In an earlier post I metioned that I spend a lot of pastoral time at our local, small town nursing home--Sandstone Heights.
Several of my church members are there, but occasionally I "adopt" one outside of my flock and visit them as often as I do my members.
Perry, 99, is one of my adoptees. I met him 4-5 years ago. He was yelling from his room, "Get me out of here." He had just arrived at the home a day or so earlier.
Usually, I'm very sympatheic to those grieving the fact they can't live at home any longer. But on this day, I told Perry, "Hey, this is where God has put you. You can get used to it, or you can be mad." Amazingly, he calmed down. From that time on, we've been good friends.
This week wasn't one of Perry's better days. But still, we couldn't help but make each other laugh.
Perry: "Well, hello. How far did you come to get here?"
Me: "Oh, about a half a mile."
Perry: "Is that all?"
Me: "That's all."
Perry: "What do people call you?"
Me: "I get called a lot of things, but most people call me Pastor Ted Weis."
Perry: "Pasturd Fed White?"
Me: "Yep, Pastor Ted Weis."
Perry: "Pasturd Fed. I'm glad to meet you. Say, where's your church?"
Me: "It's here in town. It's the Congregational Church."
Perry: "Well, I'm converted. I just don't know which way."
Me: "You're a Methodist. I've tried to convert Methodists, but I've never had any luck."
Perry: "You haven't? I guess the air is going out from under your wings."
Me: "Maybe so. But I try to keep flapping anyways. See, I brought a Bible with me. Can I read you something?"
Perry: "Yes, I need it."
Even when Perry is forgetful, he remembers he needs the Lord. I hope I remember that when I get old.