~ Day 10 ~
I watched her as she shuffled around the kitchen.
She reminded me of my mom. I guessed she was probably about the same age.
The kids ran wild that evening.
Tunes from the guitars, keyboard, and drums rang a distant memory of the days my warrior wore his rock star hat. Voices belted out Three Doors Down, Sarah McLachlan, and Buffett. Food and joy overflowed. There is just something about music. Music speaks to hidden memories and connects us without words. Just the lyrics and the melodies blanketed the room.
I saw her eyes glisten as she smiled into the young exuberant crowd.
Her eyes met mine as I bounced my squirming two-year-old in my lap. Baby girl clamored for hands full of candy corn. I obliged. These nights don’t roll around too often.
She slid into the chair next to me. As her fingers stroked the strawberry blonde wisps on baby girl’s head, she told me her story. The music faded to a framing mural as she began,
I don’t have any family. I was the baby of my family. They are all gone now.
Her blue-green eyes sparkled with memories of decades gone by.
My birthday is next week. I’ll be 83.
Yes, just like my mom. I looked into her eyes and pretended for just a moment that I could have this conversation with my own mom. Memories intact.
I moved a few times and came here about 15 years ago.
I’ve been alone for a while.
I nodded, sliding closer. The crescendo of notes wrapped around us as a beautiful voice began,
in the arms of the angel…
Songs catapult us from memory to memory like rabbits scurrying down a hole… only to pop up somewhere else.
My baby found this to be the ideal moment to squirrel candy corn after candy corn. I was riveted. How did this dear soul come here? What story brought her to live with these new friends of ours?
She went on,
I fell one day. It was a Thursday. I lived alone, you know. No one found me… until Sunday.
The doctors told me if it had been any longer I wouldn’t have made it. I was dehydrated.
I stared into her alert eyes. Three or four days. She lay on the floor in her kitchen for days. Hour upon hour… alone. Afraid. I could only imagine what the scene must have looked like. I thought again… of my mom. Four days alone, desperate, and in pain.
She smiled gently,
When I woke up in the hospital there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a note.
In this note, they told me I was going to come live with them. I knew them through church, you know.
I still have that note.
That was six years ago.
That’s what it looks like. All the stuff Jesus says. Do good. Help others. Be kind. Give. Others before yourself.
This is what it looks like. It can have so many faces, and stories, and eyes, and hands… but, this, is what it all comes down to.
Our new friends didn’t tell us about her story. As far as we knew, she was a kindly grandmother who lived with them and their children. They never told us. She did.
This kind of giving captures me. I had to know. What brought them to this step? To this offer?
So, we asked.
Our friend, soft-spoken and humble, replied,
Yea, well, that’s what we are supposed to do.
That’s what we are supposed to do.
One step in love gave this one beautiful soul with the sparkling eyes… a home. No… it gave her more. The most.
A family.
Psalm 68:6
God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land.
