On my cheek, her Token
She kissed me on the cheek. Her lips were soft and as I leaned in to tell her goodbye. She smelled of soap. We had only just met but there was still a fresh tear in her eye. She tried to say thank you but the tracheotomy had left her speech impaired. Each word was hard to deliver with extra air blowing through. But I understood even if the words didn’t come out clearly.
I had only spent an hour and a half with her on a sunny Wednesday in January but I will never forget it.
On very rare occasions a day goes from common to holy. Like one gets a glimpse of what love really looks like from heaven to earth. Outside it was a warm fifty degrees, and the sun glistened off of the white snow. On the way to her home, I road in the back of the truck as a guest of her sister. The gravel roads were a slushy mess in the warm thaw giving the January air the feel of spring.
I followed her sister into the toasty living room illuminated solely by the sun coming in through the picture window. In front of the window there was a small card table with a finished puzzle displayed on top. My eyes fell upon her beautiful white hair as she sat in a recliner nearest the hall entry where I stood.
Humbly I waited as her sister introduced me. I felt a little awkward in my bright yellow coat which I immediately discovered was too warm for the room. She turned to look at me with a curious gaze. We had met before but it had been a few years ago now. Her furrowed brows eased as I was introduced as the Pastor’s wife from the Church.
I didn’t feel nervous but I didn’t feel completely comfortable either. So I took off my coat and sat down with the communion cups I drew from my pocket. I placed them on top of the paperback New Testament I grabbed from the church. She tried to say something with her voice and hands but I knew I would have to listen with full attention to understand. Beside her sat an elderly man with a gentle smile. In a weathered voice, he told me they had been married almost 67 years, much of that time they had made a living as farmers.
I sat quietly on the couch listening, on the walls pretty little country paintings were hung with care. The one on the wall behind the old couple was a frozen pond scene with children ice skating in front of a covered bridge. Across the room, a watercolor of fresh flowers in a vase hung tastefully in a beautiful frame. Their daughter’s handmade quilts hung from the back of their chairs in case they would catch cold. As he spoke, the Iowan accent of hard work and the simple life poured out over my ears like a fresh glass of water. He reminded me of my grandfathers who are now gone. He sat protectively next to his dearest companion. When I told them I brought communion his eyes lit up as he said, “She would like that.”
We made small talk for a little while before I passed out the pre-made-cups. It had been years since she was able to go to church because of her health, so it felt like Christmas. I started to sing hymns with my head bowed. I sang verses from the hymns that came to my mind, one after another. My voice filled the room with the sweet words of old promises. I dared not to open my eyes as I could feel the sacredness of the moment. The room was hushed except for my voice singing and the rush of air as she tried to sing with me…again and again, she tried.
And he walks with me and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own…
When I finished the last hymn I opened the little paperback bible. I still feel a little nervous about being a Pastor so I stuttered at the beginning as I read the Apostle Paul’s words.
“For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, This is my body, which is for you: do this in remembrance of me, For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes…”
We opened the top and took the wafer that represents the body of Christ broken for us. We drank the tiny cup of juice that represents his blood shed for us. We took communion together in that front room lit by the afternoon sun and the power of God. Afterward, she continued to cry as she tried to tell me how much she had missed church. It was like her heart was broken and healed at the same time. The hope of heaven lay empty in her hand.
Though she could hardly speak the truth was etched into her face and the moist stream of tears still falling from her eyes. She knew God. In that moment while singing songs of praise and worshipping her Lord with communion, that humble room became a Sanctuary and God met us there.
We talked a little after that, and then it was time to go. As I was standing by her chair she pulled me in for a hug and then she kissed me. That is when I knew I could not forget this moment of truly living. That kiss reminded me of my grandmother now gone for 3 years. I could almost hear Grandma Tarbox say my name: Di-yann in her unique way. She would always giggle as she kissed my cheek. I think I was too busy to notice the soft affection of those kisses.
It was just Grandma I thought, but she is gone now. And I hold onto the hope that I will see her again in Heaven. But on that Wednesday, in the midst of those songs, I felt the glory of that celestial place coming near. I could sense the yearning in my new friend's heart as she tried so hard to sing to her Savior.
I’ve been wondering since that day, at the beauty of the melody her heart raised to the Lord that afternoon. It must have been more beautiful than human ears could hear on earth. And so I cherish that kiss for I know life is fleeting now. We will not always get to sit together on a warm January afternoon passing the time with small talk and touching heaven with special praise.
This is why I snuck away to write it all down.
It is just a small token I can give in return.