Peggy is 93. She had a beautiful beaded necklace on that matched the multi colored stripes in her sear sucker shirt. Her wig was tilted slightly on her head, but she was more than capable of pushing that wheel chair of hers. We stopped to chat yesterday Sunday on her way to get her some coffee and a piece of toast. It was Father’s Day and my Sunday to serve.
About eight months ago my church implemented an alternative to a second service. Each Sunday we make room for visitors by eight to ten of our “villages” (small groups) going out into the community to serve. It took a while for people to trust us, but now we have become a staple Sunday morning fixture in the lives of many.

I hadn’t been to the nursing home yet, tucked away off of Columbia Avenue in Franklin. But I’m a push-over for new friends and couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday morning. As I was driving up the street I asked the Lord not to let me wish the time away. A practice that I’ve been diligently trying to cultivate over the last couple of years to develop a real appreciation for the moment that I’m in.
Peggy was my first encounter. She strolled up the hall about the time I got down it and we met in the middle. I sat down and we talked about her life, at least what she could conjure up from her memories. I told her that her necklace was beautiful.

She said, “When I saw this I thought it would go with everything that I have.

“And I’ve got to say, she did a fabulous job matching it to her shirt. We talked about her family, her daughter that comes by to see her and her grandchildren.

And when she went to leave she said, “I hope you are always as happy as you seem to be today.”
She got me. Eyes started sweating. (got that from you Keith) I was surprised she noticed and I tucked away her words. I rubbed the thin skin on her arm and told her it was wonderful to get to talk with her this morning. I offered to wheel her down the hall but she wanted to do it herself. And off she went for coffee and toast.
Some of the others who were there had the common area pretty much nailed down, so I went out in search for friends.
Came across Louise. She was sitting there looking at the door in her pretty brown shirt dotted with white polka-dots and her two strands of pearls.
“What in the dog-blasted are you doing here?” She hollered out the door.
She almost convinced me she knew me. I walked in and said, “You look beautiful today.” She puffed loud out through her lips. I laughed. “You do. Your hair is beautiful too.”
“You think so?” She cocked her head slightly.
“Yes. It really is.”
She fingered the large tooth picked comb she had in her hand.
I asked her name. And she stated it very proudly, her southern drawl thick on her tongue. “Louise. Louise ______.” She said, “What’s yours?” (Please note all of her questions were asked very loudly can I can’t give her last name to protect her privacy.)
I said, “My name’s Denise.”
“Denise? Denise what?”
“Denise Hildreth”
“Hildreth? What kind of name is Hildreth?”
“Scottish I think.”
She crinkled her nose.
I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. “Are you from here Louise?”
“Yes, I was born in Franklin.”
“You’re a native?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you don’t meet a lot of those.”
She furrowed her brow. “You don’t?”
“No, I sure don’t. So, how are you doing today?”
“I’m kind of down in the dumps.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just in the dumps.”
“Are you sad?”
“No.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No.”
“Can I give you a hug?” Not that I really waited for her to respond. I just walked over to her and wrapped her in my arms. She chuckled. “Hugs always make me feel better.” I told her then let her go.
“Well thank you. You’re a sweet girl. You sure are tan though.”
She was a very observant one. “Yeah, I’ve gotten a little sun. Maybe too much.”
“Yeah, too much.”
“The sun likes me. I just walk outside and I get tan.”
She puffed again. “Well, you look pretty. You married?”
She didn’t waste any time. “No mam. I’m not married.”
“Got a lot of sweeties huh?”
I laughed. “No mam. I don’t”
“Yes you do.”
Not sure why she thought I was holding out on her. But I thought it’d be good to change the subject. “What about you Louise. Are you married?”
She shook her head. I studied her face and began to wonder if that was the best question if she was already down in the dumps. “No. Tom died in 1960.”
“I’m sorry. How long were you married?”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Did you have any children?”
She shook her head no. I was sending her to the land of morbid depression. Or at least I thought I was, but she bounced right back. “You got you some sweeties.”
Obviously Louise must have known a little something about sweeties.
I couldn’t help but get tickled again. I squatted down and leaned my hand against her chair. “No, no sweeties.” I decided to side track her again. “I hope you have a wonderful day Louise. Mind if I come to see you again?”
“What’s your name?”
“Denise. Denise Hildreth.” I knew from our track record she’d want my last name.
“What kind of name is Hildreth?”
When I left Louise I wasn’t sure if she’d remember me next time. Chances were slim. But that was okay, because I’d remember Louise.
There are moments in life when we are given the privilege to move outside of ourselves. Notice I said the privilege. Serving is as deliberate an activity as any we will ever do. Also the most rewarding. Because to be honest with you I’m not sure that Peggy or Louise remembered me ten minutes after I left them. Nor the others I got to stop in and see and hug, and dote on and talk to. Not the woman holding her baby doll, not the lady reading the newspaper, not the one who was embarrassed because she couldn’t find her false teeth or her hairbrush or her makeup. I just pushed her hair back and pulled her blanket down from her face and said, “Sister, you look fabulous. You don’t need to worry about any of that stuff anyway.” I’m not sure the men that I wished a “Happy Father’s Day” too even remembered if it was Father’s Day by the time they fell asleep that evening. But I will remember.
Maybe I’m just realizing why Jesus made such an extreme focus on serving. Because He knew you couldn’t do it and not be changed. Well, most couldn’t And today on Father’s Day I was. While someone else was loving on my daddy, I found a strangers to hug. There’s a nursing home near you. There’s also a Louise and a Peggy. And when you leave they may not even remember you were ever there, but you my friend, won’t ever forget it…