Mom's Funeral
This is what I spoke at Mom’s Funeral. Vinnie and Leo helped. Mom died April 8th, 2025. This funeral happened on Good Friday 2025 followed by the Graveside Service.
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“A Life Well Lived”
In Honor of Carolyn Sue Miller
Welcome, family.
Welcome, friends.
Today we don’t gather as strangers.
We gather as witnesses.
Witnesses to the life of Carolyn Sue Miller.
A life well lived.
A mother. A grandmother.
A woman who walked quietly…
but whose footprints still thunder through our hearts.
Let me say it plain—
Today is sacred.
Because death has not won.
Love never left.
And Heaven…
Heaven just got a little louder with Mom’s heavenly homecoming.
Psalm 23 says:
“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul.”
Mom’s soul has been restored.
Her eyes have already seen what our eyes still long for down here.
On Earth she looked through a glass dimly,
But in Heaven she now sees the Master face to face.
On behalf of the Miller family, we welcome you.
We thank you.
We grieve… but we also rejoice.
We mourn… but we also worship.
Because Carolyn Miller,
Grandma Carolyn—
AKA Momma—
didn’t just leave.
She arrived.
Before we continue… let’s hear the legacy, in her own bloodline.
Leo—come on up, son. Read the words of her story. The Obituary.
(Leo reads the Obituary aloud)
If love could’ve kept her here, she’d still be holding our hands.
Carolyn Sue Miller, 86, of Bartonville, finished her journey on Tuesday, April 8, 2025, at Carle Health Pekin Hospital. She didn’t just pass—she poured out every last drop of love, and then went home as Jesus answered her prayer to go.
Born in Tennessee, Illinois, to Arthur and Eleanor Logan, Carolyn lived with quiet grace and deep strength. She married Wright S. Miller III in 1956 at the Bartonville Methodist Church. He preceded her in death in 2011, but their legacy (mostly hers) lives on in their family.
She was also preceded in death by her parents—but not before they passed on a spirit that bloomed in everything she touched.
Carolyn is survived by her sons: Wright “Jim” (Tammy) Miller IV and John Arthur Logan Miller, both of Bartonville; and by her beloved grandchildren: Louis R. Miller, Vincent L. (Kaylee) Miller, Leonardo J. (Sydney Kelly) Miller, Brooke K. Vielhak, and Faith B. Miller. Every one of them carries her fire.
She wasn’t loud. But she was unforgettable, warm, kind and endearing.
She shaped beauty from clay in ceramics. Captured joy through the lens of a camera. And in the lives of her grandchildren—she wasn’t just present, she was pivotal. She raised them with casseroles, laughter, and a love you could feel like warmth in your chest.
Carolyn loved flowers and gardening when time and health allowed. Cherished her gospel music—especially the Gaithers—and the slow peace of ordinary days.
Her funeral will be Friday, April 18, 2025, at 11 a.m. at Davison-Fulton Bartonville Chapel, with visitation an hour prior. Her son John will officiate. Burial to follow at St. John Lutheran Cemetery, Bartonville.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the St. Jude Midwest Affiliate—because Carolyn knew all too well the goodness that flows from St. Jude.
Let her memory live on—in stories, in song, in the love she left behind.
Online condolences may be left at Davison-Fulton-Bartonville Chapel
(1st Song: “In the Garden”)
Scripture says in Psalm 147:3,
“He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”
Someone asked me,
“If you believe in resurrection for your Momma,
Why then are you crying?”
I said let me tell you something.
Picture this—
You drive your loved one to portside New York City.
You help them board a ship.
No return ticket.
No email.
No postcards.
No phone call.
They’re sailing to Antarctica.
Or some hidden village in the heart of Africa.
Doesn’t matter really where it is.
They’re just gone for 30 years.
No contact.
No word.
Just… gone.
And the only way you’ll ever see them again—
is when you get your turn to board that same boat.
When your time comes
to say goodbye to the ones crying behind you.
As Johnny Cash sang: When the man comes around.
That’s death.
And we all will board that ship one day.
Rich, poor, loud, quiet—
we all go sailing.
But here’s the secret—
When your ship docks…
Momma will be there.
If you know Jesus,
If you live for Jesus,
If you’re a Christ Follower,
You’ll see parents and grandparents,
Aunts and uncles,
Whoever has gone and left on that boat
To nowhere.
And you’ll see strangers by those who have gone before you,
And you’ll ask, “Who are these people that I don’t recognize?”
Your loved one will say:
“These are your ancestors. Ten generations deep.
They prayed you through storms you never knew existed.
They wept so your children could run.
They waited in prayer with Jesus Christ…
so you could finish the journey.”
And thus, the road to nowhere becomes the road to somewhere for all of eternity.
Momma can’t come to us.
But we can go to her.
And that changes everything!
She died April 8.
On the following Sunday, Palm Sunday, I stood behind a pulpit.
I told the congregation:
Palm branches, once broken from the source, dry up.
They get brittle. They break.
Just like Mom’s body became brittle.
But…
when you’re grafted back into the source…
The river of life begins to flow again.
She’s grafted back in now.
She’s not brittle.
She’s no longer sick.
She’s alive like never before.
Psalm 1 says:
“He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water…
his leaf also shall not wither…
and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.”
Let me say this:
Mom doesn’t need a walker anymore.
No more albuterol.
No more nebulizers.
No more sitting on the edge of the bed just to catch her breath.
She. Is. Made. Whole.
Let us pray.
