If he can, so can we

He struggles as he comes in the door. A jaunty cap seated firmly on his aged brow, he presents at the front desk, clutching an envelope. “I need you to look at this and tell me what to do with it.” Retrieving my husband, I return to my work on the computer as he helps the old man, answering his questions.

The elderly gentleman (I shall call him Mr. G.) has been a client for a long time. Beyond that, however, we’ve known him and his family for many years through church and the school system, and we’ve learned to appreciate them all. Salt of the earth, these folks, strong in faith and character, and we’ve long been inspired by their lives. Hearing him speak, I remembered again precisely why.

“I go to the assisted living facility every day and see my friends.” This is how he spends his mornings. “Then I go home, and I pedal for an hour. My daughter got that (pedal exerciser) for me. Then I lift weights every day. I’ve gotta do somethin’, ya know.”

His tone turns sheepish. “Sometimes I take a nap after that.” And here, we are grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m 86 now.” We are silent, amazed at this remarkable human being who refuses to quit or complain. But he’s not done.

“You know I’m living with my daughter. She takes real good care of me. Sometimes I get food on my own, but if she’s cooking, she makes good meals for me. I make sure that I pay her well for staying there. I told her she might as well have it before I die, so I make sure I pay her well.”

He continues. “I don’t need the money. I’m doing fine. I sold my house to the grandkids. I’m in a good situation.” There is real contentment in his voice, and the entire time he’s speaking, he is smiling.

“Emma (name changed) died six years ago.” Ah, his beloved, unstoppable wife. Like that, I can see her smiling face beneath a cap of curly hair. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone for so long.

“She was the best wife I ever had.” Here, he chuckles, and his face is wreathed in light.

“And the worst you ever had,” I quip with a grin.

Instantly, he replies. “There was no ‘worst.’ She was a good wife. We had a good life together.” A pause, and then, “She was a good wife.” Soon, he is ready to go, and he makes his tottery, unsteady way out the door, leaving behind a challenge.

In this high and holy season, he faces, again, an empty chair. That “good wife” of his is celebrating Christmas in heaven. However, not only has this precious man lost his wife, but before her death, on a hot, blinding September day, his son-in-law and young grandson were killed in a terrible car accident, leaving behind his daughter and her two other children.

I will never forget the unspeakable sight of those two caskets in the same room, father and son, and the suffering of the family left behind. For the old, gray-haired lion, he had the double grief of mourning their losses and watching his daughter and living grandchildren in agony. Never—not once—did the family curse God and lose their faith. No, they pressed in, digging down, and their roots grew ever more deeply into the bedrock.

Even after all of the grief and loss, he keeps on living, doing what he knows to do. Smiling, happy, grateful for the life he has had and the people he has loved. He’s content with what he has now.

He would tell you, our Mr. G., that he’s nothing special. That he’s unremarkable, and he’d defer your admiring words just as he does ours. He is unaware of the power of his example, and perhaps that’s as it should be.

The reason he is unaware is because he isn’t focused on himself. He is focused on his family, his friends, and the God he loves.

The reason he’s happy and is not in despair is because he knows where he’s going when he dies. He knows that he will see his loved ones again and that his body will be new and strong. There’ll be no need for pedaling daily or for lifting weights to combat muscle wasting. He’s looking forward to that day; his eyes are lifted high.

Here is the challenge Mr. G. leaves for us all. If he can be content in the most difficult situations, so can we. If he can enjoy his friends and his remaining family members in spite of deep loneliness, so can we. If he can live happily, refusing self-pity and noxious complaining, then so can we.

In living for other people and being grateful for what he still has, he has found his way to a fulfilling, happy life. As his body decays, his spirit still thrives, and it shines like a lamp in the night.

Oh, how we need more Mr. G’s in the world. Like a stained-glass window, vibrant colors pieced together to form a brilliant image, just so is his life. The picture, formed by a multitude of bits in various shapes and sizes, is only seen when a light shines within.

He has a light that shines within, and the picture we see is stunning. If he can shine, so can we.