The local man in his seventies entered the Leeward Oahu hospital with a gift tucked under his arm. The believer knew where he wanted to go, and proceeded with purpose. After exiting the elevator on the third floor, he made his way down a corridor. He placed the gift on the counter before engaging the receptionist. “Excuse me. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time. I brought this gift for a nurse who works here. Her name is Noe.”
“Noelani?” the receptionist clarified upon hearing her friend’s name.
“Yes,” the man responded. “Is she working today?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh. Would you be able to tell me when she would be coming in?”
“I’m sorry, Noelani retired a few years ago.”
The man stared at the receptionist with a hint of sadness. He looked down at the floor.
“Look, sir—if you leave your gift here, I can contact her. She can come down and pick it up.”
The senior citizen thought for a moment and then smiled. “I don’t really want to trouble Noe. If I recall, she doesn’t drive.”
“What would you like me to do?”
The man thought for a second. “Okay. I’ll go with your plan.”
“Are you a friend or relative?” inquired the receptionist.
“Neither. I was a patient at this hospital many years ago. The most difficult part of my life happened here. It’s funny—I remember very little from that time, but some emotions remain. Noe was different. Special. She made me smile in my hurt. She took away some of the pain without using medicine. Her kindness allowed her to see what other nurses would overlook. And she introduced me to the Lord Jesus Christ.” The man now spoke more resolutely. “Please see that she gets my gift.”
“I will.”
The man entrusted the gift to the receptionist and then left. It developed into a very busy day for the receptionist. She forgot about the gift. It remained behind the counter for days. And weeks. Until, one day, she came back.
Noelani felt led by the Spirit to make one last round at the hospital where she had worked for so many years. This was a place where patients lived and died, where hopes and fears were surrendered into the hands of people like Noe. Each day in this place lasted an eternity, each moment a convergence of sorrow and triumph. Noe’s soul moved in and out of time; her heart was a depot between the physical and the spiritual. To the man with the gift, Noe was the little angel who graced dark corridors watching over the sick while they slept. Once more as it had always been, the lady with the lamp would make her final round.
“Oh, Noe!” exclaimed the receptionist. “I’m glad you’re here! A man left something for you.” She reached back behind the counter and lied. “He came in a few days ago.”
“How exciting,” Noe responded. “I wonder who it is from.”
“He didn’t give his name. He said he knew you from a while ago. He referred to you as the little angel.”
“Thank you.” Noe picked up the gift and proceeded down the icy corridor one last time. The spirits of the past, some alive some gone, acknowledged her as she passed by. She had left behind much love, and they would remember.
Now in the basement garage, Noe walked towards the car she had purchased only a few months prior. She placed the man’s gift on the passenger seat before turning the ignition. She drove off from hospital premises and made her way down a quiet road. At the first stoplight, she looked upon the gift lying beside her and read a dying man’s grateful words: To my friend, Noe. I will see you again in eternity…
The little angel continued towards the nursing home, to her new appointment assigned to her by her God. Accelerating onto the freeway of the Divine life, Noe headed off in the direction of a glorious setting Pacific sun.
First few pages of Old Woman, from Pastures of Wonder
As I enter this place, there whispers a quiet reminder to me that all things end. The inhabitants of this building, the elderly, the terminally ill, have no place to go. Some of them, I surmise, lived quite a full life but then again what does it matter? For it is the end. The termination of a long expedition filled with ups and downs, twists and turns, loves and losses. It is an occasion to untangle from the complexities of human existence and go quietly into the night. It is a time, if at all possible, to lay down with dignity and grace.
I do not know why a certain woman, a very old woman, catches my meandering attention. She is unremarkable in many ways, and not strikingly wise to be sure. A nurse finished feeding the woman as I happen by her room. I know this is so because there is evidence deposited on the old woman’s chin. My shallow heart goes out to this woman, my soul full of judgmental pity.
“Are you still looking for that hand mirror of yours, Mrs. Smith?” the nurse queries. The nurse repeats herself, not sure if the old woman understands or even hears the question.
