I Corinthians 13
The Love Chapter
We all know this passage, but do we demonstrate it? How far will our love stretch?
"Love suffereth long...Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth...For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known....And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three, but the greatest of these is love."
I want to tell you a modern parable. (A parable is a short, simple story, usually of an occurrence of a familiar kind, from which a moral or a lesson can be drawn.)--Webster's dictionary.
This is a story of a man who demonstrates the kind of love taught in I Corinthians 13:--longsuffering love. He was eighty-nine. She was eighty-six. They had lived as man and wife for sixty-five years. Every day he would get up, have breakfast, and hobble down to the bus stop, a book in his hand. He was headed for the nursing home, where his wife had been for four years. He hadn't wanted to put her there, but when he had had a heart attack, he was forced into having her placed in a care facility. She was suffering from Alzheimer's and was deteriorating very quickly. He stepped off the bus, and walked the two blocks to the nursing home where his wife was. "I wonder how she is today," were his thoughts as he pushed the security buttons to get in. "I wonder if she'll know me. She didn't yesterday." A lump welled up in his throat as he recalled the many happy times he had shared with his beloved wife. Now she rarely recognized him. She sat limp in her chair, her eyes dull and distant. When he approached her to give her the usual kiss she recoiled, trying to push him away. "Come on, my little Turtle Dove," he would say, taking her hand and squeezing in beside her on the love seat. "I've brought you your favorite book. What story should I read you today?" He watched as her eyes flickered. She moved her hand to touch the Children' Bible Story Book he had brought with him. He turned the pages until she placed her hand on a picture. He smiled, taking her hand again. He had read her this story for four days in a row, but he didn't mind. He started reading. "I am 'the Good Shepherd,"
He finished the story: "and the Good Shepherd carried the lamb back to the flock, wrapped its injured leg with a piece cloth, torn from his clothes, and laid it beside him, as he continued the night watching the flock.” He saw her wipe a tear from her eyes. That was enough for him. He kissed her wrinkled face, which to him was still beautiful, and led her to her bed. She fussed a little, but he lay down beside her. Soon they were both asleep? Two hours later he sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and kissed his wife goodbye, promising, "I'll see you again tomorrow, my wee Turtle Dove."
She cannot recall that we shared our life, She’s not that old lady you see sitting there, She’s not that poor creature, who looks out of place, Each day when I see her, I speak of my love. Though she can’t remember, God is still her best Friend.
partners in pleasures, co-bearing life’s strife.
That her memory has gone, cuts my heart like a knife.
Though she can’t remember, she still is my wife.
Wrinkled and wizened, hunched up in that chair.
To me she’s a beauty, with skin soft and fair,
a girl, tall and straight, with a rose in her hair.
With eyes that are vacant, staring off into space.
To me she is elegant, with poise and with grace,
her eyes full of sparkle, a smile on her face.
I call her her pet-name: My Wee Turtle Dove.
Her fleeting smile tells me what she’s thinking of.
I assure her God’s still in His throne up above.
He stays close beside her to help and defend.
Though she may forget, God’s love will not end.
On this precious promise I have to depend:
“I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.”
Hebrews 13:5.
Suddenly the visits stopped. This dear old man, who loved and cared so much for his wife, went home to glory before her. What a glorious day it will be when the couple is reunited. And on that day she will recognize him.
The man in this account was a poet friend of mine. I never met him in person, but we corresponded by mail and telephone for two years. And he told me how he went down every day to visit his wife. I wrote this poem and sent it to him. To me he demonstrated the true meaning of I Corinthians 13.
I am looking forward to meeting my friend and his wife in glory.
© Helen Dowd
