Be More Like Sheryl in 2024
By Mark R. Weaver
This past New Year’s Eve day, most of us spent the last few hours of 2023 pondering the prospect of the year ahead. But, Sheryl Stecker, my dear friend and 17 year staff member at my communications company, spent those final few hours — the last of her 44-year life — pondering the prospect of heaven. Now she knows.
As the ball atop Times Square dropped, I offered a silent toast to my departed sister in Christ and committed to a New Year’s resolution — I need to be more like Sheryl.
I met Sheryl when she was working for a stable of powerful people — Ohio lawmakers. In that tilted world, status, influence, and sharp-elbowed silliness are the order of the day. None of those pursuits captivated Sheryl.
Newly minted state legislators try to project an aura of can-do confidence, but navigating the thickets of legislative work can be baffling. As a staffer, Sheryl perfected the art of gently herding her House members to where they needed to be and undetectably prompting them on how to say and do the right thing. And she accomplished this with a sincere smile and a remarkable disinterest in showing off her power and abilities.
I took notice. And when I asked her to leave the statehouse to work for me, she eagerly accepted. She and her husband Paul hadn’t started their family yet, and she was a lively ball of energy, helping our clients with TV production, media trainings, and crisis communications. At every turn, she was Ohio’s best ambassador for “Midwest nice.”
Several years into her tenure, she texted me from the ER, where doctors were trying to determine what had made her faint. Hours later, she called to tell me about the brain tumor they’d found. She was worried about disappointing clients. I was worried about this young woman, who would now confront much more than work and wrangling her two sons — an infant and a toddler.
But, as with everything she did, Sheryl was an inspiring mélange of courage and calm, mixing brain surgeries, chemo, and mothering responsibilities with the hundreds of distinct details of our work. Thinking back over those years, I have countless memories of her smiles and none of a frown.
That’s because Sheryl’s friendly nature disarmed and dazzled everyone. I speak a lot around the country and, over 17 years, Sheryl cheerfully helped tame the laborious logistics that undergird these endeavors. Whether it was Arkansas, North Carolina, Washington D.C. or some other locale, the group that invited me would almost always remark about how much they loved dealing with Sheryl. “She is so sweet.” “What a kind person.” Or “you’re so lucky to have Sheryl Stecker on your team.” And I was.
The fourth daughter of a loving couple in Milan, Ohio — hometown of light bulb inventor Thomas Edison — Sheryl invented her own unique way of handling the highest wattage personalities — congressmen, judges, CEOs, university presidents, and others we work with daily. This bright product of Milan lit up with a buzzing energy of kindness, calm, and amiability.
She and I sometimes went to business functions attended by many of those infected with the “don’t you know who I am?” disorder. When I was seeking her out at a crowded reception, I knew not to look among the throngs jostling to be in the reflected grandeur of the cool kids. I’d head over toward the margin of the crowd, where the junior staffers or least fashionable attendees had drifted. And there she’d be, usually making a new friend.
I never asked her this — it might be a good heaven conversation — but I’ll bet Sheryl was the first person to greet the new kid in school every childhood September. With that “make a friend to make an impact” attitude, she buffed the golden rule until it gleamed.
The source of her friendliness was a heart as big as her smile. At a work conference, she was beginning to suffer the effects of the brain tumor that would eventually take her life. After an evening event, I heard someone remark that Sheryl had left in tears. I ran to find her, worried about a medical issue that might require some help. But that wasn’t what had upset her. She had witnessed a few inebriated loudmouths belittling an awkward young staffer and Sheryl hadn’t felt well enough to intervene.
Her tears weren’t spurred by the dread of brain cancer, instead she was distraught over someone else’s embarrassment. As others partied elsewhere in the resort, I fired up my laptop and Sheryl and I settled in to watch one of her favorite animated movies to help cheer her spirits.
Her achievements were many. She was a proud graduate of the vaunted JoAnn Davidson Leadership Institute, an accomplished singer, and during her years at Geneva College, she also studied at the American University in Paris. But these attributes were little more than the glossy veneer on her hard oak values.
This was a woman of faith. While offering a deeply touching eulogy at her funeral, husband Paul recounted their first flirting session, in which she informed this handsome young man that she favored Christian contemporary music. Given that they were chatting in a bar and not a church, this classifies as a daring — but authentic — move in the delicate dance of dating.
Her time on this side of eternity was proof that 44 years was more than enough to show Paul the deep, devoted love found in storybooks. It was time enough for her sons Paul III and Graham to experience the life changing security of a mother wholly dedicated to their happiness and well-being. And her time here was enough to demonstrate to us all the splendor of a life well lived.
For her family, friends, and so many others, she was a rock of faith in a swirling stream of cultural confusion. But Sheryl would — and, trust me, still does — want me to remind you that the hero in this story is not her but her savior. As her earthly body began to fail, it was nothing other than her trust in Jesus that guided her through the gateway to glory. Well done, good and faithful servant.
Happy 2024. Let’s all resolve to be more like Sheryl this year. Because, as she showed us every day, while it might be nice to be more important, it’s more important to be nice.
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Mark R. Weaver is a loving friend of the Stecker family and deep in the debt of their sweet Sheryl.
