Loneliness, Loss and Those Forgotten at Christmas. UNITE Linky

“I am the activities director and I don’t see you having an appointment to be here.”

The smile-less faces and chilling looks of three women without make-up, greet me behind the counter.

“Let me talk to the lady who made the appointment. She is on her way”, I assure her.

The sound of a strummed guitar, looking for harmony, shadows the background.

A lady with white hair, a bun, and skin that Hollywood would have died for…sits in a wheeled chair, staring at the fake fireplace…

As if gazing into a time where flames burned, a place in her past that used to live and breathe…

Yet, here, now, even flames are an illusion.

We pressed the red button to gain entrance. The staff joked about how we got “let out of prison” the moment we left.

…Those words still ring painfully in my ears.

Old people, stuffed in rooms, with just a t.v….and a world that can’t see them.

But are people’s realities less because their mess is hidden? Are hardships diminished, when tucked away, invisible?

Have we become too busy to see the forgotten? 

We gain entrance and walk by the rooms, led by the same lady who said we weren’t scheduled to be there that day…

She doesn’t smile, still. 

And in a world where materialism is cheap and love is expensive, I think how costly one smile might be to those sitting painfully, watching the world go by.

We made it past the red button, the joyless staff staring at us behind the counter….

The guitar got tuned, and the one making the appointment arrived with her husband.

There were seven of us now, all within forty years of age. And yet, our stories were nothing accumulative, compared to those now staring at white walls and empty spaces…

Were they remembering when loved ones visited? Or thinking of those who gave, until they had nothing left to offer, in return?

And is love ever conditional? Does real love fail us in hard places?

Isn’t true love to be shared, not because it makes the other person better…but because it makes us different?

Doesn’t giving expand us internally, making spaces inside us for God?

And isn’t heaven ours, not because of what we did, but because of what HE did for us?

White spaces still stare at me sometimes….

The face of the little one not forgotten. Her smile, her laughter, the way she clung to us. For over two years she was our daughter…

And yet I know, God hasn’t left her. He is with her, there, whose ever arms she lands in. His presence isn’t taken, dependent on where we are living…

And one heart can’t replace the losses we’ve experienced.

Love doesn’t die because we don’t see face-to-face, those we are missing, standing right in front of us.

And we each have a choice…We can let loss destroy us or we can let it multiply us.

And I wonder if the people in this Elderly Care Center home know joy is their choice, regardless of where they are located?

Their world is quiet. No activities center, no visual appeal, no smiles connecting them to His glory…

And yet, Jesus loves them and died for them. Their suffering will be relieved, and His glory will find them bright and vibrant…if they just believe.

She plays. The singer/self-taught guitar lady from our home group.

Her song has been filling her, and to hear it come forth is like spring coming…A bird taking flight, the winter frost melting. That first crocus coming into sight.

She shines just like I knew she could. “Joy to the World”, fills one of the rooms, and it takes awhile for all of us to grow easy…

With cold spaces, and empty people, white walls, solitude ringing through individuals staring disparingly.

One larger lady, turns up the volume as the seven of us sing in front of her. Were we really that bad of singers?

We go to another room.

Singer/guitar-player picks a second song, impromptu. The song is, “The First Noel.”

We are weary and nervous. The outside world filling the stale and stagnant mercifully.

And we all have a choice…come alive or stay lost in confinement.

And at the end of the song, the woman in the wheelchair smiles and says, “That was my husband’s name in reverse. L-E-O-N.” 

She shines. And we breathe easy.

It is then, I know God is leading our musician. His Spirit is filling the forgotten,…changing us in the process.

Why is it songs soften the despondent, reinvigorates the stagnant, builds bridges between the bitter and the beautiful?

I feel, just a little…Him near the weak, lonely, and the needy. The sermon preached on Sunday, “God always makes his way to the outsider. That’s who He sees first.” ~ Emily

And we are all outsiders, aren’t we? Once insiders, locked in our world of self-striving…When all that we needed was grace.

And I am thankful for God eyes to see the things I’d been missing.

We had signed ninety-six cards, until almost eleven the evening before. The friends from our Growth Group questioned what to put in each card.

“Let’s just let God lead.” Guitar-playing musician said.

We enter a new room at the care center for the elderly. She sits in a wheelchair. We start singing. She mouths the words with us.

Eyes far and distant….

As if recollecting a life she had known, with love and memories in it…

The snowman cover of the card we gave her wasn’t anything fancy. Her feeble hands drop it. We give it to her again…

Because who of us doesn’t need someone to pick up our pieces? Who of us don’t need second chances to get what we dropped, or failed to grip in the first place?

I see her shaking. Tears fill her weakened eyes. What was it? Did we offend her?

Her shaking hand, covers her mouth quickly. Was she mad? Shocked? Angry?

Tears start streaming. Her mouth quivers. Emotions overcome her as a result of the music and whatever God touched in her through that .50 cent card. 

Her eyes meet us, finally. And in a weakened voice, she smiles carefully, saying, “Thank you.”

I cup her hands. They are cold, fragile. I wonder about her story and what brought her to that place, alone in a wheelchair, staring at those white walls…

At Christmas.

And…

• Why did it take that entry, a guitar seeking song and harmony, a home group walking in, to spark her inner emotion?
• Why did it take passing that red button, the lady who had once likely shined with the bun, brighter than anyone in Hollywood?
• Why did it take the broken and despondent, for us to see Him? For us to know His heart is to do more than be stuck inside some church building?
• Why did God meet us where tears were streaming, shaking hands gripped cards that cost fifty cents…
• Why must we come face-to-face with those passing, for us to realize what He has given?

I hear it click. The door locking behind us as we leave. “We are out of prison”, the man’s joking words, ring deep….

UNITE LINK PARTY

UNITE is a weekly, NO-RULES, ALL inclusive Blog Hop, or Link Party, YOU are invited to!

It’s easy. Add a post, and ENJOY! (Oh ya, and can you comment on the post before yours?)

Let’s get started!