Going Visiting

Button up your spring best, girls!


And put on your new Sunday shoes.

*hmmmm* Do you have some nicer ruffle socks, Cuddlebug? Yes? Good. Go put them on because we want to give our very best effort.

Does everybody have the words to our song? Follow along, girls, because we want nice, strong starts for each verse.

I see you. It is a happy day, really--isn't it, Cuddlebug?

Today the girls and I were blessed to go to the birthday open house of a sweet woman from our church. I don't mean to sound patronizing, but this woman really is just as "cute as a button!" Dark brown eyes full of innocence and wonder like that of a child; a small stature that brings out the best in the adults and instant ease in the young ones; pretty white curls soft like spun sugar; kind to everyone.

She'll be 92 years on Tuesday!

But we marked the day with flowers and cards today, because only the Lord knows if she'll make it to Tuesday. God bless her, this believer has run her race well and is ready to hear her Savior say, "Well done..."

I've heard folks before talk about ministry opportunities they had and how surprised they were to find that they were the ones blessed in the end. And the cynical side of me used to think, "Yeah. O.k. That's a nice, pious thing to say. Good for you."

But today I lived it. We arrived to find the Birthday Girl in a hospice bed on the sun porch of her daughter's lovely home. She wasn't very talkative, and we weren't sure of what to say, so I was glad we bathed the visit in prayer before we left the house. We could only trust the Lord for the next thing: should we sing our song, or would that be singing songs to an heavy heart, should we sit and stay awhile, or should we make our small talk and scoot?

We sang our song, made our small talk and decided to scoot.

On the way out, I was so relieved to know that our friend was not in any pain. I shared a story with her daughter about how this morning I was explaining to the little girls that our visit would really be in anticipation of a Home-going for Mrs. H. And then I shared with the daughter that Cuddlebug's reaction was, "I wonder what her room will look like?"

The daughter, ever gracious, offered to show the girls her mother's special bedroom, and I quickly corrected her to understand that Cuddlebug was talking about her mother's room in Heaven. See, around here, we stress that for a believer in Christ, the shell may fall asleep, but the Spirit--the real you--just moves. But the good news is that for this move, you don't even have to pack or do laundry!

But back to the moment: the daughter did walk us back to her mother's special bedroom where she showed us the lovely details in the care she took of her mother for the past five years. She was especially excited to show and tell about the musical clock that hung in the corner. Every night she would tuck her mama in, say a sweet goodnight and press the button to start the chimed melody.

And that's when I started to bite my tongue to hold back the tears. Because really, that's not what I came for. I did not come to this open house to bring sadness and tears.

But I was doing it anyway.

And she was so nice--seeing my eyes begin to water, she brought me a tissue. I apologized and she hugged me. And then I left as fast as I could.

I drove away wondering exactly why I was crying. I wasn't crying for the imminent death of Mrs. H. She's lived long enough to see her 3rd generation, loves and trusts the Lord for her salvation, is convalescing in a gorgeous space watching the twitterpated birds of spring, and is slipping away peacefully with time for goodbyes. She is truly blessed. I do not cry for her.

I feel for the daughter. How much she'll miss her mama. But I don't think it was she I cried for either.

I think it was the beauty of this profound moment that overwhelmed me. For five years this couple has taken care of their mother--and they have done it joyfully, without any hint of inconvenience or even duty. They've been three peas in a pod for as long as I've known them.

But almost more humbling was the realization that she has let them care for her. Whenever I read the story of Jesus washing His disciples' dirty, crusty, smelly feet, it is not the willingness of the Savior only that strikes me, but also the humility of His friends to make themselves so vulnerable as to let Him do it.

And so it is with Mrs. H. There's been no pride masquerading as "not wanting to be a bother." There's been no selfishness to keep another from being used of the Lord. There's been only humility. And today she humbled herself to let 3 little girls and their mother minister in song and express a sort of goodbye during the most profound week of her long life.

I trust the lessons learned and blessing bequeathed today will stay with us all, for all of our days.

Updated to add: Mrs. H. finished her race very peacefully and went to be with the Lord on Sunday evening, the 30th of March. Now we pray for those loved ones left behind--that they will be enveloped by Jesus' love and tender care; that they will be able to find rest and revival--physically--as they are exhausted.