single rose As we have discussed before, there are those brief moments in our lives where a person steps in to help guide us along our pathway impacting and teaching us in special ways whether they intentionally mean to or not. Now, these moments may be years or decades in length…but in the entire scheme of our earthly lives they are all too short. Such is the subject of this post.
I have had the honor and blessing of knowing a person of greatness. Now, she wasn’t known in the geopolitical realm, nor the scientific fields of splendor. She didn’t stand tall among the mighty of the entertainment industry, but her heart stood taller than any of the Redwoods of the western United States could ever aspire or hope to achieve. Her name was (and still is) Rose.
She was the mother to one of my best friends…okay…one of my first girlfriends (if fifth or sixth grade counts…) and I have always been close to these children of hers; four girls and one boy. We all grew up together. This was almost like a Mark Twain coming of age story in the twentieth century mid-west. For nearly as long as I can remember (and, contrary to popular belief, I CANNOT remember what MOSES looked like) we all were friends. And being friends, that meant I was at their house a lot…a whole lot. Some of the ‘firsts’ in my life were with these kids…and their father and mother. My first trip to Six Flags Over Mid-America was with these folks as well as countless other adventures. Ah, the summers around our neighborhood were truly epic adventures…epic adventures indeed!!!
But if I could just think of their mother for a moment…smell supper cooking, remembering playing out along the country railroad tracks looking for lost treasure that may have fallen from some train in the night, riding our bikes all over the countryside (without goofy-looking helmets and stupid strobe lights) and then always having a safe place to return to where she was…I have to stop and smile, knowing and loving that special lady who was like a second mother to me. That house along the railroad tracks was a place where I was treated not as a local kid…oh no…I was one of the family. Whenever I was there, I was treated as one of her own. Equal to her own. Loved as her own.
This past week we buried Rose. Now, she looked pretty good for the seventy or so years that she walked her pathway on this old Earth (not to mention the wear and tear that me and her kids put upon her…) and her funeral was not the average funeral for a woman of her age…not at all…you see, there were a lot of young people there who loved this kind soul. Her trip to the grave site was accompanied by about a quarter to a half-mile-long string of vehicles. I have seen well known local dignitaries have much smaller funerals. But not Rose. She was (and still is) greatly loved. The packed house at her homegoing really wasn’t much different than the packed house she lived her life in.
Just today I celebrated my fifty-fourth birthday and I have no clue as to how much longer my pathway will lead me here on Earth. But I do know one thing; there will still be a lot of thorns along the way…
but there will never be another Rose!
She’s at home now with her Savior, and I know I will see her again.
Praise the LORD!

This entry was posted in America, coming of age, friends and family, growing up, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.


  1. Sue says:

    Thanks Henry, that was beautiful.


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