Jennifer R Lennon

Born on December 31, 1940, in Wilmington, NC, her 84 years of life were filled with love, laughter, mischievousness and devotion to her family, church family and community.

Jennifer, lovingly known as “Jenny”, will be remembered for her warm hospitality and talent for making others feel welcomed and cared for. Her home was often used in the Lord’s service to provide accommodations for numerous missionaries, evangelists, and pastors who frequented her church. Her concern for the lost provided opportunities to lead many to a personal relationship with Christ while an active member of Livingston Baptist Church, Delco, NC and a former member of Grace Baptist Church in Wilmington, NC.

More than anything, Jennifer treasured her family. She found her greatest joy in being Johnny’s wife of 66 years, a loving mother, a proud grandmother, and great-grandmother.

She was known by her grandchildren as “Ma”. “A Ma is someone that gives us the last few puzzle pieces of love to fit in the vacant holes in our hearts.” As a homemaker Jennifer served her family well. She enjoyed cooking, baking, gardening, sewing, crocheting, crafting, and even mowing the grass. In her leisure time you could find her either sitting on her back porch with a good book and cup of coffee (BLACK) or splashing in her pool. As an only child, she was the life of the party and relished the spotlight.

She is preceded in death by her beloved parents, William Frederick Roach and Eloweise Sharp Roach.

Surviving are her husband, John P. Lennon, Jr. “the love of her life”, daughters: Candace Lennon Grice, Kathryn Lennon Macon and Kelly Renee Lennon, grandchildren: John Philip Grice (Emily), Leah Grice Harrelson (Derek), William Loren Macon (Cassidy), Keaghlan Macon Strasshofer (Joseph), great-grandchildren: Ava Lou Grice, Jay Everett Harrelson and Liam Jerome Harrelson, and her cousin Eunice Iola Long.

The family extends heartfelt thanks to her daily caregivers, whose gentle care and compassion were a true blessing.

A special appreciation to her church family for the numerous women and men who gave sacrificially of their time as needs arose.

For the nursing staff of Lower Cape Fear Lifecare Hospice, words cannot express the gratitude felt by our family for your dedication to her personal comfort and needs.

A funeral service will be held at 11:00 AM, Tuesday, September 2, 2025, at Livingston Baptist Church, Delco, NC, by Pastor Matthew Griffin, and Pastor Richard Wade. The family will receive friends from 10 AM until the time of the service. Burial will follow at Greenlawn Memorial Park.

Pallbearers are John Grice, Loren Macon, Derek Harrelson, Jay Harrelson, Joseph Strasshofer, Robert Moore and Wes Bracey.

Upon Jennifer’s request, in lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to Livingston Baptist Church Mission Fund, c/o 4629 Livingston Chapel Road, Delco, NC 28436.

Arrangements are by www.coblegreenlawn.com

“Some things that Ma taught me” [a poem by Keaghlan Macon Strasshofer, granddaughter]

Ma taught me the beauty in the stillness of the morning, just sitting on the porch.

That there’s harmony in the wind chimes, lulling us to peace.

That there’s a wildness in the garden and home—that sometimes is okay to just let be.

Plants and knickknacks spewing from every pot and corner—that there’s a fury that can’t be tamed—and it’s okay to let it run free.

Ma taught me there’s a secret in the slowness, in the calm of the soft country fields that roll out from every window, dancing in the wind of a passing truck.

That bedsheets are best dried out by the crisp of the sun, freshened with the warm garden scents.

That vegetables are better when they come by the work of your hands, and an outpouring of plenty means more for sharing with friends.

And that grease isn’t good for you, but we still fry our squash anyway.

In fact, all things are better homemade—clothes, casseroles, pillows, and curtains—

that there’s value and pride in making it yourself,

with your own touch of flare and design,

cheaper too…well…sometimes.

That pools are meant for skinny dipping,

So you’d better call first or you’d be the one most surprised

by your surprise visit.

That it’s okay to dance when you win the board game,

that winners dance a little jig to rub it in sometimes.

Ma taught me the beauty in routine—

constant—

secure;

the daily mundane brings safety and assurance—

all is well. All is well.

Ma taught me that time spent in prayer is time well spent,

and some days call for more—

the birds singing in the background,

reverent songs of praise.

That there’s a way to fold that fitted sheet,

and most times there’s a reason for doing things a certain way.

That there’s a reason for everything, actually,

and a place for everything—

probably labeled and alphabetized.

That squirrels will chase and play and yell and steal and play and chatter—and we get to see it all—if we stop to look and laugh.

That life is hard and good and sad and joy and pain and laughter, and we serve a mighty God whom we can trust to cry and laugh with.

That He’s there and He hears our cries, and He cries with us—in the rain.

That His anger is the Thunder; that His voice claps in the Lightning, and all tremble at the awesome magnitude of the Lord—

that Ma’s mother taught her that, and she said she’d never forget it.

Forgetting—what a painful thing is forgetting. And in all the confusion and pain of all Ma forgot, I think there were still some things she could never forget:

The peace of the wind chimes,

The still of the night.

The cricket chorus,

Sunday delights.

The belonging look of a loved one,

we saw it in her eyes in those last days—

a look of calm, reassurance, trust, peace—

of knowing she was with family, even if she didn’t know their names.

A hug that evokes “Good girl” because she knew we were one of hers.

A strength and sass that says “I do what I want!”

Because even in the end, what she wanted was what we wanted for her—

a life surrounded by those she loved and took care of and taught many things.

And I will never forget all the things Ma taught me:

the feel of her hug,

the smell of Ma’s house,

that “coming home” feeling—that is also now forever associated with mothballs.

That all of these things didn’t define her, but described her love,

and showed how she lived a life well spent,

pouring her heart out to those around her—

a remarkable love that changes you,

makes you ache in places you didn’t know you could feel,

and makes you want to be a better person, for your family and for God.

This was Ma.

And this was how she lived.

And even in her death, she taught me of God’s mercy amidst pain—

mercy in giving us just a little more time with her,

more time to grieve,

to hold tight and let go,

time to prepare our hearts,

and to come together just in time to be there.

Her death taught me to trust in the Lord,

to surrender all to His control,

that He works all things together for His glory and for the good of those who love Him.

And though there’s plenty more I’ve learned throughout the years,

this is how I will always remember Ma and just some of the things Ma taught me.