Recently, Ifoundmyselfwaiting in a nursingfacilityin anot-so-nice partof Chicago. It’s one of those dilapidated places where the building is 100 years old, the wallpaper hangs off the wall, rusted water spots bleed throughthe ceiling, and a faint smell of urinehangs in the air.
On this particular day, a tiny, little elf of a man with tousled gray hair and a serious five-o-clock shadow, peddled up to me in his wheelchair. He was wearing a gray ski cap,ared flannel shirt, and was trying to get his arm in the other sleeve ofa dark blue sweatshirt while balancing a banana and a crumpled brown paper lunch sack on his lap.
He says something in Spanish to the health aide who was standing by the reception counter, but she doesn’t respond.Instead, she watches him struggle with the sweatshirt.
The television blares loudly in Spanish, and the residents shuffle back and forth talking to themselves, to each other, and to no one in particular.
And still this little man struggles to get his sweatshirt on.
So I help him.
I guide his arm through the sleeve and pull it down nicely for him. He smiles and speaks to me in Spanish. I don’t know Spanish, but nod and smile back. Hepeels his banana, breaks off a piece, and offers it to me. It was such a sweet, kind gesture I couldn’t refuse. His eyes light up as I receive his banana-gift, and he starts talking to me in Englishtellingme about Puerto Rico, the snow outside, and anything else he can think of so long as I give himmy attention.
He has a white plastic grocery bag full of torn up bread tied to the back of his wheelchair. For the birds? I muse. Did he save them from his meals?
We chat awhile longer, then the aide comes to take him outside – yes , to feed the birds. As he is wheeled away, my heart pangs with compassion.
I meet dozens of people, just like this man, through my work in hospice. I have seen the inside of more than my fair share of nursing facilities. So many are so sad, and so many of these people seem to be forgotten.
Forgotten by family.
Forgotten by friends.
Forgotten by neighbors.
But not forgotten by Jesus.
Jesus knows this man’s name. He knows everything about him. Where he was born. What his upbringing was like. What his interests were. Who loved him. Who didn’t. And who will be there for him now during the twilight years of his life.
Jesus also knows this man’s soul condition. Jesus knows whether this man loves Him or not, and whether he ever had an opportunity to choose to serve Him or not.
Jesus alsoknows all about the people around you. He knit them together in their mother’s womb. Their days were numbered before there was one of them. He counts the hairs of their heads, and He puts them in your path and mine to be Jesus to them. To show them love and kindness. To share the gospel. To be a living epistle which they can read.
So today, open your eyeswide and look – really look at the souls around you. What are their names? What might be their soul condition? And how might Jesus want to use you to reach them today?