A few weeks ago, I re-posted on social media the link to a post I had written in 2015 following the death of my friend Betty Henderson. (You may read it here later.) In this post, I am sharing with you, following her death this past Saturday, January 10, 2026, the impact that yet another friend, Tonia Witmer Owen, made on my life.

Writing is my way to honor the earthly life of my friend. It is my way to share the heavenly focus of my friend. It is my way to grieve the earthly passing of my friend.

Tonia and I both attended a Christian boarding school in South Carolina. She was from West Virginia; I, from Iowa at the time. We realized early on that we shared the boring middle name of “Lee” and crafted nicknames for each other that stuck right up until the last exchange of messages via social media: Toni Lee and Beena Lee. Though our friendship and our lives drifted in different directions, the loving names that joined us in more ways than just our common 1960’s middle name withstood the test of time.

Because we were both from out of state, we lived in the dormitory. Actually, there were many dorms at the time, and we lived in different ones. However, our visits back and forth, our shared lunches, our walks together across campus—they all drew us closer together.

I loved the arts; Tonia loved serving . . . and working hard at whatever she did. I loved being on stage—singing, acting, speaking—and Tonia loved serving behind the scenes. It wasn’t that she was bashful or awkward. She was anything but that.

It boiled down to the fact that she was content with who she was. She didn’t need the limelight; she didn’t need to be the “most likely to . . . “; she needed to be Tonia—serving, loving, caring, encouraging, and praying.

And oh, how Tonia prayed for me, and with me, even as a high school student. She didn’t pray that I’d ace the test. She’d pray, right there in front of me, that I would learn to study well and use my time wisely so that I could do well on the test. She prayed for my heart to be humble (which it most definitely was not) and for my walk with God to be sincere.

She didn’t condemn.

She cared.

In college, we both worked in the bookstore on campus, allowing us to see each other often and to continue our friendship. During those years, however, our lives headed into different areas of interest; she, a church ministries major (because she knew, deep in her heart, that she would be serving alongside a pastor one day, if that was what God had for her, and she wanted to be fully prepared for that calling); I, a music education major, singing in choirs, serving through numerous areas of campus leadership.

I was on TV; she was studying, preparing, learning more of God. Neither is bad; neither is wrong. I shared that only to emphasize how the paths were so different from one another.

When Tonia and Phil began dating, it was abundantly clear that this was not a short-term interest. I was excited for her! I had dated quite frequently; she had led a quieter social life in many ways.

Don’t get me wrong. Tonia was not a wallflower. She brought light and joy (from within, where Christ was clearly reigning in her heart) to all that she did and to everyone she met. She had many friendships—deep and abiding friendships—with people from all walks of life.

Tonia and Phil married at her parents’ lovely home in West Virginia. The deck had a stairway that led to a large, picturesque yard that ended at the base of a mountain. It had rained every Saturday for more weeks than I can accurately remember, yet in her great, maturely childlike faith and trust in the goodness of God, Tonia knew she should go ahead with her plans to marry her dear Phil in that outdoor location.

It was a gorgeous day. The local newspaper even interviewed her family regarding their faith that the weather would “cooperate.”

It was a splendid celebration of God’s love and of their love for one another. I was a bridesmaid and sang a solo that put Christian words of dedication to the tune of “Londonderry Air/Danny Boy.” It was an honor to be part of such a sacred, special, joyous event.

More time passed. Tonia attempted to contact me. However, my life had gone pear-shaped after a broken engagement, and I was ashamed that my accomplishments felt like a big, fat zero.

What I now know is that Tonia didn’t care about my accomplishments. She cared about me. She wanted to know that I was moving forward spiritually and in my faith. I, again, being focused on myself and how my “lack of . . . ” would appear (so I thought) to others, I simply stayed away under the guise of a busy life.

Tonia and I eventually reconnected via social media, and the point of this entire post became very clear at that time: While I was busy making a “splash,” Tonia was consistently making an impact.

Tonia all-too-recently shared with everyone that she had a form of brain cancer, and she requested not sympathy, but prayers, visits, words of encouragement, Scripture on which she could meditate. In what seemed like days (only a few months, actually), she was gone. But only from this earth. Tonia is healed, praising her Savior face to face. Her faith—and oh, it was such a strong and solid faith—is now sight!

Over the last four days I have said to my husband numerous times, “Tonia made an impact, first and foremost for Christ. I want that to be my focus, my purpose, my goal. I want to take time for people. To serve others before it’s too late. As cliche as it sounds, I want to be more like Tonia, and in so doing, I will be more like Christ.”

Tonia did it right, for the right reasons. She had a long obedience in the same direction. And that, my dear faith friends, is how you make an impact . . . without even trying.

[Photo copied from Tonia’s online obituary via Facebook/Meta]