"You were the soul of the yellow house on Howard. You were the wry fire that kept its insides warm. I climbed in your apple trees and in your walls, and you plied me with toffees and half-smiling quips. You were and are mother to my father—the tree from which apples fell and grew, from which apples now fall and grow. You are gone from this orchard, but I and my sisters and cousins and many others will grow on, pointing toward the Sun you showed us. We will live—and we will die—in Christ, thankful that He placed us downstream in the river of your human grace."
- N.D.Wilson, on the occasion of his grandmother's funeral, 2011