I’m heading off to a family funeral over the Cup Weekend. My dear Aunty Frances passed away last weekend. Fransie (as she was affectionately known by her generation) was my dad’s sister, an exceptionally creative soul who took so many imaginative ideas and made them reality. My wife, Kris’, wedding bouquet – captured in lots of photos taken at our wedding – was full of the brightest variety of flowers; Kris had imagined lots of colour in it, and Frances delivered in the most amazing way.

Frances’ lifelong soul mate was her husband of over 60 years, Don. Don passed away during the early months of COVID; we couldn’t get to go to his funeral, and with the streaming still so rudimentary in those times, we grieved at lots of levels.

Frances and Don were my godparents, and the godparents of all my siblings. That was a huge commitment – eight nephews and nieces that, should my parents have been taken to eternity early, they had promised to raise as their own. They loved us, and they took our spiritual upbringing seriously. When they promised, as we were baptised as infants, to support and assist my parents in our raising to “know the Lord and instruct us to walk in His ways” (the Anglicans really do have a way of expressing it!), they committed to it deeply.

When we spent time with Don and Frances’ family, Don would take me and my brothers aside and ask how our walk with Jesus was going. He didn’t pull punches; he was comfortable to ask hard questions if he felt we were wavering, unsure or oppositional. He was also deftly pastoral; a sad or troubled moment was met with words of wisdom, often a reflection on Jesus’ teachings.

But he listened HARD – and often for a long time – as his godsons talked, often forming their views as they got further into the conversation. I understand from my sisters that Frances was faithful in her godmothering of the girls – those conversations that were formational in their faith walks, with promises of prayer to follow, she partnered with my parents and Don as she took on this responsibility with humility and grace.

And, at the end, he promised to pray. Sometimes he did that with us, but always he undertook to do so until we met again. Even in my 40s and 50s, when I saw Don, he would keep up the habit. He’d been listening to me intently last time we were together, he’d been praying since then, and now he was asking for the next focus of his prayers.

To me and my family, Frances and Don gave us a legacy of love. Love of the Lord, love of His word, love of His people, love of their people. It was well informed, because they asked. It was well grounded, because they listened with open hands and open hearts. It was anchored in the eternal love of God. It was disciplined because it was consistent and constant. It was faithful and faith-filled.

Let’s ponder for a moment.

What would it mean to ask someone who is of great importance to us, questions of their faith, questions of their eternal well-being, with no agenda other than their flourishing?

Who might they be? And how many might they be? Can we start this exploration of who God might be putting on our heart to act in this way, today?

How long should we listen? Maybe we should double it? And how often should we listen? I sense the answer to this will always be “for longer”.

So too with praying for them. How long should we pray for them? How often? Maybe we should double it? “For longer” ...?

And let’s repeat it – and be prepared to hear God’s prompting to spread these disciplines wider. As a way of sharing His love; and leaving immediate and lasting legacies of love.

Shalom.

Principally Thinking

'Act justly, love kindness, and walk humbly with God'

Issue 15 · 30 Oct 2025

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