On the evening of December 12, 2012, my mother died in an horrific fire in my childhood home, past Barkaleitet 13. I spoke with her on the phone shortly before – perhaps thirty minutes or an hour prior. She was 73 years old.
My mother and I shared a profound bond. We could engage in long discussions, especially regarding faith. She never gave up hope that I would one day become an evangelist – a world evangelist, as she often stated. From the time I was a little boy, she always believed in me, and as I gradually explained why I stepped away from the faith, I knew she still had my back. My mother was a sharp woman; she knew that my arguments were difficult to refute. Therefore, she always had a subtle, knowing smile when I presented my critiques of faith. To put it bluntly: She was proud. It might sound absurd, as she lived for Jesus and wished every day for my conversion, but I know that deep down she thought: “My son is unnegotiable and fair.”
Imagine having a mother who consistently tells you that nothing less than being a global giant of faith is good enough for her son. And imagine having a mother who loves Jesus, yet is inwardly proud of the son who has become the very antithesis of the one she holds so dear.
Salute Eva Louise Hartvedt!