“The chariots of
God are tens of thousands." ~ Psalm 68:17
The abandoned house stood in a
composed way as if it had chosen solitude; as if residents were a luxury it would
rather forgo. The weathered door hung from
rusted hinges and a tarnished knocker dangled with gravity. No sunlight danced in through the filthy
windows, its occupants now dead or gone.
Somewhere mixed with the pain were memories of a cheerful youth. To Jalen, it was home.
Growing up on this street meant you knew all the neighbors,
and their dogs, and their peculiarities. It also brought back memories of
running through sprinklers on hot days, watermelon on Sunday afternoons, and big
Southern porches stretched out in welcome; where lavender breezes and crepe
myrtle danced under the cover of deep overhangs.
Jalen took a seat on the top
step, resting his guitar on one knee while tuning the strings. A quick strum across the neck took him to a
more peaceful time.
Mama broke the silence. “Mmmm, son, that sounds so good!”
He looked over, and there she sat in her rocker, wearing the
same cotton sundress and worn-out slippers. Still smelling like rose soap and smiling like
sunshine.
Mama leaned back in her rocker as the breeze swept through
the little porch. “Play my song for me,
Jalen. It’s our porch day, son. I’ve missed you.”
“I know,” Jalen replied, softly. “I’ve been missing you, too.”
He turned toward her as the melody he’d played a million
times flowed. It was Mama’s favorite. Her head began to sway. A soulful hum joined in harmony with his
guitar, finding the sweet places where it danced with the melody.
A shudder shot through him. Maybe the cool breeze … probably a Spirit come
down from Heaven, just to hear Mama sing. That song had been with her through it all -
there when Daddy left, there through all the hungry days and scary nights. And the day Jalen got his first guitar.
“A band of angels, comin’ after me. Comin’ for to carry
me home,” he crooned. “Why’d you
have to go, Mama?” still calling the music forth.
She shook her head. “Oh,
son. That’s not for me or you to know. Only
the Lord knows when, or why.” He felt her
touch; so soft, so gentle. You wouldn’t
know they were the hands of a warrior; a woman who fought on her knees every
night in prayer for her family.
“A band of angels, comin’ after me. Comin’ for to carry
me home …” then the music stopped. Jalen looked up, but … she was gone.
The breeze swept through once more, and the empty rocker gently swayed
back and forth as he softly strummed:
“If you get there before I do. Comin’ for to carry me home. Tell my friends I’m coming there too. Comin’ for to carry me home …” Amen
