Jerry

I meet a lot of people.

I see a lot of things.

I decided today that I'm probably going to write a memoir someday. I don't even care if anyone buys it. Somehow writing things down just helps them make sense, and by the time that I'm old and gray I'll probably have a lot to sort through, judging by the way things are going.

I realized this when I had my first free time in a couple weeks yesterday. Whenever this happens, I tend to panic, so I sat down with my diary and read what had happened to me over the past six months. Then I felt better.

But none of that has anything to do with the point, so please forget it and continue.

While I was reading, I came across a lot of stories of old people- old people touching me, old people yelling at me, old people touching me, old people crying on my shoulder, old people smiling at me, old people asking me if Lindsey was my daughter, old people touching me....you get the idea. One of them was a man named Jerry.

I had forgotten all about Jerry, probably because I only saw him once and our conversation was actually very short, as conversations with old people go. Still, I know that I met Jerry for a reason, and I should've shared him with you long ago.

Like so many of them do, Jerry sat in a wheelchair, and he couldn't talk very well. From what I remember, he didn't seem very lucid, so I told him "hello" and wrote him off as one of those unfortunate elderly folks who can't communicate well anymore.

I walked away.

He followed me.

"I've beat cancer four times!" he suddenly spoke heroically. "And once I was in a rollover accident. The doctors thought I'd never come out of a coma. They tell me, 'Jerry, you're a walking miracle!'"

And he is.

There is so much hope out there. Sometimes, when we're in the midst of the thick, tangible darkness that often makes up this world, we forget to look for it.

That day, nearly four months ago, it sought me, wheeling across a linoleum floor during "Happy Hour." It just took me four months to realize that it was Jesus who sought to remind me that His hope is brighter than any darkness I'll ever face.