April 12, 2025

In my last conversation with Vicki, there was a pause — a quiet moment when I could tell she had something important to say. Then she said it, simply and clearly: “All I ever wanted to be was a wife and a Mom.”

How many people do we know who can sum up their life’s dream in one sentence? It sounds so simple — but in that moment, she might as well have said, “All I ever wanted to do was climb Mount Everest. All I ever wanted to do was run a three-minute mile. All I ever wanted to do was find a cure for cancer.”

She didn’t see it, but what she wanted — and what she lived — was far greater than what many accomplish chasing the world’s definition of success. Being a wife and a mom means waking up every day with a commitment to love and serve others. It’s a mixture of duty and devotion, heartache and hope — often overlooked or taken for granted — yet the world wouldn’t be what it is without women like Vicki, quietly shaping it through their faithfulness.

John Gardner once said, “There are men and women who make the world better just by being the kind of people they are — and that too is a kind of commitment.” Vicki was that kind of person. Being a wife and a mom is not a career — it’s a calling. It’s not a hobby — it’s an honor.

Scripture describes Vicki perfectly:

“The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life… Her husband is known at the city gates, where he sits among the elders of the land.”

Like many of us, Tony sits among the elders now. And like many of us here today, he knows he would not be where he is were it not for the steady, faithful goodness of his wife. Sometimes it takes years to fully recognize that gift. But over time, we come to understand that while we may struggle to trust many things in life, we can trust the love of a good wife. Tony’s heart trusted in Vicki — because she was worthy of that trust.

“She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She rises while it is still night to provide food for her household.”

When Vicki and I talked about this service, I told her I wanted to say something about food — because preparing and serving food was such an important part of her life. We all knew it wasn’t just the food — it was the hospitality, the welcome, the way her home made us feel cared for. She created spaces where we broke bread and gave thanks, where we laughed, told stories, and belonged.

So many images of heaven are of banquets and feasts — and Vicki gave us a glimpse of that joy here on earth.

“Strength and honor are her clothing, and she can laugh at the days to come.”

Everyone who visited Vicki in the hospital or hospice said the same thing: “She’s so sharp — and so at peace.” Her humor never left her. She didn’t avoid hard conversations. She faced what was coming with honesty and faith. She wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t frightened. She was strong — maybe stronger than any of us around her.

Vicki didn’t grow up with wealth, but she grew up with something better — gratitude. Paul said it this way in Philippians:

“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation… I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

“Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.”

We all know the commandment: “Honor your father and mother.” But  honor must be earned. Those worthy of honor live in a way that matters. They give themselves away in love. And Vicki earned the honor and praise of her family and friends.

“Give her the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her at the gates.”

In so many ways, we are the fruit of Vicki’s hands — family and friends shaped by her life. Her works — her humor, honesty, loyalty, generosity, joy — will outlive her. The poet Goethe said, “You can easily judge the character of a person by how they treat those who can do nothing for them.” Vicki’s kindness was for everyone.

Some say a piece of us dies when someone we love passes. I don’t believe that’s true with Vicki. I believe a piece of her lives on in each of us — the “Vicki piece” — showing up when we least expect it. Sometimes it’s not just memories — it’s waking up to discover that the very qualities we admired most in someone else have taken root in us.

I tell young men and women who have lost their parents: “Three or four years from now, sitting alone, you’ll realize that things you thought were uniquely yours were really gifts from them — coming to life in you.” It’s how their story continues.

Tony and I talked about heaven when we knew the cancer was inoperable. We don’t know much, really. But C.S. Lewis gives us the best picture of what heaven might be: not just an improved version of earth, but something far more real and solid and joyful.

Lewis wrote: “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

At the end of The Chronicles of Narnia, after the characters have died in a train accident, Aslan tells them:

“The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”

Lewis writes:

“All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which goes on forever, in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

Today, I can almost hear Vicki saying to us:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I’ve been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now… Come further up, come further in!”

So today, we are here not only to remember the beautiful life of Vicki Morgan — but to bear witness to the resurrection of Christ. As Paul said, “If all we get out of Christ is a little inspiration for a few short years, we’re a pretty sorry lot.” But there is more. So much more.

As Paul wrote:

“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection… Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”

I love that image: Christ taking hold of us.

Howell Raines once compared it to fly fishing:

“The act of setting the hook must contain within it an almost simultaneous act of surrender… Then you must release all the pressure and let the fish go where it wants to go… The hope is that, by and by, when the fish is tired of going where it wants to go, you’ll still be connected — still tethered by a thread that leads you both to the same place.”

That’s the hope we have today. Christ has taken hold of Vicki. And He will take hold of us too. And when all is said and done — underneath are the everlasting arms.