NOTE: The last time I posted this was 2 years ago today. Less than two hours after I had re-posted this in 2022, my precious daddy, Otto, lost his battle with cancer and went home to be with Jesus. God had obviously brought this post to my mind, originally written on December 8, 2016, as a way to comfort me. I hope this short story ministers to you as much as it has to me. This is for you, Daddy.
2 Corinthians 5:1-2,6,8 & 10 "For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed upon with our house which is from heaven: Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord: We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad."
Streets of Gold
Visiting the elderly community at the Rosy Acres Nursing Home was an expected duty of the pastor at the Fruit of the Vine Church. Yet, like most ministers, Pastor Adam was too busy to be bothered with such a depressing assignment. It was not a profitable task as the folks living in the under-funded home did not have the money to donate to the church or were too senile to know the difference. However, the residence was within the church's jurisdiction, so he was obligated to make sure his church was represented along with all the other denominations. After all, at least some of the elderly people still had living relatives that were able to tithe their ten percent.
Three months ago, Christopher Melton, a single man, had begun attending the church. Christopher had moved to Webster to become the new principal at the elementary school. He was in his late thirties and had voiced a strong desire to serve the Lord. He had been a street evangelist in the larger cities and wrote a blog encouraging his readers to live holy lives. Pastor Adam had not bothered to read any of Christopher's blogs but based on how much the principal was liked by his deacons, he decided that Christopher was the perfect man to which he could pass the responsibility of the nursing home. Christopher had taken on the assignment with gusto and made a point to visit the residents every Saturday morning. Today was no exception.
As Christopher walked the crooked sidewalk toward the dwelling place of the elderly, it amused him as it did every week, that there were no rose bushes planted at the Rosy Acres Nursing Home. A few Butterfly Bushes adorned the end of the sidewalk near the front door, but other than that, the small lawn was devoid of plant life. He has asked Pastor Adam if the church would consider donating half a dozen rose bushes to the home as well as the labor to plant them. The minister had amiably assured Christopher it was a wonderful idea and would immediately comply but had yet to follow through on his promise. Christopher knew nothing about plants, but as soon as he received his next paycheck, he determined he would purchase the bushes and would take on the task of planting them.
The smell of too much bleach assaulted his nostrils as he entered into the lobby. At least no one could complain the staff did not do an adequate job of properly keeping the place clean and disinfected.
A strange conglomeration of framed pictures adorned the walls, depicting anything from beautiful bay horses in the midst of a gallop across a beach at an unknown ocean, to small children in overalls catching frogs, and even one of a bunny with eyes and ears far too large for its little grey head holding a bouquet of carrots. He assumed the artwork had been donated, and neither the staff nor the residents mattered what they saw every day on the sea green walls as long as it was cheerful.
"Good morning, Mr. Melton," the pretty red-haired, hazel eyed receptionist greeted.
Christopher hoped he was not flushing as he returned the salutation. "Good morning, Miss Bethany."
Even if the home had not had a receptionist as beautiful as Cherry Bethany, Christopher would have continued his Saturday ritual. However, he looked forward to seeing her every week, and every week he assured himself would be the last time he was too shy to invite her to coffee. He had spotted her at his church now and again, but she typically worked on Sundays and could only attend on Wednesday evenings. He had also promised himself to approach her at church, but she always sat with her three sisters, and he never felt comfortable intruding.
The first order of business when he arrived was to sign his name in the visitor's log. He always scanned the names of the other guests, but rarely saw any that he recognized. It was a shame more people from the church could not find the time to visit the shut-ins. They were lonely and craved company. Just an hour a week to have lunch with the group in the cafeteria would have been enough. Yet most people stayed away, afraid to be reminded that this too could someday be their fate. No one wanted to face the facts that they would also grow old and weak. No one wanted to be reminded they were mortal.
The typical routine was for Christopher to meet the residents in the gathering room after breakfast and sing with them. The piano was usually out of tune, but no one seemed to mind. Christopher had been given the gift of a beautiful singing voice and was willing to share it for the glory of the Lord. After an hour of singing, he would typically spend another one to two hours visiting with those in the gathering room. Then he would go to each and every room of the patients too sick to leave their beds. Not everyone permitted him to enter their rooms, of course, but he approached them all regardless of the previous week's acceptance or refusal. He would never waste an opportunity to pray and minister to those in want or need.
This week's schedule was the same as every week. He sang a dozen or so hymns, played a game of checkers with seventy-nine-year-old Mr. Ebbs, listened to stories about World War II from eighty-nine-year-old Mr. Paulson, and told eighty-seven-year-old Mrs. Clarence how well her six grandchildren were doing at Webster Elementary. But when he was about to share a butterscotch fudge recipe with Mrs. Salinas, a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder, interrupting them.
"I am sorry to intrude, Mr. Melton, but Mrs. Simon in room 127 is requesting to see you right away. She says it is urgent."
Christopher looked back at the kind face of Nurse Washington; her deep brown eyes filled with tears.
Christopher stood from the blue gingham couch to follow the nurse and hastily promised the patients he would see them all again next week.
"She's slipping fast," the nurse informed him with a voice saying she would never get used to seeing the patients she loved face such a fate.
"Has her family been contacted?" he wondered.
"Cherry has reached most of them. They should be arriving soon," the nurse revealed, pushing away a tear off her brown cheek that had escaped her left eye.
