Darlene Dorothy Lee — 10/11/1931 — 11/08/2025

The following is a departure from how I normally blog. This is the message delivered at my mother’s graveside memorial service on 11/14/2025.

Being the oldest in a large family has its perks. Like today, it is my joy to talk about the woman we call Mom, Grandma, Great-Grandma, or Darlene, because I have known her longer than anyone else. I’ve watched every sibling grow up behind me, and because of their uniqueness, each revealed a new side of Mom’s personality and character. I had seventy-two years to see her laugh and cry, correct and commend, worry and pray, and—most importantly—love.

She expressed her love in so many ways. As a firstborn, I knew her to be super cautious. I had to wait longer to get my ears pierced. I had the earliest curfew and the least latitude for violating it. And I had a strict bedtime, even as I entered high school. By the time Darla and Dyann came along, she was more relaxed and experienced. She tended to say “yes” to almost anything they asked as long as it wasn’t life-threatening or morally wrong.

But some things never changed. She still told us to “Wear nice underwear in case you’re in an accident and have to go to the hospital.” She warned us not to hover at the cake table at weddings and poke our fingers into the nuts and mints. And she told us not to eat yellow snow! She insisted that Darby, Denise, and I wear pants under our dresses when we walked to school in sub-freezing temperatures so we wouldn’t freeze our legs. Of course, I took them off as soon as I turned the corner and she couldn’t see me anymore. She could be funny and practical, but she was serious about what mattered most.

Every night, she made sure we said our prayers at bedtime. On Saturdays, we did our Sunday school homework, prepared our offering envelopes, took our Saturday night bath, and laid out church clothes for the next morning. Those small, weekly rituals fueled our faith. They were her way of saying, “What we are doing tomorrow is important. And I want you always to remember the fourth commandment: ‘Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.’” And we did. Sundays were special. We visited Grandma, played cards and board games, sang in the car, and rested from household chores and work. None of us doubted that Sunday was different from the rest of the week.

Before Mom went home to Jesus, she left us this verse:

Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you had from the beginning. 1 John 2:7 (NIV)

That sounds like her, doesn’t it? Her last words to us were essentially, “You don’t need anything new. Go back to what you’ve always known—what you were raised on—what’s true.”

And then she added her own line, which amplified what she had been encouraging in her children their entire lives:

“Love one another, especially at a time like this.”

Love one another. Not only when it’s convenient. Not only when life is smooth. Love one another, especially at a time like this, when our hearts are bruised and we feel her absence.

I don’t think that word—love—was a random choice for her. She was so loved from the beginning of her life. I’m going to tell a story about Mom that some of you, especially the younger grandchildren and great-grandchildren, may not know.

When Grandma was born, her mother, Cora, had complications from childbirth. She died when Grandma was only ten days old. Her father, Glen, already had an eighteen-month-old son to raise, which was already hard because he had lost part of his arm in a farming accident. He knew he couldn’t keep the farm going and raise a little boy and a baby girl, so Glen let Grandma’s Aunt Selma and her husband, Helmer, adopt her.

It took a few months, but with the stroke of a judge’s pen, Grandma’s name changed from Darlene Dorothy Copeland to Darlene Dorothy Hauge. Selma and Helmer chose, loved, and claimed her as their own, making her part of a family she hadn’t been born into.

Here’s what matters. It’s not exactly the same, but it mirrors what God did for her later. Listen to this verse from Romans 8:15:

“You have received a Spirit of adoption as sons and daughters, by which we cry out, ‘Abba, Father!’”

Sometimes it’s hard to understand the words in the Bible, so let me make this a little easier to understand:

When we believe in Jesus, God gives us his Spirit in our hearts so we know we really belong to him—like kids in a family. That’s what “a Spirit of adoption” means: God chooses us and says, “You are mine.”

And “Abba” is like saying “Daddy.” So this verse means we can talk to God like a really good Father who loves us and takes care of us. God chooses you to be part of his family, and he’s the best Dad ever.

Now let’s think about Mom again. Once she was adopted, Mom never spoke as though she were a temporary member of the family. She knew who her parents were and that she belonged to them. The same is true when God adopts us into his family. God gives us his Spirit so that we know we belong to him, too. We are not naturally “in,” but God says, “You’re mine.” Human adoption is a small echo of that great kindness.

So when I think about Mom, I remember a woman who was chosen and brought into the safety of a loving home. And today she would want us to know the God who still chooses and brings people into his loving embrace.

So let’s go back to the Bible verse Mom wanted us to remember: “Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you had from the beginning.”

Again, it’s as if she’s saying, “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

She could have picked any verse, but when she chose this one, I can almost hear her saying:
• Remember what Dad and I taught you.
• Remember to love each other.
• Remember to stay fixed on Jesus.

If you spent time with her, you know she used one line frequently: “It’s always something.” Real life is full of unexpected interruptions. She knew about illness, finances, misunderstandings, and schedules. Those things can and do divide and distract us sometimes. Grief can do it, too. And I think that’s why she paired the verse with her own command: “Love one another, especially now.”

The six of us—Debbie, Darby, Denise, Dennis, Darla, and Dyann—are in the season of life where we’ve collected a lot of opinions, experiences, and priorities. Mom knew that, too. On a day like this, she could have said, “Be nice now.” Instead, she chose the harder but more powerful word: “Love one another.”

And in her honor—and in obedience to Christ—we need to do precisely that. Because “love one another” is more than Mom’s last instruction; it’s Jesus’s command. Reading from John 13, verses 34–35 (NIV):

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.”

I think Mom knew that love can be hard when people disappoint us. Jesus knew that, too. He must have. He said, “You must love one another.”

I’m selfish. I want everyone here to be adopted into God’s family. There isn’t one of you I want left on the outside. We don’t enter God’s family because we are related to Darlene. We don’t enter because we are “good people” or because we’ve “lived a good life.” We enter because Jesus opened the way, and we received him.

So if you’re here today and you admired Mom’s faith, or you admired her steadiness, or you admired the way she belonged to God—hear this: the door she walked through so many years ago is still open. The Savior she trusted is still saving. The Father who adopted her is still adopting. I know we will meet again someday.

Mom was adamant that this service should not be about her. She wanted this time to be about Jesus and who he is in her life. The best way to honor her is to trust the God she trusted.

So let me say it as plainly as I can: if you have never said yes to Jesus, today is a good day. Tell him you believe he died and rose again. Tell him you need his forgiveness. Tell him you want to belong to him. He will receive you. He has room in his family.

That is the good news of the gospel, and that is the news Mom would want tied to her memorial: God is still welcoming people home.