Angels of Humility: A Novel (31 page)

Physical therapy was grueling for Sarah. Not only was it physically painful, but even worse was the psychological pressure. She knew she had to do well if she ever wanted to walk again.

Tomorrow they were transferring her to the temporary wing at the Manor to continue her therapy. She groaned as she pointed her right foot, then flexed. “Eight more, you’re doing fine,” said Janet, her physical therapist. Sarah looked toward the colorful, encouraging poster on the wall, gritted her teeth, and continued.

So far in the six days that she’d done therapy, she had been unable to stand on her own, even with the assistance of the parallel bars.
When did I get so weak? I’m on a downhill slide
.

It was nearly impossible for Sarah to get comfortable in bed. She didn’t have the strength to roll herself over.
If I stretch out, my right side lets up a little, but my leg hurts. If I try to curl up on my side my leg eases some, but the pressure on my side makes the whole thing throb. It seems like there should be one position where everything stops hurting, if only for a moment, but I’ll be darned if I can find it
.

The doctors and therapists had all been encouraging, in an effort to help her, they increased her Parkinson’s medicine. But inside she constantly wrestled with the fear she wouldn’t walk again.
It was hard enough just getting around with my walker before I broke my hip. These constant tremors made it hard to grasp anything. My hands almost seem useless
. And although she hadn’t told anyone, she started to notice that swallowing was sometimes a problem.

She was shuttled between her hospital room and physical therapy in a wheelchair. The thought of spending the rest of her life in one of those was almost unbearable. She tried to put on a happy face during the day with the staff, but at night Sarah would pray to the Lord and weep, crying out for mercy and strength until she fitfully dozed.

The next morning, Jan gave her a sponge bath, helped her brush her teeth, fixed her hair, dressed her, and packed her books and belongings. She wheeled her to Barbara’s waiting car, where one of the male nurses picked her up and gently placed her inside. Pain shot down her leg and she grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. Then Sarah watched as he folded the wheelchair and placed it in the back seat. Just knowing it was following her to the Manor made her cringe. She wondered if it would carry her the rest of her life. She turned her head and stared out the window so Barbara wouldn’t see her tears.

Barbara turned on her blinker and pulled into the Manor driveway. She looked at Sarah. “You know, if you continue to do well in therapy this is only temporary. We can find someone to live with you, and you can move back home in a few months. I’ve been checking with some home health agencies. It’s quite expensive, but with the money from the ground, you can certainly afford it.”

“The money is…” she bit her lip.
Jesus
, she prayed silently,
Help me to trust You, and help me to have a good attitude. I’ve never felt so scared and helpless in my life
.

Barbara parked the car outside the glass double doors and disappeared inside. In a few minutes she came out accompanied by two male aides.

“Hi, I’m Wayne.”

“And I’m Gary. We’re going to lift you from the car and put you in your wheelchair.” The phrase
your wheelchair
was almost more than Sarah could bear. She teared up, but managed to nod and put her arms around Wayne and Gary’s necks to help with the lift.

Gary grabbed her suitcase and held the door, and Wayne wheeled her inside the lobby. Barbara followed behind. Everything was like she remembered it. There was a lounge to her right, with a television blaring. Four people in wheelchairs were watching television, and there were others on couches, most with walkers parked in front of them. Several were asleep and slouched uncomfortably in their seats.

Wayne pushed Sarah by more patients in wheelchairs. “Hey everybody,” shouted Gary. “This is our new resident, Ms. Sarah. Everyone say ‘hi.’” Several patients looked up as Sarah passed by.

“It’s an hour ‘til lunch, but people start gathering early,” said Gary pointing to the dining room on the left. Sarah looked toward the long corridor they were approaching. When Wayne turned the corner, she flinched as the smell of urine hit her in the face.

“You’re going to be in a double room, but now there’s no one else in it,” said Wayne. Halfway down the corridor, he turned left into room 120. Sarah’s eyes scanned the stark room. Yellow walls, a small sink, a door to the bathroom, and two beds, each with a small dresser. The only things on the walls were a large clock and a bulletin board listing the date and the nurse on duty.

Barbara read Sarah’s mind and volunteered, “I’ll swing by your house and pick up a few things that we can put up on the walls.”

When Barbara returned several hours later, she had to use a cart to transport all the things she’d brought. All Sarah’s worship CDs, a CD player, more books and devotional guides, pictures from around her house, the afghan from the couch, her love letters, and the big world map that Sarah covered with pushpins every time she prayed for a different city. She plugged in the CD player, put in five worship CDs, and pushed “repeat all.” “I’ll change them whenever I come, but I think that having worship music constantly will help your mood,” Barbara said.

“Also,” she added with excitement, “I saw this in the drugstore the other day, and it made me think of you.” She held up a colorful world globe, put it on Sarah’s nightstand, and plugged it in. “See, it’s a night light and it rotates. If you can’t sleep you can pray for the countries as they move past you.”

