This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which enters the Presence behind the veil. Hebrews 6:19
Those who love deeply never grow old. -- Anon.
This morning I got up early and went to the 8 AM service, at a church that I've been visiting on and off with my mom for the past 3 or 4 years. I got there a little late and I slipped in towards the back, in the shadow and shade of being underneath the balcony. The choir was singing one of my favorite songs, and I came in right at the end. I began clapping to the next song and looked over behind me to the couple of rows set off behind the pews in the center section.
She wasn't there. It wasn't the first time I'd been back to that church since her death, but it was the first time since I sat back where I used to a lot, back where I could see her. Close to Mrs. Bobbie's seat.
Mrs. Bobbie. I remember once sitting with my mom during a church service. I was trying to pay attention to the pastor and I kept hearing this noise. I wasn't quite sure what it was or why it was going on during the service. I remember thinking, Can't someone make that stop? I'm trying to concentrate.
When I looked back and found the source of the noise, in the very back of the church. I saw her. It was her portable breathing machine. I definitely changed my mind about wanting the noise to stop. I felt a little disappointed in myself, but mostly I learned a lot from her. I learned a lot from God, through this woman I didn't know, and who hadn't ever spoken a word to me.
She was dressed up, in a time when most of us wore blue jeans to church. She was worshipping. I thought what a beautiful picture she made, with her Bible on her lap. I thought, she, with every reason to stay home and watch the service on TV, was there and in God's presence. I thought about myself and my love for sleeping in or the excuses I sometimes make, not to spend time with God. About how much she loved Him.
It turned out my mom's friend was her Sunday School teacher and I found out how to send her a card. I wrote and shared with her how much her presence every week inspired me. How blessed I was in sharing in worship with her. I came to know her in little ways after that. I was introduced to her, her beauty and grace -- her humor. She may have been in her seventies, but her spirit was lively, funny and sassy. The noise of the machine she carried, came to comfort me. She brought me joy.
Later, when I moved back up North for a few months another lady in the church shared my story with her and this past summer when she eventually was forced to be homebound, gave her my number in case she needed company. I can't imagine how tough it must have been for her, to not be able to make it to church on Sunday. In that suit, the jacket I remember to be pink. She was beautiful.
A few weeks ago, my mom called to tell me that Mrs. Bobbie had passed away. It affected me more than I thought that it would. She was such a blessing in my life, such a classy example of true love for God in nothing other than action ... than her mere presence ... than that noise that caused me to turn around that day.
Today I turned around and she wasn't there. There was silence in the back two rows and wanted no one sitting in her seat. I remember her husband had been an usher -- Was that him sitting where I used to glance back and see her? I couldn't be sure. What I do know? I know that now she isn't breathing with a machine, she is breathing in the company of her Savior that she wanted to be near so much. She can lift her hands high, dance and sing without struggling. Her love for Him was felt deeply, her love for others glowed through her, and I will be so happy to someday sit next to her at the foot of the thrown when we will all worship without hindrances.
Well, done Mrs Bobbie, beautiful and faithful -- I know you are being blessed by the joy of your lord. And may we all keep breathing in the sweet, sweet fragrance of His mercy, grace and love.
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