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There are some people you meet along the way that you will never forget.
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 “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
increasing 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.
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By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 6. Vol.'s 1-15, Copyright 2015
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