Ask the Lord Part 2, AKA, Gratitude

Back in February, I posted about a precious saint named Peggy who, while confused about many things, remains doggedly single-minded in her devotion to the Lord. On a recent visit to her home, I caught sight of the following scrap of paper:

Peggy had scrawled this message in huge letters, as she does all her notes to the Almighty. As is also her custom, she emphasized its contents by over-writing each letter numerous times. 

Most of my readers would wonder what this impoverished woman has to be so grateful for. Her funds are negligible, and her health is as one would expect for an 80-something year old with very few resources. While Peggy manages to zip around rather spryly with her walker, she is hindered by a substantial hump on her back which alters both appearance and balance.

And yet this lady is praising the Lord.

One reason Peggy has to be thankful can be attributed to the assistance she receives from Attentive Home Care, a division of Multicultural Community Family Services, a community-based-not-for-profit-tax-exempt organization in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania. I attend church with the co-founders of this organization, Portia and Gore Kamara, and they are as committed to the well-being of their clients as they are to their own family.

My visits to Peggy are always unannounced, yet both she and her surroundings are always spotless. Her caregivers are consistently kind and, as the organization's name proclaims, attentive. They tenderly meet Peggy's needs, always with a smile, despite the fact that her mental confusion can render her behavior very erratic.

Somewhere along the line, the Kamaras have instilled in their staff the meaning of the following Scripture from Matthew 25: 

 “When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory. All the nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats. And He will set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on His right hand, ‘Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’ Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’" (vv. 31-40)

My friend, Peggy, is the fortunate recipient of Attentive Home Care's loving ministrations, and as such, she has every reason to thank the Lord. She would attribute her happiness to her status as a daughter of Christ; Portia, Gore and their staff serve as His willing vessels.

 

Ask the Lord

Readers, this is a departure from what you're used to from me. After visiting with an elderly friend recently, I felt stirred to try to capture her essence in this brief anecdote. May you be blessed by the sweetness that is a dear saint named Peggy.

She sits in the semi-darkness of the cold February morning. Old and frail, her body has long since failed her, consigning her to home for all but the most urgent excursions. Stick-like legs, discolored and wobbly, carry her no farther than chair to dresser via walker to retrieve the few personal effects that make her feel attractive. Teeth, yellowed and disintegrating from a lifetime of service, can manage only soft, squishy foods; nevertheless, she eats with gusto, especially relishing the occasional chocolate brought by a friend.

But her spirit is as energetic as ever.

She carries on long conversations with the Almighty, praising His greatness and denouncing the wickedness of the enemy. She quotes from memory long passages of Scripture which assign Satan his just desserts, clapping her hands and turning up the corners of her withered mouth when she contemplates his eventual punishment. She takes both parts in her dialogues with the Divine, changing tone and inflection when speaking the words of her Lord.

“Thank You, my good and faithful Lord!” she exclaims before answering in altered voice, “You’re most welcome, my good and faithful Peggy!”

Confusion is her constant companion, and she often admits that; still, moments of clarity break through the murky thoughts, bringing joy to the visitor she had hitherto failed to recognize.

“Thea? Thea Williams?” she cries, as if suddenly remembering the answer to a complicated math problem. When affirmed, she beams like a child, gratefully accepting the offered hand and cooing over the gentle stroking of her ropey, distended veins.

“That feels good,” she murmurs contentedly, like a cat purring from a sunlit perch.

“Miss Peggy, let’s sing Amazing Grace,” her caregiver coaxes. She happily complies, pouring forth words from the timeless hymn in a strong yet quavering voice that must have mesmerized listeners before time took its toll on her vocal cords.

“What’s this?” her guest asks, reaching for a rumpled paper with scribbling in big block writing. The words have been repeatedly written and over-written, clearly demonstrating that the writer felt compelled to emphasize a message of great importance.

“Ask the Lord” declares the missive, and, upon further investigation, the visitor finds similarly underscored notes with the same content among the folded papers tucked away safely by her hostess’s side.

She has nothing to speak of in this world. Her small home, kept spotless by the ministrations of loving agency help, contains worn chairs and broken furnishings. Drawer pulls either dangle from the French Provincial bureau, which is the centerpiece of her living room, or have come off altogether. Cockeyed slats on ancient blinds allow light to stream unhindered onto the lady of the house. Outside, the wrought iron fence is literally falling down, and trash is strewn about the yard.

She cares not a whit about the dilapidated state of her surroundings.

“Ask the Lord” is her watchword, and has been for the past 30 years since she left a life she prefers to forget and joined ranks with the God of the universe. She prays regularly for a “third great awakening,” and counsels anyone who will listen to do the same. On clear-thinking days, she feasts on current events, gulping down huge helpings of talk radio and praying over the state of the world.

She is, in a word, faithful.

She makes it her business to phone people who matter to her. Too often, she’s forced to leave a message. She’s almost deaf, making conversations wearisome and frustrating for the other party; when her name shows up on caller ID, recipients find it easier to send the call to voice mail. Undaunted, she croaks into the recording, cautioning her loved ones about weather forecasts and world happenings and other things they could find out from the internet.

But she has one huge advantage over the world wide web – she holds love in her heart for her hearers, and constantly asks the Lord to watch over them.

Few will mourn her passing, but many will benefit from her having lived.

For part 2 of this article, check out Ask the Lord Part 2, AKA, Gratitude