IN LOVING MEMORY
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Catherine Agnes Seaman


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This page is lovingly dedicated to the memory of my dear friend and sister in Christ Catherine Agnes Seaman. Catherine was born in Lexington, Virginia, on October 12, 1914. She was 87 years old.

On January 8, 2001, Catherine fell and broke her hip. She underwent surgery and a day later underwent another surgery. The two surgeries proved too much for her to handle, and the Lord saw fit to lay her to rest six days later.

I knew Catherine for at least 12 years. She was a jewel of a person, one who loved the Lord dearly and manifested that love by loving, caring, and helping other people. At 87 years old, she was sharp as a tack and able to drive a car and get around. She drove her friends, who did not drive, to the grocery stores and helped with other needs they might have.

Catherine was active in her church where she was the pianist. She was also the pianist at the Cedar Hills Nursing Home where we have a Nursing Home Ministry consisting of Bible reading, prayer, and singing praises.

Catherine was in love with Nature. I have never known anyone so excited and dramatic about the creation of God. One day, she came in to church all excited. 'Lydia, did you see those beautiful pansies out there?'  I looked at her blankly, wondering to myself 'What pansies?'  While my mind was occupied with mundane things like which hymns to select and who is going to pray, etc., I failed to see the pansies, but Catherine saw them and gave glory to her Creator.

One day she told us that she enjoyed looking out her windows and looking up. By looking up she saw the tops of lofty trees, the birds, the clouds, and the beautiful sky--all created by God for her to enjoy. She loved the raintrees that bloomed so beautifully. In the spring the blooms are yellow and later in the season, they turned peach color (or is it vice versa?). One day, Catherine shared with us from memory a lovely poem about a tree by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer. Here's the poem:


I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

There are two evergreen trees close to the parking lot of the Church of the Brethren where we rent the facilities for our church services on Saturday. One tree is tall, graceful, symmetrical, and beautiful to behold. The other is just the opposite. It is small, scraggly looking, unsymmetrical, and more of an eyesore than anything. One day as we were walking to our cars after church, Catherine, pointing to the scraggly-looking tree, remarked, 'This tree is not giving glory to God; it should be cut down and replaced!'  I laughed at her comment, but later on I pondered at the spiritual significance of what she had said.

What kind of characters are we developing and cultivating for Heaven? Is it beautiful, symmetrical and one that gives glory to God wherever we go, or is it like the scraggly-looking tree on the yard of the Church of the Brethren--stunted in its growth and development, unsymmetrical and an eyesore?

Catherine had her moments of sadness and grief at the things that were going on around her. She was especially concerned about the young people and what's becoming of many of them. The loud, blaring rock or rap music they listen to saddened her.

One day she was at a gas station to gas her car, and lo and behold, up drove this young kid, music blaring with decibels beyond human toleration. He got out of his car; his pants almost half way down his bottom and his underwear was blatantly showing. Catherine looked at the boy in disgust. She went up to him, looked him in the eye and said 'Pull up your pants, young man, it's disgraceful!'  A woman nearby heard it and laughed loudly. At that, Catherine turned to her and said: 'It's not funny!'  Catherine kept a straight face while she was telling this to us, but we were all laughing.

Well, to me, Catherine manifested righteous indignation. You see, Catherine, by nature, was a neat, orderly, meticulous and fastidious individual. Any thing less than that was not good enough.

Catherine and I talked a lot on the phone, but if there was something important that was pressing on her mind, she would not talk about it on the phone. Instead she would call me and ask if I was busy. If I was not busy, she was going to come to my house, half an hour away, so we could talk. Of course, I was never too busy for Catherine. The one time she came to my house to talk, I knew from the tone of her voice that whatever was troubling her, it was something very important and dear to her.

What was troubling her concerned her son Shaner. He had not come home in three days, and had not called to let her know his whereabouts. She was worried as you could imagine. What can I do to help Catherine in her distress?  I wondered.  I looked up Bible promises of God's love and protection, and we claimed those promises for Shaner. Then, Catherine and I knelt and prayed and turned the matter over to the Lord. Later that evening, I called her. 'Catherine, has Shaner come home?'  'Yes, he has and thanks for your prayers.'

Sister Catherine will be greatly missed by all who knew her. Click on the ICON Buttons below to see the last Letter written to Sister Catherine and two poems written in her memory.


Letter to Catherine

POEMS:
Her Uplifted Eyes
Memories


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Nearer, My God, to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me!
Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.

Though like a wanderer, Daylight all gone,
Darkness be over me, My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.

There let the way appear, Steps up to heaven;
All that Thou sendest me, In mercy given;
Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.

Then, with my waking thoughts Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.

Or if, on joyful wing Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!

--Sarah F. Adams


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