I hadn't planned on getting caught. I adjusted the cold handcuffs digging into my wrists. Although the tightness of the sharp metal cut into me, it was the least of my concerns. My parents were on their way to pick me up at the police station. Dread consumed me as I waited for their arrival. As I thought about the events of the police sting, heartlessly, I had no compassion for my alleged victims. I only regretted getting caught. Could an angry teen like me, filled with immense anger for the world, learn to love others?
-It would take a miracle.
About a year after my arrest, God planted an undeniable urge in me, a desire to serve the community in some way. I couldn't shake it. The yearning pestered me day and night. Most people offered the same idea when I asked everyone I knew for suggestions.
"How about serving in a nursing home?"
"No, that isn't for me."
Then I'd ask the next person. And they would say, "You might like volunteering in a nursing home."
Seriously? Is that all people can come up with?
"Can't you think of anything else?" I asked my mom, who also suggested a nursing home.
"Maybe you should ask our Bishop."
"That is a great idea."
The anticipation grew in me as I waited for my appointment with the bishop. I expected an epiphany from my religious leader, calling me on a grand mission to serve God. I thought he would shed a tear as I offered myself to the Lord. But instead, he told me, "Maybe you would enjoy helping the elderly."
My mood darkened like clouds rolling over the beach, torrential rains driving me away. His advice smothered my desire to serve. Oh well, I would return to my self-centered life.
A couple of nights later, I went on a midnight stroll. My route took me by a nursing home, where I passed a picture window spanning the length of the building. Inside, an older gentleman sat isolated in an empty dining room. He looked lonely in such a large area by himself. I watched him when he turned to me and waved.
He sees me?
Awkwardly I waved back. His face lighted up as if I was his greatest friend. He excitedly talked and moved his hands around. Then he gestured for me to come and visit him.
It is midnight.
I couldn't go into a nursing home in the middle of the night, but I went to the main doors, relieved they were locked.
Oh well. I returned to the window and mouthed I was sorry.
He got up, wobbled to a side door I had not noticed, and opened it, inviting me in.
That unseen door surprised me.
I had to fight my stiff legs to go through the door.
If I get caught, they will arrest me for trespassing. I can't go through that again. I don't even want to be here.
The man pulled a chair out for me and said, "Sit."
Despite my trepidation, I sat. I tried to ignore the pungent smell of the place.
And we talked.
The conversation smoothly flowed, surprising me with how delightful it was. A pleasant warmness swirled in me.
Later, I couldn't stop thinking about that man. He had left an imprint on my soul.
About a week later, I returned to his nursing home during business hours.
"Can I volunteer?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. Oh yes." The activities assistant said to me. She had a contagious smile as her eyes twinkled with kindness. "Our residents just love young people."
She guided me to the dining room, where the residents gathered in a circle.
"Isn't this fun?" She said as she stood in the middle and tossed a beach ball around.
What is she doing? These are adults. Why is she doing a kindergarten activity with them? I gazed around, ashamed to be part of the degrading activity.
I shifted back and forth on my feet. I shouldn't have come.
"Now it's your turn," she said to me.
I looked at the side door I had entered several nights ago. I wanted to run out of it and never return. What was I thinking coming here?
Despite my reservations, I griped the ball and entered the circle. I tossed it at a lady who didn't even try to catch it. The ball smacked her on the chest.
"Oh, sorry," I said. What an idiot I am. This isn't for me.
Yet, I kept tossing the ball.
"Wahoo!" a man called out, then laughed a hearty laugh that reminded me of my grandpa. Surprisingly, the residents seemed to like the activity. Most of them had pleasant smiles as they laughed and joked around.
As we played, something happened. The conduits of heaven opened, and Heavenly love poured inside of me.
I love these guys!
Where did that come from?
Pure Christian love flooded my heart, chipping away at the hateful-crust built around it.
Was it possible to love strangers so profusely?
That moment was the second miracle that changed my life. The first was when the elderly man opened the side door and let me in. God bestowed upon me the gift of the healer's heart. He took this bitter teen and blessed me to find love for almost any older person I met.
I couldn't stay away and volunteered at the nursing home five days a week. Eventually, working at an assisted living facility.
The older generation is the valiant savior of our communities and country. They served before us, laying down the foundations we ride upon today. They have stories and hopes. They have needs and desires. But sadly, many of the aging are tossed aside by the younger generation. These beautiful people have lost so much and no longer feel valuable. As many seniors live alone with broken hearts, they plead with God to be noticed and remembered.
After I had children, I left my job to raise my family. I missed working with my older friends and continued to make time in my life to serve them. Now, I could teach my kids this same love for our society's forgotten population.
How had God changed the heart of a rebellious teenager? He taught her to love. My story has many miracles laced into it. God inspired me to serve during a time I only cared about myself. He directed me to appreciate the older generations, and I resisted, so He opened a side door and gave me a formal introduction to the older man who changed my heart. And God filled me with love more remarkable than the empty path I was on.
That was a miracle of the heart.
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A Miracle of the Heart
by Stephanie Daich
