A dear childhood friend of mine, Angie Davis, passed a couple weeks ago after years of battling cancer. Her husband Brian called to invite Becky and me to their sacred memorial service near Harrisonburg, VA where I had the honor of playing piano this past Saturday. It was a blessing to reconnect with her family and friends, sharing memories and words of comfort.
I met Angie on the campus of Gardner-Webb University in Boiling Springs, NC on the first night of a Christian family conference. I was a high school kid from Ontario, NY (near Rochester) and she was from Staunton, VA. I loved her Southern accent and contagious smile. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and most of all, she knew Jesus, too.
That evening, we discovered our shared love for Anne of Green Gables. We were kindred spirits. When we parted ways after the conference, we became pen pals. Our letters would have made Anne proud. Angie’s words flowed like a stream with depth and beauty. They were poetic and pithy, faithful and true.
Later, when she was diagnosed with cancer, the world got to experience her way with words through her blog, Spring of Joy. She poured out her years of suffering onto the page, sharing them for fellow sufferers and those willing to carry her burden from near and far.
In recent years, I had the opportunity to interview her and compose a piano work inspired by her. I called it Spring of Joy.
Here’s what I wrote in the liner notes:
“Dig your well deep now, so when suffering comes you have something to drink.”
That is the advice that Angie Davis gives to all young people—to know God and to know His Word. She is no stranger to suffering, having spent over two decades battling thyroid cancer, colon cancer, and now stage 4 breast cancer. Scarred with the devastating effects of many surgeries and chemo treatments, she shared her grief in a cracked voice, “I want to grow old with Brian and see my kids married...I’m tired.”
Angie is not without hope, though. “When I truly understand God’s Fatherly affection for me, my suffering isn’t a heavy hand. He grieves with me. He loves me as I am. He brings with it rest and I cease striving. I don’t have to earn God’s love. It is grace unmeasured. God wins over all of this!”
When I asked about her greatest joys she said, “My husband, my kids, my family. Flowers on my window sill that [my daughter] Audrey and I arranged. Sunlight while I play the piano. To see the extraordinary in the ordinary. I cry a lot, but it’s over the joys and the blessings as well as the sufferings. My kids jokingly say #mamacried”
I wanted to capture this wellspring of joy in her song. I was utterly humbled to see such confidence and hope emanate from her weary body and fragile voice. Her one desire for this song is this: “I want people to see Jesus.”
Last year, the last time I saw her, she could barely talk, but her eyes were bright and her smile was just as contagious as ever. There are few activities more grounding than sharing a moment of connection with someone who lives in suffering, not being able to remove their pain, yet helping them feel a little less lonely — seen, suffered with, delighted in.
The memorial service this past Saturday was planned by her twenty years ago when she was first diagnosed with cancer. She held on long enough to see her beloved children graduate.
Today she is free — free from suffering and sadness, tears and fears. Her greatest comfort now was her greatest comfort then — Jesus held her and she held him back. He was and is her Spring of Joy. In this world, joy always comes with sadness. Now, she only knows Joy.
I miss you, dear Angie, but I am also happy for you. Earth lost a light. Heaven just got brighter, if that’s even possible. I’ll see you soon enough, sis. 🙏
Death has been swallowed up in victory.
Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?
…thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.1 Corinthians 15:54b-57
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