ANDY

There are some people you meet along the way that you will never forget.

Andy Bos was one of them.

As one looks towards the pulpit, he sat on the second pew on the right side of the church. He was as faithful to the house of God as a new clock, and his mind was as sharp as a tack; though his 9 plus decades had taken a decided toll on, (as scripture characterizes it) “the outward man which perisheth.”

His wife having pre-deceased him years before, and being “foot loose and fancy free” Andy began to date the widow, Naomi; another aged member of our church. It seemed the duo spent every available moment together, inside and outside the sanctuary, and were often seen at the local McDonald’s, the city park, the library, and other local venues. In spite of their obvious affection for one another, they never married. And their failure to enter into the blessed state of matrimony remained a mystery to one and all.

I was privileged to spend time with, and converse with Andy. And often, on Sunday mornings during our “meet and greet” time, we would converse about, well, any conceivable subject. But it seemed the focus always came back to “leaving.”

He was simply ready to go on to his reward.

(A second, “but well down the rung” topic with my aged friend, were the Hollywood exploits of his great grandson, the actor Taylor Lautner; noted for the “Twilight” series of movies. He often mentioned having mailed some of my Wednesday night topical presentations to the young man; hoping that these spiritually-oriented teachings would have an impact on him).

And though Andy lived in an assisted living facility, even well into his 90’s he did his own driving. At least ‘til increasingly frail health precluded his getting behind the wheel. And after one or two parishioners offered to transport him to church, and subsequently “petered out,” my wife and I took on what I considered to be a privileged responsibility to assure he had the opportunity to worship the One he loved, with those whom he loved.

Eventually, Andy “took to his bed” and prepared to meet his Maker, and travel to that place which he had referred to on an almost obsessive basis.

As my friend’s demise drew near, I could not help but visit with him one last time. And as Jean and I walked into his room, Andy awoke, opened those kind eyes for which he was so well known, and attempted a weak smile.

We walked over to him, and made the smallest of small talk. And then, I asked Andrew if he’d like me to sing to him. (He had often told me how much he enjoyed my solos, and I thought this sort of “send-off” would be a fitting tribute to him). He immediately acquiesced. Though I sing many of the same songs often, I depend on sheet music for the words. As a result I decided to sing THE national anthem of the Christian church; one that I’ve never had any trouble remembering.

“Amazing Grace.

How sweet the sound

that saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost,

but now I’m found,

was blind but now I see.”

I had hardly begun when Andy raised those frail little arms towards heaven, and mouthed the words,

“Hallelujah. Hallelujah.”

We took our leave shortly thereafter.

If we are to believe angels have names, I have often fancied the death angel who ferried Andy to “the other side of the Jordan” was also an Andy. (Perhaps I’ve watched too many “Touched By An Angel” broadcasts).

My friend was finally Home; with a capital “H.” No longer would he talk about it. Now he would had the inestimable opportunity of experiencing it.

The longer I live, and the closer I get the more I think about my eternal destination, (though I’m only 30 as long as I avoid mirrors). I used to accuse my friend, Andy, (behind his back of course) of focusing far too much on heaven, and far too little on this life. But as I get increasingly closer to my end, and increasingly further from my beginning, I get increasingly fonder of the destination in which my friend already resides.

And perhaps one day someone who follows will accuse me (behind my back of course) of focusing far too much on my eternal Home and far too little on the only home I have ever known.


By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 45. Copyright pending
If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
*************
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin