My dear mother, Madonna Rose McClimon Hart, was a woman of faith.  She died June 14, 2025, my 27th wedding anniversary.  My father, John Hart, could not have had a more beautiful, dependable and trustworthy woman next to him for 70 years; truly she was the most elegant rose he could possess.  He knew it, too

My dear mother taught all her children by her words and example.  She taught her children to regard their father with respect, and she wisely regarded him with honor all her life. Even to the end, she was concerned about his well-being and was attentive to his needs and the concerns she had of her loved one. She slept with the same man her whole life and shared ten children with him, and even the night of her death, her husband was next to her in his own hospital bed.  Her children were the ones who separated them when they lifted her out of their marriage bed to her hospital bed a week before she died and this was only out of need, not want.

My mother taught her children the Word of God and lived a life of faith.  She taught us all that there was salvation in no other name but the name of Jesus, and she pointed us to the cross and to God’s forgiveness and love regularly.  When she came to an overwhelming faith in her forties after being faithful to what she was taught, she did not browbeat others with her zeal; instead, she communicated the truth with with an earnest humility. She had great fellowship with her sisters.  She studied the Bible and laughed at the Proverbs with her sister Marie.  She respected her sister Anna Mae for what her faith taught her to do in serving in Guatemala for twenty years; and when her sister Olive asked her about what had happened to make her love God’s Word so much, instead of talking at her with proud knowledge she simply said, “Olive, just ask the Lord to do for you what he did for me.” She communicated with love, not pride.  She loved her sisters and laughed at the days to come with them. She loved her brothers too, Uncle Rae and Uncle Bill, and had loving regard for them and their wives. Even though Mom was a peacemaker, she had the same McClimon feistiness that could get anyone in trouble; for her it was an asset, not a liability.

My Grandpa Hart had two of the best daughters-in-law a father could have, and she shared this with Uncle Steve’s wife and had great concern for the Davenport Harts, too.  Mom’s rich extended family gave her the opportunity to share her kind self with so many and to teach us how to treat others.

She made sure that her daughters had the opportunity to take piano lessons and to have a softball glove.  She emphasized that her daughters should develop their intellect by going to college and to become skilled and competent enough to stand on their own two feet.  She did this while at the same time devoting her entire life to her children and her husband. Mom honored both of her sons and loved them.  She knew how to laugh well with Johnny and was always concerned about where Paul was going with the tractor or the semi and also was glad when he would return. She embraced both daughters-in-law and was thankful her sons had good wives and regarded the responsibility of their motherhood for the next generation, and she enjoyed her good sons-in-law, too. She loved her grandchildren and only spoke kind words about all of them.  Although she did not meet each of her great-grandchildren, she experienced the knowledge and joy of having four generations during her life.  God was good to this woman who was good to others.

She made sure that all her children learned to develop their integrity by hanging on to the importance of truth and showed her own intellect and integrity when she would vehemently debate Dad’s only sister K. Therese, the Chicago nun.  They would argue as if they were enemies and oppose each thought and tweak each word while they gnawed on the details and ramifications of politics and religion, and in between topics, Mom would offer our aunt another beer and more cheese and crackers – all with moderation.  “Oh just one more, Madonna,” my aunt would say.  They also enjoyed playing poker with pennies and nickels, and when the holidays were over, the same woman who debated with clarity and intellect would hug the aunt with passionate warmth and laugh at the good discussion they had had until the next time.

My mother was no hypocrite and would be the first to admit that her righteousness was like a filthy rag; she was forever grateful for the forgiveness of God.  For years, she would not receive communion because she knew she wasn’t worthy, until finally, she grasped the truth that Jesus paid the price for all sinners so that we could all be forgiven and stand before God unashamed and also approach his throne boldly in our time of need which she knew was all the time.

Mom was no stranger to hardship.  She experienced it herself and with her extended family which included lots of sorrow.  She had to endure the loss of one of her own daughters, our sister Michaela, and her first great-grandchild, and yet she continued to trust in God through it all.  She had gratitude even though life was filled with the need to pray, and this she did often, even to the end with her last words being, “Thank you, Lord.”  Before she was reduced to these three words, she would say over and over, “Tell me what to do.” I now firmly believe this was a prayer and a prayer that all of us should utter.  Indeed, “Tell me what to do; thank you, Lord,” pretty much encompasses the surrender of “Thy will be done.”

My mother gave me the greatest gift of my life by helping me to embrace the birth of my 6^th child (Mollie) who has a disability.  Her example made the whole truth of God’s love and the preciousness of every life so evident to me while I navigated the sorrow of concern.  Mom always knew “that little girl” until the end and used her identity to know which daughter I was.  Instead of calling me by name, I was called Mollie’s mother. Finally, Mom gave me and my brothers and sisters as well as some grandchildren and special friends the greatest privilege of our lives to care for her these last three years and especially the last week of her life and until the end.   Without her knowing it, God gave all her children time to say their last good-bye and the finals words of love to her while they accepted that they would not hear her voice, enjoy the sound of her hearty laughter or see her beautiful smile and blue eyes again on this earth.  For that, we are all grateful to God.  And now the best action we can take is to continue to care for her husband, our dear old dad, until he goes to be with her.

My dear mother, there are no words to honor the dignity of your life.  Truly, we all arise and praise you for the crown of glory you are to us.  Thank you, God. And thank you, Mom.