We made our move to The Vintage on June 1 through the
backbreaking kindness of several of our friends. Verizon said they would
transfer our phone service (same number) by June 4, which they did, and
the online service by June 5, which they did not do. In response to my
inquiries I was told I would have to wait until June 22. I’ve tried being
the proverbial squeaky wheel, but to no avail. At this writing June 22 is
still ten days away. I will post this as soon as I am connected. (Ron’s
NOTE: Now Verizon is saying July 6 will be the install date. We shall
see!)
We have gone from six rooms and two and
one-half baths to two rooms and one bath. We are first on the list for
three rooms and two baths, but we are making do so well with what we have
that we may opt to stay where we are. One resident here said it well: “We
went from rooms we hardly ever used to common sense living.” Like the
Japanese who have small furniture in small homes, we are learning to
utilize every square foot -- such as using the top of the microwave and
refrigerator as if they were shelves.
I began staking out my walking route the
first morning I was here. It takes me around a vast hospital complex,
including walking below the window of the room in ICU where our daughter
Phoebe died on April 11. That moment becomes part of my morning prayer,
“God, be merciful to Phoebe and to us all.” I am thankful that all those
months in the hospital, including being on dialysis, are over for her.
I must be the only resident who goes
walking, or is even able to be that active, and yet I am next to the
oldest of the 103 residents. There is a 95- year old in this facility
somewhere I am told, a woman of course -- the women outnumber the men ten
to one. But what surprised me is that of the 100 units in this tower, 97
are occupied by singles. There are only two other couples. Perhaps that is
because couples usually manage to keep on with housekeeping until one of
them is gone.
We take some meals here, while it is
cafeteria style (some go through line with walkers), there is table
service, and we dine on linen table cloths and have linen napkins. But
there is little conversation. One morning I found myself looking around at
those who “make it for breakfast” and the poet’s description of “the last
leaves on the tree” seemed apt. They appear to be waiting to die. And I
wondered with what hope. Perhaps no more nor no less than when they were
younger.
I recalled an essay I once did on “A
Wheelchair Church,” which the Christian Standard chose to reprint. It was
inspired by a visit to a nursing home where some fifteen wheelchairs were
rolled in for a church service -- all women except for one man. Afterwards
I teased the women at the desk about the wheelchair church being virtually
all women with, “Will there be more women in heaven than men?” They
responded with, “The men are already there.” To which I said, Maybe. Then
I made the point that it is presumed that all one needs to do to go to
heaven is to die!
One of the few men here said to me at
lunch one day, “Well, there’s something wrong with all of us or we
wouldn’t be here.” That set me to thinking about why we are here. Yes,
Ouida is ill, but what is wrong with me? If I’m the second oldest, that
must be reason enough, but I’m tempted to question the girl at the desk,
Are you sure I’m older than all these folk except one?!
I spend several hours a day at the old
place, disposing of our “junk” and sprucing up the place. We intend to
have it for sale by month’s end. I go up and down ladders mending cracks
and painting -- and sometimes a high ladder since the place has high
ceilings. But I admit that after being on my knees for sometime painting
baseboard, I find it difficult to get back up. At that moment I do feel
like the second oldest!
As for recent events, on June 3 I
addressed the Garden Ridge Church of Christ in nearby Lewisville on living
in hope in a troubled world. When a kind brother offered to help me
negotiate the steps up to the pulpit, I admitted to the congregation that
I am “going on 89.” They applauded. When I told them that Ouida, who was
with me, and I recently celebrated our 63rd, they applauded again. When I
closed by telling them that when I leave planet earth I will not be
leaving home but going home, they then gave me a standing ovation.
When Ouida said afterwards that she had
never before seen a congregation give a preacher a standing ovation after
a Sunday morning sermon, I told her I thought it was because I got up and
down the ladder without falling!
I have been in close touch with Cecil
Hook for many years. He was a dear and trusted friend. He won my heart
with his essay on “The Lamentations of a Mediocre Preacher.” I invited him
to write for my own journal, which he did for sometime, and always seminal
material. During his recent fatal illness I called him several times. We
talked about hope. When it was evident that he was near death and too weak
to talk without great effort, I told him I wouldn‘t burden him further.
But I have one last question, I told him.
What do you expect? His last words to me were, “I expect to be glorified.”
I had planned to visit Cecil when I was
in Austin last weekend, but he had “gone up higher” a few days before. I
will tell you about the exciting time Ouida and I had in the state’s
capital in my next.