Born To Be With You: A Eulogy For My Wife by Lyndell Scott

Our marriage was so improbable that God had to engineer circumstances to get a beauty queen together with a shy introverted nerd who drove a pickup with a camper on the back. That is a story for another time, and I don’t have time to tell now. Let’s just say it had its share of twists and turns.

She told me her family at first questioned her choice as she could have chosen from a number of suitors. However, it wasn’t long before I was fully accepted, and I think they came to agree with her choice.

She used to say she chose me because I already owned a home. Never knew if she was serious or not. BTW, that camper came in handy on our honeymoon.

When I said beauty queen, I literally mean it, as she was the reigning Miss Irving and had already competed in the Miss Texas pageant when I met her. The portrait of her you see on display was her official Miss Irving photo taken in 1969. The portrait was used as promotional by the photography studio and was sent to us out of the blue in 1977.

I have to admit that being a guy, I was first attracted to her by her physical beauty, but I soon learned she had inward beauty that matched her outward beauty as she loved Lord with all her heart.

It is no secret that Barbara suffered with episodes of depression before and after our marriage. However, she was able to overcome each episode and live a full and rich life except for this last episode. It lasted for several years that many of you were witnesses to which finally ended with her passing.

She was able to serve the Lord despite her on and off struggles with depression throughout her life. Remember, Elijah struggled with depression, but there was no doubt he loved the Lord and continued to serve Him. Charles Haddon Spurgeon had severe bouts of depression, but he is recognized as one of the greatest preachers of all time. Ron Dunn, who was our pastor in Texas and officiated our wedding, experienced severe depression, yet was still used of God as he was one of the greatest expository Bible teachers of our time. He wrote a book called “When Heaven is Silent” where he tells the story of his experience with depression. Barbara and I found it helpful, as did Daniel recently. If you are struggling with depression or have family members struggling, I recommend this book.

We had a good life together and were able to raise two wonderful children. Barbara was a stay at home mom so most of the credit from a human perspective for how our kids turned out goes to her as you are witnesses to. She taught and trained them well.

I could talk about Barbara’s various ministries, but you can read about those in the excellent obituary Rachel wrote. What I want to talk about is more personal. And that is how fully committed Barbara was to our marriage and to me. She lived out the biblical imperative that wives were to lovingly submit to and respect their husbands. It is only now that I have fully come to realize how well she did that.

This included changes in our finances, several moves, changing churches, and her being totally faithful to me. There is a popular country and western song titled “Stand by your Man”. The lyrics may not fit, but the title certainly does.

I was making good money when I was downsized by the company I worked for. I decided to start a business from scratch which required us moving from her dream home to the country with enough land for a workshop and having our income cut by 2/3rds. Throughout that process, she never complained nor berated me and continued to be very supportive and encouraging.

That also meant she had less contact with her friends, so she had to make new friends at our new church home. Again, she did not complain.

She would accompany me to antique stores, auctions and flea markets. I would look for furniture pieces I could restore and sell, and she would look for vintage glassware and figurines she could sell. We made a good partnership during that time.

A few years later when I decided we should change churches to a church that was located in another town, she was very supportive even though it meant giving up the ministries she was involved in at our former church.

When I became physically ill in 2001, and the doctors could not diagnose my problem, she was a tower of strength. She eventually had to do everything for me as I became worse and could do nothing for myself except lay on the sofa. She saved my life by forcing me to go to the hospital when I was within days of not making it. That’s when they finally diagnosed my problem. Our doctor confirmed how serious it was by immediately having me transported to Baylor Hospital in Dallas. You can see why it was easy and a privilege for me to be her full time caregiver during the final months of her life. She had already set the standard.

She was fully supportive when we decided to move to Arizona away from much of her family and friends. OK, this time she also had something to gain by being close to her grand kids. Again, she was a tower of strength through the drama of selling our house and buying one in Arizona. Stuff happened that caused a lot of stress on my part such that I became physically ill. She had much more faith that things would work out than I did, which they did and even better than we expected.

And finally, I would like to briefly mention her faithfulness to me and the Lord. Because she was physically attractive, she attracted a lot of male attention at parties and get togethers. Yet, I never felt any jealousy as I knew she was totally faithful and committed to me and the Lord. I guess I got a perverse enjoyment out of knowing the nerd would get to take home the beauty queen. This truth is expressed in another country/western song titled “She’s Going Home with Me”. Not all the lyrics fit, but much of them do. The song ends with these lines:

I don't have to get jealous
Just wait around and see
She made her choice, forget it boys
She's going home with me.

