“There’s Robby!”
“Mrs. Armisted’s younger son
Humphrey, who was twelve at the time of this story grew up to become pastor the
Friendship Presbyterian Church between Montreat and Black Mountain, North
Carolina. In Montreat, after his death,
his lovely widow, Lucille, told me this story in 1967. I wrote it down in a notebook. But to make sure I had it accurately and also
to ask permission to include it in this book, (Legacy of a Pack Rat – Ruth Bell
Graham) I wrote to Lucille Armisted, who is living in Florida. Her gracious reply, on her return
from celebrating her eighty-ninth birthday with her son, said, “I am so glad to send you the story, and I’m
happy that you will use it.” I checked her account with my
twenty-one-year-old notes. The facts were, except for small, unimportant
details, identical.”
**********
The room was quiet and semi-darkened. The elderly lady lying against the pillows
listened as her son, Robert, talked of the family, her friends and other things
of interest to her.
She looked forward to his daily
visits. Madison, where he lived was not
too far from Nashville, and Robert spent as much time as he could with his
mother, knowing, as ill as she was, each visit might be his last. As he talked,
his eyes took in every detail her loved face, every line—and there were more
lines than curves now—the white hair, the tired, still loving eyes. When time
came to leave, he kissed her gently on her forehead, assuring her he would be
back the next day.
Arriving back at his home in Madison,
he found Robin, his seventeen-year-old, was ill with a strange fever. The next few days his time was
completely taken up between his son and his mother. He did not tell his mother of Robin’s
illness. He was her oldest grandson-the
pride and joy of her life.
Then, suddenly, Robin was gone. His death shocked the whole community as well
as his family. The whole thing had
happened so quickly. And seventeen was
too young to die.
As
soon as the funeral was over, Mr. Armistead hurried to his mother’s bedside,
praying nothing in his manner would betray the fact he had just buried his
firstborn. It would be more than his mother could take in her condition. The doctor was in the room as he
entered. His mother was lying with her
eyes closed. “She’s in a coma,” the doctor said
gently. He knew something of the strain
this man had been under, his faithful visits to his mother, the death of his
son, and the funeral from which he had just come…
The doctor put his hand on Mr.
Armistead’s shoulder in wordless sympathy. “Just sit beside her,” he said, “she
might come to…” And he left them together. Mr. Armistead’s heart was heavy as he
sat in the gathering twilight. He lit the lamp on the bedside table,
and the shadows receded. Soon she opened her eyes, and smiling
in recognition, she put her hand on her son’s knee.
“I see Jesus, she exclaimed, adding,
“why there’s father…and there’s mother…” And
then, “And there’s Robby! I didn’t know Robby had died…” Her hand patted her son’s knee gently. “Poor Bob…,” she said softly and was
gone.
“For God loved the world in this way: He gave His One and Only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world that He might condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him. John 3:16-17 (Bible)
