It was the word no one ever wants to hear—cancer.
I learned of her diagnosis from her daughter, Kristi Pfeiffer, and the shock of it stopped me cold. Judy had gone to the doctor with breathing difficulties, and it was during that visit that she received the diagnosis. Decisions were made quickly. Judy chose to go home—Kristi’s home—under hospice care.
Then Kristi asked me something I will never forget.
She asked if I would be willing to write her mother’s obituary.
It was, without question, one of the greatest honors of my life.
Because Judy’s story was never about how she died.
It was about how she lived.
It reminded me of the old poem about “the dash”—that small line between the date of birth and the date of death. There was a great deal of living in Judy Culver’s dash, and I was blessed to witness just a glimpse of it.
I came to know Judy shortly after first speaking with her daughter about advertising Master Made Tanks with Resident News. I remember that day clearly. I was sitting in a hospital waiting room while my mother underwent an arteriogram. I told Kristi I would follow up with advertising rates once we were finished at the hospital.
Her response changed everything.
She told me she would be praying for us.
That simple sentence marked the beginning of a friendship that would grow into something much deeper. From that moment forward, I came to know Kristi—and eventually her mother, Judy—not just as business owners or community members, but as sisters in Christ.
Judy routinely sent me handwritten cards—real cards, written with intention and prayer. Each one now hangs in our office, serving as a quiet but powerful reminder of God’s promises. I would open the mailbox and instantly recognize her handwriting. I always knew what was inside would be exactly what I needed at that moment—Scripture, encouragement, wisdom, and love.
She had an undeniable calling to share God’s Word, especially with children. Judy faithfully served as a Sunday school teacher for years, teaching countless children the books of the Bible and guiding them as they memorized Scripture. Her ministry shaped generations.
When she learned that I had a great-nephew—whom she lovingly referred to as my “grandson”—she began sending him boxes filled with Christian literature, including The ABCs of Salvation. She had a way of motivating children that no one else ever could. I guarantee those children will remember her lessons for the rest of their lives. I know I will.
Generations before me, and generations after me, have been touched by the life she lived and the ministry she fulfilled. And that ministry lives on.
At Judy’s request, I had the privilege of traveling to her home as she neared her heavenly reward. I sat by her bedside and held her hand while her daughter and granddaughter sang the old hymn “Precious Memories.” Visitors came in numbers too great to count, each arriving during what Judy clearly declared was her “visitation time.”
One visitor brought a message that said it all.
A former Sunday school student wanted Judy to know that he still remembered the books of the Bible she taught him—more than 60 years ago.
What a legacy.
It is the kind of legacy that makes you want to be better—to live better, to love deeper, and to serve more faithfully.
I told Judy I would always remember her phone calls—and how I knew I needed to pull over before answering, because what she had to say was important and worth giving my full attention. I told her not to walk too far ahead, because my goal is to join her when my time comes.
The tears came, as they always do. But when a saint goes home, grief is less about loss and more about love—especially for the family who will miss her beyond words.
Judy Culver will be missed.
But until we meet again, sister.
