Yesterday we took Junior, our 11-pound Schnoodle to visit one of our favorite LOLs at the nursing home where she has been for just a few months. Many eyes brightened as we walked in carrying a harnessed-up, leashed, excited dog. We held him out to several veiny, twisted fingers to caress. Junior calmed down quickly, happy to be petted, but still shy of the many strangers.
I noticed one face as we walked in, closed and angry: a woman with shoulder-length, straight, white hair in a wheelchair by the wall. She did not look at us, and her face was not the least bit inviting of engagement. We walked past, holding Junior out to the hands of those who looked towards him eagerly, communicating their desire to touch him.
After visiting with our friend for awhile, holding Junior close to her so she could pet him and reminiscing about her beloved Buttercup, we began to work our way back towards the door. Junior pulled this way and that, sniffing and shying on his leash since we were tired of holding his wiry limbs. The woman by the wall did not look up, the frown still on her face.
I picked up the dog and carried him over to her lap level, asking her if she wanted to pet him. Her head lifted, and soon she began to cluck and kiss at him. I watched the hard lines soften in her face, and strained to understand the garbled flow of words that began. We stayed by her, smiling and trying to hear what she was telling us, understanding only that she had had a dog at some time. Two or three staff-members, and even another visitor paused to tell us she was deaf, and couldn't hear a thing we said. But she kept talking and reaching for Junior, so we listened and stayed. After several minutes, we needed to leave and reluctantly extricated the dog and ourselves.
With thankful sadness at this place and its residents, many seeming to just be doing time until they die, Hannah and I washed our hands and walked Junior out to the car. Junior had behaved well, we agreed, though he needed more practice at being friendly to strangers. A little snooty, we said.
And this morning, on the run again, I thought of the infinite value of that deaf LOL, and how to communicate with her. We'll try writing notes next time, I think. Can she read? Does she know the Lord? Even the staff, kind as they are, don't seem to engage with her, and her face shows the anger and loneliness she must feel.
All people are valuable. All have purpose and reason to live, and we all need Jesus. The greatest thing we will ever do in this life is love, especially "the least of these." I am praying that God will show us how to act on what we saw yesterday in the face of that dear LOL.
Matthew 25:44-45: “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
“He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
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