Mean What You Say

It was never a problem saying Mabel was a big woman. To most she was a disagreeable old woman in a big old wheelchair. To add to the look she had a big dirty beige canvas bag dragging along behind her chair. It was full of stuff. To us, there was nothing in the bag that would be called important, except to this lady. I had heard stories about her even before I saw her for the first time. She knew how to bark at people and how to keep them in line. And listening to her you believed she said what she meant and meant what she said.
Sometimes it takes a lot of looking to find the beauty in things and with people there were times . . . It took longer then most to find the soft spot in Mabel. But like all of us, it was there. Most times when we met each week, she would bark at me and I would playfully bark back. Then the smile would come, but only when no one else was looking. After all, she didn’t want to ruin her image.
Over the years, our friendship and respect for each other grew. I looked forward to seeing her each week and she probably appreciated my visits and our time together even though she used to greet me by saying, “It’s about time, where’ you been.” But as time passed, the inevitable began to happen. She started to get tired, and less combative. Her time was going and we both knew there would be a time to say, “see you in heaven.”
As I met with her for what would be the last time, we prayed. Yes, I said we. I prayed for our Lord to come and put His arms around her and take her home. It was a solemn heartfelt prayer. When I finished, I opened my eyes to a very peaceful contented woman. Then as her lips began to move, I heard her pray for the first time. Here was this dear person, on the threshold of heaven, talking to Jesus and praying for me. I could no longer see clearly through the tears that restricted my vision of the face of one of God’s own, lifting me up before Him and asking Him to take care of me.
Putting aside her own pain and struggle, weak and very near her coronation in heaven, she prayed, but not for herself. I can still hear her quiet voice as she talked to her Lord. I can hear her words today as she prayer that God would use me to stand at the side of the bed of others, just like I was doing and to continue to tell people that God was near and God loves them.
As I sat in the pew a few days later listening to the words of her memorial service, I could think of only one thing. Prayer. She had taught me how we need to pray. In prayer I knew Mabel meant what she said. How about you?
Something to think about
Rob