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Look for the Light

ByErica Robertson

A snowstorm was poised to hit the Washington, D.C. area, but I decided my kids and I had just enough time to drive an hour down the interstate to visit my grandmother. Knowing the forecast would clog our route with panicked drivers, this was risky. Amazingly, we made it to my grandmother’s nursing home without a hiccup. 

As we walked down the hall, we saw her slouched in her wheelchair at the nurse’s station, sleeping with her head hanging by her shoulder. In front of her sat some cold coffee and a few bits of leftover muffin. “Good morning!” I said cheerfully. She opened her eyes, whispered my name, and closed them again. It was pretty normal to find my grandmother asleep in her wheelchair, but I was still saddened. 

Toting a few prized picture books, my young children followed as I pushed my grandmother’s wheelchair to a more comfortable spot. Our visits to her always consisted of read-alouds and hymn sings. Though her communication was limited, good books and songs of truth edify anyone. On a good day my grandmother would wake up and be excited to see my children, to hear their stories; their presence enlivened her. Not today, though. She could not shake her exhaustion, her head dropping to her shoulder, unable to keep her eyes open. We kept reading and singing, knowing our gifts of love would not be wasted and praying our hymns would be fixed in her mind.

Jerry, however, was wide awake and fully engaged. A man in his sixties, Jerry spotted us from across the room, rolled his chair over, and listened to our story with pleasure. Jerry had been a constant presence at the nursing home since my grandmother moved in a few years ago. We missed seeing him during our last few visits and had hoped he had been able to go home, but today we knew that had not happened. 

After suffering multiple strokes, Jerry now spends his days in the nursing home learning to walk and talk again. Along with physical limitations, his strokes took away his ability to read. Despite his challenges, Jerry was always animated at the sight of my children because he knew they would help him practice the alphabet and re-learn colors. His smile beamed to us on this gray day—a sweet gift as my grandmother continued to nap in her chair. During the last few years we have watched Jerry struggle and persevere. My children have helped him push alphabet buttons on a toddler’s toy, watching him respond with joy at the sound of each one. They’ve seen him try to commit each letter to memory, try to speak in complete sentences, and articulate words. We’ve often found him next to my grandmother, playing Gospel music from his phone. He was always glad to update us on how she had been or what she had eaten that day. Unbeknownst to him, Jerry was a gift to us. 

On the day of the impending snowstorm, Jerry listened to our read-aloud with rapt attention. He then excitedly told us he had a book of his own. He quickly rolled away to retrieve this treasure, reappearing minutes later with his book in hand. Through broken words, he explained how a child had brought him this book, hoping Jerry would soon be able to read it. The book was marked with the sticker “Reading Level 1!” 

Jerry was overjoyed to finally have someone read it to him. His face was full of light, and my heart was full of joy. My grandmother was still asleep in her chair, opening her eyes once in a while, but never really looking. Still, I was convinced this visit had deep meaning. We might not see the fruit of our meager offerings of love, but I trust God used them for his glory and the good of his children. 

As I considered the reality of my grandmother’s fading life and the joy in Jerry’s trusting smile, I was both grieved and encouraged. I could not help but look toward God’s promise of making all things new: of being made whole, of knowing God rightly, of a world not marred by sin and death.

My children carefully observed all that was going on that day. They saw my grandmother’s frailty and despite her inability to connect, they loved her without condition. Then, they generously shared their joy with another man they barely knew. How can one not see God at work there? Despite her sleep, my grandmother heard our songs of hope. Jerry, in a situation where many might turn to cynicism and bitterness, showed hospitality to us! What a beautiful taste of God’s redemptive work through Christ. God’s ways upset our expectations, sending blessing by those whom society forgets and discards.  

We made it home as the snowstorm struck. During our drive, my heart was heavy and hopeful. My sweet grandmother, a testament to God’s kindness and mercy, had barely acknowledged us. My children sang their favorite hymns to a woman seemingly unaware. Our friend Jerry had welcomed us with a warmth that would lift any downcast heart. My kids were learning, loving, and seeing the diversity of God’s kingdom. I was, too. Our visit was a beautiful picture of what God is still doing in this broken world. No matter our physical or mental state, our age or abilities, God is working in the darkness, bringing light to souls through Christ. 

My grandmother has since gone to her forever home. She is now walking, talking, and at rest in the company of her Creator, worshipping the One who came to reorient our sinful, weary souls. One day Jerry, too, will know a body that no longer slurs speech or fails to make the neurological and physical connections necessary to walk. Through Christ, we will be fully restored and redeemed at last. May God give us eyes to see and boldness to continue bearing his light in dark places.

Erica Robertson
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