But shepherding in John's time was more strenuous and more dangerous than those images admit. In gospel times one literally laid down one's life each night. Sheepfolds had three walls and the shepherd lay down at the gate between the sheep and the dangers of the night.

Betty was like one of those shepherds. She was of a time and a culture in which mothers laid down their life for others. She never complained because that was her choice. She was not a hired hand who would run from trouble, or sickness or need. It was not her job to be mother, wife, grandmother or a friend to many. It was her vocation. And although in this way Betty was like a first century shepherd some of her sheep were like those in Turner's paintings.

In times of illness, there were bells. Not round the necks of the sheep but in their hands. "Ring this if you need anything," Betty would say. There were no wild animals to fend off when the call came, but toast or some other snack might be needed. Perhaps there was no water or juice in the wilderness of one's bedroom. The good shepherd knew the sound of the bell and the water of life was forthcoming.

Like a shepherd Betty loved to look out over the valley, and she loved her flock. Betty may not have traveled widely but she traveled well. In the company of her family she found still waters and green pastures and she lead her daughters from childhood to adulthood in ways that caused them to grow up strong and true. These are not merely my observations but the sentiments of Richard, her son-in-law, and the echo of the chorus of her friends. Betty was a devoted and true friend.