In Memoriam Amy Jo Harkle

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all of the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

On July 23^rd I posted those familiar and comforting words on my Facebook page. They are of course the words of the 23^rd Psalm. The very first person to comment on that post responded by putting up an emoji of a big, outsized heart. And it seems fitting that this comment came from someone with one of the biggest, most outsized hearts I’ve ever known: Amy Jo Harkle, whose life we gather to celebrate today.

Good morning. For those of you who I haven’t had the opportunity to meet, my name is Len Niehoff and I had the privilege and pleasure of working closely with Amy at two different law firms over well more than twenty years. Along the way, in the course of all those battles on behalf of our clients, Amy became a beloved friend. I know that Mike and Bea and Sandi and everyone else who worked closely with her feels the same way.

When she was in hospice, Amy asked me to say a few words to you today. That’s a tall task, because a few words can’t do justice to a soul as grand and beautiful as Amy’s. But I will do my best to do my best by her.

The process of preparing to give these remarks today led me back to Amy’s own Facebook page. Over the past week or so, I’ve scrolled through years and years of her posts there. If you’re inclined to do the same, I highly recommend it.

You’ll find lots of pictures of her doing the things she loved most with the people she loved most. And it gives you a pretty good portrait of who she was and of the full and rich life that she managed to live in her all-too-brief fifty-one years on planet earth. This morning, I’m going to use some of those Facebook posts as a lens through which to view Amy’s life.

A Roman poet wrote that we should “carpe diem”—that is, seize the day. Amy’s posts confirm what we all know: that she seized each and every day with a joy, grace, commitment, and enthusiasm that infected and inspired everyone around her. I especially like that last word—enthusiasm—in describing Amy, because it comes from two Greek words that literally mean “filled with God.” And—again, as we all know—Amy was plenty of that, too.

If I tried to give you a list of everything that made up Amy’s life we would be here for days. So let me just mention a few of the things that mattered to her and that jumped out at me as I scanned her Facebook posts. I’m sure many more will come to mind as you reflect on Amy’s life and relish the blessing of her memory in the weeks to come.

Amy was a sports fan. She eagerly cheered on all the teams that defined her communities, from the University of Michigan Wolverines to the Detroit Lions to the Belleville Cougars and the Belleville Tigers. Over the years, Amy and I had lots of conversations after one of our teams scored a big win or suffered a big loss. Consistent with her character, she was always philosophical about the losses—much more than I was. Amy had a great gift for keeping things in perspective.

But Amy wasn’t just a sports fan. She was also a coach, especially a beloved, respected, and fiercely competitive tee-ball coach. Great coaches don’t just teach you how to play the game, they teach you how to love the game, and they help you see the lessons about living that every game offers to us. In all these ways, Amy qualified as a truly great coach.

The other day, Steve told me a story about Amy’s influence as a coach. Steve stopped by the graduation party of the son of an old pal. When he arrived, his friend told him that his son was heartbroken when he heard about Amy’s passing. Amy had been the young man’s first tee-ball coach, and she brought so much joy to the game that he stuck with it. He’s headed off to play college baseball now. He has Amy to thank for that, just as we all have so many reasons to be thankful for Amy.

Amy loved good food. Her Facebook posts include lots of recipes, many of them for cookies and desserts. She apparently had quite a sweet tooth. I laughed out loud when I happened on one that she posted called “better than sex fruit salad.” I could imagine her chuckling to herself as she posted that one.

As that recipe reflects, Amy also had a wonderful sense of humor. In one of her Facebook posts she tagged her brother Marvin, who she clearly adored. The post says: “People with siblings have better survival skills because they’ve experienced physical combat, psychological warfare, and sensing suspicious activity.”

Another post features a picture of a reindeer talking with Santa. The reindeer asks: “Santa, what do you think of Amy?” And Santa responds: “She can remember every lyric to a song from 1992 … but not the reason why she just walked into the kitchen.”

I think that Amy probably could remember every lyric to every song from 1992. In fact, she probably could probably remember every lyric from every song from the 1980s and 1990s and from other eras as well. Amy loved music and loved concerts and her Facebook posts are filled with pictures of her with Steve and her kids and other family members and friends at some venue listening to one band or another.

It’s like a catalog of most of the great rock and country groups that have come to the State of Michigan—Garth Brooks, Guns & Roses, Motley Crue, Journey, Steely Dan, Poison, Def Leppard, Joan Jett, Lita Ford, the list goes on and on. When I asked Steve for a complete inventory he said it would be impossible to remember them all, especially—and I quote—“the plethora of 80’s hair bands.”

Everyone is all smiles in these pictures, but perhaps no smile is bigger than Sophie’s when the drummer at one of these concerts gave her one of his sticks.

I assumed that Amy must have been a lifelong concertgoer but Steve told me that she did not attend her first performance until 2011. It is characteristic of Amy that she threw herself at the activity so wholeheartedly. As always, her invincible enthusiasm enriched her life and the lives of everyone around her.

Amy cherished her well-earned vacations and time off. She loved holidays—especially Christmas and Easter. She loved walks on the beach. One of her posts says: “If it requires bare feet in the sand, then my answer is yes!”

