In the hallway of my memory hangs a photograph. It’s a picture of two people—a man and a woman in the seventh decade of life. The man lies in a hospital bed in the living room, not in the hospital room. His body, for all practical purposes, is useless. Muscles have been ravaged by ALS. And even though his body is ineffective, his eyes scan the room for his partner, a woman whose age is concealed by her youthful vigor.
She willingly goes taking care of her husband. With unswerving loyalty she does what she’s been doing for the past two years: shave him, bathe him, feed him, comb his hair, and brush his teeth. On the day we buried my father I thanked my mom for modeling the servant spirit of Christ: quiet servanthood.
