Looking back. Trying to remember when we first met. She just had a stroke and she and her husband were in the Day Center. She, Cherokee. He, Creek. Elders in their tribes. He never could explain exactly why they were homeless. He said it all happened so fast. They were doing fine and then she had the stroke and was in the hospital for a long time. He was trying to understand why she couldn’t remember things or talked about things that he didn’t remember. He was by her side, holding her hand every day.

Life had changed and he couldn’t catch up. He said he went home to shower and change his clothes and the doors were locked. “I guess I just forgot about rent, I was so, so worried.” Marriage was just a natural step for them. He’s a big robust guy, usually wearing a ball cap, rolling his cigarettes.  She was petite, “I fit in his side.”

They’d leave the shelter early and walk all over downtown Tulsa, she was on her third rollator. They walked so she could exercise her left leg and, “I can’t get my arms around him, he needs to lose some weight.” We took them to church. She was hard of hearing and said she loved the music because she could hear it. “That preacher needs to raise it a notch.”

The ‘old couple’ of the shelters. She finally got disability and with income, they got housing. But, it was an apartment complex way out south, away from everything. He said he’d make it work. They longed to sleep in a bed and brew a cup of coffee and watch Andy Griffith on TV.

They needed everything. We invited them to the ministry to pick out what they wanted. She was hesitant at first because she didn’t think they had enough money. Then she didn’t like charity and didn’t want to get anything for free.  I told her that her husband took care of the bill and she could shop with abandon.

She walked around for the longest time, just looking. Finally she started pointing at things, smiling and putting her hands over her face. By the time we loaded up, the back of a pick-up truck was piled high. They still needed a bed. We prayed. Two days later a family took one to their apartment. YES!

Pandemic. I hadn’t seen them in awhile. I called to see how they were doing. They needed groceries. I filled some boxes and went to see them. She had lost weight. He had gained. He was anxious and she was talkative. Telling me stories I’d heard before and updating me about her dialysis. “I go to work three times a week, I’m off on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

I got to their apartment late one evening. Apologetically I said the meal could be a midnight snack. She said I shouldn’t be out so late. She pointed to a picture of Jesus on a shelf then she looked at her husband. He handed it to her and she handed it to me. She reminded me Easter was coming and because it is, "We're gonna all be alright." Then she handed me the picture of Jesus and said it was a gift.

"I know you have Him in your heart but you need to set it on your desk so He can watch over you." Indeed. I did.

He asked for batteries for her blood pressure cuff. He said she hasn’t been feeling well. We began delivering dinner every evening. Sometimes she’d be asleep, other times she was complaining of pain. He was drinking, a lot.

He called me. He said her BP dropped to 84/40. She was in the hospital and they were doing emergency surgery. They told him he couldn’t see her. He was so scared. So was I.

I saw him on Monday evening. He said they let him stand outside of her ICU room and look at her through glass. “They wouldn’t let me touch her. She didn’t know I was there. But I was. I was there.” We wept. I held him and prayed for him, for her, over the injustice , for the stupid virus to go away….

I went by on Tuesday. He had a coffee cup in his hand. He said the hospital called him at 12:30am and said she was critical. At 4:30am, she was getting worse. At 7:30am they said she wouldn’t make it through the day. He called her daughter and she was on her way to get him. She was coming from out of town.

We wept. We hurt. We knew.

I called out to Jesus for mercy. I asked for prayer support. God please, please let him be bedside when you take her. Father, I’m begging you.

He called. I answered and he didn’t speak. I lost my breath. She’s gone. God please. He said his daughter was there too.  

“I was holding her hand when she left me.”

Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Thank you!

I went into a restaurant to see if they were serving. They said yes so, I placed my order and waited. I looked across the dining room to see a table of 5 in the corner and an elderly gentleman sitting alone not far from me. I waved and said ‘hi.’ He was a World War II Navy Veteran. I know because his ball cap and his torn and stained sweatshirt said so. I thanked him for his service. He began to talk, and I listened.

He’s lived 2 blocks from the restaurant for the last 20 years. His wife died 3 years ago, and he lives in their 5-bedroom house alone. After leaving the service, he did sales manufacturing for many years. Then “For the sake of doing something different” he and his wife opened a donut shop. Up at 3:30am every morning to make donuts. He crossed his arms, tugged on the brim of his hat, smiled and winked at me, “They were really good.”  

Oh, he and his wife? They opened the skating rink in town too. Seems his daughter was a “firecracker” of a skater, “Would have won the gold in the Olympics too, if it had been a sport.” Another smile and a wink. His daughter runs the skating rink now. She lives 2 blocks from him. They talk every day on the phone.

His son ran the skating rink with his daughter, but he died when he was 50. “Diabetes and those damn cigarettes, packs, packs of ‘em every day. Just like me, stubborn.” He glanced at me and his eyes glistened with tears. He asked me what I did and how long I lived in town. I reminded him more than once that I was just visiting. He’d lean forward now and again, “Whad you say?” I’d repeat.

He drives his 1999 Lincoln to the restaurant 3 days a week and parks against the building, close to the door, no need for a parking space. He walks in, no cane or walker needed, thank you. And the girls greet him with smiles, and then he sits at his table. They bring him a bowl of potato soup, oyster crackers, and sweet tea. When he’s almost finished the soup, out comes a hot plate of onion rings. He could depend on them. He could trust the routine. He wasn’t there for the food, he was there to push back suffocating loneliness.

His son bought him a computer, but he couldn’t figure it out, so he watches TV and “piddles.” He looks forward to driving to this restaurant 3 times a week. “So, I can meet nice people like you.” Arms crossed, smile, wink.

I asked him if He knows my friend, Jesus. He said he and the Mrs. go to the Methodist Church, “Well, I go by myself now.” Then he remembered when he and his wife started attending. The church events he’s been to, potluck dinners, children’s programs. “We had a good time together. The house isn’t the same without her.” We looked into each other’s eyes as we fought back tears. “I really miss her.”

In this chaotic time of confusion and uncertainty, may we find it in ourselves to love and be kind and listen. Our goal is to “flatten the line” but as we do so we can’t cut the thread of life that some of our neighbors are barely hanging on with.

Know that on the other side of this we will see higher rates of child abuse and domestic violence and depression, addiction, homelessness and suicide. I ask that we remember we have a population of our neighbors who need interaction and assistance and encouragement and love just to survive any day, much less a pandemic.

I’ve talked with people in dire straits over the last few days and after I’ve explained about Covid 19 the response has been, “I’m ready just let it take me.” Listen, we had desperate people before all of this and now everything is worse for them. We weren’t ready for the pandemic and we certainly aren’t ready for the fall out after it.

A reminder that ministries, churches, agencies, restaurants that provided a sit-down meal, showers, conversation, life skills, services, resources and hope aren’t accessible anymore. Our compassion, empathy, patience and kindness have been buried long enough. May we resurrect the personal aspiration to go above and beyond what is needed. May we make personal sacrifices to ensure the basic needs of another. May we look back with thankfulness because we did everything we could to give another person’s life value and meaning, even when it cost us something. May we put others first.

One of my guys is lost, completely lost in his alcoholism. We have told him how much we love him and how we’re ready to help him. But, he says he doesn’t need our help. Our collective prayer is for him to hit bottom. Because from there the only place to look is up.

Up is Jesus.

Maybe we as a country have finally hit bottom. Now the only place to look is up to Jesus.