She loved riding on the back of Steve’s Harley, as they did in 2015 when they visited Sturgis. In one of her posts from that period she said that she was going to miss the Black Hills of South Dakota. Now freed from all earthly bonds and boundaries, Amy can cruise those Black Hills to her heart’s content.

Amy loved animals—hers, of course, but pretty much everyone else’s as well. One of her posts says: “Despite all the bad days and mean people, I still believe in good days and kind people. Plus, there are always dogs.” I’m sure that for Amy there will indeed always be dogs. I can’t imagine that it would feel like heaven to her without them.

Amy was proud of her service in the Naval Reserves and the service of so many members of her family in the various branches of the military, including of course both of her Stevens. Every Memorial Day she posted a message about remembering what the day is about and honoring the sacrifice of those who gave everything in the defense of their country. Amy had a warrior’s heart, and it served her well throughout her life, especially toward the end.

In the past few years, Amy also became a ferocious cancer warrior. Her Facebook page includes countless messages of encouragement directed toward everyone fighting the same battle. I know, because she and I received our cancer diagnoses at roughly the same time and her positive and faith-infused words helped keep me going during my own journey.

With that said, Amy never allowed cancer to define her. Throughout the entire battle, she remained 100% Amy. And while cancer may have taken her it did not defeat her, because she now rests under the loving and sheltering wings of the most powerful force in the entire universe.

The one thing Amy didn’t talk about much on her Facebook page was her work, but that’s for good reason. In our law practice we often deal with sensitive and confidential matters. It would have been unprofessional to gossip about such things on Facebook and Amy was the consummate professional. Let me put it this way: In more than forty years of practicing law, I have never known anyone who was more committed than Amy to meeting a standard of excellence in their work every single day. Every. Single. Day. And that includes days on which she had been through a rough run of chemotherapy.

Still, if you spend time scrolling through Amy’s Facebook page one quality of hers will jump out as more prominent and pervasive than all the rest. Above all other things—all other things—Amy loved all of God’s children.

If you look through her posts going back years you will see that they overwhelmingly talk about how much she loves people. How much she loves Steve. How much she loves her kids. How much she loves her dad and loves her mom. How much she loves her brother, her cousins. How much she loves being an aunt. And so on and so on.

If you are in this room today, then I can pretty much guarantee you that at some point Amy told you on her Facebook page that she loved you. I suspect she told you in person, too. And I can absolutely guarantee you that she meant it. But you don’t need me to tell you that.

Amy’s love extended well beyond her immediate family and friends. In our conversations over the past few weeks, Steve told me about times when Amy extended her kindness and generosity to complete strangers, literally taking them off the street and into their home. In Paul’s letter to the Hebrews, he says: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some people have entertained angels unawares.”

I don’t know how many of the people to whom Amy was kind qualified as angels. But I do know that her own qualifications were impeccable.

So, I wasn’t terribly surprised when I found on Amy’s Facebook page a post that says: “I believe there are angels among us.” All I can say to that is: Me, too, Amy. Me, too. And you’re one of the angels who convinced me of it.

In the fifteenth chapter of the gospel of John, Jesus says: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Amy honored that commandment in every dimension of her life and with respect to every person she encountered. And, in her doing of it, countless people were blessed beyond measure.

I learned a lot from Amy over the years. I suspect all of you did, too. In my case it was a little odd, because I’m older than Amy and one of my jobs involves teaching and you might expect me to be the one doing the instructing. But it was always the other way around. Day after day, over multiple decades, Amy taught me how to be a better person. I may have been her slowest and least trainable student, but I was always an appreciative and grateful one.

In thinking about those lessons, three phrases occurred to me. I want to spend a few minutes talking about them, because I suspect many of you learned similar things from your time in Amy’s orbit. And, as I’ll discuss, those phrases might help all of us as we try to move forward navigating this challenging time.

The three phrases I have in mind are these: show up; stand up; and look up. Let me says those again: show up; stand up; and look up. Let’s take them in that order.

Show up. I’m not sure than in my 67-plus years I have known anyone who was better at showing up for the people she loved than Amy Jo Harkle. Whenever anyone in her family or friend group had a problem, Amy was on it. Amy always had everyone’s back, and if you needed her she would be there for you, one-hundred percent of the time.

When Amy was in hospice I came to see her over a couple of days. On my first visit, I was welcomed at the front door by a choir of barking dogs—you all know the merry crew I mean. As the welcome mat at the house says, it was vastly more effective than a door bell.

I’m a dog lover, so I found the whole thing funny and sweet. But it all seemed sweeter still when I learned that almost all of those dogs are rescue dogs.

I didn’t find the fact that Amy had rescue dogs even remotely surprising. Amy had a powerful rescue instinct, an irresistible impulse to help, fueled by a faith that told her that everyone is worth rescuing and helping. It’s part of what moved her to show up, time after time after time, for all of the people in her life—including the furry and four-legged people.

Psalm 91 says: “For he will command his angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways.” Amy lived her life as if she held a commission to do that work. She guarded us, and she blocked and tackled for us, and she showed up for us time and time again. Her life teaches us to go forward and do likewise.