I would like to end with reading the lyrics of a song that expresses how I felt about Barbara. When I acquired radios and radio phonographs to restore and sell, they sometimes included record albums. One such album was by Sonny James which had a song titled “Born to be With You”. I shared it with Barbara and told her, “this is how I feel about you”. You can hear it by searching “Born to be With You” on YouTube. There are several renditions, but I much prefer the one done by Sonny James. Here are the lyrics to that song:

"Born to be With You” by Don Robertson 

By your side, satisfied
Through and through
Cause I was born to be with you 

Wondrously, love can see
So I knew that I was
Born to be with you 

Do I find peace of mind
Yes, I do, cause I was
Born to be with you 

All life through, yes
I was born to be with you

Thank You

-Lyndell Scott

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Dad gave me permission to post the eulogy he wrote and read at mom's memorial service. I asked to share because it gives a broader perspective of who she was and the impressions she left behind besides just what I experienced as a daughter. I love how my dad remembers her. I love that it is reminding me to see her and remember her the way he saw her. ❤️

At the beginning of this year, mom was hospitalized on the psych floor for not eating. She stayed a month. Dad visited her almost every day there. The hospital finally ended up discharging her and docs said there was nothing more they could do especially since she had directives for no feeding tubes, etc. They told us all we could do is take her home or put her in a group home, and that she would need 24 hour care. Dad considered a group home, but he decided against it bc he couldn’t abandon her to strangers. He felt mom would prefer to be home. And he wanted her to be home.

He proceeded to cancel all of his woodworking projects and church commitments so he would be available to her 24 hours a day. The only time he left home for the most part was to get groceries or run an errand, and only when Daniel or I was available to come sit with her during those hours.

It Is Well, It Is Well...With Her Soul: A Eulogy For My Mommy

I sat on the couch in mom and dad's house the morning of the day she ended up passing, with the old hymn "It Is Well" running through my mind. The day before, the hospice nurse had told us mom would probably only be with us another 24 hours or so.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

I always took this song as being about contentment that translated into having a blissful, peaceful life. But once you get past the "peace like a river" it mentions "sorrows like sea billows roll".

"Sorrows like sea billows roll" can include anything from emotional turmoil, physical pain, to mental anguish. "Sorrows like sea billows roll" describes immense suffering.

This song is not about having a blissful, peaceful life, although it is about contentment. It's about assurance and a promise. It's about hope in a destination. Its about knowing deep within that there is something beyond this physical world that calls to our inner most being. It's about knowing we have a spark within in us that can and wants to respond to that calling.

And all of this in the midst of both peace AND suffering.

But for some of us, and if I'm going to be honest with you - myself at certain periods in my life, we can get to a point where our minds tell us the pain and suffering of this world is too much to bear. If we are chronically unhealthy or have experienced or are experiencing trauma, our thoughts can become irrational and erratic. We begin to think we want do anything to make it all stop.

Somehow our brains tell us lies, day in and day out. Our thoughts of hopelessness, fear and anxiety consume us. To escape the mental torment, we try to spend most of our time sleeping. And while awake we spend every hour begging God for healing, and if not healing, death.

Doctors and therapists like to diagnose it as this or that and throw some pills at it hoping they find the right cocktail. Sometimes it works.

Pastors and counselors like to assume and identify a spiritual problem and throw some prayer and scripture reading at it. Sometimes it works.

Mom’s first bout of depression occurred in her early 20s. She wrote an article that was never published about her experience. Circumstances collided that caused "sorrows like sea billows roll". As part of her quest for healing, she wrote she had accepted Christ as her Savior. However, she still briefly dropped out of college and stayed in a psychiatric ward because in her words, "I was desperate--I hadn't stopped thinking about taking my life, [and] even though I hadn't actually harmed myself. I was so afraid of myself."

She claims to have gotten some relief from her stay and subsequent therapy sessions with the doctor, but she panicked when he told her he would be going away on vacation for a month, thus ending her therapy with him. However, soon she met a new friend who came along side her and taught her how to open her Bible and have a "quiet time".

