Good afternoon. My name is Jordan and I am married to Diane’s daughter, Hope. We are going to sing, but I wanted to share a bit first. Like many of you, I have long considered myself as having a couple of moms: The awesome lady that pushed me into this world and Diane Garaway. For a woman that had 7 children to call her own, she has countless others that respect her as a mother figure, as an elder sister, or as a mentor. Diane won respect through her homemaking, her eye for decorative style, her hospitality, her love of good literature, her passion for theology, her listening, and her perspective. But I will be honest in saying that at 17 years old, she won me first with her food.
I had only recently begun attending a Surfer’s Bible Study in Santa Cruz at the invitation of an older friend. The study met in a small house on Pleasure Point in 1991 and ayounger, salt-frazzled Heather Garaway lived there with her housemates. I had never attended anything of the sortand I was a bit uncomfortable so I sat in the corner with my hoodie pulled up. It was a ragtag bunch of Santa Cruz surf rats. The gig was this: “Come for a free dinner. Stay for a Bible Study.” Build it and they will come. And they did. The room was packed. Well, there was a lady in the kitchen bustling around and preparing the food, placing it out on the dining table (buffet-style), and cleaning. She never came into the living room but remained busy - behind the curtain. The bible study was bookended with food -dinner and dessert. That’s why I was there. Or so I thought.
After weeks of quietly attending the bible study, the mysterious “food lady” approached me afterwards one night and asked me if she was correct in saying my name was Jordan. Surprised that I had been detected, I told her that she was correct. She then told me something strange. She said that God had placed me on her heart and that she had been praying for me. I didn’t know what you say when someone tells you that. I think I responded with an awkward “Thanks.” I oddly believed her. The memory is burned into my mind.
Over the years, I attended many events at the Garaway home and there are far too many good stories to fit here. But food and drink were always there and so were people, lots of them. Eat. Learn about life. Eat. Talk. Eat. Laugh. Eat. Play. Eat. Eat. Eat. The next thing I knew Ihad married one of them because I was hungry. But by that time, it was no longer just good food I hungered for, it was good life. Sweet life. Deep life. Christ life.
Diane wove tradition with life and food. It was her art. Massive trays of lasagna. Seas of green salad, potato salad, rice salad, tamale casserole, sandwiches, Passover chicken, mulled wine, baklava, cheese cake, Christmas cookies and of course, rum cake. And if you happened to pass through the kitchen at off times, there was always a large glass jar full of pretzels and one full of biscotti. But make no mistake, in all her skills she was not perfect. She had blind spots. For holidays she made a warm, red cabbage salad steeped in vinegar. The odor alone was was detestable and I always imagined it would make a fittingside dish for Orcs, alongside their felled-meats.
But Diane taught how to be teachable by being teachable herself. She was quick to seek forgiveness if she had offended someone and she encouraged others to do the same. Life is too short to not keep your accounts clear.
In a moment, by Diane’s request, we are all going to sing a hymn called “For All The Saints”. This is a hymn that Diane took particular fondness to during her 7-month bout with cancer. Diane explained to us that the hymn firstgrew to her on All Saints Day, last October, while visiting her Idaho grandchildren. She sang it at church that day, hand in hand with the other “Nana” to the 5 Idahograndkids. “Nana” and “Nana G” - as they were. Two Nanas singing strong. A few days later Diane returned home to Santa Cruz and discovered that she had cancer. Thus began her Last Battle but she was not unarmed. Her King had already issued her Battle Hymn.
Diane continued to sing. She loved how this hymn championed the saints that have gone before, the “soldiers, faithful, true, and bold”. She was encouraged by God’s faithfulness to them as her own strife was fierce, “and warfare long”. As her “golden evening brightened in the west”, Diane’s spirit was strengthened knowing that, “Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest.” So she asked us to sing this.
Amazingly, I don’t think any of us that witnessed her fight, heard a complaint cross her lips. Her attention remained strikingly outward, on others, on serving, on her Lord. I am in awe of that. She remained the Master of Hospitality that so many of us knew her to be. Even in her last 12 days, sharing a room in our home with Bill devotedly at her side, she entertained her guests. The room was hers. The guests were hers. Death was the stranger and the thief. But she knew her sovereign God would not allow death to steal one moment without his allowance. She trusted thatthe God who fashioned her first day, would also fashion her last. Her tired body pulled down, she was particular about offering her guests white wine, food and gifts. She wielded her weapon with the accuracy born of a lifetime of practice. She sang and we joined her.
On Diane’s last night, as death’s grip had robbed her of all but shallow breath and mild heartbeat, Hope and Shana picked up the sword and swung it. They sang for her and with her. They ended with For All The Saints and kissed Diane goodnight and good morning.
“But lo! There breaks a yet more glorious day
The saints triumphant rise in bright array:
The King of glory passes on His way
Alleluia!”
