I met Hazel last night.
My children play the cello and viola and were asked to play for the residents of an elderly care facility. The children played beautifully and the residents were all singing along with smiles on their faces.
My husband and I were sitting in the back just watching it all. He would lean into me and point out residents who were especially enjoying the music. It was a beautiful evening.
I noticed a wheelchair up in the front by the children. There was a very small, petite woman in the chair. I thought she was sleeping because her head was bent down low over her lap. Eventually I realized that she wasn't sleeping, she was writing. She had a notebook in her hand and a red pen. She was furiously writing while listening to the songs. I say furiously because she wrote so much and so fast that she quickly filled the pages and turned the notebook over to begin a new page.
The concert ended and the residents began to leave their places.
Everyone was standing up and moving at the same time.
It was then, through the noise, that we heard someone pleading for help.
It seemed as though everyone FROZE and time stood still. I looked around and saw a wheel chair tipped forward. It was the little writer. She had leaned too far forward and tumbled out of her wheelchair.
I'm not sure why I remember this, but everyone backed away from her. This next part was slow motion for me.
My husband pushed me from the back and said, "Move!"
I moved.
We had to make our way from the back of the large reception room, but we were the first ones to reach her. My husband was on one side of her and I was on the other side. The poor dear had her legs all tangled in the chair. We were able to release her legs and I cradled her head until we were able to find a scarf to roll and tuck under her small neck.
She patted my hand.
She comforted me.
She told me her name was Hazel and that she was 95 years old. She wanted me to make sure her notebook and pen were not lost. I assured her that I had her things.
I will admit that I wanted to know what was written in the notebook.
I will admit to you that I took a chance and while holding her head in the elbow of my right arm... I reached out and opened her notebook.
I opened it... but I couldn't make myself read the writings. They were hers and even though I really wanted to read what she had been writing, the words were hers alone.
Thank you God for guiding me to do the right thing with Hazel. It would have been different had I asked her if I could read her notebook. Maybe I would have asked her, but she was so comfortable resting in my arm that I thought she would drift off to sleep.
I held her until the responders came to help.
Please pray for Hazel this Christmas. My school children are now on Christmas break so I cannot tell them this story and ask for their prayers. She was alone so please pray for her to be comforted by His Holy arms.
I asked my girls if they prayed for Hazel last night. My 11 year old said, "I did. AND I asked Mr. R. to pray for her too."
Once again, a child has helped guide me.
So...
Mr. R?? I'm asking you to pray for her too. I miss your waving welcome from across the street from school and everyday at 4:30ish I still go to the window 'expecting' to see you walking across the street. You who shined Christ so beautifully, please pray with us for Hazel.
We believe in the Communion of Saints.
Our God is an awesome and amazing God.
Peace and all good,
Mary
mom_of_six
Jesus, I trust in You!
