Yesterday, my dear friend Jamie Grimes entered the arms of Jesus. Seven years to the exact date of her cancer diagnosis.
As I sit here this morning, my heart feels incredibly heavy. A few hours before I heard the news of Jamie’s passing, she was on my heart in such a strong way that I felt I needed to write something for her. I remember thinking how we so often wait until someone is gone before we tell the world what they have meant to us. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could hear those words before she went to Heaven?
I even made plans in my mind to visit her on Monday or Tuesday. My new job has consumed so much of my time these past few weeks, with onboarding and meetings and modules, but next week I’d have two days with a little less. I thought I had a little more time. We so often believe there will be another Tuesday.
Instead, today I’m holding tightly to one of the greatest gifts God gave me this summer, a sunny June afternoon that I now realize was one last adventure with my friend.
After enjoying a delicious lunch and an afternoon of laughter at the home of our dear friend Kimber, Jamie and I climbed into my Dodge Challenger Hellcat. Kimber was invited to join us but decided to stay behind, leaving just the two of us. We didn’t have a destination. We simply drove.
Looking back, that seems so fitting. We let God lead the way, following whatever road He placed before us. In many ways, that’s exactly how Jamie had lived the last seven years of her life.
Our drive became so much more than a drive. There was laughter, there were quiet moments, and deep conversations I’ll carry with me forever.
At one point, the speedometer climbed to 105 miles per hour, but somehow the fast car became the background for one of the slowest, most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. Jamie talked openly about death. Not because she had given up.
Not because she was bitter. But because she knew where she was going. She wasn’t fearless because cancer was easy. She was fearless because Jesus was faithful. She believed with every fiber of her being that Heaven is real, a place with no more pain, no more cancer, no more tears, and no more sin. She knew Jesus was waiting for her.
Only Jamie could joke in the middle of such a conversation. She laughed and said, “People at church are probably wondering why I won’t just hurry up and die already.”
I assured her that wasn’t true. But that was Jamie. She somehow found humor in the hardest moments. As I drove she shared how grateful she was that her hospice nurse had released her to take one final family vacation to Gulf Shores with her husband and their three beautiful children, ages 14, 12, and 10.
Then she said something I’ll never forget.
“I didn’t want this summer to be the one where all they did was wait around for Mom to die.”
That sentence has echoed in my heart ever since. She talked about her children and admitted that leaving them was the hardest part. She wondered who would mentor them, especially her teenage daughter? Then, with the confidence that defined her life, she reminded me that God already knew. She didn’t know their names. God did. She trusted that He would place exactly the right people into their lives.
Jamie wasn’t placing her children into the unknown. She was placing them into the hands of the God she had trusted all along.
She told me she could leave this earth knowing He would take care of them.
I’ve known Jamie for eight years, but only one of those years was cancer-free. For seven years I watched her receive wonderful scan results, only to have cancer return months later. Again and again she faced devastating news with remarkable courage. It was a journey filled with chemotherapy, surgeries, uncertainty, hope, disappointment, and unimaginable pain.
Yet cancer never defined Jamie. Her faith did. She remained firmly grounded in Jesus, believing that God held her securely in the palm of His hand. She trusted that His plan was greater than her own, even when it hurt beyond words. When you spent time with Jamie, you walked away changed. She radiated joy. She radiated peace. She radiated grace. She possessed one of the strongest, most unwavering faiths I have ever witnessed, especially in a young mother carrying burdens that most of us can hardly imagine.
Years ago during her cancer journey, Jamie discovered the song “God’s Not Done With You” by Tauren Wells. She once shared how deeply that song ministered to her heart during one of her darkest seasons. From that day forward, I could never hear it without thinking of Jamie. It became part of her story, a reminder that God was faithfully writing every chapter of her life, even in the midst of suffering.
As our drive came to an end, I asked Jamie to open the glove box. She looked at me with a puzzled smile. Tucked inside was a miniature replica of my Dodge Challenger Hellcat down to the exact same metallic Sinnamon Stick color. I had hidden it there just for her. I told her to take that mini car home and give it to her children. Then I made her a promise. “If any of them ever need to go for a drive in a fast car to talk, or not talk, to laugh, cry, or simply get away for a little while, they have an open invitation to go driving with the Noteworthy Mommy.”
She thanked me with that sweet smile that so many of us loved. It wasn’t a grand gesture that could take away the pain of what was coming. Nothing could do that.
But I wanted Jamie to know that while no one could ever replace their mom, there would always be people willing to walk beside her children, encourage them, listen to them, and remind them how deeply they are loved. That tiny Hell Cat car became much more than a toy. It became a promise.
A promise that they would always have someone cheering them on. A promise that they would never have to travel life’s roads completely alone.
When I think back to that afternoon, I don’t remember just the horsepower, the winding roads, or even reaching 105 miles per hour. I remember Jamie’s smile.
I remember her peace. I remember a mother whose greatest concern wasn’t herself but her children. And I remember driving home that day feeling incredibly blessed that God had allowed our paths to cross.
I’ll miss seeing Jamie at Zion Women’s Retreats and Advent By Candlelight. I’ll miss playing Bunco together whenever she felt well enough to join us. I’ll miss hearing her laugh. I’ll miss the way she made everyone around her feel just a little closer to Jesus. Jamie was one of the most grace-filled women I’ve ever known.
Faithful.
Steadfast.
Hope-filled.
Inspirational.
She walked one of the hardest roads imaginable with incredible courage because she knew her life belonged to God.
I rejoice knowing Jamie is finally healed.
Cancer no longer has a hold on her.
She is at peace.
She is at rest.
She is home.
She is in the loving arms of Jesus.
Jamie taught me that faith isn’t pretending life isn’t hard. Faith is trusting God even when it is. Our last drive together had no destination. Looking back, I don’t think it needed one. God knew exactly where He was leading us. He gave us one last afternoon filled with laughter, honest conversation, and a promise that neither of us would ever forget.
Thank you, Jamie, for showing me what unwavering faith looks like. Thank you for reminding me that when we let God lead the way, His road always leads us exactly where we need to be.
Until we meet again dear Jamie. ❤️
Click here to watch the video of Jamie’s favorite song.
https://youtu.be/cVHrkYBEgFM?is=RUIq8wszhgaaC8Qs
Noteworthy Mommy 