Friday afternoon Tyler and Becky made each other the same promise I’ve had most couples repeat at the marriage altar: “…whether you are healthy, sick, or even bedfast.”
The next morning Sam died. My neighbor was 65 but had been dying for seven years. A welder by trade, he also served as a pastor for 31 years in various places. Then he fell from a roof and suffered major head trauma. The injury and necessary medications left him physically and mentally disabled. He could speak but not hold a conversation; he could shuffle along to the car sometimes, but not get up and walk on his own.
Instead of letting him waste away in a nursing home, Hannah tenderly cared for him at home. By herself. Weak as he was, her husband still towered over her. She fed him, bathed him, dressed him, cared for the house and grounds, took him to the doctor. She did it all.
Without complaint. No pity party.
“…or even bedfast.” A couple of years ago I told her, “You’re one of my heroes, Hannah.” No cape and mask could substitute for the love-in-practice of tenderly caring for a mate who can no longer care for you, no longer love you, no longer protect you, no longer provide for you, no longer keep you warm on cold nights, no longer take care of himself.
You’re still my hero, Hannah. You stayed, you served, you glorified God. Well done.