“Well, if not,” the nurse continues, “no need to worry, Mrs. Smith. I need you to get ready for your bath. Your bath, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?” The nurse exits the room and proceeds down a long, freshly mopped corridor. The old woman is now alone in her finality.
Then, just as I am about to move on with the rest of my undistinguished morning, I spot the old woman’s mirror. I perforate the confines of her room, intruding upon her space to retrieve the lost reflection device. I offer an ‘excuse me’ smile, but the woman just sits there—motionless, frail, weak—so reliant on the nursing home’s staff for all her daily needs. I make my way towards the back of the room and seize her mirror. I walk back and place the mirror on the bed beside her. This heirloom has kanji markings inscribed on its lower arc. Why does this old woman hold on to this foreign item? I glimpse into the mirror, into its reflections, for an answer. There, in the twinkling of an eye, I see the unexpected.
I see a striking young girl, a chocolate box of innocence closing in on eight, singing in the cane fields of Maui. She dashes along the countryside, her youthful smile shimmering against the warm Hawaiian sun as a mother and grandfather talk story outside a plantation home. In the vastness of this tropical milieu, I behold regal Mauian cliffs and a waterfall tumbling alongside in its grandeur. I see a brother and sister enjoying each other’s company without a worry in the world. In the girl, I see boundless energy and potential—an unfilled life waiting ahead.
I see a teenager dancing the hula before Sunday worship—her feet, hips, elbows, fingers and eyes dazzling and communicating in perfect unison. I see her high school sweetheart watching intently alongside a pleased mother and grandfather. I see a young soul walk down a lonely road and entrust her spirit to the Lord. And I see God meet her at the end of the aisle, and issue a promise to never forsake.
I see marriage vows being exchanged before a small church gathering between a young lady and a young man. The bride seals these oaths with a kiss upon the lips of the young man to be there through thick and thin until the Lord decides to take either of them home. She is joyful beyond words as her new life begins.
I see a young mother in her mid-twenties watching affectionately over her young. She has erected a home built upon unified discipline and devotion. It is a contented family of unbending vulnerability, a platoon ever mindful of its dependence upon the Lord.
I see neighbors and friends remind the woman, now in her thirties, how quickly her children have grown. The woman has fashioned a bond between herself and her kin to weather storms of disillusionment and hurt. It is a union instituted not only on the psychological and the familial, but also the spiritual. Her children have grown in wisdom and stature, and in favor of the God they worship.
The woman is now in her forties and her children are no longer beside her. Silent hallways no longer reverberate echoes of laughter and mischievous banter. No birthday parties to organize on a drizzly Saturday afternoon. No one to scold, remind, entrust, nurture or inspire. It is a home, as it was, with all the children gone. Her husband embraces her as they let go of the past and prepare for the future.
I see a woman, now in her fifties, once again setting up for a potluck as toddlers mess around by her feet. The woman and her husband, once more as it had been, experience the gleeful wonder of youth. The woman unlocks her kitchen door but before stepping outside into rousing festivity, places a single Tahitian Gardenia in her hair, strategically accentuating her ehu-colored cascade.
I see a woman much older now, dressed in black with head bowed, tearful amidst a measureless pasture. Her husband has completed his race, and has gone home. The woman begins to tremble as ominous gray skies assemble overhead. Just then, a soothing mist descends upon her rinsing away her tears, and reminding her she is still part of something bigger. Much bigger and much better.
Now I see a woman rich in wisdom and fully secure in the warmth of God’s love. She recognizes, now more than ever, her role in an eternal plan. She bestows every ounce of her enduring life, her last penny, to her Lord. Down below near the flower garden, she paints images of crosses and churches to witness to any who will see. She prays each night as fresh moonlit droplets rhythmically patter against nursing home windows. Her prayers target her nurse and other close staff members, but with even more fervor she prays for her neighbors, her dying comrades, for there isn’t much time. And as she awakens in the morning and sees a pastor pass by her room, she knows her aspirations, which are not of this world, are beginning to be answered.