The Man in the Picture

Slice of Life - March 6, 2012

You've probably seen the picture. An old man sits alone bowing his head in prayer before partaking of his daily bread. He looks so content, so serene, but it is a lonely picture. Where is his wife? Has she died? Where are his children? Why is he alone? He is not really alone, for he sits talking to Someone. He is grateful to Someone for all the blessings he has experienced in his long life, and he is pausing, as is his custom, to express his gratitude.

I do not know the man in the picture. I do not know if he was a real person, or if he is just from someone's imagination, but I know what his story may have been.

In his youth he rode in a buggy pulled by a horse. He remembers the day his father came home with a Model-T Ford. He recalls how they had to keep the car from rolling downhill by placing rocks behind the rear tires. He chuckles as he relives the day his father cranked the car, but couldn't get back into the driver's seat fast enough. The car got away and rolled into the creek.

He had to quit school early, to help the family make ends meet, by bicycling all over the city delivering telegrams as a Western Union Messenger Boy. He laughs until tears roll down his cheeks when he tells about the dog that barked and barked with teeth barred, then ran at him right through the screen door. When the dog lunged to knock him down, he put his hands under the dog's chest and lifted, and the surprised dog flew right off the porch into the yard. He loved his days as a Western Union Messenger.

He has out-lived three wives. His first wife, the love of his life for 48 years and the mother of his two sons, accompanied him as he returned to high school and college as a preacher-boy. She served as pastor's wife as he pastored three missions and helped grow them into churches. One day her heart quit beating and he was alone. Too soon, extreme loneliness prompted him to marry a woman whose compulsive neatness required him to keep his desk in the walk-in closet so that no one could see the clutter of creativity it held. He remained faithful to her until her death thirteen years later. By that time he was in his eighties and thought he was through with romance . . . until he met Judy, who was almost twenty-five years younger than he. They enjoyed walks in the mountains, visiting old cities, and reading the Bible together. He got giddy when he spent time with her. Life had new meaning. He asked her to marry him, and she surprised him with a yes! They had one year together before cancer took her away leaving him lonelier than ever been before.

For the past ten years he has lived in an apartment in his son's house. He loves baseball season on TV. He always has a project in progress on his three desks. He does needlepoint and word puzzles. He loves chocolate. His social time is at supper when he discusses the news, baseball and his sweet memories with his son. In the quiet of the evening he can be heard reading aloud from the Bible or one of his old sermons, the whistle of s's making a melodic rhythm in the night. And, at bedtime, as he turns out the light he whispers prayers for his family; his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren-praying for safety, and health, and mostly for faithfulness.

He is now ninety-five years old. The Lord's mercy and compassion have seen him through all the years, and he is grateful. That is why he bows his head. I know because I sit on the other side of the table, the side you cannot see. He is my father-in-law.