She wrote, "My mind gradually began to clear. Principles in this book actually make sense. They can apply to me here and now." She concludes the article with the following sentiment:

"Truly surrendering myself to the Lord's will made all the difference in my life. I could actually live life for the first time. I found pleasure in the simple things--a quiet sunrise, a glorious sunset. My perception of my surroundings deepened and enabled me to write poetry. I could share Christ in a natural relaxed way. Christ's Spirit caused me to care more about others and their needs. I found a spiritual family in a local church. My life took on new meaning and purpose.”

She continued:

"Although I will never completely understand why this experience happened to me, it definitely made me depend upon the Lord. The psychiatrist could only enable me to see that I needed to change. I had to do the changing, and I did it in God's power. I know now that I needed him to pull me up, to bring me to my feet so that I could ride the waves. With this knowledge, I can face whatever obstacles may be ahead, whatever course is laid for me."

As many of you may or may not know, mom struggled on and off with depression throughout her life. She overcame it many times, probably using most of the lessons she learned the first time, some medication, and a lot of Jesus.

And this last time after all medications had been tried, and whether or not her brain could rationally comprehend her physical decline, mom continued to try to express her faith. She continuously requested prayer for the depression and anxiety to leave, for the physical tremors that plagued her body for the last four years to stop, and for peace. And to the very end, mom spoke about her desire to someday go home to be with Jesus.

Based upon my experience with my son Austin, who is missing many structures in his brain, I've had to come to the conclusion that our brains have nothing to do with that innermost light or spark of life that is truly who we are. And even if something happens to us like mental illness, a tumor, a traumatic brain injury, a stroke, or dementia so that our physical manifestation in this body overshadows that spark, and the world can't identify the current state of our heart, I think the the light within us knows. And God knows that light.

It is well, it is well...with her soul.

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My dad, brother and I each spoke (well, Dad and I read ours) at mom's memorial service. This is what I wrote/said for those interested or who didn't get to attend ❤️.Dad gave me permission to also post what he wrote/said too. I'll be sharing that when I get it copied into my blog.

Please take these things we are sharing as intended: i.e. honoring her memory and declaring our love we had for her, each in our own way. I hope you see that I mention her mental illness/mental health struggles only to paint a better picture of what she had to endure and what she overcame. I'm primarily speaking to myself when I write. (And if it can help someone else, then she has another lasting legacy in addition to what people already remember her for) ❤️.

Love to all.

Dear Mommy: I'm Sorry

I had been crying for what felt like non-stop for a few days when I wrote this. Too much sadness, guilt, and regret filled my head. However, I knew that writing helps me cope with big stuff so I just sat down and unloaded what I couldn't stop thinking about. At the time, I didn't feel the need to publish. It worked its magic, and I hadn't cried much since.

Sometime towards the end of February 2018, my mom was discharged from the local hospital's psychiatric floor for the last time. The doctor basically said he couldn't do anything else for her, and his suggestion was to check her into a group home and be prepared to consider hospice services.

Dad couldn't bring himself to just drop her off somewhere with strangers so he canceled all of his church obligations and wood working projects and committed himself to her full time care. But sooner instead of later, because mom still wouldn't eat and was basically wasting away, falling and stumbling if she did get up, and talking somewhat incoherently, we decided to request hospice.

Although there were strange, surreal moments of brief hope, mom steadily declined even more over the summer. She passed away on August 14, 2018.

I guess I'm choosing to share this now because I need to work towards closure and healing, and I've found in the past that writing the private things and sharing them publicly helps me relieve the pressure of holding things in. No carrying secrets equals no carrying guilt. And I certainly don't plan to or mean to disparage any memory of her that others have, but we were "mother and daughter" to the full extent of all that entails.

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March, 2018

Dear Mommy, 

I ask you if you're awake, but I get no response. You lie there pretending to be asleep. Maybe you aren't pretending, but dad says he thinks you are mostly awake during the day.

So you ignore me hoping I'll go away. Which I will. I've learned. I've learned if I continue to ask questions you will eventually loudly whine at me to leave you alone, to leave the room, to just LEAVE which hurts worse than just backing out softly after the initial question and no response.

I've decided now, I won't cause you anymore pain or stress than what you are already experiencing. I won't press a conversation. I won't beg for resolution. Your physical and mental suffering is enough without my adding to it. You suffer physically from unrelenting tremors throughout your whole body even during sleep, and I assume you suffer mentally because you describe yourself as depressed, empty inside.

