My friend, Rosetta, is all for hearing about the daily activities of my life. I had called her from a stop light to check in. This day was a full one. I was busy inside and out, driving to and fro on an endless stream of errands. I was tired and not happy about it. I called Rose in the middle of my lists to say hello but also to complain a little. She didn’t let me. Not even a little bit. Instead, she spoke words of loving conviction. “How wonderful that you can get out!” “How great that you have such a full life!” “Oh, to be able to walk!” Rosetta’s life isn’t full with running errands or with running of any kind. She can’t run. She can’t walk. Bound to a wheelchair, Rose doesn’t “get out” much. But Rosetta has so much life exuding out of her spirit that sometimes, to my embarrassment, I forget.
Her words reframed my moment and opened my eyes. Again. Oh to have a spirit of gratitude. Oh, to be thankful that I am able to be out and about engaged in the daily activities of a full and healthy life!
Rosetta spends many of her days looking out the window in her little apartment watching the activity of others more physically able. Her little view of the world is a window of grace and she invites me to see my world through it. Rosetta offers me that. In her company the priorities of my life order themselves up correctly. She teaches me that way of love sees with a thankful heart. The simple moments that I too often take for granted are the very pearls that join together and make a beautiful life, but only when strung together with thankfulness, linked with grace.
Rosetta longs to walk, to run, to get out and about. She’s been dreaming lately of walking and believes it is a promise from God that she is going to. Too many days, Rose thinks that her life is not one of much impact since she lives in dependence upon the care of others. Like most of us, she doesn’t know how much she enriches those around her by her faith in the midst of her confined life. I get to offer her my view of her life through the window of grace and she drinks deeply from hope. Some days Rosetta feels like she is losing her mind because of the unbearable pain that racks through her body but within moments the gaze of her heart turns back to Jesus in trust. She looks to him and is grateful for his love. She is thankful for his provision. She knows joy because she knows she is his.
Last Friday night Rosetta and I enjoyed an unhurried conversation. Both sitting in our respective chairs, we spoke of thoughtful things; of hope, of suffering, of the mysterious ways of our God. She cried in saying goodbye. I didn’t know it would be our last. Come Sunday morning, Rosetta is running. She is free and healed and happy and seeing face to face the One who had won her heart. I already miss her. I am going to continue to miss her. But only for a little while. And while I do, I pray to see my life through a window of grace and invite others to share the view.