In memory

In memory of Glenn Ingouf, my mother. 

On November 10, 2024, she passed through death into unimaginable joy and immeasurable peace. She rests now in the presence of her Savior, Lord, and King.

These are some personal thoughts I posted on January 23, 2022, when she celebrated her 90th birthday. I’ve added some recent updates.

She was one of the strongest, most determined women I’ve ever known. And funny. A devoted follower of Christ. And gifted teacher. Wife, mom, grandmother (Nani), and, just this year, great-grandmother.

Countless are the ways her life impacted mine. Every time I try to put it down on paper, I fall short of words. 

Give thanks to the Lord with me. Hers was a life well-lived for His glory.

Artist

Over the years, my mother claimed she wasn’t an artist. “I can’t even draw stick figures.” But she saw like an artist. Noticing the world around her. 

She marveled at God’s creation. Explored the details. Noted extravagant color. 

Talked to the flowering plants. And that bird singing his heart out from the topmost branch of the tree. 

She taught me to see.

A scene from my childhood stands out in my memory. One day, we were out in the front yard. Mom looked up. “Oh! I think Jesus might come back, walking in on a cloud like that!”

So, I looked up at the sky. Saw the sun’s brilliant, straight rays. Coming from behind light-defined edges of a radiant cloud.

I can see it now. 

Storyteller

Mom was the storyteller of the family. While growing up, we heard stories from her childhood and beyond. This often took place during dinner or supper (she was quite particular about which is which). 

We hung onto every word. Even when we knew the punchline or the glorious ending. 

There was that one about the time Mom and her sisters sang a trio at a revival service. They sat on the front row during the sermon. And Mom’s foot fell asleep. 

At the invitation, the preacher asked everyone to rise and sing, “Just as I Am.” Mom rose, and fell full length at his feet. “Just as I was,” she quipped. 

Oh, how we laughed. And begged for more.

Teacher

An engraved brick is installed at the Playground for All Children in historic Delano Park of Decatur, Alabama. The inscription reads: “In Honor of Glenn Green Ingouf, Decatur Schools 1st Special Ed Teacher, 1953.”  

After graduating from University of Montevallo and going for special training at Illinois State University, my mother started the first class in Morgan County for children with physical disabilities.  

Her students that first year ranged from ages 6 to 26. None had ever been to school before.  In this day and age, it’s hard to imagine–but these children were often hidden from society at the time.

Mom loved them. And helped others see the importance of these children and young adults.  

Seminary

In 1955, she headed to New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. And one day, met a handsome fellow student who also had already sensed God’s call to the nations. My dad. They were soon engaged.

After the wedding, my parents continued their seminary studies. Mom was only a few weeks from finishing her Masters in Religious Education degree, when she gave birth prematurely to my older brother.  He lived one day.  

In the recovery and grief that followed, she was unable to complete her classes. And never received a diploma.

But that never stopped her from living out her calling here and on the other side of the world.

Update: In 2023, Dr. Jamie Dew presented 91-year-old Mom with her diploma from New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary: Master of Arts in Discipleship. I can’t think of a more appropriate degree. [Sixty-six years later, 91-year-old ‘Ms. Glenn’ graduates]

Crossing cultures

My parents served faithfully in Indonesia for 29 years, learning the language and culture well to communicate the truth of the gospel. (They spent ten more years at the home office of the International Mission Board before retiring.)

Mom discipled women. Teaching them the Word of God and helping them learn how to teach others.

She taught English in one of the neighborhoods where we lived, meeting in an Indonesian believer’s home. And using a simple translation of the Bible as a textbook. This provided a way for both of them to connect with the lost and share Good News. 

When theological education by extension courses were offered in various places across Indonesia, Mom taught some courses in our city.  

Over the years, she mentored others who came to serve. Always depended on prayer partners. And kept friends and family in the US informed about our lives through weekly letters.

Update: Upon learning Mom had died, one of her dearest Indonesian friends was grieving. She wrote that Mom was her spiritual parent, whom she’ll never forget. They had continued corresponding and encouraging one another 35 years after Mom left Indonesia.

Family

Raising a family cross-culturally isn’t easy. But I remember a childhood full of adventure. Marked by music and reading and outdoor play.

We celebrated American history and traditions while learning Indonesian history, art, and culture.

Music filled our home. From reel-to-reel tapes, then audio cassettes.  And Mom. Always singing. Up until her last days, she frequently had a song on her lips. 

On Sundays we worshiped and studied the Bible in Indonesian at our church. On Mondays, Mom started “Monday School” in the afternoon. With Bible stories and activities in English for us and a few other children. 

Every year our family took a vacation to the beach or the mountains. This required more than the average planning and preparation by my parents (see Feeling sand between my toes).

Learning

In a day when homeschooling was rare and resources limited, Mom taught her children. She planned curriculum. Ordered textbooks. Set up a classroom. And kept us anticipating that first day of school. 

She made learning important. Something to treasure. 

We pulled a quilt outside to gaze up at the stars and learn different constellations. Planted butterbeans and okra in the backyard. Watching them grow quickly in the rich Java soil. 

When we captured two praying mantises in the garden, we put them in a box. In my dad’s small office. 

One day, surprise! We walked in to find the room filled. With hundreds of tiny praying mantises. Hundreds. Covering everything. The bookshelves, the desk, the floor. Amazing.

The praying mantises were sent back outdoors. 

There were art lessons with a local artist. Balinese dance, swimming, and piano lessons. And reading. Always, reading.

Until the end, Mom was still continually curious and observant. Interested in everything. She influenced me with a hunger to keep growing and learning.

Valleys

In her 92+ years, Mom knew great sorrow. 

She lost her mother when she was only 16. Then her firstborn. And in 1972, my 11-year-old sister Ann (see Loss).

After Ann passed away, Mom wrote a booklet in Indonesian. Using her grief experience to help others who go through such a loss. [Penghiburan Dalam Dukacita, Bandung: Lembaga Literatur Baptis, 1975 and 1979.] 

In later years, her journey with depression took us all by surprise. And taught us more about hope in the dark. 

I think of those valleys when I read Isaiah 50:10.

“Who among you fears the Lord 
and listens to His servant?  
Who among you walks in darkness, 
and has no light? 
Let him trust in the name of the Lord; 
let him lean on his God.” 

She kept trusting. In the dark.

Retirement

Mom and Dad retired to Mom’s hometown. Decatur, Alabama. And became active members of the church she grew up in. Central Baptist Church.

They taught Sunday School. And kept missions at the forefront. Casting vision for reaching the lost. In Decatur and to the ends of the earth. Mom participated in Community Bible Study. And started a Bible study for women in their senior living complex a couple of years ago. 

She loved a good game of Hand and Foot. Delighted in working jigsaw puzzles and solving crossword puzzles.

Mom was still very active in water aerobics and walking for exercise, up until the summer of 2024, when congestive heart failure set in.

Every evening my parents sat together and reviewed passages they read in their morning quiet times. What they saw. What they learned. Then they prayed. For family, friends, missionaries, the world.

On my visits, it was a privilege to join them in this practice.

Update: Mom and Dad were deeply committed to one another. They were married more than 68 years.

In memory

Over the decades, I meet people who share the impact my parents have had on their lives.  

Ever pointing them to the Lord. His Word. Prayer.

And my mother? Even now, as I reflect on her life and write in memory, she’s still teaching me to see.

Related posts

The long obedience – Faithfulness – Keeping a sense of humor – Take the time – Loss – Feeling sand between my toes – Secret place – Rushing past – Healing hurts and counting stars – Wells along the way – Sorting memories – 

Isaiah 50:10 –