A dear friend, who is a retired RN and who served in the medical field for more than four decades, called me to urge me not to leave our home. She stressed how that exposure to this quickly spreading virus could be life-threatening for LeRoy, and how easily I might bring germs back home to him. That confirmed what I was already thinking.
It was just a cheap little plastic box, maybe you’ve seen one like it or have one, filled with business-card-sized Scripture cards. Each card held a “promise” from Scripture. I vividly remember, as a young girl, climbing up on my mom’s bed and taking the box from her bedside table into my lap so that I could pull out one card at a time and read those promises. The difference between Scripture’s promises and any other “promise” is the source of the promise. The unfailing God delivers what He promises.
He slowly guides the walker, feet shuffling behind--or is the walker guiding him? He moves so slowly it is hard to tell, they seem joined as one. His head is bowed without a trace of smile or joy. A face that once held youth, but now bears only wrinkles and pain. As I watch him I wonder. What occupies his thoughts, his heart?