The Forgotten

"I don't have time," I thought to myself. "Homeschooling 3 kids with a toddler running around is a job in itself. On top of that I have my piano students, church duties, the Bs (baseball and ballet), the class I'm teaching, not to mention making dinner and trying to keep the house clean. Oh, and then there's the laundry. It never stops. If they would just stop. wearing. clothes.  So much to do, so not enough hours in the day."

"I just don't have time."

"I don't have time to stop and see them."

But then the memories come flooding in -

I've known them since I was 11. They took me into their hearts as soon as they met me, and loved me as much as their own grandchild. They taught me to love church, God's work, and pound cake. I used to hang out at their house, drive their golf cart around, play with their "real" grandchildren, and talk fishing with them. They took me out on the lake and on a three week camping trip to West Texas. I played the piano while he sing and played cards with her. So many happy memories of hours together.

Oh, the time they invested in me because they loved a funny looking little girl who had all the time in the world!

When they moved away to be by their children, I was sad. It had been a wonderful 10 years. But, I understood; they needed to be by family as they got older. Besides, I was an adult now and my life was getting busy. Not as much time anymore for long visits and pound cake.

Fast forward twelve more years. They've come home. The gentleman, he's 81 now, but you would never know it. His beautiful wife is suffering with dementia and failing health. They want to spend these years here, in a place where they were so happy.

I'm in my 30s now with four kids, a husband, and the normal American busy life. I'm not that little teenager anymore with hours to kill.

But their life has taken a turn. They aren't busy anymore. No more fishing, boating, mission trips, church activities, or even walks. Because of her health, they can't even make it to Sunday church most days. The lonely long hours creep by for them. This is certainly not what they are used to, or where they want to be, but this is where they are.

I finally find a moment between school and ballet to sneak away and go see them.  I walk in. She looks up at me from her spot on the couch. She doesn't remember a lot anymore, but she knows me. I'm not sure she knows my name, but she knows me. She says, "I sure do like you." I smile, give her a hug, and sit down beside her. She reaches over and takes my hand. She holds my hand for a half an hour while I visit with her husband. It's too hard for her to carry on a conversation, but she wants me to be there by her. We talk about old times, their kids, and the birds outside. Way too soon I get up to go because it's time to take Rylie to ballet class. "I wish I could stay longer," I say. "Please come again soon," she replies, "We love to have you." (It's pretty much the only thing she's said.) "I will," I say, trying to think of when I will be able to make it back by.

As I drive the to ballet, I can't help but think about the love the man has for his wife. At 81 he is caring for her better than any nurse could. He makes her meals, helps her walk, takes her on drives, and is so patient with the ever prevailing dementia that is overtaking her mind and body. He won't leave her side whether it's at home, or when she is in the hospital for weeks at a time. And she doesn't want him to. He meant it over 55 years ago when he said, "for better or worse," and "till death do us part."  He is kinder to her than any young man trying to win a fair lady ever was.

And they're lonely. These are lonely, long days for them.

And they're not the only ones. There are so many elderly at home, with nothing to fill the long, lonely hours and days because of failing health. They need people, but can't get out to see them. Some of them are our parents and our grandparents, some are other people's grandparents. Some have nobody.

We must not forget. We MUST NOT forget these elderly people who paved the way for us. Who made time for us when we were young. Who raised us and invested in our lives. Who still have so much to say, but oftentimes, no one to say it to. Stories to tell, encouragement to share, smiles to give, love that needs a recipient. And they're at home, hoping they are not forgotten. Hoping someone will stop by.

They are easy to forget because you don't see them unless you go to see them. And our lives are so busy.

During the snow Dan took Zack to shovel a driveway of another elderly couple in our church. They couldn't make it to their mailbox because of the snow. Zack asked me why he had to go. I told him because I hoped that when his dad was too old and feeble to shovel our driveway, that some young man would care enough to come and do it for him. If we don't do it, who will? If we don't teach our kids, who will visit us when we are old?

If the hands and feet of Jesus don't visit the elderly, who will?  Who will hug them? Who will hold their hand? Who will listen to what they have to say? Who will take time out of their busy lives to see someone who is homebound? Who will let them know they are still valuable if we don't?

The hands and feet of Jesus, that's who we are. It's His life we claim to have, and He cares about - people. People. From the smallest embryo to the oldest, feeblest man, life is precious in His eyes. And it should be in ours.

And not just in our minds, but our actions also.

Don't forget the elderly. Life is precious. They are precious. They need to be reminded that God thinks they are valuable, and that we do to.

I am convicted by my own actions, for our actions show what we really think.

"You shall rise up before the grayheaded and honor the aged, and you shall revere your God; I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:32