Locusts and Honey
Someone very dear to me is an “inmate.” That’s what he calls himself and the scores of others who find themselves locked into the “big house.”
While the minimum security facility he’s in doesn’t feature any real dangerous characters, many of them exhibit extremely bizarre behaviors, so he steers clear of most everyone. My loved one would like to keep away from the “guards” too, but they just won’t leave him alone. Barely a day goes by when he doesn’t feel like they’re harassing him in one way or another.
This saint of God spends 18 or more hours a day lying in a 3 1/2 by 6 1/2 foot “cell,” often in his own urine and feces. Yet, despite this, he usually doesn’t want to get out of the cell when it’s time to go to the mess hall or exercise area. He even went on a hunger strike for days until they finally agreed to feed him something edible.
He hates this inhumane existence; however, my dear friend knows it must be this way now. He who soared majestically in the skies for decades as an Air Force airman has been cruelly grounded like the mournful-eyed zoo eagle with clipped wings. He who roamed his fields as a retired “gentleman farmer” has been hobbled by the cruel chains of pain. He who proudly raised “Old Glory” every morning now can barely move arms handcuffed in numbness.
Worst of all to him, is the loneliness. Yes, he gets visitors, more than most of his fellow “inmates” receive. While he immensely appreciates the visits, it’s just not the same as being free… as being home. Sobs enter his voice as he speaks of his beloved wife. Tears come to his eyes as he looks at a picture of his close friend, Toby, the lovable mutt who was always at his side.
What crime did my dear one commit to receive such a severe sentence? Actually, he didn’t commit a single felony. He simply got old, real old. Then he had a stroke, a bad stroke. So now he’s in a place where only the people who know the code on a computerized key pad can open the doors. However, even if he knew the code my loved one couldn’t lift his arm to punch it in. Sad indeed, the door could be wide open and he still wouldn’t have the strength to go outside.
Most of the caregivers there try hard to make the residents happy and comfortable, yet there’s only so much that anyone can do. A nursing home is a far cry from a prison, but one can understand why my friend calls himself an inmate. By the grace of God my loved one was able to put it off much longer than most; however, the Apostle Paul was being honest when he reported that the human body is “corruptible.” The older one grows, the more real this unwelcome truth becomes.
I guess the Lord had me write this to help motivate readers about three key things: 1) Pray for your loved ones and others who are in senior care facilities; 2) Visit/minister to them often; and, 3) If you’re lost, then accept Christ as Savior because life is more brief than any of us understand.
One day, because he’s a born-again child of God, my friend will be freed from the agonizing shackles of his decrepit body and the torments of his decaying mind to skip on the streets of heaven in the presence of God’s unimaginable glory. On the other hand, compared to being in hell, a Nursing Home is a five-star motel and the worst physical pain experienced on earth a mere paper cut.
