Jean Dunn Lancaster
Funeral services for Mrs. Jean Dunn Lancaster will be 1:00 P.M. Sunday, September 22, 2019, at Maple Hill Church of Christ with Bro. Mike Wamble and Bro. Rob Long officiating. Interment at Wilson County Memorial Gardens. Visitation Saturday 11 AM – 7 PM at Ligon & Bobo Funeral Home and Sunday 12 Noon until service at Maple Hill Church of Christ.
Mrs. Lancaster, age 72 of Lebanon passed away Monday, September 17, 2019, at Vanderbilt University Medical Center.
Born February 16, 1947, in the Commerce Community of Wilson County, she is the daughter of the late J. T. and Evelyn Owen Dunn. She was a 1965 graduate of Watertown High School and was a member of Maple Hill Church of Christ. She worked for Fidelity Federal for many years. She then was a real estate broker in Wilson County for over thirty five years, working at Agee & Johnson Realty & Auction.
She is survived by her husband of thirty seven years, Arnold Allen Lancaster; three children: Gary Richard (Tammy) Martin, John William (Andrea) Martin, and Rebecca (Trent) Weekes; five grandchildren: Matthew & Jonathan Martin, Jacob & Ashley Franklin, and Rayna Lancaster; sister, Dianne (Randy) Parker; and brother, David (Suzanne) Dunn.
LIGON & BOBO FUNERAL HOME of Lebanon (615) 444-2142 www.ligonbobo.com
You are all in our prayers!
We were saddened to hear about the loss of your Mother. Youall have been & will continue to be in our prayers & thoughts. May GOD give you grace, strength, & comfort during this difficult time. Philippians 4:13
Love in Christ
White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field
out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel,
or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings—
five feet apart — and the grabbing
thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys
of the snow—
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes,
to lurk there,
like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows—
so I thought: maybe death
isn’t darkness, after all,
but so much light
wrapping itself around us —as soft as feathers—
that we are instantly weary
of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes,
not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river
that is without the least dapple or shadow—
that is nothing but light—scalding, aortal light—
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.