Mourning with Hope: When Mom Met Her Jesus

My mother, Barbara Winten, went home to be with the Lord on December 3, 2025.

I’ve been sitting with that sentence for days now. Reading it. Praying through it. Letting the weight of it settle into the deep places of my heart.

Mom is gone from this earth. And yet—she’s more alive than she’s ever been.

We Don’t Mourn as the World Mourns

There’s something the Apostle Paul wrote that has anchored me in these days. He told the church at Thessalonica (1 Thess. 4:13) that we don’t grieve as those who have no hope. We do grieve—let me be clear about that. Jill and I miss Mom. We miss her smile that could light up a room. We miss the way her face would absolutely shine whenever her granddaughters Kayla and Karli walked through the door. We miss the warmth of a woman who kept her doors open to every neighborhood kid, welcoming them with love and a snack.

We grieve. But we grieve differently.

We grieve with hope.

The Richest Day of Her Life

About a year and a half ago, when Jill’s mother passed away, our pastor’s wife gave us a book—C.H. Spurgeon’s Beside Still Waters: Words of Comfort for the Soul. We’ve returned to it many times since, and now in this season with my mom, God has used these words to minister to my soul in ways I didn’t know I needed.

Today I read a devotion titled “Do Not Be Afraid” based on Revelation 1:17. Spurgeon wrote these words that stopped me cold:

“Your last moment will be your richest. Better than the day of your birth will be the day of your death. It will be the beginning of heaven.”

The day my mother took her last breath on this earth was the richest day of her entire life. Richer than her wedding day. Richer than the days her children were born. Richer than holding her granddaughters for the first time.

December 3, 2025 was Barbara Winten’s greatest day.

Because in a blink—in the space between one heartbeat and eternity—she was in the presence of her Jesus.

“My Jesus”

Mom had this way of talking about the Lord that was so intimate, so personal. She didn’t talk about Jesus like He was some distant theological concept. She would say “my Jesus” with the familiarity of someone who walked with Him every single day.

And that’s what wrecked me when I read what Spurgeon wrote next:

“When you enter heaven, you will find them singing the praise of the same glorious One whom you adore.”

The One whom she adored.

Mom adored Jesus. And now she’s standing in His presence, singing praises to the same Savior she loved here on earth. The same Jesus she talked to every day. The same Lord she trusted through every season of life—from being a 17-year-old newlywed leaving Alliance, Nebraska to build a life in Denver, through raising three kids, through losing my father Larry, through every joy and every sorrow.

She’s with Him now.

A Place Prepared

Mom talked a lot about heaven. One of her favorite things to say was, “Jesus has prepared a mansion for me”—holding tight to that promise from John 14:2.

She also always asked if her cats would be there. I’d joke with her that they made a movie called All Dogs Go to Heaven—but it doesn’t mention cats. We’d laugh about it together.

I don’t know the theology on cats in heaven. But I do know this: whatever is waiting for Mom is more than she could have ever imagined. And knowing her Jesus, I wouldn’t be surprised if He had a few surprises waiting for her.

Absent from the Body, Present with the Lord

Second Corinthians 5:8 has become so real to me: “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.”

There was no waiting room. No delay. The moment Mom closed her eyes here, she opened them there—in the fullness of glory, in the presence of the King.

I’ve been thinking about what she saw in that first moment. In a couple of passages of the Bible it paints a picture of angels escorting believers into the presence of Jesus. What was that like for her? What was the very first thing she saw?

I believe she saw the face of her Jesus. The One she adored. The One who had been with her every step of her journey. The One who welcomed her home with arms wide open.

The Right to Be Called His Child

Here’s what gives me such profound hope in these days: John 1:12 says, “Yet to all who did receive Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God.”

Mom received Jesus. She believed in His name. And that gave her the right—not a hope, not a wish, but a right—to be called His child.

And because I’ve received that same Jesus, because I believe in that same name, I have that same right.

Which means I will see her again.

Not “maybe.” Not “hopefully.” I will.

Because we are both children of the same Father. We both adore the same Jesus. We both have the same home waiting for us.

Until Then

So yes, Jill and I are walking through a season of grief again. A year and a half ago, we said goodbye to Jill’s mother. Now, my mom. It’s been a long season of mourning as our mothers go home to the Lord.

We’re processing. We’re remembering. We’re crying and laughing at the memories and holding our family close.

But we’re not mourning as those without hope.

We’re mourning as children of God who know—who know—that these goodbyes are temporary. That Mom’s richest day has already happened. That she’s singing praises right now to the glorious One she always adored—alongside Jill’s mom.

And one day, in the twinkling of an eye, we’ll join them.

Until then, we’ll keep walking with our Jesus. The same One our mothers loved. The same One who holds them now.

Thank you, Mom, for showing us what it looks like to walk with God. Thank you for keeping your doors open to everyone. Thank you for loving your Jesus out loud.

I’ll see you soon.

“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 1:6

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Dennis & Jill

Barbara Winten’s Obituary