We thank God for giving us a woman described in the 31st chapter of Proverbs to be our Mother and we give her back to Him with the full assurance of a great reunion in Heaven.

Our mother, Juanita Sizemore Harp, was the daughter of Fredrick Dotson Sizemore and Willie Mae Pruitt. Willie Mae Pruitt died a month before my mother's second birthday. Mother never knew her mother but from the stories handed down there was not a finer Christian woman that ever lived and loved her children anymore than she did. Mother certainly lived up to the reputation of her dear mother.

Mother was born in Gadsden on November 1, 1919. Although mother described her childhood as hard without her mother; she never failed to tell us of the fun she had with her sisters. Her oldest sister, Burmah, became mother to the others. They were known by everyone in East Gadsden as the "Sizemore Girls".

Mother was the one who always said that she was going to have a maid when she grew up and she would never have to cook or clean house. As it ended up, mother cooked and cleaned house more than any of her sisters.

She married our father, Jimmie B. Harp, in West Palm Beach, Florida on January 15, 1940. This union produced eight children: four boys (Jimmie Gary, Mickey Duane, Dennis, and Terry Dwight) and four girls (Barbara Ann, Charlotte, Delores, and Deborah Kaye). Not only did she have to cook and clean house; she also had to learn to be a farmer's wife. We would always end back up at our house at 302 College Street in Glencoe, Alabama after Daddy would "try" his hand at farming. He found farms so far out that they had to pipe in sunshine.

Over the years, I would often think that mother's love for Daddy had to be what got her through some of the places we lived. Now I know it was not the love she had for Daddy; it was the love and faith she had in her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. No matter where we lived, I could always find mother at bedtime sitting at the kitchen table reading her Bible.

One place we lived, mother taught the children's Sunday school class. There were no separate classrooms. Everyone gathered in the one big room and divided into "classes". Mother taught her classes using a flannel board with cutout pictures. Not only did we help cut out the pictures; every Saturday mother would gather us in the big living room and practice her lesson on us. We always received a double portion of her lessons; as we had to listen to the same thing again on Sunday mornings.

Then there was one place we lived where after church mother was getting all of us into her station wagon when a lady approached her and asked her if she was taking her class on a picnic. Mother told the lady that we were all her children and it was certainly no picnic. Even during her illness, mother still maintained her sense of humor.

Having us in church on Sunday was very important to mother. Everytime I see a bottle of white shoe polish I think of mother. Every Saturday night, one could find her at the kitchen sink polishing shoes. Little white shoes everywhere and white shoe polish all over her hands.

It was tradition at our little Baptist church to wear a red rose on Mother's Day if your mother was living and a white rose if your mother had passed away. Mother only had a pink rosebush that she began to cut little pink roses off for us to wear. When I reminded mother that we were suppose to wear red if she was living and white if she was dead; she just laughed and said, "Well, you can tell everyone that I am in between"!

When I was a senior at Glencoe High School, Daddy again found a "farm". They moved but I stayed behind and lived with my oldest sister, Barbara, and then with my Aunt Margaret (Mog), who has always been my second mother. They moved to the Aurora Community in Walnut Grove, Alabama. For the first time since 1945, our home that we always came home to at 302 College Street in Glencoe, Alabama was sold.

Mother became active in Aurora Baptist Church for 20 years; again playing a big part every summer in Vacation Bible School.

We miss mother more each day but we thank God that He has taken her out of her suffering and made her whole.

We give thanks and honor to God for mother and our Christian heritage.

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I think of times as the night draws nigh
Of an old house on the hill,
Of a yard all wide and blossom-starred
Where the children played at will.
And when the night at last came down,
Hushing the merry din,
Mother would look around and ask,
"Are all the children in?"

'Tis many and many a year since then,
And the old house on the hill
No longer echoes to childish feet,
And the yard is still, so still.
But I see it all, as the shadows creep,
And though many the years have been
Since then, I can hear mother ask,
"Are all the children in?"

I wonder if when the shadows fall
On the last short, earthly day,
When we say good-bye to the world outside,
All tired with our childish play,
When we step out into that Other Land
Where mother so long has been,
Will we hear her ask, just as of old,
"Are all the children in?"

Publisher's Note: As the oldest of her eight children, I heard my mother ask me this question many times, knowing that she would not rest until all of us were accounted for at the day's end.

For the final time on October 18, 1998, my mother called my name "Barbara Ann . . ." I held her hand. She never said another word, but I knew in my heart she wanted to ask me one final time ". . .Are all the children in?" Knowing that all eight were Christians, I could say in my heart, "Yes, Mother, all are in."

Articles appeared on November 11, 1998 in "The Messenger", a locally owned weekly newspaper in Gadsden, Alabama by Dr. Barbara Harp Bryant, oldest child of Juanita Sizemore Harp.

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Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free!
I'm following the path God laid for me.

I took His hand when I heard Him call,
I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day.
To laugh, to love, to work or play.

Tasks left undone, must stay that way.
I found peace at close of day.

If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy!

A love shared, a laugh, a kiss
Ah yes! These things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.

My life's been full, I've savored much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.

Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.

Author Unknown

Do not stand by my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn's rain

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight;
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there
I did not die.

Author Unknown

To the living I am gone
To the sorrowful, I will never return
To the angry, I was cheated.

But to the happy, I am at peace
And to the faithful, I have never left.

I cannot speak, but I can listen
I cannot be seen, but I can be heard.

So, as you stand upon a shore,
Gazing at a beautiful sea
Remember me.

As you look in awe at a mighty forest
And its grand majesty
Remember me.

Remember me in your heart,
Your thoughts and your memories
Of the times we cried,
The times we fought,
The times we laughed

For if you always think of me,
I will never be gone from your side.

Author Unknown

Death is a season
We all must pass through
And just like the flowers,
God awakens us too
So why should we grieve
When our loved ones die,
For we'll meet them again
In a cloudless sky.

Helen Steiner Rice

May God Bless you always!

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