What happened on the way to Uncle Mo’s funeral?
By Felecia Wesley for the Salisbury Post
When the news hit me on May 25 that my longtime friend and brother, Moses Anthony, had passed that morning, it was shocking.
Many thoughts flooded my mind, including my own father’s passing on May 25, 1992 — the exact same day, only 26 years later. Again, another close male figure had gone from me.
We had just spoken weeks before, and he was going to send my son a graduation card. So from the get-go this was one funeral I was not missing. You see, “Uncle Mo,” as he was affectionately called, became family to us for over 20 years.
We had remained in close fellowship. In fact, Uncle Mo had bought the first TV we had ever owned after we came to the United States from Liberia. His passing really had a big impact on me.
The funeral date was set for June 23 in Lowell, Massachusetts. I was going, but how was I going to get there? Massachusetts is too far away to drive by myself and I have a fear of flying, so that was my last option.
I began to ask around if others were making the trip from North Carolina as well. As time drew near, it became apparent that I was alone on this journey. I would have to drive to Pennsylvania to join a group there.
So, to take my own good time, I planned to leave on Thursday, June 21. The day before the trip, I was having pain in my knees and lower back. That was not good.
The pain got so severe that I was considering not going, but one question loomed in my mind: “Will I be able to live with the consequences of not attending Uncle Mo’s funeral?”
Then the Holy Spirit revealed to me that this was the trick of the devil. With that, I was even more determined than ever. I left at 8:35 p.m. Thursday and drove north.
Since the CD player in my car was malfunctioning I sang myself through the trip — hymns and gospel music from different artists that I learned through the years.
Not too long into the trip, the rain started pouring down very heavily. Visibility became very poor, and the thought of stopping and waiting for the rain to subside kept coming to me. But knowing the distance I had to cover, I decided to keep driving.
I had now made it to Virginia! Thank God for His grace amidst the bad weather that night. I was not tired, nor sleepy.
Somewhere on I-85 in Virginia, something miraculous happened. I was between heavy traffic on every side. It was still pouring. Visibility became foggy at times. I was going about 55 to 60 miles on a 70 mph road, when all of a sudden I was hearing children laughing and talking in such joyful and peaceful tones.
I recognized the voice of one of the children teachers in our church. The voices seemed to come from above. There is no recollection on my part as to where I was during this time and how long it lasted.
I don’t know, but when I came through whatever had happened, I was still sitting behind the steering wheel and driving with the same cars around me, the same bad weather and still going on I-85 North.
My Honda Pilot was moving in a parallel lane! I was so shaken by what had just occurred I started looking all around me. That was when I saw a state trooper with blue lights on, coming toward me.
I thought someone had called him about me. It made me even more shaken when he passed me to the exit on the right. I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God, still pondering what was the meaning of all this.
My personal impression and takeaway from this experience is, God was there and in control. He perhaps was using this encounter to tell me that space and time are in His hands, that he can intervene in the life of His own anytime, anywhere He chooses.
Felecia Wesley lives in Salisbury, and she made it to Uncle Mo’s funeral.