I don't take Jesus seriously.

When I pulled into the Memorial Home, I wasn't even sure where to park. Where I was expecting a parking lot full with vehicles belonging to family visitors, there was only a small circle of gravel big enough to fit three cars. And it was empty. I pulled in and took in the sight. The size of the dead tree in the front yard demanded attention; it's branchs curved and reached toward the ground as though they were crying out in thirst. A broken wooden fence surrounded the front of the one story building. It reminded me of an old schoolhouse, scattered with patches of terminal grass where flowers used to grow. I guess the flowers don't bother anymore. A woman in a red sweater came out the front door and stood on the porch and stared at me as though I was some sort of dangerous intruder, interrupting my thoughts. A dog followed behind her.

That must be Carolyn.

Carolyn runs the Memorial Home for the Aged in Laurens, South Carolina.  It's a home for the elderly who can't afford assisted living or a nursing home yet can no longer care for themselves. The place doesn't even have a website.  You can find the phone number from people who know people who have lived in this small town for a while.  Without Carolyn, the 38 people currently housed at would be homeless. Even the ones who have family have only Carolyn. Those they love are long gone with stolen inheritances, retirement, and estates they did not earn. All prodigal's sons who never came home. So when I say theses people would be homeless, I mean homeless.  On the streets.  Surely dead.

The Memorial Home used to be run by a board, who were responsible to "the county". So essentially, Laurens County was responsible for the Memorial Home and the board made decisions on their behalf. The actual name of the facility is the Laurens Memorial Home for the Aged, which I refuse to call it. Staff, finances, sanitation, the whole parade used to be the responsibility of the county, and eventually they decided it was no longer their responsibility. In Carolyn's words, the dedicated people on the board were told to sink or swim, but they'd do it without the support of the county. Carolyn was on this board.

Twenty some years after that conversation, I'm sitting across from this woman, wondering what on earth she was thinking. 

The tears overflowing from her seasoned eyes as she told me story after story about souls she deeply cared for would have brought the most apathetic to their knees. The scent of a decaying building and bodies were most abundantly mixing with the stories she hummed; both still grasping for what life is left in them. But what I will tell you, is that stories like hers and those she gives her life to make better should never die. Compassion is real. I have seen it.

I try and visit Carolyn at the Memorial Home more often than once in a while.  I hope it reminds her somebody cares about what she's doing; it reminds me good people really do exist.  I asked her recently why she hasn't written a book about all the things she's seen, all the redemption she's encountered.  An account of how God dips His finger into this depravity.  She laughs and coughs at the same time.  She says nobody would believe her.  She says the stories are too ridiculous.

I have come to find out Carolyn has battled cancer for years.  Her husband is also terminally ill. They live in a small house fifty paces from the Memorial Home.  And this - this is how they've chosen to spend their time.  All of it.


The rest of it.

Carolyn Penland will never write a book. She'll never hold a weekend conference in Nashville or be a well-known, eloquent blogger. She'll never be known for her sepia-induced photography or have a booth at a Christian music festival. She is a woman who took on something that wasn't her problem to own.  And yet now, it fully encompasses her existence.  People are depending on her to stay alive.

Do you remember one of the last things that Jesus told His disciples in the upper room? He tells them that where He's going they can't go. And then He tells them to love one another, as He has loved them.

I can just imagine how different would things look if we took Jesus seriously for once.  If I took Him seriously when He says He has to leave for a while, but He'll be back for us.

"Take care of each other."