"Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper." (Jeremiah 29:7, NIV)
Yesterday we spent the day working with Love Wichita. My church has been advertising this event for months. I was looking forward to the opportunity to get out there and bless someone. What I didn't expect was that I would be the one blessed far beyond what I expected.
The first time I saw Shirley she was standing on the front porch of her tiny green house. She was a small woman about my grandma's age. She wore house slippers with her polyester pants, and she was holding a can of cat treats, shaking them as hard as she could and yelling "Booger" out the front door.
Booger, Shirley's cat, slowly made his way home from tormenting the neighbor's dog and retreated into the house with Shirley. I chalked Shirley up to "just another crazy old lady" and went on painting the side of her house a typical minty green.
Fifteen minutes later, Shirley was back. This time she was holding a package of Pinwheel cookies and giving Rachel strict instructions that she only had twelve, so we couldn't eat more than one a piece. The idea of chocolate-covered marshmallow cookies didn't sit well with most of us, but the grin on Shirley's face as she watched Rachel opening the package of cookies told us that it was important we enjoyed those treats. Shirley waved as she disappeared back into her living room and we all just laughed.
As the afternoon went on Shirley would poke her head out the door to supervise our work. She would sit in her chair by the front window watching, occasionally tapping the class to get our attention so that she was able to give us a big wave. It was obvious that a yard full of people wasn't a normal occurrence, and that Shirley was thoroughly enjoying the commotion.
As the afternoon wore on and the sun came out, so did Shirley. She sat on her front porch swing; small, frail hands resting on top of her cane as she watched us clean up from the day. As I hung her thermometer I made small talk.I asked her if she had family in the area. She told me her sons both lived in Texas. Her grandchildren were scattered as far as California, and her only great-grandkids, triplets, lived in Virginia. She considered her Home Care nurses, "Her Girls" as she called them, to be her family.
I spent the next half-hour on the most important thing I had done all day; giving Shirley my undivided attention. I knew I should be helping my team clean up. I knew there were other things I could be doing. I also knew that what God was asking me to do was be more like Mary and less like Martha. He was asking me to sacrifice all of my busy work to just extend God's love to someone that simply wanted to visit.
As Shirley talked I couldn't help but smile. This woman had seen things in her 80+ years of life that I couldn't even imagine.She told me about a barn raising she cooked for when her son, Tim - who is now 65 - was 2. She talked about living in Needles, California working for the USO the day the troops came home from World War II. She remembered box cars owned by the Red Cross hauling hundreds of wounded troops back to their families. She told me about the day the troops started arriving. She worked in the kitchen of a hotel with a huge ballroom. As the trains pulled in the soldiers started piling in to the hotel. Shirley told me that as she watched them come through the doors she saw one soldier sit down at the piano in the ballroom and start to play "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy."
It wasn't long before a Sargent approached her and asked her to dance. She had Tim with her and passed him off to a friend so that she could jitterbug around the ballroom with this man that had just returned home. She watched the soldiers pass Tim around the room, waltzing to the music on the jukebox and talking of how they couldn't wait to make it home to their wives and babies...some they hadn't even met yet.
She laughed as she remembered her boss leaving the kitchen to scold the girls that had abandoned their jobs to dance with the boys arriving home. Shirley told her boss that these men had spent 4 years serving their country and she planned to dance with every one of them if that's what they wanted. She told her boss to tell the other girls in the kitchen to do the same...to give these heroes the welcome they deserved. She then told me it would only be 6 months before her husband returned home. Tim was 2 when Shirley's husband came home...it would be the first time Tim met his father.
As Shirley talked it was as if she was taken back to those days. I could almost see this sweet, frail old woman getting younger as she remembered dancing the night away as the soldiers piled off the train. She teared up as she told me she used to love to dance, and how it "hurt her heart that her old body just wouldn't cooperate anymore."
The longer we talked the bigger Shirley's smile became. One by one my friends made their way over. I would try to catch them up as best I could, and it was plan that they loved Shirley's stories just as much as I did. She enjoyed telling stories, and she loved even more the reactions she got from us. She grinned as we all gasped in disbelief after she told us the same boss that yelled at her for dancing with the soldiers instead of working would later go on to be eaten by cannibals in South America. Clearly the company and friendship we gave her meant more to Shirley than the new coat of paint on her house or the freshly raked yard.
As the yard was cleaned up our group made it's way to the front porch. We asked Shirley if we could pray for her before we left. We all gathered on the tiny porch. Shirley slowly stood up from the porch swing; her left arm around DeMo's waist, and her right arm around mine.
As we all bowed our heads a voice started to speak. As this voice continued, loudly and confidently, my tears began to fall. This voice prayed blessings for the workers, thanks for the fellowship, and that in our golden years we would find others that would come together to bring us the support we needed. We had come together to pray blessings on Shirley's life, but as we bowed our heads the voice praying blessings wasn't anyone from our group...it was Shirley. The woman that we came to bless was the one giving the blessings.
As I listened to the simple prayer the entire day was put into perspective. Helping our community and giving of ourselves is important, God expects it of us. Something just as important, if not more so, is being Christ to those around us. Jesus showed those around Him love, respect, and fellowship. He was truly interested in those around Him because they too were God's children...they were important. Christ was love to those around Him. He served others, but more importantly he truly loved others.
I believe God used yesterday afternoon to chip away at a little more of my inner-Martha. He reminded me that sometimes He calls us to set aside our to-do lists and simply be a friend to someone. He reminded me that sometimes stories about cannibals and The Jitterbug need to take precedence over paint brushes and yard work.
As I drove away from Shirley's tiny green house I thanked God for Pinwheel cookies and unexpected lessons. I asked Him to bless Shirley's life and bring her friends, and I thanked Him for taking me one step closer to becoming more like Mary and less like Martha.
Goodbye, Martha.
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