The Mantle Is Passed
From the Archives: Winter 2012
By Susan Snipe
He took up also the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and went back, and stood by the bank of Jordan… (2 Kings 2.13)
And, so it is, the mantle fell and now I stand at the Jordan of my life looking at the enormity of it, the darkness of it, the breadth and depth of it, and the only words I have, “Now what?”
My mother, Terry Chamberlain, heard the words, “Well done good and faithful servant,” at 7:29 the morning of October 27, 2012. Escorted into the gates by her Ma, Pa, Queen Esther, and Jesus (save the criticism – we have good reason to believe this!), and, now, I stand with her mantle in my hand and the looming responsibility of becoming the next era.
I was born with generational blessings – the daughter and grand-daughter of devoted believers. My grandmother prayed every single day for my sister and I, and our seven children; Keep them from the evil one and sanctify them with Your Truth, Your Word is Truth (from John 17). As she lay on her death bed, rather than worrying about who got the family pearls she asked, “Who will pray for our little ones?” My sister and I come from a line of strong women, praying women, and now we are left with the charge to continue the legacy of praying for our children, their children, and their children’s children. We stand on the wall as intercessors crying out for our loved ones, day and night – just as our Mother did.
My “Ma”, as I called her, spent the last 10-15 years engaged in a battle – a battle for souls, healing, restoration, blessings, and anything else considered important enough to pray for. I would hear her say to an acquaintance in the aisles of Walmart, “I pray for such and such every single day.” If a reader of this magazine has ever been the hearer of those words, rest assured, she meant them. To my knowledge, she didn’t pray from a list, she prayed by the prompting of Holy Spirit, fervently and expecting answers.
My mom was also head of a ministry – a ministry of encouragement. I suspect she wrote and mailed upward of 300 notes, cards, and letters, per year. Even living on a fixed and limited income, she found the money to buy cards, pens, and stamps! I doubt there is anyone who knew her that has not at some point received a written note from Terry Chamberlain! Her big, loopy, cursive handwriting was undeniably as big and loopy as her flamboyant personality!
My mother said what she meant and meant what she said –no holds barred. A “character” with a capital “C”!
And, as I stand on the banks of my Jordan River, like Elisha with Elijah’s mantle in my hand, Ma’s mantle is in mine and I see the waters rising and the current turning. Its flow has an urgency to it and I pray, as my grandmother prayed, as my mother prayed, “O Father, keep them from the evil one and sanctify them with Your Truth – for I have no greater joy than to hear that our children walk in Truth – Lord Jesus, You are Truth – there is none like You – You are more than enough.”
My mom, Terry Chamberlain, has crossed over the river, she has entered the gates – she has left her earthly post as watchman on the family wall and here on the river’s shore I lift my hands and declare, “Me, Me – I will pray – I will watch – I will be faithful to wear the mantel and one day, Lord, who will You choose to carry it forward?”
