Lost

As I wheeled my shopping trolley towards the supermarket checkout, I noticed a neatly dressed man standing nearby, looking confused.

‘I’m new here,’ he told me. ‘Can you tell me how I get out?’

A little confused myself as to why he could not see where to go, I guided him through another checkout. But as I finally left the supermarket myself, I saw this same gentleman standing outside, still confused. This time, I went up and asked if he was okay.

‘I’m lost,’ he told me. ‘I came on the bus but stopped to look at something and the others went on without me. I’m from the Christadelphian village. Do you know where our bus is?’

I did not but suggested we try the two main exits. At the first, there was no sign of his bus so we headed for the other at the far end of the centre. As we walked, he told me his name was Michael and that he was 84. I felt so sorry for him as, by this time, he looked so agitated and tired. We made it to the second exit – but again, no bus.

We then headed to the information counter but it was unmanned. So, I asked for help in a nearby chemist and someone pointed to a security guard hurrying by. I yelled out to him and discovered the bus pulled in at a tradesman’s entrance at the edge of the food court, so off we went again.

We had almost reached this entrance when my new friend’s face suddenly lit up.

‘There they are!’ he exclaimed with great relief and headed straight for a group of older people seated nearby. He hurriedly plonked down next to them and began to wipe sweat from his forehead.

‘That was a terrible experience,’ he said, gasping for breath. ‘Thank you very much for helping me!’

I turned to explain what had happened to the young carer in charge of the group but, to my shock, she did not seem too fazed at all – or even too inclined to care for Michael.

‘I think he needs a glass of water at least,’ I told her in my most disapproving tone, before wheeling my trolley away. But when I arrived home, I found I was still fuming. Surely they could have cared better for this poor gentleman? If I had not noticed him standing there so distressed, someone else would soon hopefully have helped him, but how long would that have taken?

Later, when I told my husband the story, I began thinking how graphically it depicted our own lost state when we do not know Jesus Christ. We may set off happily enough in life, following along with our friends and trying all sorts of different ways and experiences. But at some stage, like Michael, we may end up well and truly confused, alarmed and even hopeless. We may ask here and there for help but find none. Yet, Jesus is constantly reaching out to us, longing to set our feet on the right path again.

May we each respond with sincere love and gratitude as we are found by him and welcomed home!

‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’ John 14:6

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Soldiering on

I sometimes seem to live my life as if those around me are going to be here forever, even if they are not young anymore. Of course they will be there to talk to, I think. Of course we can do this or that together. Then the day comes when they are not there any longer and I am shocked. How can this be?

In my more rational moments, I know this is not how things work. Our time on earth is finite, however much we may try to stave off that day. People become ill and cannot be cured. Terrible disasters occur, ending even young lives, while those of us who are left become older and frailer. Yet it can still be hard to accept another’s death, whatever age they are. They were here. They were real. They were alive—and now they are no longer.

This past week, we heard of the deaths of two older friends. The first was a gentleman in his nineties who always impressed us with his zest for life and his deep commitment to God and his church. Even until the last year or two, he would bake trays of cakes for youth and outreach events at church or for the spring fair in the village where we live. He also loved writing and art and singing—he was an all-round creative person. Right now, I believe he will be rejoicing in heaven in the perfect presence of his Creator God, which is wonderful. Yet it seemed to us as if this larger-than-life person would always be here.

The second person was our lovely neighbour, Ruth, who used to live in the unit opposite us, until moving into aged care. She was in her eighties and had been unwell for some years, yet each day when she could, she would sit on her little stool, digging in her garden and caring for each plant and flower. She was a writer too—such an intelligent, interesting person. But above all, she loved God wholeheartedly and served in the Salvation Army all her life. We were still in the process of moving into our unit when she told me she had been praying for us for some time. And, on occasions, she would come to our door, holding some beans or tomatoes or other produce from her garden, and tell me they were a gift to us as ‘first fruits’ from her harvest. It is wonderful to think that, right now, she too is completely whole again in God’s presence. She was a faithful soldier all her life—and now she has marched right on into heaven.

This news of the passing of these two faithful soldiers has made me look at my own life again. There is no doubt both loved God with all their hearts. They served God and others their whole lives and were ready to meet their Lord. In my mind, I can hear each of them saying, along with the Apostle Paul, not in any boasting way but as mere statements of fact:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7

Whenever my turn comes, I want to be able to say that too, with humility but also with deep certainty, don’t you?

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