The Old Wooden Chair

One of the best things we can do and enjoy in life is listening to other people.  Just recently I had the most wonderful conversation with one very interesting individual. I sat and just let him talk. Not only did I learn about him and his life, but I learned what made them tick. That’s a pun by the way because he is my watchmaker mentor. Yes, we talk about clocks and he teaches me about how these wonders work but there is more. I feel like I’m the winner here as I grow in my knowledge of clocks, and then travel the world I will never see through his sparkling eyes.

There are more of these situations. Over the past sixteen years or so, I have visited the elderly most every Tuesday. I have sat and listened to stories. Heard about adventures and shed a tear at tragedy. Met with ornery individuals who sit day in and day out angry with the world and the people in it. Sat with them anyway and watched over the months how they soften and open up to tell stories of pain brought on by just living life with people who don’t care.

I’ve sat with people who want someone to listen to their story so badly they end every paragraph with, “and then. . .” My learning to listen originated way back when my mother worked as a ward air in the chronic care ward at Mt Hamilton General Hospital. It was Ward 6, but my young mind could not figure out why this was as it was on the third floor of the wing.

I would leave school and go over to the hospital to meet mom and walk home with her. Because I was always early, mom would encourage me to go visit with one of the residents there and try to cheer them up. Two individuals stand out in my mind. The first was Henry, a very old, big, thin, tall man who I only saw in his very old wooden wheel chair or in bed.  He told me about being a slave in ‘the south’. He told me good stories, especially of being cared for by a wonderful God. Maybe knowing him led me to read the only novel I ever read in my life, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The other man was Cosgrove. He always sent me to the store for him and let me keep the change. He told me how to love life. The best day with him was the day they said he could go home. I was so happy for him. We hugged and he went down the hall and I last saw him as he waved to me and the elevator doors closed.

Life stories don’t close when the elevator door closes. Stories live long in our minds and hearts, just as the people that share them do. God has stories as well. He told them to many people and they wrote them down so we would not forget. Open your bible and learn about people’s lives that were impacted by God, and then, share your story and where God impacted it.   I’m listening.

Something to think about.

Robin