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The Envoy at the Meadows-Goochland

          We walked through the doors out of the cool night air and into the almost overly warm visiting area. As we made our way down the hall, memories of this place brought back a familiar feeling as flashbacks from going there as a child with my family flooded my mind.

         We began to gather around, about sixteen of us in a semi circle facing our eagerly waiting crowd of listeners. The strings on Nathan’s guitar strummed a beginning chord, and we raised our voices in song.

         The melody and harmony mixed beautifully as the bass from the guys was added to our alto, soprano, and tenor. And as the words to songs like “Blessed Assurance” and “All the Way My Savoir Leads Me” filled my ears, I couldn’t help looking around at the faces before me.

          Some were bent, eyes closed in what looked like meditation of some sort. While others, watery-eyed and dulled with age, stared at the group of us with awe and wonder almost as though we sounded to them like angels calling them toward glory.

          Vernon’s eyes were glued to Nathan, who led us  through song after song with a joy in his heart shown by the smile on his face. None of could know exactly to what extent our dear old friend was aware of what was going on, but from what we saw, it appeared Vernon seemed to understand our words and wanted to be a part of us. I think somehow God let him see not only our group but also the gift from Him to Vernon and others through us, almost as though He were speaking to Vernon’s spirit by using our voices. “Come my son! I know you are weak, weary, and even worn. Do not think I don’t see your pain.. Come and see what gift I have for you today. Come see my heart for you my son. You are mine forever, and I love you.”�

          One of the ladies seated toward the back of the room caught my eye. Her hands, with obvious determination tapped in rhythm along the armrests of her wheelchair. Her head, covered by thinning white hair pulled back into a ponytail along the nape of her neck, was tilted up, chin lifted, and lips moving along in exact timing with the words to our song. Her eyes were closed behind feathery white lashes, and the look on her face was one I hadn’t see in along time. It wasn’t so much her face, though that was so striking to me, but more the expression I saw there that was so completely beautiful.

           I realize now that I don’t even really have words to describe what it was exactly that I saw, but I do know that it moved me. There I was, young, supposedly in the prime of life, singing songs about loving and following my Savior wholeheartedly all the way to glory. Pass me not Oh gentle Savior, hear my humble cry. While on others thou art calling, do not pass me by.

           For what felt like several minutes but in reality was probably only seconds, I couldn’t see the page in front of me as the words blurred from the tears that filled my eyes before I could swallow them away .

          Am I longing, pleading, even begging my God to notice me among the thousands of others who are in desperate need of Him? Are these just words in an old hymn book that my generation rarely, if ever sings anymore? Or do I really long to be near Him the way these tired, sweet old souls long day after day, wondering if today is the day they see my King in Paradise?

           Toward the end of our time at the nursing home and during an interval of silence while we thought for a song to end on, this same woman whom I had spent so long watching came closer, slowly wheeling her way toward us until she was only a few feet from where I stood. It only took us a moment to realize that she wanted to sing a song for us. And the next thing we knew, her once so serene face burst into a huge smile, completely lighting up her whole face. She had several teeth missing and her lips were almost completely colorless, blending into the rest of her face. But as she sat up straighter in her chair and opened her mouth, I was quite surprised as one of the highest and clearest voices I had heard in a long time flowed from her lips as she sang “Jesus loves Me.”  We joined in with her then, and all together finished this widely familiar, simple, yet so-true song.

         Not even a half hour later, having finished singing, left the home, and piled back into our cars, I sat there glad for the moments of silence on the ride home as I replayed over and over in my mind the real life picture I had just seen.

          If I were an artist, I would have loved to capture on canvas at least one of those faces, but since I’m not, I knew I had to write it all down so I wouldn’t forget. So that in all the craziness and sometimes chaos of my most-of-the-time-busy life, I would remember what I had seen that night—the longing, the simple, heartfelt love for the God who sooner or later, much sooner for some, would welcome them home.  I want to remember, also, these dear people with whom I will spend eternity.

         It was then that it hit me. God’s love is not something too high for us to grasp. This love for Him is simple actually. But sometimes we just seem to miss it. I realized that I don’t want to wait until I’m old and gray, sitting in a nursing home, looking back over my life, wishing I had known Him better, wishing I had walked with Him plainer, regretting that I had not given Him more glory instead of so often taking it for myself.

        And what hit me even harder was that we can change that now! The things we choose can make a difference right now. My generation doesn’t have to stand by and watch as fellow, aged believers and even those we don’t know and may never meet are swept away by life and all its demands. It’s a choice we all have to make at some point in this life, a commitment that I can be a part of simply by choosing to make Him greater and getting myself out of the way of what He wants to show me.  (And believe me, I’ve failed in this area many times and have wasted a lot of precious years, so I know what it’s like.) All I can say though is “Thanks be to the God who forgives. Thanks for the little things He shows me every single day. It’s great knowing He’s always there and that He never stops loving me for me. As we seek to know Him better, remember, it’s not about us so much as it is about Him. We can try to live this life on our own, without Him, but in the end it’s really Him we long for, His peace that brings us comfort, and His love that brings us to repentance.

 By Meghan Schaefer

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