I wrote this tribute to Helen and read it at the funeral. Many of you have asked for copies. For those of you who didn’t know my precious mother-in-law, I hope you will find the ending a sweet release for loved ones you may have lost.
Helen Jansen’s Coronation Day
Helen Jansen was an amazing woman. Every person who knew or interacted with Helen would tell you that she imprinted love and honor on them. She knew how to connect with you, to love you, to look into your soul and draw out the good that was there.
I know. She did that for me. I am Debbie, Helen’s daughter-in-law; Ron’s wife. While I love my own family very much, there is no one I admire more than Helen. Forty-two years ago I joined the Jansen family. Helen immediately embraced me and made me feel as though I’d been a Jansen my entire life. Her kindness and compassion toward me set me on a journey to become different, better. I wanted to become as much like Helen as I could.
And while I have often come up short, Helen never ceased to inspire me—not just to be like her, but to follow her as she imitated Jesus.
Helen became a Christian when she was seven years old. A lot of people thought she was cute for professing faith at such a young age, but they didn’t take her seriously. That was their mistake. Even at that tender age, she knew her faith was real and that it would last. Some people like to boast that their faith “defines” their life. Helen’s faith “was” her life.
So it made sense that when she settled down to marry and raise a family, she would seek a man who shared her deep belief in Christ. And in 1951, she married Wayne, a devout man of God. They loved each other deeply and soon their family grew to include four children, Ron, Gloria, Jim and Cheryl.
While she stayed busy raising her children, she helped Wayne on the farm. But that wasn’t enough work for her! She also had a thriving upholstery business. And there was church activities. Most people would have used all of her busy-ness as an excuse to refuse to volunteer at church. Instead, Helen drew strength from her faith and remained active there as well.
She never sought the limelight. Helen was shy and preferred to stay in the background, but Wayne wouldn’t let her. She often admitted to me, “Wayne literally pushed me to the front. He insisted that I could lead and he refused to let me stay in the background.”
Over the years Helen taught every Sunday school class in the church. She volunteered to teach Ron’s beginner class. As he grew, she moved her teaching through every age group. Ron jokes about how excited he was every spring. He’d say, “Finally, I’m going to move up and my mom won’t be the teacher.” And how disappointed he was every fall to walk into his new class and see his mom at the podium. Helen taught Sunday school for fifty-two years. While she took a Sunday or two off for trips, she was never without a Sunday school teacher’s manual beside her chair. The last four years of her teaching career, she taught the pastor’s class.
But Helen wasn’t through. She worked as her church’s Women’s Missionary Council leader for more than thirty years. She took missions seriously. She understood that missionaries were working hard to add souls to the kingdom, so they needed her and others to support their efforts. Helen and Wayne scrimped and saved so they could give large donations to missions.
Helen never missed an opportunity to greet missionaries visiting her church. After a short talk with them, Helen would whisper in the wife’s ear, “Would you like some clothes for your trip?”
Helen purchased very few things. She didn’t need to. After all, she was an expert at sewing. She made kid’s clothes, blankets, afghans, adult clothes, coats, knitted hats, knitted mittens, and created beautiful quilts. Her highly sought-after handmade items have literally blanketed the world. In fact, just nine months after she was diagnosed with cancer, she received a request to make twelve quilts for an Indian reservation. Ron, who came to live with her during that time, couldn’t believe how hard his sick mother worked to fill that order. And she did.
Within the last fifteen years Helen also fulfilled a dream Wayne talked about, but they were never able to pursue before his death. She went on ten MAPS missionary trips. She gave from her heart and her skills. She literally sewed her way to Jamaica, Guatemala, El Salvdor, and Equador. Once she took 32 Quilts to Jamaica so every family could go home from Sunday church with a quilt.
But even all these things weren’t enough for a woman who knew that God had place His hand on her life to help others in need. So Helen served her community. She was part of a neighborhood ladies group. She volunteered and donated to Teen Challenge. She sewed for Royal Family Kids Camp.
She took meals and visited the sick and those who were less fortunate than she. She made sure that, as long as she could help it, no family went without.
And as her children grew up and started their own families, she double her efforts to remain involved in their lives. She made sure the Jansens and Efflins continued to be close and she made an effort to be at every family function she was invited to.
