When the new air conditioner arrived at the church building, purchased out of the study fund account, Al and Fred said that the one that they had purchased would not fit the window in the study. I said that was okay. I had changed my mind anyway. I liked the color after all. “Let’s go to Dorothy’s.”
An hour later, her apartment had cooled down considerably. Able to breathe and talk, she faintly whispered, “God bless you. Thank you so much!”
A month later, Dorothy was rushed to the hospital. The news was not good. Her condition had deteriorated to the point where she could not take care of Danny any longer, nor could she go back to her apartment. Dorothy was transferred to Drake Hospital, a long-term care facility, the end of the road for most patients.
Each visit found Dorothy’s condition getting worse. Dorothy was drowning in her own body’s fluid, a horrible way to die. Most visits, I would do nothing but hold her hand during protracted coughing episodes. Her hospital gown draped over her bony, petite frame, her skin was ashen, her lips blue, her eyes were sunken with dark circles. She could not keep her hands and feet warm. The oxygen tube irritated her nostrils and made her lips and mouth dry. Through it all, she kept smiling. Every time I visited and prayed with her, I knew it could be the last.
One day, Dorothy greeted me with a big smile and the words, “Reverend Mettey, I have some good news.” To my astonishment she said, “I’m going home.”
I had been with parishioners who, when there was a lack of oxygen, would hallucinate. “That’s nice,” I said.
Hearing the disbelief in my voice, she pointed to her bedside table. On it was a card propped up against her water pitcher. The message on the card read, “You and God are greater than any problem.” Not wanting to give her false hope, I attempted to put those words in their proper context. I tried to explain them from a theological perspective. “God will always be there with us and give us the strength to meet the difficulties of life,” I explained. “God can do all things, but He often does not choose to do all things. If He cannot deliver us from our trouble, He’ll deliver us in our trouble.”
Dorothy listened politely. When I finished, she smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I’m going home, and I am going to be baptized.” In our Baptist faith, the person being baptized is immersed completely under water. I told her I had baptized by sprinkling water when a person was bedridden. “These were some of my most meaningful baptisms,” I told her.
“No, Reverend Mettey, I’m going to be baptized in the baptistry at our church,” she proclaimed.
“Okay, Dorothy,” I said knowing there was nothing more to discuss. “Let’s pray for you to be baptized at church.”
Leaving the hospital, I ran into her doctor. He assured me that Dorothy could never do that; she could never leave her bed. Shaking his head, he said with medical certainty, “She doesn’t have long to live!”
WHEN I GOT BACK TO THE CHURCH, I CALLED THELMA.
If Thelma had lived in Jesus’ day, He would have called her to be one of His disciples. Christ’s unconditional love had no greater ambassador than Thelma. She moved into the community with her husband and three daughters (Sandra, Ge-Ann, and Sally) in the 1940s. They stayed when most of their neighbors left for the suburbs. Thelma had four loves in her life: her family, her friends, her church, and her community.
Thelma received limited classroom education. She would never be the one to stand up at some momentous occasion and give a powerful, persuasive speech. She’d let the PhDs, politicians, and civic leaders do that. No, she was one to work behind the scenes. She was constantly asked to serve on boards and committees in the community and church. She always said yes. She was sought after by everyone, not only because she was loyal, dedicated, and capable, but because she was so well respected and carried a lot of weight in the church and community.
Thelma, like Jean, was the epitome of a biblical servant. She lived her life for others, not with a long, pious face, but with joy and laughter. Thelma was a safe haven for those frightened and alone, an oasis for those thirsting for God’s love and His forgiveness. She was always accepting and would never cast blame or turn away the sinner. She was not the judge or prosecutor. Thelma was the embodiment of the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son, who, when his sinful son came home, threw a great party for him. Thelma’s life was one grand party.
Thelma’s husband, Ed, worked in the coal mines of Kentucky. He contracted black lung disease and coughed continually, a deep, wrenching cough 24/7. Thelma cared for him at home for years until he died. Thelma’s life was not easy.
In her backyard was a beautiful garden. Thelma had a green thumb and, as a fellow gardener, was always showing me some new flowers she had planted. Her backyard was complete with flowers, pottery, mobiles, chimes, song birds, and a fish pond—a stark contrast to the blight and neglected inner city around her. Thelma was more than a gardener—she was a fantastic cook, an activist, a fashionable dresser, a fun person with a beautiful smile and a joyous laugh. She had broad shoulders to cry on, she was a friend you could rely upon, and most important, she had a deep, abiding faith in Jesus.
Yes, it is so true that after God created Thelma, He threw away the mold.
Thelma was my go-to person when I needed some wisdom and advice. How do you encourage someone to believe in miracles, but know that we live in a world of harsh realities? There is hope and then there is false hope. I asked Thelma to help me with Dorothy. I told her what Dorothy said and that, according to medical opinion, Dorothy wasn’t going anywhere but her bed.
Returning from vacation, I checked in with Thelma and then went to see Dorothy at the hospital. When I walked into her room, I just stood there in disbelief. There was Dorothy sitting on her bed, legs dangling over the side. Her feet sported a pair of fuzzy, pink slippers. Thoroughly enjoying her lunch, she wiped up the last bit of gravy on her plate with a piece of bread. “Reverend Mettey, I’m going home!” I did not think I’d see her alive when I returned, and there she was with her color back, eyes sparkling, eating, happy, and sitting up.
