It was late August, decades ago. The night wind played tag with the trees. Leaves whispered secrets to one another and the slowly darkening sky listened in with twinkling eyes.
Settling into the old lawn chair, I lifted my eyes to look at the blanket of summer stars above the house. The entire night sky was colored with a vivid pink glow. Streaks of red, trailing off like kite tails, blurred into shades of ripe peaches and flamingo coral.
Cotton candy colors splashed the sky, tingeing the world with their gentle glow. I held my breath, dumbstruck. I had never seen anything like this.
I went inside to turn on the radio, excited and afraid of what I might hear. Radio in hand, I returned to the porch and eased back into my chair. I looked up and stifled a gasp of delight.
“...
and we have been told by the experts at the St. Louis Science Center that the red sky we are experiencing is the result of the Northern Lights, which are very rarely seen in this part of the country. There is no explanation for this phenomenon, and its occurrence is a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle.
We suggest you sit back and enjoy...
” I wanted to see Mom. Something this magical needed to be shared. If she was afraid, I wanted to be there to reassure her.
If she was excited, I wanted to be there to be excited with her. There would never be another night just like this; I wanted to share it with my best friend. I could see her long before my car turned into her driveway.
She stood motionless on the sidewalk in front of the house, one foot slightly tiptoed as if poised to pirouette. The breeze swirled her white, worn-thin nightgown around her bare feet in a wild Gypsy dance. Mom’s hair billowed and gyrated.
Its black-gray puffs climbed her shoulders, tickled her eyes, kissed her lips. Her face was tilted toward the fiery display overhead. With one arm scrunching the side of her blowing nightgown against her thigh, Mom raised the other toward the crimson colors.
She was a statue of wonderment, trying to capture the moment by holding her life very still. I rolled to a quiet stop and opened the car door, all the while watching her ethereal figure standing barefoot on that sidewalk. There was no reason to look up anymore.
I could see the magnificent night sky reflected on my mother’s beautiful face. She looked ready to fly away home to a Heaven of sweet breezes and lovely sunrises. Her arm was reaching upward in a loving way, as if trying to grasp the beauty and pull it inside her heart.
I came closer and saw her lips bent into a smile of pure happiness and faith-filled validation. “He’s coming..
.” Mom’s whisper was almost carried away in the night wind, but the familiar sound of her voice found me and pierced my soul with its tremulous clarity. “Oh, my Lord is coming.
..” I went to her side and wrapped my arm across the back of her gown.
Her warm familiar body leaned against mine, sharing her rapture in shivers and silent tears. After a while, the outstretched hand she had offered to Heaven slowly fell, finding mine to squeeze. “Isn’t it glorious.
” Mom said nothing else. We stood together in those passing minutes of our lives and watched Eternity display its splendor. When Jesus comes and Mom rises to meet Him, face to face, I’m sure she will look just as she did that magical night.
I will see her again, her eyes shining with joy. And she will shout, her arms outstretched: “He’s coming. Oh, my Lord is coming!”.