I barely remember the story "of us". I'm sure there was one, right? A story of a mother who doted on her daughter, and a daughter who idolized her mother? The iconic mother/daughter relationship emerging somewhere after birth? Were we close? Did you adore me? Wasn't I a "little you"? Did the little brother's birth two years later and subsequent heart condition break that bond? Or was there never a bond there to begin with? Did you love me? Did I love you?

I try to think back to those very young years on Tacoma. It would have been before I was six because we moved to Plover Lane after kindergarten. I have glimpses of things, a sugar bowl at the breakfast table, pink milk from red food coloring, a screen door into the garage, tall weeds in the privacy-fenced backyard, an old metal swing set, a sandbox full of cat poop, a driveway, an alley.

I had a few friends in the neighborhood all connected by the alley. I can still remember some of their names: Kristy B., Kimberly S., Cammy, and Giovanna. I remember burning my hair in a candle at Kristy's birthday party. I remember playing "Emergency" on Kimberly's swing set and fighting over who would get to be the good-looking fireman (she always won), and I remember riding my bike up and down the alley to Cammy's house, and wishing I was pretty like Giovanna.

I also remember spending time outside in the backyard or in my room alone. I remember swinging on the swing set with my eyes shut, feeling the gravity pull at my face with every dip of the pendulum. I remember sifting the sand in the sandbox using a kitchen sifter. This was how I found the crumbly clay like stuff which I now know was cat poop. I remember squishing it with my fingers, wondering why it wouldn't compact and build like normal clay.

I remember my room. Dad had built shelves on the wall. My record player was on the shelf. My bed had a canopy, and it and the matching desk were painted white with gold highlights. I remember the color pink.

But I barely remember you. I remember your dark, black hair. I remember it was always perfect. I remember your black and white photo on your dresser in your room. I remember you lying on the floral green and blue couch in the living room. I remember you in the kitchen. I remember watching "Sound of Music" with you on your bed. And I remember you behind your locked bedroom door screaming at me to go away as I sat and cried outside the door. I think you were crying too.

After the first move, I remember you more, perhaps because I was getting older now. We lived in this next house from when I was 6 to about 15 or so. I remember you kept it very clean. You were nice, I think. You let me have friends over, and I spent time at friend's houses. I remember shopping for clothes sometimes. But you would also take me to get hand-me-downs from your friend's older daughters. I didn't mind.

You and dad were very involved at church. You led or taught classes, and you had "fellowships" at our house or attended them at other's houses. You seemed the life of the party, an extrovert that my increasing introverted self wished to be. You were beautiful and everyone seemed to love you, at least from my perspective. You also kept that Miss Irving trophy on the fireplace behind the TV. Every now and then, I would go look at it, and wonder if I would ever live up to that, if I would ever be considered so talented and beautiful to get a trophy for it.

You tolerated my piano practice. I began to notice how often you fussed at dad. You huffed and puffed around the house about things that didn't seem to matter. The story of "not us" began in my preteen years, I think or assume, and extended into adulthood. For years we fought with snippy sharp words and door slamming. We didn't get along for whatever reason. I think I always hoped it was because we were too different, but I suspect it was more because we were too alike.

I moved away, and always thought things would be different then. But as soon as we were together for 3 or more days, the polite charade wore off, and we let each other know in one way or another that we were only tolerating each other's presence. Outwardly there seemed little remorse once we separated and went back to our own corners in our own homes.

The phone calls were strained, at least on my part. I couldn't pretend all was well even from a distance. I faked friendliness all the while yearning for the typical mother-daughter friendship my adult friends seemed to have with their mothers. I kept thinking...someday...someday we'll get it right.

Well that someday never really came. Various physical illnesses along the way seemed to trigger a relapse or enhance your depression and anxiety and threw you into loop after loop of seeking help from psychiatrists, always spiraling worse and worse. Medications were started and stopped and started again. ECT treatments came and went, at times helping, and finally not helping at all. The now unrelenting tremors began after another half-hearted desperate attempt to escape the rollercoaster of mental suffering a few years ago.

And here we are. You hiding in your room, clinging to the safety and support of your bed; me feeling like time has run out, knowing things between us may never be resolved.

I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I'm so, so sorry.

Your daughter,

Rachel