For five years she spent every Sunday afternoon driving to Pella and New Sharon to visit ailing parents. She sewed for her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She was as involved in their lives as they would allow.
But most important: she was a woman of prayer. She always had daily devotions after breakfast and prayed for her family, friends, missionaries, community, and her country.
Helen was kind, devoted to her faith, long-suffering, quiet, reserved, and yet the strongest soldier of faith I have ever known. She knew her Bible and she knew the path that would take anyone to heaven. Helen was determined to walk that path. Everything she did and everything she was had one focus: “I’ve got to make heaven.”
She loved to quote Hebrews 12:1: “Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us…”
Whenever she would quote that verse to me, her eyes would look beyond me, as if gazing on a prize. She would grin, because I imagine that she saw her beloved husband, relatives, friends, and missionaries—all watching her.
Then she would look back at me, click her fingers on the table, and with great confidence admit, “They are watching. I have to do this right. There’s going to be a celebration, and I will not miss it.” She grew serious then and pointed her finger at my face. “Don’t you miss it either,”
When Wayne passed away, I watched that strong faith continue to play out. Wayne was her strength and the love of her life. In all her pain, at his funeral this wonderful woman cried but considered it a joy to encourage others. Standing near her I heard her say over and over, “It’s okay. This is his coronation day! Let’s be happy for him.” I didn’t want to be happy though! I wanted to cry and wallow in my grief.
But watching Helen, now, as she struggled and fought hard in her own life’s journey, I understand. When you push as hard as she did, when your life is that full of meaningful work and joy, crossing the finish line has no tears.
She ran her race and gave it everything she had. She didn’t complain. She didn’t fuss. I never heard her vent her frustrations. Instead she witnessed to others. She loved and worked until there was nothing left.
And only then she lay quietly on her bed until Jesus sent his angels for her.
No one knows what happens when God calls us home. But allow your imagination a little room to see what “could” have happened. Imagine with me the flurry in heaven the day Helen went home.
God had seen enough. He called two angels to his side. To one angel he said, “It’s time for a celebration. Make all the arrangements and tell Wayne Jansen I need to see him.”
The first angel arrived back, escorting Wayne. God smiled as he looked at this faithful man. They had talked many times about waiting for Helen. Finally God leaned forward and asked Wayne, “Is your mansion ready? Can it hold two people?”
Wayne gave God his playful, guttural laugh. “Hey he he, you know it is!”
God sat back and laughed as well. “Get ready, Wayne. We are going to have a party.”
To the other angel God turned and ordered, “Go down and get my servant Helen. She has suffered long enough.”
That strong angel flew past galaxies, moons, and stars. Like a bolt of lightning he flashed through the sky. His eyes were fixed on Helen. He was rescuing a precious saint from the pain and sorrow of this life.
He raced through the atmosphere, through the clouds and over great farms to stop at Helen’s side. With her final breath, Helen looked up into the face of an angel, but saw past him and into heaven’s gates. Her savior was waiting with outstretched arms. She was going home.
The angel gently lifted her weary body to his strong chest. With a force more powerful than rockets, he pushed upward back through the dense of space and laid Helen in Jesus’ arms. Jesus cradled her and said, “Well done, my faithful servant, Helen. Enter now into the joys of heaven. You were everything I wanted you to be. You’ve worked so hard and waited so long. You can rest now. Welcome home.”
In an instant, her body changed. Her new heavenly body was strong and free of pain. Jesus let her go. She turned to see the face of her beloved husband. She ran to him with arms opened wide. He grabbed her and spun her around. Complete joy was never as sweet as the moment they had together.
And that cloud of witnesses that Helen always talked about as she quoted the passage from Hebrews? They were ecstatic. They clapped and laughed and cheered. Dorothy, Darlene, Mary Jane, the Efflins, the Jansens, missionaries, and a host of friends and family—they were all there.
Helen’s coronation party had finally begun.
So as we say goodbye to Helen, we don’t need to grieve or fear her loss. She made it. She was faithful to the end. And as Helen did with me on so many occasions, she reminds us even now, “Don’t you miss your day either.”