I’m thinking today about a really remarkable, one-of-a-kind woman named Carol Roth, whose funeral was yesterday morning at Holy Communion.  It’s not easy to sum her up in mere words,  but “force of nature” is a phrase that comes to mind.  Carol was the wife of Bill Roth,  a beloved member of the Carthage music faculty (the college organist) for many years- and a more devoted spouse you could never meet.  Carol poured energy and passion into supporting Bill (whom she adored) in every way imaginable …. but especially in organizing his many concerts and tours and presentations over the years.   She loved doing that sort of thing- and was good at it-  and Bill obviously appreciated how she took care of all of the details so he could focus on what mattered most to him …. the music.  Carol also had a fierce sense of honesty and frankness;  she did not believe in tip-toeing around anything that needed to be said,  and there was never any need to guess what she thought about something – or about you.  That level of openness could sometimes rock you back on your heels,  but there was also something very bracing and refreshing about that.

More than anything,  Carol was a person of high principles with an impassioned vision of right and wrong and a tenacious commitment to making a difference in the world and especially in the lives with special needs of one kind or another.  Her daughter told me a story after the funeral that helps speak to what might have helped precipitate that theme of “mission” that was such a hallmark of her life.  Carol was born and raised in Chicago and her father was a pastor.  While she was in her early teens,  her dad suffered a stroke – and it became necessary for 14-year-old Carol to learn how to drive in order to drive her dad to his many shut-in calls around the city.  By accompanying him on those visits,  young Carol got a clearer view of human difficulty and suffering than most typical young teens – and maybe more than some of us see over the course of a lifetime.  Carol’s daughter told me one story that her mom told again and again- so it’s clear that it left a very deep impression on her.  One of the families that Pastor Otterbein and his daughter visited on a regular basis had a father/husband who was a severe alcoholic, and his addiction could have easily brought the family to utter ruin.  Pastor Otterbein would often bring a small amount of cash with him to help the family out- but if he gave it openly,  there was little doubt that the money would be squandered on liquor rather than being used for the necessities of life.  So it would fall to young Carol during the course of those visits to make her way quietly to one of the rooms where there were drapes-  and she would surreptitiously pin the money to the back of those drapes,  where the wife/mother would know to retrieve it later.

I love that story for several reasons.  First of all,  it paints such a poignant portrait of what a scourge like alcoholism can do to a family,  not only in all of the first-hand ways that we can all imagine,  but in quieter ways as well …. such as diverting the meager resources of the household away from food and rent and towards alcohol.   But this story is also of a pastor who was determined to make a difference for the better in the lives of these parishioners – who was also wise enough (I almost said ‘cunning’ enough, but wondered if that term might carry the wrong connotations) to circumvent the intentions of the head of the house,  who would have surely poured any donations meant for the family into the ravenous abyss of his own addiction.   I love how Pastor Otterbein’s compassion spirit was balanced with a very healthy dose of practicality – and also that he was not afraid of having his daughter see any of this.  And he would be so proud to know of the life which she went on to live.