There was a message on The Dale phone from a peer asking me to call because they had some bad news to share. I can honestly say I was not at all expecting to hear that our beloved Rachael had died. The Dale team and I had seen her just two days before. She was upbeat, gave each of us a hug, and said she planned to be at church on Sunday. To hear that she died later that day from a stroke has left me stunned.

As I sit with this grief, a few things keep rolling around in my heart.

When Rachael first started coming to The Dale on Sundays, she found it very hard to sit still. In fact, she would pace and move around the room throughout the service. This went on for quite a long time. Nearly every week, she would give thanks in prayer for a place that both allowed and embraced her emotional and physical needs. Her self-awareness, vulnerability, and gratitude were striking.

Rachael had a hospitable heart. She greeted everyone in the room and offered each person a handful of mints. We started referring to this as her “Mint Ministry.” Even if she arrived a little late, she would quietly go about her distribution. I recently found some of her mints in my pocket and suspect that will keep happening for a while. It’s amazing how a small act of kindness can have such a lasting impact.

Every time I saw Rachael, she gave me a long hug and earnestly asked how I was. I know she regularly prayed for me, Dion, and Cate. She shared openly about her own life and always invited me to pray for her and for those she loved — especially her daughters. Sometimes we would tuck ourselves into a corner to pray together before she left for the day.

Rachael was good at noticing what needed to be done and simply doing it. During communion, we have a bowl where people place their cups when they are finished. Rachael quietly became the one who carried the bowl around the room. At our Bible study at St. Francis Table, she would arrange the chairs and take the Bibles out of the storage closet before we even arrived.

I still remember the first time Rachael sat through an entire Sunday service. And then another, and another. It was remarkable to witness — not only for me, but for our whole community, many of whom long to experience similar healing and hope. Rachael both received welcome and offered it. She reminded us that true belonging isn’t passive — it’s mutual participation. The one who once struggled to sit still became someone who steadied the room with her faithful presence.

It was hard to tell everyone last Sunday about Rachael’s death. A few had already heard; many had not. People shared stories about her. We cried. One person said she is the reason they always carry mints. Then someone picked up the communion bowl, making sure it was carried around the room just as Rachael always did.

Rachael’s legacy lives on — through mints in pockets, the passing of a bowl, and a community that learned from her how to welcome and serve.