he sat slumped in his wheelchair, clothes hanging loosely... skin almost translucent, fragile, laying across the skeleton that gave him shape and protected the tired organs inside... not an ounce of fat anywhere to be found, and no lean either that I could see... just skin and bones... he looked a lot like the pictures we saw in the holocaust museum in washington a couple of weeks ago... it hurt my heart to see such fragility... i knelt beside him, gently put my arm around his shoulder, kissed his brow, told him i loved him... he couldn't raise his head much more than an inch... but his eyes turned toward me and he said thank you as he began to cry... i held him for a moment longer, then moved away from him... around the room, touching, holding, hugging mostly familiar faces wreathed in smiles of recognition... and some new faces that held first surprise, then smiles as I stopped to hug them and tell them I loved them... and that God loved them, too... my friends every one... and in the front of the room, were other friends who gather here every tuesday night... one playing a piano... others with guitars or banjo or fiddle... some, like me, are here just to sing and love... we gather on tuesday nights at the nursing home to sing hymns and to share God's Word... and I sang and danced and hugged and held for the hour we were there... I made it back to him after making my first round of the room... knelt beside him... he said, "you're pretty" and I thanked him... he said, "my wife was pretty, she was blonde, too, like you, and then she turned grey and age happened," and he began to cry... we sat in silence for a minute... and he said, "i first loved her in high school... and then there was war... and I told her I had to go to Korea, for her to do what she needed to do... but she waited for me... and the first week I came back, we married... and I loved her." I said, "you had a long life together," and he said "yes... but not long enough... I went broke trying to save her... she had three strokes and I couldn't save her, and he cried again... we sat in silence again as he gathered himself, and he told me his mother loved that song (Amazing Grace), that she sang it to him, she taught him about Jesus, she spanked him with a switch when he needed it, and told him to pick his own, and his daddy spanked him with a razor strop when he needed it, but only when he needed it... and they tought him to be good and kind and do right, and they could milk the cow on Sunday, and feed the mule, but no other work, and not fishing, either, but he sneaked off and went fishing sometimes, and one time he caught a little fish the size of his hand right in his hands when it swam by him... and his momma died when he was five, and he missed her, he always missed her, and he cried again... and he apologized for crying... and I cried with him... and found him a box of tissues... and the evening ended... and his friend took him back to his room... and I came home... and I will go back every tuesday night... to sing and dance... to visit and be... to listen... to touch... to hug... to kiss... to cry... and to laugh... thank You, Jesus, for the chance...
I remember the first time I saw Cheryl... my little momma and I had just gotten out of the car and were walking across the parking lot to the double doors that led into the little church where I worshiped and fellowshipped... when a little car came whipping into the parking lot and this vibrant dark-haired girl stuck her head out the window and asked what time church started... "Eleven o’clock," I answered, "Why don’t you come on in and sit with us?" And she did. Thus began a treasured friendship...
She came... she stayed... she conquered hearts wherever she went. We all loved her. And she loved us... loved God... loved our pastor and his family. If the doors to the church were open, she was there. Her servant’s heart beat for us all, and we knew when we asked her to pray that she really would... and did. Yet that heart was frail... often threatening to fail her... she had more open-heart surgeries and procedures than anyone I ever knew, and she was just a young woman, certainly younger than me... sometimes spent weeks in the hospital... visited by one and all.
I remember one particular hospitalization when she was in a hospital near where I worked, and I could pop over to visit her after work... take her something from "outside" to eat... and we’d sit and talk and talk and talk... laughing.. whispering... sharing secrets... philosophizing... dreaming... and when visiting hours were over, the nurses just smiled and left us alone... some nights I was there til 10:30 or 11 at night because she didn’t want me to leave.
In spite of her fragility, she volunteered every year at Camp Victory... a children’s church camp we held down in south Georgia in the heat of July every summer... working right there in the kitchen from before sunup til near midnight every day for a week... on Mondays, excitement triumphed... on Tuesdays, feet began to ache... on Wednesdays, we’d sit together on the side of the tub with our feet soaking in cold water every chance we got... on Thursdays, sadness crept in as we realized the week was almost over... and on Fridays, we cried because it was over for this year and began planning for next year... Cheryl never let her heart hold her back...
She was my friend through trial and tragedy... encouraging me, loving me, caring for me and everyone around her...
Her devotion was especially strong for our preacher... her "man of God," she called him... and even when his life took a wrong turn and he began to abuse the position God put him, she didn’t waiver... if he put some of us away, she honored his commands, and at the risk of breaking her own heart, she put us away, too... hence, I lost touch with her for a while...but never stopped loving her, caring for her, praying for her... and I always believed she never stopped loving and praying for me, either...
Yesterday, I learned her frail heart had quit on her... and she went home to be with Jesus...
At the funeral home tonight, looking down on the shell she left behind, I mourned the lost time of these last three years... and wished I’d not stayed away... wished I’d been there for the subsequent hospitalizations... for the good times and bad... for the joys and tears... I learned from her husband and others that she’d never stopped grieving the loss of my physical presence in her life... and it saddens me anew that we allowed a man with feet of clay to keep us apart... for the God he claimed to serve would never have had it that way...
Alas... the last three years are gone... but the years before that are fresh and beautiful in my memory... and the timeless beauty of heaven waits before us... where we’ll walk streets of gold together... see you later, Cheryl... God bless...