In bed that night Sarah tried to slightly adjust her body to alleviate as much pain as she could. She held the afghan close to her, like a toddler would his blankie. She stroked the wool.
Lord, am I going to spend the rest of my life in the Manor? When I die, will they find my stiff body under this pink chenille bedspread?

The tension in the sanctuary was obvious. The older folks sat together again on the center pews. The rest of the members fanned out on the left and right sides. The crowd was mostly older members. Most of the nondisgruntled folks had stayed home, with the exception of the elders.

Paul called the meeting to order with prayer and introduced Mike as tonight’s master of ceremonies. They had both agreed that Paul shouldn’t lead the meeting, but could surely comment. Mike listed a few ground rules and then opened the microphone to the audience. After a few minutes, Wilma made her way to the front.

“Well, it’s no secret where I stand on this church building plan. I’m not in favor of anything that would cause us to leave our building. This church was built in 1907, and most of the older members, including myself, have grown up here. This is home to us. We were baptized here, married here,
have seen our kids married here, and many of us have even buried loved ones in the adjoining cemetery. The only way you’ll get me to leave is in a box.” She wiped a tear from her eye and sat down to applause.

Floyd wanted to know what would happen to the building if a new one was built.

John Williams was concerned about debt. “This church is paid for. If I’m not mistaken, we had the mortgage burnin’ in 1950, seven years early. We took a special offering and paid it off. We own it free and clear. If the church goes and gets itself in debt up to its ears and then a recession hits, we’d be in a terrible bind. What would we do then? We’d owe hundreds of thousands of dollars that we wouldn’t have. I say we keep the one that’s paid for and run two or even three services if needed.”

One of the elders stood to defend the plan. “I think the Lord is bringing this increase, and I don’t think it’s going to stop. We need to be prepared for the future, to take the next step. I understand the sentimental attachment to the building, but we can’t let sentiment stand in the way of what the Lord is calling us to.”

After going back and forth for the next hour, Mike felt it was about time to bring things to an end. Floyd stood and interrupted him. “If I’m not mistaken, and I know I’m not, we can propose a vote on any topic as long as we give at least three days’ notice. So, I propose a vote on Wednesday night.”

“That’s true Floyd. Do I have a second to Floyd’s proposal?” asked Mike.

“You don’t know what I’m proposing yet,” replied Floyd.

“I assumed it was a vote on the building campaign.”

“No. I propose that we vote on whether to keep Pastor Paul. I think I speak for all the older members that we don’t want to lose our church, and we would encourage Paul to take those who want to build and leave. That would satisfy everyone.”

Mike stammered and stuttered, but nothing intelligent would come out. Finally he asked, “Floyd, are you sure you want to make that proposal?”

“If he doesn’t, I will” said Joe Kemper.

Mike knew the church’s bylaws, and he knew they were within their rights, as long as there was three days’ notice. He was trapped, and he knew it. The frustration in his voice showed when he asked, “Do I have a second on this proposal?” Everyone in the middle section raised his or her hand.

“Let’s vote. All in favor of voting on Wednesday night whether to retain Pastor Paul, please raise your right hand.” A quick glance at the center section and he knew the motion had passed. “All opposed same sign.” Most of the hands on the sides, but not enough. “The motion passes. We’ll vote by secret ballot Wednesday night. Only church members, not just attendees, may vote. Meeting adjourned.”

Mike glanced at Paul, still seated on the front row. He could tell Paul was fighting back tears. Kathy was seated beside him with her arm around his shoulder. “Lord,” she silently prayed,
What are You trying to tell us?

Barbara left the church and drove straight to the Manor. “I’ve got some news you might want to pray about,” she said holding on to Sarah’s hand. “The older members at the church want to vote Pastor Paul out.”

“They want to vote him out?” repeated Sarah in disbelief. “Why would they want to do that? The church is growing.”

“They hate the building campaign. They don’t want to leave the church. Too many memories.”

“Oh, that poor man! Is being voted out good or bad? If he’s not at the church he might take the job as chaplain, or he might just move away. Oh, Lord, give him wisdom.”

Sarah wasn’t making much progress in physical therapy, and although she’d initially been assigned to the main dining room, she’d been reassigned to the dining room in the back where residents require help to feed themselves. The tremors in her hands had increased substantially.

Wretched spirits of Depression and Discouragement had come sniffing around and latched on to Sarah again. With each passing hour, her attitude sank lower.

“How’re ya doin’ today Ms. Sarah?” said a food service worker, setting her plate down in front of her and pulling a bib over her head. Sarah tried to force a smile, but it just wouldn’t come. She looked around the table at the other residents, many who looked on the verge of death at any minute.

Some were unable to talk; they could only grunt. Others were partially paralyzed, the result of a stroke. Some were tied in their wheelchair with restraints so they wouldn’t topple out.