Let’s think about that next phrase: Stand up. It’s true that Amy was as kind and compassionate a person as you’ll ever know. But pity the fool who mistook that kindness and compassion for weakness. One of life’s true miracles is how God managed to pack so much strength per square inch into such a relatively small package. I’m sure you all experienced that strength in one setting or another.

In our office, Amy worked as a high-level administrator for a busy litigation practice, a setting necessarily filled with stress, tension, and conflict. Every once in a while, some lawyer who was on the other side of a case would get it into their head that they could push Amy around. I have to confess that it was fun to watch them try. On a few occasions, I wished I had popcorn. Make no mistake about it: underneath that soft exterior, Amy was made of solid steel.

Amy was aware of her strength and was appropriately proud of it. One of her Facebook posts joked that the name Amy means “Fury from hell” and that she had a “dark side”: “She’s dangerous when pushed too far.” Well, I agree and disagree. I don’t think any part of Amy came from anywhere but heaven. But it’s certainly true that trying to push her around was an extremely dangerous mistake.

I’m sure that at one time or another everyone here benefitted from Amy’s tremendous strength, her willingness to stand up to whatever needed standing up to. In Paul’s second letter to Timothy, he writes: “I have fought the good fight; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith.” I think this perfectly describes Amy. Throughout her life, she was always ready, willing, and able to fight the good fight. And, all along the way, she kept the faith. Again, Amy’s life teaches us to go forth and do likewise.

Let’s take the last phrase: Look up. Perhaps it was that same faith that allowed Amy to be such a positive person. Even when the going got tough, Amy smiled easily and saw the humor in things. Amy was a realist—she knew a serious challenge when she saw one. But she also saw the opportunities that existed within every challenge to do some good and to show the world who you are.

In that stressful work environment that I described a moment ago, I could sometimes get pretty dark, pessimistic, and angry about things. But, in his letter to the Romans, Paul urges us to “put on the armor of light,” and that’s exactly what Amy did day after day. When I was feeling down, Amy was too nice a person to say out loud: “Len, you’re being an idiot.” So she would just stay optimistic and calm, figure out what needed doing, and get it done. Then, once we had things under control, she’d smile that wry little smile of hers that silently said to me: “Len, you’re being an idiot.”

Amy looked up. Always. On her Facebook page, she identified this as one of her mottos: “They told me I couldn’t. So I did.” And, indeed she did, over and over.

Amy looked up at every problem that came her way and faced it head on. She looked up for the opportunities embedded in the challenges and moved forward. She looked up and figured out what needed doing and then got on with the doing of it, in a spirit of tireless dedication to making things better. The memorial service we are sharing today is a memorial service that Amy herself largely planned, while she was in hospice, because that was how she lived her whole life. She was always looking up to figure out the good that she could do in the world. Amy’s life teaches us to go forth and do likewise.

Show up; stand up; look up. Through her example, Amy gave us powerful lessons about how to live a good and meaningful life. But, let’s be honest, before we can get on with that life we have some serious pain and grief to navigate. For Amy, all suffering and sorrow have ceased. We can only imagine the heaven that she now knows as home. All is well with her soul. She is resting high on that mountain in the loving embrace of the Creator. Her work is done. We still have work to do.

Each of us of has to find our own way through that valley of shadows. And I would not presume to tell anyone here how to do it. I do, however, have a suggestion for one way to think about things, based on a Facebook post that Amy put up more than once.

On a few occasions, when Amy had lost a loved one, she posted a picture of Snoopy hugging Charlie Brown, both of them standing at the bottom of a set of steps leading up toward a bright light. The picture had this caption: “I wish heaven had visiting hours.”

Well, Amy, I have good news for you, and good news for everyone here, very good news, healing news: Heaven does have visiting hours. Let me say it again: Heaven does have visiting hours. It holds those visiting hours in the place that we call human memory.

God so loved the world that he gave us memory, and in our memories we can visit with Amy over and over again. We can remember all the times that she showed up, stood up, and looked up out of love for us and on our behalf. We can remember all the times that we knew everything would be okay because we had Amy on our side. And we can take comfort in the assurance than everything is okay for Amy because, as the 23^rd Psalm tells us, she will dwell in the House of the Lord forever—just as she will forever dwell in the mansions of our hearts.

I want to close with the two things that I think Amy would most want me to say to you today.

First, I think she would want me to point you back toward the faith that gave her so much strength during her life. In the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel of John, Jesus says: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you … Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” I think that above all other things, Amy wants you to know that she is still on your side; that you should not fear or let your hearts be troubled; that everything will be okay.

Second, because of her wonderful sense of humor and her love of music, I think she would want me to point you back toward a 1980s rock anthem. The obvious choice here comes in a piece of music that Amy identified on her Facebook page as one of her theme songs: “Don’t Stop Believin’.” In life, Amy never stopped believing. She believed in God. She believed in service to her country. She believed in the virtue of hard work. She believed in the power of joy and laughter. She believed in caring and kindness and in all creatures great and small. She believed in family and friends. She believed in love. She believed in you.

She believes in you still. Praise God that it is so. And all the people said: Amen.