Today’s post is a tribute to my dear friend. Muriel’s legacy testifies that the elderly are image-bearers who are able to inspire and live purposefully. Since I wrote this post in 2013, Muriel has graduated to Heaven, but she lives on in my heart, my faith, and my cherished memories.
Many elderly people have no one who touches them in a loving way or who takes time for their stories and experiences. The biblical model is for the younger generations to learn from our elders, but I fear that our current culture increasingly lacks the patience and perspective to do so. Let’s see these precious ones as God does, listen as they speak, honor who they have been and who they are now, and let them know that they are not alone or forgotten.
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I’m reflecting on autumn in a new way, thanks to Ann Voskamp who, in a recent post, ponders the thought that the leafy trees in their full array of color “make dying look glorious.”
Now every time I take in the reds, oranges, and yellows around my neighborhood, I remember that the colors represent the process of death – a literal and figurative picture of letting go.
Thanksgiving falls in the midst of this dying season, and this year I am thankful for my faith in Christ which enables me to look upon death as hopeful and glorious.
As I reflect upon these things, I visit with Muriel. Being 94-years-old, Muriel thinks and talks about death often. I sit and listen. Her acceptance of her eventual passing is comforting. I don’t change the subject or pretend that her best days on this earth are ahead.
Sometimes Muriel speaks practically about her death. Just this afternoon, she shared the details of her own funeral, as she has planned it: “…and after the graveside, we’ll come back and have sandwiches…” Other times, she longs for death as if it is a cracked door just beyond her reach.
Muriel tells me about her obedience to God’s call upon her life, even when it cost her dearly.
Today we talked about the fiancee she left behind in the States because he didn’t share her love for the people of Africa. Sometimes she wonders what life would have been like if she had made different choices. But she always comes back to this: “God told me to go.”
And I remind her of how, as a medical missionary, she served countless people in the leper colony, how she saved a woman’s sight after a viper spit into her eyes, and how her compassion and courage brought many to Christ. Muriel smiles and remembers that it was worth it.
When I visit with Muriel, and she talks about her life, I’m reminded that Christ calls His followers to die daily. Surely Muriel died a thousand deaths to her own comforts and dreams. Her sacrificial life reminds me of these words penned by C.T. Studd:
Only one life, yes only one,
Now let me say,”Thy will be done.”
And when at last I’ll hear the call,
I know I’ll say “twas worth it all.
Only one life,’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
As Muriel was losing her sight, I volunteered 3 years ago to assist her. Our visits, in her tiny apartment, were task-oriented. Muriel supported and prayed for missionaries across the globe. She wanted to keep up with their prayer letters, so I read her mail and organized her correspondence in a special file.
I first found Muriel to be gruff and down to business. She was focused upon her letters being filed properly, but if I was lucky, I could get a story or two out of her.
After Muriel broke her hip and moved to a nursing home, our relationship started changing. She knows that she will never walk again and, unless the Lord calls her soon, she will be completely blind. Now I handwrite her letters as she dictates her greetings and prayers for missionaries across the world. She takes my hand, and we pray together for the Gospel to reach the ends of the earth.
Muriel used me to refer to me as her “reader.” Now she calls me her “friend.” When I say goodbye, Muriel says that she is glad that I love her and don’t treat her like “some chore.” Inside I cringe because I was stressed about taking time for our visit today. As I leave, the fallen leaves crunch under my feet. I remember that Muriel is dying, and how could I not be honored to spend this precious time with such an extraordinary woman?
Muriel’s longing for Heaven reflects her satisfaction with the life that she’s lived. Most of us aren’t so ready or satisfied. And while I may think that my 94-year-old friend’s death will be glorious, I can’t so easily say the same when someone is taken unexpectedly or much too soon or in the midst of agonizing suffering.
Still, I take comfort in knowing that God is the God of all mysteries and the righteousness King. Death will not rob Him or His children of glory and ultimate victory. We trust that to live is Christ and to die cannot be but gain. Glorious.
But the godly will flourish like palm trees
and grow strong like the cedars of Lebanon.
For they are transplanted to the Lord’s own house.
They flourish in the courts of our God.
Even in old age they will still produce fruit;
they will remain vital and green. Psalm 92:12-14
Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—
this is God, whose dwelling is holy. Psalm 68:5
Learn to do good.
Seek justice.
Help the oppressed.
Defend the cause of orphans.
Fight for the rights of widows. Isaiah 1:17
Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you. James 1:27
Speaking Life 