I want to write a notice of the death of Joe Means, who was my sister's son. He died in Galveston, [Texas] February 25, after an operation. and was shipped to Cuero and was buried at the Alexander Cemetery, in the Stratton neighborhood, beside his first wife and two or three children, his mother and grandmother, and only brother, and a host of other relatives. I baptized Joe and his present wife several years ago.

I have an experience in connection with my sister and brother-in-law's family that I want to relate. Olive Ann Means, Joe's mother, had been for several years in bad health. Just a few days before she died she was in Cuero under the treatment of two doctors. She was confined to her bed, and was so weak and helpless that she had to be cared for like a little child.

One Sunday morning she called for the doctors and when they reached her, to their astonishment, she began to thank them for what they had done for her. She told them they could not cure her and that she did not want to die in that wicked place.

She told them she wanted to go out to my house to die. At once arrangements were made, by her devoted husband, to convey her out to my house.

About 4:00 p.m. I reached home from an appointment and was met at my yard gate by my wife who was so overcome she could hardly tell me about the message she had for me. She finally said, "Joe, Ann told the doctors this morning that they could not cure her and that she wanted to die at our house; and they are on the way out here and she wants you to meet her." I did not get off my horse, but went right on to meet my sister.

I met them about four miles from our house, and her husband said, "There is Bud," She was in a hack, on a bed. When she was told that I was present, she said, in a whisper, "I want you to ride in here by me. When I got seated near her she said, "I want you to sing 'Amazing Grace'" I told her I would sing it for her when we reached my house. She said, "No, you must sing it now." So, I began to sing it for her and when I got to the words, "saved a wretch like me," she said, "Yes, saved a poor wretch like me."

It was dark by the time we got to my home. The news had gotten scattered over the neighborhood and I am sure that twenty-five or thirty of our relatives and friends were there, to do all they could for us. About eight o' Clock that night Sister motioned for me to come to her. She said, "Bud, I will never hear you preach or sing any more, I want you to bow by my bedside, and I want to hear you pray for my last time."

I at once got down on my knees and as I began to lift my voice in prayer, she got out of her bed, as though there was nothing the matter with her, and went to all in the room and told them farewell.

She went back to her bed, unaided by human hands, and got in her bed. When the service was over, she said to me, "Can you not see those pretty people?" I told her I could see no one. She called over the names of some she said she knew. She finally said, "I see dear little Archie." This was her baby that had been dead something like a year. Sister died June 23, 1886, eighteen minutes before 11:00 a.m.

In 1898 I moved to Bell County, and from there to Glen Rose. After I had been to Glen Rose a few years I felt deeply impressed to go to Stratton. [Texas]. I did not know why. I had an appointment there and no one was preaching there. I finally said to my wife, "I must go to Stratton." She said, "Go on Papa." No one at Stratton knew I was on my way there and, in the sacred presence of God, I did not know why I was going.

The next morning after leaving home the evening before at 9:00 a.m. I reached Yoakum, I hired a man to take me to Stratton. We had to go near the cemetery, and I saw a large crowd was there. I asked the man to convey me to the cemetery. I got out of the conveyance to see who was dead, and my brother-in-law saw me, and put his arms around my neck and said, "Oh Bud, I'm so glad to see you." I said, "Hugh, who is dead?" He said, "John and Charley are both dead." John was the only brother my nephew had and Charley Alexander was John Means' father-in-law. I knew when I reached the cemetery why I was so deeply impressed to go to Stratton. I did not know my nephew was even sick, as I lived about 200 miles away. Without knowing one thing about the death of my nephew and old friend, I reached the solemn and sacred city of the dead just as the two bodies did. Joe was a man, every inch of him. The presence of his neighbors at his burial proved it. Eight or ten cars, loaded with his home friends, came seventy or eighty miles to see him put away. Sleep on, Joe, . Your poor old uncle that loved you dearly, will soon be in the silent tomb somewhere. God bless the broken family.


By J. S. Newman ... Article from Banner of Love