, food, family and laughter.
Life did not always treat her gently,
but Lisa kept rising.
Even when finances were tight,
she opened her home to another son.
She did not see a child of the system.
She saw her child,
someone worth protecting,
a future worth fighting for,
and a son who needed to hear:
“You are safe.
You are home.
You are mine.”
That was The Love of Lisa.
And who could forget her soprano voice
lifting through the sanctuary?
“All to Jesus I surrender,
all to Him I freely give.”
Now the church feels quieter.
Her husband misses his companion.
Her children miss their mother.
And every place her laughter once filled
still listens for her return.
But Lisa, your children are well.
Your family is reconnecting.
Your prayers are still unfolding.
And Izzy is just fine,
safe, loved and cared for.
You would be pleased
with how everything is turning out.
Romans 8:28 promised
that all things would work together for good.
And somehow, through every tear,
they did.
Your love was >average=2u®,
greater than anything this world could measure,
yet freely given to those who needed it most.
So rest well, Tiffany.
Rest well, Lisa.
You were the manifestation of God’s love,
and your life remained an oath to Him.
We thought death had taken you from us.
But perhaps the Love of Lisa
never left.
