Remembering Debbie Talmo

Remembering Debbie Talmo

"I bet you cried the day you were born; it means you are human.” (Marilyn Robinson reminds of this eternal truth in her book, Lila.)

We embraced our full humanity Easter Sunday when the phone rang. The ham just removed from the oven, the potatoes piping hot, and the kids bickering due to a chocolate rabbit induced sugar-high. The phone rang, I answered and listened to Pastor Kris share the news that Debbie died. Easter Sunday - the day of life; these phone calls do not happen on this day. I hung up and had to decide whether or not to tell Lindsay, who stood over the dinner rolls. Sorrow poured out, not life, not joy, not Easter - tears poured out in that moment. 

We are supposed to be with Debbie today; We planned to travel on spring break to Minnetonka - to allow Madeline to say see Debbie and to say goodbye to her - Lindsay and I to re-live stories, to remind her (and us) of the wisdom, love, and grace that she and Tom poured into us during our years as associate pastors here. We planned to come here - today - to see our friend.

She’s not here, she is risen. On Easter Sunday this is the promise I tried to hold on to. But we were not sure how. I wasn’t sure how to be - I was more numb than sad - I was empty; the only prayer I had was “Oh Tom". I was not able to rehearse an  Easter Sunday proclamation, "“Rejoice in the Lord, Always, and again I say, ‘rejoice’!” Nor did I return to Good Friday, crying out, "“My God, My God why have you forsaken me?” Neither joyful naiveté or abandoned lament. Lindsay and I sat in the odd space of holy discontent - knowing God’s promise but having trouble seeing it….the place of George Herbert,

I will complain, yet praise;

I will bewail, approve;

And all my sour-sweet days

I will lament and love. 

The tepid Easter ham was eventually eaten in a salty pool of tears poured out from lament and love. Lament for the end of an unfinished relationship; love for a life that shaped ours in way never before imagined.

Debbie was the embodiment of Christ’s love to us. This is why we asked her to be Madeline’s God-mother. Obviously, several hundred other families thought the same - seriously, what kind of person must you be if you have this many God-children?

Debbie is the disciple of jesus Christ that made a pastor’s life better. When we didn’t know how to pray, we called Debbie. When we wanted to laugh, we called Debbie. When we wanted wisdom, we talked to Debbie. When we wanted plants to grow and not die, we called Debbie. When the candle was flickering out and we needed testimony of Jesus’ power, we called Debbie. I know that many of you did the same.

I remember a Sunday when I was to preach; I carried the weight of the pulpit like Atlas carried the world. I didn’t know what to do on this day, so I turned to Debbie, Mary Student, and Jeannie Williams and asked them to pray. I looked out into he congregation as I began to preach and witnessed a glorious appearing on their faces as they interceded on my behalf. This is the life that Debbie lived -

• praying without ceasing; 
• laughing without judgment; 
• advice without opinion. 

She made the life of a pastor a life of joy.

Debbie and her prayerful posse - Mary Studer, Jeannie Williams, Bonnie MacDonald and many others - like Lydia and the women leaders in Philippi -  prayer warriors who hold the thin space between heaven and earth together even while the rest of us are tearing it apart.

Easter Sunday met us with "bright sorrow." The day of resurrection reorients her departure. Sunday was the good day to go; forever Debbie will live for us as a sign of the resurrection on earth as it is in heaven. Eugene Peterson asks us to “practice resurrection” daily.

     Leave more life in the room than when you entered.

     Live in such a way as to believe that the resurrected Christ, himself, is here.
Debbie did, and her departure on Easter day invites us to the same. 

Tom, Clint, Rusty, Jackie, and Josh - thank you for sharing your mom with us. We will pray for you often. Our life is more abundant because of her presence.