He couldn’t remember that I don’t drink coffee. But he could remember the fervent praying he did before heading out on bombing missions in World War 2. He was a regular participant in Wednesday morning Bible Study in my first parish. A sweet, sweet man who always took it upon himself to walk about with the coffee pot and freshen up people’s mugs… and to serve the brownies or cookies or whatever what be at hand. He didn’t often participate in our discussions about the scripture, unless we asked him about the War… and then we’d hear stories about his service, and the way it strengthened his faith.
A deacon recently shared that a visit with an older member of the congregation came to life when they started talking about the war in which he had served. And that’s what brought back memories of this gentle veteran who always tried to fill my tea cup with coffee.
I made a visit today to a woman who has suffered a few strokes and has been living with compromised health for almost a decade. She didn’t seem to want to talk. So I prayed with her and went on my way. I hope I find a way to access the stories that still live inside her.