I was drawn to Charlie because of his humility,
kindness, and gentle manner. He would stop by my office after finishing his volunteer shift at the Respite Care Center housed in the same building. I could tell that his wife’s unrelenting pain drew
worry lines in his face. One day, he told me she could no longer sit in the pew
and had to stay home from church. He said she had given up hope of ever experiencing
relief and prayed daily for the Lord to “take her home.” I promised to continue
praying for her healing, but mainly that she would find strength, comfort, and
peace. We both assumed she would go first, that he would be able to care for
her lovingly until the end. There was never a hint of resentment in his voice,
only frustration that he couldn’t do anything to relieve her pain. Our brief encounters
always ended with a warm hug.
That was the extent of my relationship with Charlie.
After a few years of his “stop-bys” I noticed he was slowing down. He developed
a shuffle and began walking with a cane, but he never considered discontinuing his
volunteer job. I learned from the Respite Care manager that he loved his work there, and the clients loved this man of few words who had more than enough compassion
to go around.
Charlie ended up in Hospice Care and eventually passed
away at the age of 83. His obituary was only two paragraphs long, referring to
his sixty-three-year marriage, his two daughters, one grandson, some siblings, nieces
and nephews. That was it.
At his memorial service, I learned that Charlie’s
legacy was one of quiet service. He was greatly influenced by a mission trip he had taken to Latvia. After that trip, he continued to support the home for
unwed mothers and their children that our church helped establish. As a member
of the church’s “Tool Guys,” he quietly accomplished odd jobs around the building
and helped people in the community who couldn’t afford to pay for home repairs.
His service to Respite Care was never mentioned. While I was surprised by the
omission, I knew that’s how Charlie would have wanted it.
On the surface, Charlie’s life seemed to be one of
little significance. He lived an existence devoid of fanfare. His
accomplishments were few...or were they?
Cindy
L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three
published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I
Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available
from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com