Say what you will about the mismatched paintings, the rose-less lawn, or the overpowering chemical smells, but the staff of Rosy Acres was all heart. They loved their residents and treated them like family. He thanked God every day for such a staff and prayed they would only ever employ such compassionate people.
"Mrs. Simon?" Christopher apprehensively stuck his head inside the door.
"Come in, Chris. Come in." Her voice was fragile, yet full of joy.
She was the only one he allowed to use the shortened version of his name. And that was because it was what his own deceased grandmother had called him. Her beautiful silver-white hair and humble intelligence often reminded Christopher of his grandmother Louisa.
Christopher entered and sat on the forest green corduroy easy chair next to her bedside. It had been turned toward the bed to face the patient.
Her face was pale as she sat propped up on a fluffy mountain of pillows. Each pillowcase had been hand-stitched by her own arthritic hands. Each year she was there, she took on the project of starting a new cover. She had made a total of five.
Mrs. Opal Simon, a widow of seventeen years, was four months shy of turning ninety. She had survived lung cancer in the late eighties and several heart attacks these past ten years or so. She was tough and yet so very tender. She was a lover of animals and music. She faithfully read her bible every day until her eyes became too dim, and then Nurse Washington became her eyes. She had not been placed in a nursing home out of lack of love from her family as some here had been. No, Mrs. Simon was well-loved by three children, five grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren. She had become a resident on her own insistence. She had independently lived alone since her husband Kenneth had died but had always been terribly lonely. Her children and grandchildren did their best to look in on her and keep her company, but they all had busy lives of their own. She never wanted to be an obligation or a burden to anyone. After a stroke five years ago that left her partially paralyzed in her left arm, and then her eighteen-year-old Siamese cat Thai had died, she knew it was time to let go of her self-reliance and allow others to take care of her.
Opal stretched out a weak hand toward Christopher. He leaned forward and took the thin, cold hand.
"Would you like me to pray with you?" He asked.
"No, no, I want you to give my family a message," she insisted.
"Yes, ma'am of course."
Her bright blue eyes sparkled, and a smile of peace spread across her vein-lined lips as he had never seen before.
"I'm ready," she said, "Make sure they know I'm ready to meet my Heavenly Father. I have lived a life as Biblically as I know how. I have practiced the words of Jesus and taught them to my children and their children. Remind them, Chris. Remind them it takes a heart of true repentance and a life spent on one's knees to be ready. Without holiness, no man shall see the Father. Remind them, Chris. Tell them I was ready."
His green-blue eyes filled with tears, and he could scarcely say a word. He managed a weak, "Yes, ma'am."
"My Kenneth is waiting for me." She laughed then. "Oh, how I can't wait to be in his arms again! I hope he will recognize me in my new body. I'll know him by his shining blue eyes! No matter how much younger he will look, I'll always know those eyes that stole my heart seventy years ago."
Opal closed her eyes, and her breathing became so shallow it made Christopher's heart pound with panic. Yet, three minutes later, she opened her eyes again. They were not the eyes of a dying old woman, but of a much younger woman exuding joy unspeakable and full of glory!
"Oh, Chris, I can't wait to see it all! I can't wait to fall at the feet of my Lord and worship Him day and night! I wonder what the streets of gold will feel like beneath my bare feet!" She giggled like a small child. "I wonder if Thai's paws will slip and slide on the slick surface!"
Christopher laughed at the imagery.
"Yes, Chris, laugh! Do not mourn for me. Wipe away those tears and remind my family to do the same! Remind them I am going to a Place with no more sorrow, no more tears. If they too read their Bibles and follow in the footsteps of Jesus, we will see each other again. Remind them, Chris. I want to see them all again. Please remind them. Remind them salvation is a free gift, but they still need to repent of their sins and to live every single day as a day separated unto the Lord. Not to imitate the world, but to live apart from it, pure and holy. Remind them, Chris. I want to hug them again soon!"
"I promise, Mrs. Simon, I will repeat every word you have said."
"I knew you would. You are a good man. A rare diamond among thorns. Don't waste your life single. Get married and have lots of babies and grandbabies. Cherry is single too, you know."
Right to the last minute, Opal was still trying to play matchmaker between the principal and the receptionist. It had not been the first time she had gently tried to encourage him in such a fashion.
Her hand in his grew colder and her complexion waned farther.
"It's time I go to my Father. Oh, Chris, I am so happy! Do not weep. Be jealous of me. Soon I will be singing with the angels songs of praise to my King!"
She slightly shivered in his grip, and she was gone.
Christopher looked to Nurse Washington standing in the doorway, tears trickling down her cheeks as much as his own, and yet he was filled with a sweet spirit of calm.
He could not see her behind the nurse, but he heard Cherry's tender voice announce that several carloads of Mrs. Simon's family had arrived.
Christopher stood from the chair and wiped his eyes.
"Are you ready to face her family, Mr. Melton?"
He nodded with a confident smile. "I am ready," he assured, "I am ready to tell them all she told me. I will remind them how happy she is now. How she walks on streets of gold in a prefect body free of all aches and pains, reunited with her dear husband. I am ready to remind them what the Bible says about both grace and righteousness. Yes, Nurse Washington, I am ready. Pray with me that they are ready to listen."
Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord: Hebrews 12:14
Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you. II Corinthians 6:17
Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory. I Peter 1:8
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4
And the twelve gates were twelve pearls: every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass. Revelation 21:21
No comments:
Post a Comment