I Have Something To Learn From Old Ladies In Wheelchairs

Earlier this week, Shari and I walked around Lake Wilderness together as we do most days. But on this particular day, I came across a scene that captured my thoughts and imagination. I’ve been thinking about it for days – and honestly, I’m not sure why it made such an impression on me.

We saw an elderly woman in a wheelchair at the water’s edge. She looked to be in her 80′s or 90′s. And there was a young woman, maybe 19 or 20 years old, standing behind her – obviously the one who drove the old woman to the park and brought her to the lake.

The old woman was surrounded by happy, loud ducks. She was throwing pieces of bread to them as quickly as she could.

Although I couldn’t see her face, I imagined it to be lit up with a grin and sparkle in her eyes.

The young woman behind her had a cell phone out, head down, finger scrolling. She seemed oblivious to the simple pleasure of feeding ducks. She was there, but not really.

I couldn’t judge the young woman. I knew nothing. Was she an employee? A relative? It really didn’t matter. I thought it was wonderful that she took the old woman to the park – even if she spent the entire time on her phone.

But it was quite the contrast. A juxtaposition…

Old, young.

Present, absent.

Attentive, distracted.

Alive in the elements and surrounded by nature with bread and crumbs rolling off fingertips, escaping to another place – a virtual place – a digital world with fingertips on pixels.

Something about the scene spoke to me. It was like a parable without words reminding me to…

Slow down.

Show up.

Be present and alive in the elements.

Be attentive.

Smile.

Sparkle.

The unknown old woman at the park reminds me of a woman I do know. Her name is Wanda Kirbow.

Wanda goes to my church. I did her husband’s funeral a few years ago. Wanda had a stroke and has to be pushed around in a wheelchair.

I tell Wanda “You’re my favorite” every week. She is. I love hearing her stories of mischief when she was young. She grew up in a ministry family and was a bit of a wild child. She grins while talking about wearing hot pants and skirts that were too short for the church choir. Oh the sparkle in her eyes!

Because of the stroke, Wanda can only see you if you get down to her level, on her right side (her hearing and sight is mostly gone on the left). When I talk to Wanda, I have to squat down and get low. I always hold her hand and look her in the right eye and speak close to her ear.

It takes a while to talk with Wanda. It’s not like a high-five as we pass in the hallway. It’s slow and low and attentive… which is maybe how conversations were meant to be anyway.

And I guess that’s what I’m driving at: we have something to learn from old ladies in wheelchairs.

Or maybe I should just speak for myself. I have something to learn from old ladies in wheelchairs. I’m learning life is not to be lived virtually. It is to be lived elementally. Attentively. Present. With grins and sparkle and mischief.

And I’m learning to be connected to others with slow, low, attentive conversations. Eye to eye.

Maybe even with a “You’re my favorite” as the conclusion to the chat.