This time I was not cleaning, but I very quickly discovered I should have been. Memories can get dusty - both figuratively and literally. You've got to make sure to periodically take a walk through them, revisit them, and dust them off (figuratively and literally). While searching for something totally different, I came across the eulogy Walker McWilliams shared at Lizzie's memorial service. I like it. I think it perfectly describes Lizzie and I find it uplifting and comforting especially on this day. So, I thought I'd share. (I hope Walker doesn't mind.....)
"It seems ironic that today we gather with one another in the sacred place to celebrate loss- to sit beside each other in solidarity while we grieve the loss of a daughter. The loss of a sister, a granddaughter, of a niece, a friend, a classmate, a church member... a community icon. But it's precisely because we have lost that we gather. Because we miss the people who have touched us so deeply, the people who have inspired us, who have challenged us...who have loved us so well. The reality is that each one of us here is experiencing painful loss because Lizzie shared life with us. In some way or another, Lizzie impacted our lives. Her story has become our story because within it we find the building blocks of life. Faith. Friendship. Hop. Joy. and Love.
The apostle Paul asks "Death, oh, Death, where is your sting?" And for us, it's all too easy to answer. The sting is felt by those of us left on this side of death. Those of us now forced to daily miss our dear Lizzie.
I want to say to Paul:
That death's sting is felt in no longer being told to stop snoring.
In not having any more chances to lay in bed while watching tv or have sister sleepovers.
The sting in no more requests for Granddaddy's hot chocolate or to be tucked into bed and kissed goodnight.
In knowing she will no longer come over to my house to watch Dance Moms.
It's the noticeable absence of a close-knit group of friends hanging out at a breakfast table.
Or in the lack of truth-filled blog posts that so honestly flowed from her heart.
It's in remembering the sense of accomplishment as she surfed in Hawaii.
It's in no more dance parties or inside jokes.
Death's sting is in knowing that Lizzie did have the time of her life, but that we no longer share in that life.
Today and every day we know all too well the sting of death. And while each of us experiences it in our own individual ways, because Lizzie touched each of us uniquely, something in us knows we should be together. That is is good for s to be together. We confess to each other that death does in fact hurt, yet we daringly proclaim that there is much to be celebrated.
So we celebrate. Because Lizzie Lived.
She lived in every sense of the word. Whether dancing on Panther Pride, soaking up every aspect of what it meant to be a student at UT, or simply watching re-runs of Harry Potter, she lived in such a way that invited fellowship through a contagious joy. The cancer that so aggressively zapped her energy and ravaged her body was never, never able to take away who she was. Yes, there were bad days, terrible days. Days when she was tired or bored. Days when she despised being hooked up to IVs or loathed the constant beeping of machines, but in spite of all of that she was asked to endure, those of us in this room saw a girl that Still. Loved. Life. The important truth is that cancer did not and never will define Lizzie Wallace. Yes, cancer gave her recognition in our community and beyond. It shined a spotlight on her. It broadened her audience, but cancer did not define her story...it only highlighted who she was and always had been.
Her family and friends have already shared stories about who Lizzie was to them - stories likely similar to yours and mine. Stories that probably involve food, because Lizzie was always hungry.
Alex often heard Lizzie say, "No, I don't want anything to eat" but minutes later when Alex's mac and cheese was ready, Lizzie would ask, "Can I have a bite?" Sure. "Can I have the rest?" Or the time Lizzie had buttered toast but chose not to eat it, and instead used it to solve a sisterly conflict as she slapped that buttery bread across Alex's face.
Or I'm sure you have a funny (and probably adventurous) memory like the hot day Stephanie picked the girls up from daycare, and Lizzie decided not to ask her aunt to turn on the air, instead just opened the care door to catch a breeze as they drove down the highway.
During my first summer here, I planned a senior capture in which I burst into the seniors' bedrooms around 6 am, woke them up, threw them in a van and took them to a homemade breakfast at the Denman's. Upon entering Lizzie's room she rejected me, turned me down for more sleep. I did everything I could to convince Lizzie to come get in the an with me (and now that I think about how creepy that sounds, maybe I know why she didn't want to come.) But, no, she wanted to sleep. In a stroke of brilliance, or maybe just desperation, I said "There will be bacon." She opened her eyes, looked at me seriously, and said, "Bacon?" And off we went to breakfast.
As we sat visiting at the Joseph House, Lizzie looked at Katelyn and said, "Hey, were you planning on making that pasta I love so much tonight?" Katelyn cocked her head and smiled, "No...Do you want me to buy ingredients and make it tonight?" A sly smile formed as she responded "Uh, huh." So off we headed to the store.
She was never scared to ask. In fact, she wasn't scared of much. Life was not a routine to her but every day was the chance to laugh a little more, create a little more, eat a little more, love a little more. She wasn't afraid to show excitement or vulnerability. She didn't shy away from pain or challenges, but she leaned into all of these emotions, realizing that all of these are part of life, and that's what she wanted - Life. And most significantly to Lizzie, she was never scared of people. She reached out and embraced everyone - friends or strangers - but mostly strangers who would soon turn into friends.
Like the first time my wife met Lizzie at a youth lock-in. Where Katelyn, having just moved to Lufkin, not really knowing anyone or feeling comfortable enough to force herself into conversations resigned herself to sit alone and take it all in. When before long this little girl walked up to her, sat down beside her and said - "Hi, I'm Lizzie." 2 weeks later she found out that she had cancer.
The truth is that Lizzie has always been...Lizzie. She has lived life with the same purpose from the very beginning to the all to early end, and she did so with love.
Ou hearts should not be troubled because Lizzie's heart was not troubled. When she first called to tell me it was cancer, I asked her how she felt. She responded, "I'm alright. If I live, I live. And if I die, I get to meet Jesus. It's a win-win." Lizzie's identity was found fully and completely in her faith in Jesus Christ. She took seriously Paul's words that "no one should seek their own good but the good of others."
As God comes to us in the midst of our anguish, Lizzie went to others in the midst of theirs. Lizzie lived out her faith, and her faith was unrelenting.
Because of her belief, Jesus, true to his word came back and claimed one of his followers. And now Lizzie is in the place prepared especially for her...a place where there are no more tears, no more sorrow or pain, no more hospitals, no more cancer and no more death. A place where the faith that carried her all through this life has now given her eternal life. A place where her faith now sees. A place where, while we are crying, she is walking and talking...dancing and probably eating... with the One she calls her Savior.
So we can ask again, like Paul..."Death, where is your sting?" because we know that death has in fact been swallowed up in victory. We can ask it again because we have a hunch that we're not in this alone. We can ask again because today we celebrate the life of Lizzie, who loved us well and challenged us deeply. That's the legacy of Lizzie Wallace. That's what touched our lives, and that's what we will carry with us today and every day forward.
So we are here to say collectively - We love you Lizzie. Thank you for that big ol' footprint you've left on our lives."
