My boss has been working harder than usual to help this congregation feel loved and appreciated. I say harder, but in truth there aren't many things that are easier right now. Pre-pandemic days he would be visiting folks at the hospital; welp THAT ain't happen' right now. People would be in and out of his office like bees in and out of the honey hive. You can hear the echo of a pin drop in the stairwell these days. When I try to mimic my normal morning check-ins with him,(that aren't as needed of late) my voice echoes off of the dust that has accumulated on and around the collectibles that fill his office. The figurines look lonely and narry a tissue has been used or offered in months.
He and the other pastors have been delivering the UPPER ROOM magazines, talking to people on the phone and of course, ZOOMING like mad. This week he asked if we had a wheelchair that a member could use, if so, to please let him know and he'd be happy, no THRILLED to deliver it. The man is desperate for human contact- if I had wondered before, I didn't after that-
We found one and sent him on his way- expecting him back sooner rather than later. Tick. tick. tick.
Late afternoon brought him back, disheveled and wide-eyed. "How'd it go?" I asked when I saw him come in.
"Well, this is one for your blog, church chick!" and I thought it might be, so here you go.
He had rolled the chair from the church to his car, finagled and fiddled with it until he finally figured out how to fold it and then -oof!- lifted it into his car. He drove to the member's house and unloaded the burdensome wheelchair, fought with it to open, and rolled it up to the house. He knocked on the door. No answer. He called and someone finally came out, so glad to see him, they didn't even notice the chair! After a few minutes, he made mention of the chair he probably wished he could be sitting in, and the cheerful member casually said, "Oh! that's not for us- that's for a friend who needs it, would you mind?" He graciously accepted the request, then rolled, folded, and pushed the awkwardly shaped chair back into the car and headed to the 'friend's' house. It was way over there somewhere, so he asked Siri to tell him how to get there. "Well this road is closed and that one is blocked and the other one has a sinkhole in it, so which one do you want?" She answered his simple request for directions as if she really cared, which we know she didn't. Doesn't. She's not real, yet her voice resides in many of our phones. So he tried roundabout ways under bridges, over railroad tracks, then through frightful forests until he finally arrived at the 'friend's' house and once again, dragged that wacky wheeled monster out of his car where he very well could have plopped right into it and wheeled his way to their door, but being the Senior Pastor, he once again, pushed it to the door, up the hill and over the pebbles where it was grateful to rest somewhere other than his car, then he headed back to church.
What a fiasco! a comedic distraction! Yesterday, Mr. wheelchair showed up outside the front doors. It had been returned, yet abandoned in a rush to drop and go, go, go. We brought it inside, Gillian gave it a detail cleaning, and parked it back in the closet where it resides. She closed the door and went about doing other work. A few times later that afternoon, I could have sworn I heard sighs of relief coming from that closet. Sometimes, it's good to be home, even to a church wheelchair.
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