“If I promise not to cause a ruckus, may I join you?” Sometimes solitary travel makes for a productive supper, but sometimes it opens doors. I saw an elderly couple watching the dining room comings and goings with interest. A beautiful plaid wheelchair was carefully tucked at their table. Her hands moved slowly, deliberately. But her eyes danced. He leaned in, listening with great care. And the tug on my heart said, “Join them.”
They offered a warm Texas welcome, and so I drew up to the table. We bantered in comfort zones. Food. Our day. Travel. Then a step to careers. Where those careers have led our families. And then came that warm step toward family, children, home. And then that heart space of faith, beliefs, hopes.
Those steps often stop somewhere along the ladder of new acquaintance. But this chat was special, there was a bond shaping. And as we shared windows to our lives, I watched him carefully cut her food as her eyes brightened. Her voice revealed her zest for life. He quietly tended, coming in and out of our conversation. I noticed each time I would say something he knew would make a connection with his sweet wife, he beamed and nodded his head toward her.
And in a quiet moment, he finds space to ask his bride with the expression of a young man to his beloved, “May I get you some ice cream, baby?”
In the simplest of questions, oh, the world of a lifetime! Can I serve you? You are known. I adore you. I am at your side. Sickness and health. You can depend on me. For always.
They still do. Every day a new “I do.”
When we shared cards it was more than addresses. He wrote the names of my sons. Their ages. He didn’t just offer to help me in his realm of expertise. He said, “You can call me for anything.” I think it may be the first time I’ve received that gift from someone I knew in no other way, had no other connection to, but the body of Christ. Oh, isn’t that the “But God!” This. We’re family.
As they readied to leave, she inched forward bit by bit to the waiting beautiful plaid chair, never taking her eyes from mine. I knew she had something important to say.
“I appreciate how you share your faith.”
“Oh, thank you.” My eyes filled. “It’s everything.”
“It is everything. It’s what has gotten me through many things. And so, I’m not afraid.”
Oh, the floodgates. Those bigger-than-words fears we push tightly into the unseen recesses of our souls. This brave but tender soul splashed watercolor sunrise on the fears and prepared me for the next page of the journey. I did not know in that moment that in a few days I would hold the hand of my step-father as he fought for breath… as he reached for the comfort that is love… as he stepped into heaven. There would be much holding. And much letting go.
This dear couple met me ahead of the climb and reminded me to set my sights. Fearless.
God goes before us.
Always.
With watercolor sunrise.
