Submitted by; Diane Lewis
From the collections of; Juanita Stout Royster Black
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Gladys Thomas
Gladys (Johnson) Thomas was born at Elvira near Buncombe, Illinois,
February 23, 1900; died at her home near the place of her birth April
11, 1934, age 34 years, 1 month, 15 days.
Gladys was the only daughter of Charles A. and Lula (Henard) Johnson.
The mother preceded her in death November 15, 1929.
She
was married to Frank Thomas January 2, 1918, who survives her with a
family of five children: Verle, Bernice, Opha, Imo, and Ora. The first
child, William died in infancy.
The
father, two brothers, Herschel and George Johnson Jr., with
grandparents, Geo. W. and Martha Johnson survive, together with her
step- mother Mrs. Abbie Johnson and the following step-bothers (sic) and
step-sisters: McClaren, Ethel, Clyde, Ray, Glenn, Mae, Ernest Don and
Needra McIntire and many other relatives and friends of both Johnson and
Union counties.
Gladys became affiliated with a lingering illness some four years ago,
as a consequence of which her eyesight weakened until most of her vision
had gone in the last few weeks she survived. A number of times in the
last few days of her illness she rejoiced that her bed had been
transformed from one of earthly suffering to a scene of beauty. She
told of beautiful lights coming from above – lights veiled in a splendor
such as she had never seen before. She inquired if others at the
bedside could not see the beautiful lights.
We
are given to live in the great sunshine of life, with its flitting beams
of checkered lights of happiness and shades of sorrows; but hovering
over us just as surely is the one great shadow – Death – the mystery
that one day envelops us, and our light on earth goes out. It may come
quickly and take us unawares, or it may, as it did with Gladys, touch
with long suffering that only itself can ease, thus becoming a minister
of mercy. We know not why our friend in the early years of happiness in
her home, surrounded by family and community of neighbors should have
been taken out of the sunshine into the great shadow, except that it is
part of the great plan – that plant (sic) by which “not a sparrow
falleth without your Father” – God’s plan for our eternal good. The
community goes into the little home whose light is saddened, but ever as
we sorrow, the gleam of Hope, light of the soul, comes softly with its
signal message: “All is Well.”
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