When one of our members, age 90+, took a tumble that landed her in transitional care, I stopped by to say hello. It was no surprise that she was down in the dumps. Transitions can be difficult at any age, but are especially painful when decisions about housing and mobility and even personal care are no longer fully yours to make. A fall can herald harsh and sudden change - my church friend was unsettled about what had happened and uncertain about the future.
Into a lull in the conversation, I announced, "It's Ash Wednesday," though it was redundant.The enormous cross on my forehead from the early service had already broadcast this fact.
"Oh," she said, clearly dejected. "I wish I had some ashes. That would really cheer me up."
This Eeyore-like response spoke such volumes about her predicament. Alive but not fully living - at least not as she hoped.
"Don't I have a pretty big cross on my forehead?" I asked, knowing it had been applied by my pastor-husband who had never once skimped on the ashes.
"Oh, yes, you certainly do," she agreed.
"I'll share."
"You'll need a mirror," she immediately declared, "Use mine." In the bathroom, I used my thumb to remove as much ash as I could from my forehead while muttering "What are you doing?" to my reflection.
We sat on the awkward low-to-the floor bed like girlfriends at a sleepover as I traced a whisper of a cross onto her brow. It was a holy highlight in the disorienting and fear-filled day after a fall. We held hands as we prayed together, not knowing what the earthly future holds - but giving thanks for the gift of life and for God's persistent, loving claim on us from beginning to end. And for the promise of new life to come.
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