Taking Time

     The first sound that greets our ears, as we step into the impressive multi-storied structure, is the sweet sound of voices singing the praises of God.  I am sure these voices will forever take my breath away -- every time we visit -- for they are the voices of women who have spent their lives in service and dedication to God, and they are lovelier than room full of fragrant, scarlet roses.  These are the nuns, and they have given their strongest years of life in locations around the world, showing God's love to whomever they met, and still they serve.

     Only short moments later, they file out of their retirement chapel . . . slowly, but still with life in their steps.  We stand to the side and greet them with quiet nods and smiles.  Our hostess offers them to join us for tea and sweets, and their responses vary -- some are on their way to visit others more elderly than themselves, one has emails to send to nuns in South America (she is in her 80's), some are on their way to prayer, but some have time to follow us for a visit.  And these are some of the richest occasions my children and I have come to know.

     "It is so good to see you again," shares one nun who is in her nineties.

     "I am so glad you came to see us.  How are you?" another inquires.

     "Did you bake this fudge for us?  That is my favourite treat," beams again another.

     My eleven year-old gingerly carries around a platter of brown-sugar fudge, while the other children look for a table that needs a guest.  They have learned how to carry their peach juice in hand and find a seat that will give them a window into the stories of women with history as deep as the sea.  Sometimes I sit with my four year-old, sometimes I wander to the others, but ALWAYS I listen to the flow of the chatter and the chronicles of time that pass in the hour we linger with them.

     How could I have thought we were too busy for this?  I ponder how close I came to replacing this outing with other needs that pressed for my attention . . . but this is where real life happens.  This is what my children will remember for years to come.  This is the richness of the aged, sharing with my young ones, and this wisdom can't be bought.

     I hear laughter and spot a game of "hands" being played.  I grab for my camera and try to capture a memory of the day, even though I know when it is shared at home, justice will not be served for the prolific happiness we enjoy.

     Time passes quickly and the ladies begin to get up and say their goodbyes.  It is time for us to let them go on to the other things their day holds.  We are sorry to go -- I realize this is where my children have learned best how to ask questions, how to appreciate the accounts of seasons in the past, and how to respect the aged.  All skills that I previously assumed would have occurred more naturally . . . but I have come to realize that these too have to be taught, practiced and modeled.

    "Wasn't that fun?"

     "Did you hear the story from Sister Anna?"

     "I am so glad I wore a dress, they really liked it!"

     The half hour drive home passes quickly, as everyone shares their choice recollection of the morning.  My mouth can't help but stay upturned, as I reflect on how fast time moves past and how important these occasions are for all of us.  I remember the nuns' appreciation of our visit and my smile grows even larger -- they still don't realize that they give back much more to us in love, than we could ever give to them.  This must be God's perfect order of age and life in action!
 

"Is not wisdom found among the aged?

Does not long life bring understanding?" 

Job 12:12

A Game of "Hands"