Who Will Lullaby The Grandfather’s?
By Karyn Grant
My daughter, Lara, who is seventeen years old came home from her usual, all night shift, where she works as a CNA, for the elderly. Often, she comes in and shares “the story of the evening” with me, about the night’s events at the care center where she spends each night.
Recently, Lara was saddened because sweet “Marion”, an elderly gentlemen who Lara has cared for and who was her “favorite” passed away. I felt Marion’s passing would be soon in coming because Lara would often share with me, that when she would take Marion his food, he would always stop to bless it. Often, in the middle of his blessing, he would look up from his prayer and ask Lara, “Is that Jesus I see coming down the hallway?”
I have often told Lara how special her work is in taking care of the grandfathers and grandmothers as they prepare to meet the Savior again. I have noticed how respectfully Lara speaks of them, how she is amused by them. Often, Lara and I have laughed and even shed a few tears, over the stories she has shared with me, about them.
The other morning, I heard Lara come in, as usual from her graveyard shift. I called sleepily out to her, “Did you get any sleep tonight, honey?” I am concerned about Lara; because she is trying to finish her last few months of High School. With her rigorous schedule, she can hardly get a good night’s sleep anymore. She is constantly being awakened to care for the needs of the aging, to give them their meds, to tuck them back into bed, to assist them in anyway she can…
“No, not really…” she sighed sleeplily, coming in and sitting on my bed at 7:00 a.m. “What happened?” I asked, getting ready to preach a tender little motherly sermon about “the importance of getting a good night’s sleep so she could make it to school on time.” Instead, I listened as Lara shared “the story of the evening”. I learned a tender lesson, which awakened something in my soul.
“In the middle of the night, one of the staff heard some banging on the outside doors. So, she, the hispanic woman went to see what the problem was. Lying on the ground, just outside the doors, was an 85 year old man, huddling in the freezing cold. He didn’t have any shoes on and his hands and feet were all cut up as though he had been crawling through the night looking for help. He must have come from one of the homes in the neighborhood, and lost his way. He couldn’t remember his phone number, but he could remember his name, so I looked up his number in the phone book and called his wife at 4:00 a.m. in the morning.”
“Then Maria, the other girl and I made a little bed for him on the floor because he was too big for us to move. We bundled him up because he was shivering so bad it looked like he was having seizures!” Lara continued with her story…”His wife came to pick him up and Mom, it was so sad because she hadn’t even known he was missing. She said they went to bed at 11:00 p.m. and that he must have gone out for a little midnight stroll in the ice cold. That’s when we learned that he has dymentia…We called the paramedics so that they could come and see if he was suffering from the effects of the cold. Mom, I don’t want to get old. It’s so sad…”
As I listened to my daughters “story of the evening”, I was moved to compassion for the elderly. How they have spent their whole lives, giving of themselves to their spouses, careers and children…and in the end…who is it that cares for them, that listens to them, that ministers to these angels?
I wondered, “Who will lullaby the grandfathers? A seventeen year old girl? A busy single mother? An old forgotten friend? After all, we are the only voice that God has!” I thought to myself. But, then I changed my mind.
This early morning, after pondering Lara’s story, I wrote it down and when I rose to go back to bed, I felt an angel’s embrace. I recognize the ministering of angels because I have had a few unseen visits from them. But this one, caught me off guard. Immediately, I sensed Marion’s spirit standing beside me. Tears sprang to my eyes as I wondered why a man I had never met, would come to visit me.
“Tell Lara, thank you for caring for me…” came the almost audible whisper. I recognize the voice of angels. I believe that listening hearts can hear them. Before I had time to formulate the thought, “Will you be my daughter’s ministering angel?” Marion’s spirit answered, “Yes!” in a robust, but gentle way. “Tell Lara, thank you for taking care of me and tell her, that yes, that was Jesus coming down the hallway.”
I called Lara, interrupting her sleep at the care center at 5:30 a.m. this morning. “Lara”, I whispered through my tender tears…”What’s wrong, Mom?” “Nothing…” I answered her back… “I just received word from your dear friend Marion. He told me to tell you thank you for taking such good care of him. I asked him to be your ministering angel when I can’t be with you…oh and Lara, that was Jesus coming down the hallway!”
I know that Lara will be blessed for her countless, sleepless nights spent serving the elderly. For if each one of them, returns to thank her in this way, by being a ministering angel to her, I know that she will be in good hands. For the hands of angels are, after all, God’s hands.
