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At Christmas and Easter, the decorating committee at our church fills the sanctuary with the season's fresh flowers, and after the Sunday evening service, members of the congregation deliver the flowers to the shut-ins of the congregation. Our family was asked to deliver flowers to three ladies and a couple living in a retirement community, and so we filled the front and back seats with Easter lilies and a pink tulip and headed out, a little overwhelmed by the perfume of the Easter lilies.
Our first stop was at a dear lady's room in the nursing care part of the complex. When I first met her four years ago, she was close to ninety. She was Henry's friend--the only person I've ever heard call him Henk, the Dutch nickname for Henry. She was full of love, life, laughter, and joy in the Lord, and I'm so glad I knew her before she took the fall that started her rapid decline. Once animated, dressed in a sparkly suit on Sundays, she now laid quietly in the darkening room, wearing a hospital gown. Henry quietly approached and the rest of stayed back a little, not wanting to startle or overwhelm her.
Confused, at first she thought Henry was our pastor, but she quickly realized who her flower delivery person was. When I met her, she spoke English well--she's lived in America for much of her adult life--but her aging mind remembers the Dutch she spoke as a girl, and so she began rattling away at Henry, who understands and speaks some. She pointed to the Easter lily that was already there, and (as I pieced things together) told Henry that she already had one. In Dutch, he told her that now she had two. I was impressed that either he (a) understood her and was able to communicate back to her, or (b) was able to act like he genuinely understood her and spoke back to her. I found out later that for my sweet husband, it was a little of a and more of b. That's one of the reasons I love him so much. He was very convincing.
They talked for a bit, and then she noticed the rest of us. She did recognize me, and it amazed me when she realized that she had to speak to me in English--and did. In the brief time we knew each other, she and I developed a mutual admiration, and she told me, "You are beautiful," as we held hands. I said, "You are beautiful," and I meant it. I kissed her neatly manicured hand--prettier than mine will ever be--and told her I loved her. She blew Henry a kiss as we left. It was hard to leave her, but there were other flowers to deliver before the evening was over.
Our last delivery was to an 89-year-old lady that I didn't know well. She still lives in independent living apartments. We all took seats in her nicely decorated and very tidy living room, and she insisted on serving all five of us cookies and orange juice. A traditional lady, she offered us refreshments several times, and at first we told her not to bother. Finally we accepted the orange juice and homemade cookies (delicious--glad we did) and found out that we drank up all her OJ. Later I told Henry that I felt bad about that, but he said that if we didn't accept her offer, we would have worried her to death. Dutch ladies must be hospitable--it's who they are, and they will find something to feed you.
We talked for awhile, and I fell in love with her when she told us this story. She walks with a walker that has a little seat on the front for carrying things. She had been making some soup, and was putting it into containers to freeze for another meal when she fell, spilling the hot soup all over her hands--she still had some scars from the incident. She didn't want anyone to know that she fell because if the wrong people found out, it could mean a transfer into the not-so-independent-apartments in another part of the complex, so she pushed through the pain and pulled herself up on her bad knee (she told us it really hurt), using her walker and a kitchen chair. She deserved way more than an Easter lily, but that was all we had.
It was a good way to end the day of resurrection, spending time with people who had been celebrating that resurrection far longer than we have and experiencing the blessings of its truth for many years. While we left them with a potted plant, they left us with the blessing of fellowship and communion of the saints. I will definitely be signing up to deliver poinsettias this Christmas.
