COME HOME
by Dr. Wayne Evans

                    
                
    “Time to come in,”  My mother would call out from the back door.  We knew our time of playing was over.  So even if I was hiding in a tree or under a car (I now shudder to think how dangerous that was), my friends, my brother and I would reluctantly head toward the light of the back porch.  We were probably saving the planet from invading aliens or communists.  Despite this fact, the Authority had spoken the words that brought our world of make-believe to an end.  There was no argument. Mother called. You had to respond. We couldn’t say we didn’t hear her, because of two reasons.
1.  She had a voice that could be as shrill to be heard over a siren.
2.  We were not allowed to be beyond ear-shot of her call.

    I can’t tell you how many evenings the children in our neighborhood spent playing.  There were no video games or internet. No computers or cell phones. No ipods or M3 Players.  We just had our imaginations that were limited only by the voice of Mother who was the ultimate timekeeper.  There was no overtime, no “wait-a-minute.”  Like E.F. Hutton, when she called we listened.

    So we came in, although reluctantly and wishing for “just a few more minutes.”  But when we got inside the house, it was time for a snack and our baths. 

    Tuesday night my sister called from the hospital. Marilyn had arrived that afternoon from her home in Brentwood, outside of Nashville. She was staying with Mother who had been in the hospital since Friday morning.  She simply said, “You better come on.  The nurse said Mother won’t be here much longer.”  I called Dad and offered to pick him up from their home eight miles away, but he insisted he would meet me there.

    I drove to Northern Louisiana Medical Center.  I entered through the Emergency Room, and went to Mother’s room.  Marilyn met me at the door. I could see Mother’s was still.  She was no longer breathing heavily as she had been for the past few days. All was quiet.

    Marilyn told me, “I was stroking her hair and telling her I loved her.  She took a slight breath and that was it.”  I looked at the woman who has loved me all my life. She gave me life.

    Moments earlier Mother heard her Father call, “Dorothy, it’s time to come home.”  Mother had waited until my sister had gotten there just a few hours earlier, but she could not resist that call any more than I could when I was a kid. 

    My family is grieving our loss, but Mother has gained so much more.  Like children, we don’t want to stop playing here with our friends. But when evening comes,  One calls who gave us life and loves us more than we will ever know,  He has something prepared for us so we can rest and be refreshed.  He wants to give us a bath that removes all the soil and grime of the past.  He tucks us in bed, so when we awaken it will be to a new day with a new Resurrection body with adventures that we can’t yet imagine because we aren’t “grown-up” enough yet to comprehend.

    Mother is now with the Lord.  She was a saint.  Not because she was perfect, but because she was washed in the blood of the Lamb.  No longer suffering, no longer limited by the disability of Alzheimer’s Disease.  Now she is made whole to  enjoy life in that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, Thanks be to God.

      Wayne Evans is pastor of Ruston’s Grace United Methodist Church. An archive of his articles is available at www.graceruston.org. Go to the Pastor’s page.