Before I left, Pastor Barnes and I spoke one final time. I love that man. He has Parkinson’s and I've had the honor of helping him for the past year. He's frozen, face unable to express much, drool flowing from his mouth because he can't swallow well. I tell him a joke and his eyes light up, but his face stays the same. I keep waiting for him to violently burst into laughter, his side hurting, and muscles shaking, but he never does. He just sits, hands folded on his lap, clutching a rag and an Erwin Lutzer book, but there’s always a childlike glow, radiant and wondrous burning from his face like a child trapped in a body too old.
Sitting in the soft chair next to his wheelchair, we chatted, enjoying one another’s company. Whispering softly, so softly you might miss it, he gave me one last nugget of wisdom I will relish, forever. “Be faithful to wherever Christ calls you.” I’ve been chewing on that for days, like Violet Beauregarde’s gum. Whether I’m called to clean my room – as I often am – or if I’m asked to do something grand, do it faithfully, because He who calls you is so faithful.
I’m awfully sad thinking it was probably the last time I’ll see him – in this life at least. I’m flying off into the future and he’s moving back to Illinois, returning to his roots and a loving daughter. Parkinson’s tears away the vibrancy of life, but it never dulls the soul and through the struggle he preserves such great poise. Always will he illustrate that God’s grace is truly sufficient. I will miss that shimmering light that ignites, exploding in his eyes and the charm that quivers through his toothy smile. He has set a fire for the Lord that stirs up the unknown depths of my soul.
