Tribute to Jane Torrey by Bunny Torrey My mother grew up in the South of the '30s, one of five children in a family that valued hospitality and integrity, and faced adversity with grace and hard work. The family lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, but Mom spent much of her childhood with her grandmother, aunt, and uncle in the small town of Charlotte Court House, in rural Virginia. Under the loving guardianship and spiritual nurturment of "Auntie," Mom's maiden aunt, Mom spent many happy years in the old house in Virginia before returning to Charlotte at the beginning of her high school years. It was while attending Queen's College in Charlotte that Mom met Dad, who happened to be visiting from Princeton Seminary as a youth worker for a church-sponsored event that summer. Dad was smitten when he spotted the beautiful southern belle at a lawn party, strolling qraciously about in an ante-bellum gown. Although he soon became a good friend to Mom, and was tall and handsome to boot, he had some strange notions that seemed completely foreign to her, like planning to go to Tibet to follow the nomads about, and it was another six years before Mom actually fell in love with him. But when that happened, she was ready to go wherever her life with him might take her. Mom's courage in the face of strangeness and uncertainty was tested from the very first days of her marriage to Dad, beginning with their honeymoon camping trip when she stood in a clearing holding a machete to ward off any bears that might turn up. They moved countless times during their first year together because Dad's social conscience and political activities invited opposition from authority figures. For an interval of four months they found a home on St. Simon's Island in Georgia near where Dad had been the priest of two parishes, one White, the other African American. But with an unsteady income and hostility from certain people who felt threatened by my parents' values during those pre-Civil Rights years, life was not easy. During these difficult times, they had to trust God to protect them and meet their needs, which he did through the generosity of the Black people and the poorer members of the White congregation who would often show up at their home with groceries. From Georgia they moved on to an appointment at the National Town Country Church Institute, then left that for clinical pastoral training at Episcopal Theological Seminary and Massachussets General Hospital. They finally settled in Athol, Massachussets for eight years before leaving for Korea in 1957. Unlike Dad, who had grown up as a missionary kid in China, Mom was completely unfamiliar with the East, and though used to adventures by now, this move required great faith and courage on her part. Post-war Korea was still in ruins, there was poverty and need all around, and customs were bewildering. Learning Korean, one of the world's most difficult languages, proved to be a discouraging task for Mom, especially as she tried to keep up with Dad and another classmate who possessed skills or background that gave them an advantage in class. Mom never quite surmounted this difficulty, but it is perhaps just as well, considering all that would have been demanded of her had she been fluent in the language, and the gossip and complaints she would have had to endure while living amidst the growing pains of a community of needy people. Moving to a war-damaged nation far from home and living a pioneering life with people of an unfamiliar culture and incomprehensible language was a great sacrifice for Mom. But she fully supported Dad in his work as rector of St. Michael's Theological Seminary in Seoul, and then in organizing Jesus Abbey where they have been seeking for 36 years to fulfill their vision for the community. She has made Korea her home, and, in turn, has been embraced by the people she meets. Koreans consider her gracious hospitality and her soft-spoken manner--which belies an indomitable spirit--to be the marks of a true lady. Many young women have looked to her as a model of womanly courage, virtue, and grace. Her ability to set her heart on what is good and to endure without complaint is a challenge to all who witness her good faith. She has been quick to turn to God in moments of crisis, such as the time when the Abbey was attacked by a crowd of drunken rowdies. My sister Yancey and I were too small to remember the incident, but my brother Ben recalls vividly how Mom quickly took the women up into her apartment and began to pray. She commanded Satan to leave, and immediately, the brawl downstairs quieted down. Mom then came out and arranged for tea to be served to the leaders of the troublemakers, who were now our guests. Everyone sat down among the broken glass and talked things out quietly. Mom has a special gift of helping people receive emotional healing through prayer. During my teens while I was still living at the Abbey, I would sometimes translate for her while she counseled and prayed for a hurting young woman. She didn't offer extensive advice, but instead listened with love and sympathy, and prayed in such a way that Christ's healing presence was almost tangible. The memory of Mom's prayers for these people, the words and imagess she would use, and the change that I would see in the people who came to her have all helped to comfort me in times of inner turmoil. Another gift through which Mom has left an invaluable mark on the life of the Abbey has been her esthetic sense. Mom knew from an early age that what she wanted most in life was to paint. She majored in art at Queen's, and over the years has painted many fine landscapes and portraits that have found their way into the homes of friends, relatives, and strangers. Life at the Abbey has been too time-consuming for Mom to do as much painting as she had originally planned, but she has tirelessly expressed her artistic sensibility in the designing, building, and landscaping of the Abbey compound. Mom knows intuitively that beauty is good and glorifies God. People who come to the Abbey, though perhaps not always aware of it, are blessed as much by the beauty of the stone terraces, the thatched roofs, the flower gardens tucked here and there, the interior woodwork, tatami flooring, and clean sheets, as they are by the lectures and preaching. Mom is committed to the sacrificial work of the Abbey and community life to the extent that she faithfully rises at dawn every day for communal morning prayer, even though it remains a struggle for the artistic late-night person that she is. At the same time, she has a strong sense of family, and makes a point of keeping in touch with family members over the distances and bringing alive the memories from her youth and the stories from our family history. She and Dad spend their furlough years at "Smithaven," the old house in Virginia, where, as at the Abbey, Mom works to make it beautiful and welcomes all who visit. Mom is a much greater source of inspiration and influence than she cares to acknowledge. Without her, Jesus Abbey and everything associated with it would not be what it is today, and the surrounding world would be missing a ray of light. The glow in Mom's smile and her gentleness are like a light of the Spirit moving about from tea table, to prayer room, to garden... and far beyond.

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