Left Here Till Death

Our ministry in Malaysia has looked like all sorts of tasks. From painting a Noah’s Ark mural, to gardening, to leading church services, to giving testimonies, to visiting a children’s home. 

But there’s one moment I’ll never forget. It was just a short glimpse of life at an old folks home. The owner has four Grannie homes across town and houses old women for free that can no longer be taken care of by their family. 

There are only Chinese and Indian women in the homes since he cannot accept indigenous Malays. To be Malay is to be Muslin by law. You either are Muslim and don’t question it, or you lose all privileges from the government.

The Indian and Chinese communities in Malaysia tend to intertwine in the Christian church because they have no support from the government. The Indian owner of the Grannie’s Home is a devote Christian and God has obviously put this calling and passion on his heart to serve the community in this way.

We had just under an hour to spend time with the women of the home. He said the best way to love these women is to just be with them and also to give them physical touch. They are so little touched for affection and love because of the condition they are in. 

I looked around the room of women spread out, sprawled on plastic lawn chairs inside a room. Some lay looking lifeless at the ceiling, their skeleton-like frame contorted as they are lying down. Others are sitting up in a chair with a little more flesh and life in their cheeks.

But there was this one woman. From the moment we walked in she was very vocal. The Holy Spirit nudged me to sit with her for our entire visit. She was on a lawn chair in the corner of the room, sitting up, bone thin and with a huge gap between her nose and mouth due to some disorder or disease. A small piece of what was probably the ball of her nose was dangling between the gap. No teeth whatsoever. It was a rather alien-like face to look at. She only spoke Chinese, and she knew that I only spoke English.

But to her, that wasn’t important. 

I sat on the ground at the foot of her chair and smiled up at her. Immediately her eyes lit up and she began talking to me. So as this woman talked, I paid close attention to stare into her eyes. To stare into her soul. As she told me stories I stroked the top of her feet, nodding and smiling every once and while to let her know I was paying attention. 

It was hard not to stare at her deform mouth, but I’m sure every who has ever looked at her has never stared into her eyes for long because of how distracting her facial features are. 

As she talked in this foreign language, I began to wonder what this woman was like when she was younger.

Was she a stunning woman with delicate and strong facial features?

Did she have smooth beautiful skin in her youth?

Did she always have this deformity or did something happen to her later in life?

Was she married?

Did she have kids?

What was her career?

I wondered what life stories she was sharing with me.

Was she pouring wisdom and life lessons into me?

She was very animated in telling me her stories. Using her hands to cover her eyes, touch her nose and mouth, tap her chest and knees.

Looks of surprise.

Looks of disappointment.

Looks of fear. 

She didn’t stop talking the entire time I sat in front of her.

Does anyone sit down and just listen to this woman?

What if I’m 90 something years old and I have no one to talk to?

She knew I didn’t speak Manderin. But that didn’t stop her from telling me all that was trapped in her beautiful mind. These women stay at the Old Folks home until they die. 

Who knows if this woman has family or visitors. She’s been left here until she dies in her old age. 

And although she’s well taken care of, it breaks my heart to think that there are millions of elderly stuck in a bed, many with no familiar faces visiting them. They are constricted in their beds, no one to share their years of wisdom and experience. No one to reflect on life with. No one to care but the people paid to do so.

But this isn’t a blog to be sad about. I want to rejoice in knowing that there IS someone who cares. Someone who will sit and listen each and every day. Someone who wants to spend quality time with them. The God of the universe, their Creator and Maker cares. He sends His servants to be a physical representation of His love for them.

So I may have just sat and listened for a fraction of her day. But who knows what kind of impact that could have on her? Who knows what kind of seed God was planting by having a Christ follower just come at her feet and listen?

If there is an elderly home near you, I not only encourage you to pray for those people, but actually GO.

Bring a bag of candy and give one to each person while taking the time to listen to their story. 

Sometimes the best way we can love people is to listen to the unheard and stare into the eyes of the unseen. 

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