Oh...That's Where We Are?

I've never bumped into a family member who is coming to see her. Her hospital room reveals very little about anyone who cares, except for a white teddy bear and a small vase with some silk roses in it. I suspect they were sent by a church Sunday School class or some such group. Once, in a moment of clarity (I think), she told that she didn't know why her children never called or came to see her any more. That may not be true. But it could be. "Come into this house!" she exclaimed brightly as I knocked on the door to her room. She smiled and wanted to know where I had been for so long. I sheepishly told her that I had visited with her yesterday. Then I saw it. A shadow of confusion, but with a valiant attempt to cover. "Well," she said, "I've got a whippin' saved up for my preacher. He hasn't been here in weeks." I decided to try to prompt her memory by informing her that he had, in fact, been to see her a few days ago. The shadow passed over her face once more. "Well, my kids will be coming soon," she expressed with relief. "Oh," I said, "and where does your son live?" She had already been talking about her son. No shadow this time. She was sure as daylight that I had lost my marbles to ask such a question. He's 18, and he still lives at home, she informed me. I love this sweet lady, but I'm sure it's been a long time since she had an 18 year old living at home. Further, her daughter lives nearby. She impressed upon me that all of her family lived up here around Starkville. I should have known that we were not in the here and now. But her sincerity convinced me while I wasn't paying attention. So I tried to visit her past with her, even as she believed it to be. I wouldn't suggest that there is anything benign about altzheimers. In this merciful moment, however, she was living in a time when her children were near and they were coming to care for her. Maybe for her heart, this is a safer journey. In the Kingdom we are called to live in the here and now, and also in the shadow of what will be. If I understand my New Testament, there is an expectant reverie that we are to experience as we consider tomorrow. Not worrie nor dread. Expectation. Hope. The brilliance of His presence. A new heavens, new earth, new robe, new body, new existence kind of thinking. While many are forced down the dark hallways of the past because of disease, Christians are shuffled toward the bright rejoicing of the promise of God. I think it would be good to daydream about that every once in a while. If someone interrupts you, tell them about your dream.