“Father, Your Son Jesus said He would send another Comforter.
Let Your Spirit do what no man can do—
Bind up our broken hearts according to Psalm 147:3 that we’ve already read.
Fill the silence with peace.
Lord, we welcome You Presence now.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.”
The last time I saw Mom—
I believe I heard God.
Not in my mind.
But in my spirit.
That still, small voice
that shakes you louder than thunder.
“I’m going to take her home,” He said.
“She’s fought hard…
She’s tired.
So I’m going to take her home.”
It wasn’t a nurse.
Wasn’t a doctor.
It was simply the Holy Spirit.
Clearer than anything I’ve ever heard.
I didn’t want it to be true.
I didn’t want to hear it.
I was still praying for healing.
Still rebuking sickness.
Still prepared to drag her through still yet another year by faith and medicine and love.
But that voice…
That still, small voice…
wasn’t there for flair or bravado.
It was there to protect me. And maybe it was there to protect you.
Because God knew some of us would blame ourselves for loved ones dying.
“I should’ve done this.
I should’ve prayed harder.
I should’ve caught it sooner.”
But it wasn’t my fault.
It wasn’t the doctors’ fault.
It wasn’t the meds.
Mom’s passing was God’s mercy.
He took her gently.
And He didn’t let me carry guilt.
God doesn’t want any of us to carry guilt,
Not for a life well-lived.
He carried her away,
As an act of supreme mercy.
“Goodbye, Momma. Until it’s my turn to get on that boat and end this Pilgrim’s Progress… goodbye.”
At the end she always said my name—
“Ju-awn.”
Not “John.”
But “Ju-awn.”
Weak, soft, tired—
Almost a Southern drawl of surrender.
“Ju-awn.”
I’d carry her.
I’d help her walk.
Help her breathe.
Help her live just one more day when she was at her weakest… And my name turned from John to Ju-awn.
Her voice–the way she pronounced my name when she was at her weakest–is gone now. I’d give anything to have it back.
But her echo remains in the corridors of my mind: “Ju-awn!”
I still hear it echo in the empty house.
Still feel it when the phone doesn't ring.
But today—
We tell her story.
And someone who knew her best will tell it well.
Vinnie my son, come share.
(Vinnie shares humorous story)
(2nd Song: “I’ll Fly Away”)
Mom was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
Every time she got better, another setback came.
Two steps forward, six back.
But she smiled through it all.
She bore up under what would’ve crushed the rest of us.
And when she was weakest,
when her body was fading,
I preached to her.
To encourage her,
To lift her spirits,
To make her try.
1 John 5:4.
“For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world… and this is the Victory that overcometh the world: even our faith.”
The moment you walk in faith, you walk in victory!
And I said, “Mom, say it with me:
‘Faith is Victory.’”
She lifted her hands.
She repeated it.
Over and over: “Faith is Victory!”
The week before she died.
“Faith is Victory!”
Not softly.
Not weakly.
But with strength I didn’t expect.
But she wasn’t clinging to this world.
She was reaching for another world… with her faith.
My faith was for healing.
Her faith was for release.
She was ready.
But I wasn’t.
We were both using our faith,
We were both believing,
I was believing God to keep her here,
But she was believing to go home.
And in the end it wasn’t my faith that prevailed. It was yours, Momma. And Heaven answered.
You know what? I believe she’s praying for you right now. Right there in your seat. Right where you’re at. Whether you’re far away from the Lord or near Jesus.
You see… There is one ministry Jesus is still doing: Intercession.
Romans 8:34 KJVS
Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.
Jesus is interceding for the saints.
And Momma always did love a prayer meeting.
And the Bible shows that we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses. And when Jesus said, “Follow Me,” He didn’t just mean on Earth in our bodies. Surely He intends for us to follow His example even in the Afterlife up in Heaven. And he is praying for us right now.
Can you imagine THAT prayer meeting?
In the past, Momma prayed me out of a backslidden condition.
Prayed me back into the pulpit.
Prayed for Vinnie’s battle with cancer.
Prayed for protection for Leo as he patched up gang members with bullet holes.
Prayed for Vinnie’s wife, Kaylee, and her job.
Prayed for Sydney’s success in school…
… and longed to see her graduate in May.
Prayed to see her Grandchildren more often,
Prayed for my brother Jim’s health.
And at the end…
She prayed herself
into the very arms
of her Lord and Savior Jesus Chris.
A life well lived.
One day, she started praying differently.
“Lord, I’m tired.
I’m not good for anything.
I’m a burden.”
And I’d say, “No, Momma. You’re not a burden.”
But deep down,
We both knew.
I would’ve carried her another hundred years
if God had let me.
But when Carolyn Miller prays—
Heaven listens.
She didn’t lose.
She won.
She didn’t fail.
She finished.
I can hear her last prayer even now:
“Faith is Victory. Even if you die… Yet shall you live.”
Mom breathed it.
She lived it.
She died while praying it.
And now…
She is home.
No oxygen tank.
No inhalers.
She is whole.
And one day, when I cross that great divide—
when my ship docks in eternity—
I’ll hear her voice again.
Not “John.”
But “Ju-awn.”
Not out of weakness this time.
But out of surrender to the Master Jesus Christ.
Out of a love that never died and still lives on because she lives on.
Because that’s who she was.
That’s who she is.
That’s who she will always be.
Carolyn S. Miller
Faithful.
Victorious.
Forever remembered.
“Goodbye, Momma.”
(3rd Song: “That’s the Way it Is”)