Brother Lawrence of Maysville
He was sitting by himself at one of the dining tables. People were chatting at other tables around him, but he was alone. His head was down; he fed himself slowly; he did not comment to the server. I watched him for a while, thinking that if he were here tomorrow I would sit at his table and see if I could get a conversation going. I noticed that he did not interact with others, who were coming and going all during the noon hour. They did not speak with him.
This was not your ordinary cafeteria. Every person eating had some massive physical problem, for the most part related to a stroke. I was the outsider in the group, having been placed in the stroke unit because there was no bed available in physical rehabilitation. Both of my legs were sticking straight out in front of my wheelchair. I had had both knees replaced and wasn't feeling all that swift myself. So I knew the lone black man, probably in his mid-fifties, was in a world of hurt in one way or another. I had to be careful lest I intrude where I wasn't wanted, but I thought I would give it a shot.
He was there the next day, by himself in the same spot, looking down, mumbling when he had to. I wheeled over and slipped my legs under the table. A server tied a bib under my neck and plopped my tray down, foods I had selected the day before. For reasons I never knew I had Ensure for every meal (cold strawberry is pretty good). "Hello, my name is Jerry," I said. He was Lawrence. He was friendly enough; he was just very sad. He had a good reason to be.
Over the next couple of days I learned that Lawrence was a white collar worker from a small city on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River. He was a family man, had a good job, and went to bed that night rather late, like he usually did. Before the ambulance could get to his house he had two massive strokes. Now he was in a rehabilitation hospital, trying to regain his balance, trying to get muscles he once took for granted to respond in the smallest ways, trying to find some happiness, which in that cafeteria may have consisted in being glad you were not the guy at the next table!
It so happened that I saw Laurence a good deal over the next three or four days. I looked for him in therapy sessions, spoke every time I saw him, batted a balloon with him once or twice, and began to see a very nice smile looking back at me. I told Lawrence that he reminded me of a monk by the same name, Brother Lawrence, a 17th century French monk who was the cook at his monastery. He said he was a Christian but hardly of the spiritual depth of a monk, though I came to know that my Lawrence was indeed a believer. I called him "Brother Lawrence" from that time on. He told me one afternoon that what he wanted most was to walk. Looking me in the eye, he said, almost in a whisper, "If I can just walk again I'll say 'Thank you, Jesus.'" The last time I talked with Lawrence was on a Sunday afternoon. One of the pastors at Lawrence's church had come to see him and we all shared scripture texts and talked about the Lord. It was a wonderful experience. Lawrence was smiling. He was a wonderful man.
I don't know what happened to Lawrence. I was dismissed from the hospital before he was. I assume he went back home and is continuing to recuperate. I have thought a great deal about Lawrence since last July. I wanted to be a blessing to him and it turned out that he was a blessing to me. I have thought about sudden, catastrophic experiences such as strokes and heart attacks. I remember that Lawrence did not blame God for his problems; he never complained. I did not know it when I first saw him, but Lawrence brought an active faith into his unexpected, debilitating strokes. He still has many hurdles to jump in the months ahead and there will be many difficulties, maybe some setbacks. But I have been reminded that none of us knows the future, that if we wait until some massive problem shows up to call on God, we may have waited too late, and that hope in the kingdom of God is a healing hope. Perhaps Lawrence will never walk again; I think he will still be able to say "Thank you, Jesus!" May it be so for me...and you.
O Lord, God of grace and hope, thank you for Lawrence. Thank you for letting our paths cross in the hospital. Have mercy on Lawrence, his wife, and children. Please bring him back to full health; help him to walk again and say "Thank you" to You. Keep him in my mind and heart as one who has vital faith in the midst of the hard places in life. In Jesus' Name, Amen.
Jerry Mercer
|
