MY MOTHER, ROSA MILLER Barnes, was the Billy Graham of our family. With my dad’s help, she converted all of us to orthodox Christianity. Her approach was not to deliver a sermon or drag everyone off to church or insist we read a religious book or tract. It wasn’t that she was shy about discussing her faith. She could explain with great clarity what being a follower of Jesus Christ meant in her life. But she never pushed her faith on anyone. If she found someone wasn’t receptive, she changed the subject to one of mutual interest. She was never judgmental. She was always patient.
We fell like dominos, first my sister, Rosa, and her husband, Jack Isleib, then their two kids, Mary Alice and John. Next was my daughter Karen, who became a Christian at age 9. My mother was subtle. She sent Karen to vacation Bible school when she visited her grandparents in the summer, and she took Karen to church. After two years of this, she gently asked Karen if she’d like to accept Christ as her savior. Karen said yes. My wife, Barbara, and I and our three other children took the plunge several years later. But that’s not the end of it. My sister and her husband went into full-time ministry, founding an organization called Christian Outreach International that’s active around the world from Kiev to Chihuahua. Their children became preachers as well. My kids would bring their friends along to Christian youth group meetings, where they were converted. My mother was the cause of all of this. The ripple effects of her life were extraordinary. Her legacy will be felt forever.
She had a very simple evangelical tool. It was the way she lived her life. There’s an old Christian rule of thumb about the priorities of life. God is first, others are second, I’m third. My mother exemplified the “I’m third” approach. It was difficult to get her to talk about herself. When she was forced to, she’d switch subjects as quickly as possible, usually by asking the person she was talking to about his or her life. This invariably worked, even with family members.
She never complained, except jokingly about the bruises that showed up on her legs as a result of blood thinning medicine. She grew up an Army brat. Her father and brother and the man she married were West Pointers. When I decided against West Point, she was upset, but she never told me so. Sons seek the approval of their father, but they want their mother to be a cheerleader. My mother was a cheerleader for me and for many of my friends.
For almost two decades, my mother and father worked in lay ministry. One at a time, they’d collect at their house people beset with pain, trouble, sorrow, or all three. My parents offered counsel, prayer, healing, and friendship, and often a bed to sleep in. When my family visited, we’d encounter strangers who’d drop in any time, day or night, to see my parents, especially my mother. One of her skills was to be a sympathetic listener. Rather than dispensing advice, she offered encouragement while discreetly steering them toward faith in Christ.
I was lucky to be her son. We were interested in the same subjects except for one. She didn’t care about sports. But she loved to talk about her faith, her family, and politics. She followed politics closely, liked the Bushes, Jeb especially, and was fond of her congressman, Dave Weldon. Last year, she broke her habit of never grumbling or grousing. She complained about John Kerry.
My mother never wanted to impose. When she and I would talk on the phone, she’d have written a list of things she wanted to ask about. That way she felt the conversation would be organized and wouldn’t take up too much of my time. After my wife and I bought a house near her in Vero Beach, Florida, in 2001, she would drop by nearly every day for a visit. The moment she walked in the door, she’d announce, “I can’t stay.” Sure enough, after 30 minutes she’d get up and leave. I wasn’t there for her last visit. She came by to have lunch with Karen and my sister. As she walked to her car afterwards, one of her legs gave out and she fell. An ambulance was called. As it drove away, she lifted her head from the stretcher, waved, and said, “Thanks. I had a wonderful time.” She died the next day, three months short of her 90th birthday.
–Fred Barnes