A nurse came into the room and said cheerfully, “If she keeps it up, she can go home in a week or two.”
I later saw the doctor. He just smiled and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Yes, she can go home—that is, if she can get some help.” And that is where Thelma and the ladies of the church took over. They cleaned her apartment, took turns visiting her, and made sure she always had plenty of food in her refrigerator.
Healing is a mystery. Each time that I pray for healing, I lay my hands upon the person just as Jesus did. I always pray for spiritual as well as physical healing, but always in God’s will. I have seen miraculous healing, and I have seen those who I thought would be healed but were not. It was not that I did not believe God could heal Dorothy. (Of course He could; God can do all things.) It was the overwhelming medical evidence that indicated otherwise. Whether we are healed or not, God uses everything for some purpose, a greater purpose than we often can see. What purpose did God have in Dorothy coming home? In her weakened condition, what flowers would she water and cause to blossom?
Surprisingly, her old apartment had not been rented and her furniture was still there. Danny wanted to come back and live with his grandmother, which he did. Thelma called me to say that Dorothy wanted to get baptized the next Sunday. It was now late autumn and the church building was cold and drafty. I expressed concern for Dorothy catching a cold, or worse, pneumonia. While she and God overcame the task of getting home, Dorothy was far from being healed. Time, however, was not a luxury we could afford.
Thelma and Margaret picked up Dorothy and brought her to service the next Sunday to be baptized. In order to enter the baptistry, she had to take off her oxygen. I told her I could pour the water over her, but she insisted upon complete immersion. She said God had made her a promise one night lying in her hospital bed. She didn’t say what it was, but whatever it was, it was being fulfilled in our presence.
To enter the baptistry, the pastor and candidates had to walk up and down eight steps. I first entered the water on the right, she on the left. We made sure the water was warm. I greeted the congregation and spoke about the meaning of baptism, then reached out my hand for Dorothy to enter the waters of baptism.
At the top of the stairs, she took off her oxygen hose and gave it to Thelma. Dorothy took my extended hand and slowly came down the steps. Her baptismal robe billowed as she walked into the water. She held it down with one arm. She looked at me and giggled. I noticed that her breathing was not labored. It was as if a peace came over her. I held her next to me, facing a noticeably moved and tearful congregation. I read a passage of Scripture and asked her if she accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior. “Yes, yes,” she said. Tears streaming down both of our faces, I lowered her into the water and then raised her up. I whispered to her, “There is no problem greater than you and God.” The congregation erupted with shouts of praise and joy.
A few months later, Dorothy returned to Drake Hospital; Danny went to live with his mother. That spring, Dorothy died.
We really didn’t know much about Dorothy. Her breaths were too precious to be used up in conversation. In a short amount of time, however, we got to know volumes about the person she was and the faith in God she possessed. She watered our faith through her illness and caused flowers to grow up in our lives and our spirit.
Her message to us was simply: don’t ever give up!
Thelma’s life also caused flowers to grow through the difficulties she faced and the hardships she endured. Thelma had many virtues, but the one that endeared her to so many was how she was able to accept us for who we were. Years later, we laid Thelma to rest in the old chapel at the Spring Grove Cemetery. Before the service began, I looked out at the many who came to say good-bye to Thelma. That nineteenth-century chapel was filled beyond capacity with the most eclectic group of people I had ever seen at any gathering. Young and old, white and black, rich and poor, CEOs, custodians, politicians, liberals, conservatives, artists, old and new friends . . . these were Thelma’s flowers. They came to thank God in their own way and to acknowledge that this was one whose love helped them to blossom.
People often ask me what lessons I have learned from my seventeen-year journey with Matthew 25: Ministries. First, I have learned that I have not been on a journey, but on a pilgrimage. Often these words are used interchangeably. However, they are different when used in a spiritual context. A journey is more than, say, a trip; that is true. A journey implies a meaningful venture. It is a time of searching for whatever compelled us to begin our journey. We can journey by ourselves or with others, who we call sojourners. When we embark on a pilgrimage, the emphasis is not on getting there, but on what the pilgrimage does to the person. The person becomes a pilgrim, the very embodiment of the venture. Pilgrims search as do the sojourners, but a pilgrim’s search is never over. The destination is the pilgrimage. The one on a journey travels to an end goal; the pilgrim is on a never-ending quest. One is elated at the finish, the other is transformed by the experience. Our journey has come to an end. We have accomplished what we set out to accomplish seventeen years ago. But it is not over. We are more than sojourners. We are pilgrims, seeking to know more about ourselves and the poor we serve. Even more important, we yearn to know more about the God who sent us on this pilgrimage.
Second, I have learned that God’s timing is perfect. He is the God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He sees far in advance and works to bring all things together. We can remember yesterday and see only today. We cannot see into the future, nor do we know all the intricacies of God’s plan—who He wants us to meet or those He wants to meet us. Our tendency is to rush ahead and then complain to God that things didn’t work out as we planned. Well, I’ve learned it is not what Wendell plans, but what God has planned. I often tell people that when we get a big NO, it’s because God has for us a bigger YES. We must do all we can and then trust that His will be done.
Lost and Found, Stories of Christmas Page 9
