Too Late for Paul? | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Too Late for Paul? | Previous Challenge Entry
By Pat Small
08/09/16
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I knocked loudly, shouted hello, and entered the unlocked door. He was hunched over in the burgundy suede armchair, showing his ninety-two years. The television was blaring. Even if he had not been deaf, I doubted he would have heard my knock. I walked over and stood between him and the television. “Your lunch is here, Mr. Paul.”

He looked up then, and held out his hand, silently asking for help. That was our routine, every time I delivered meals to him. Who helps him up when I’m not here, I wondered. Maybe he just liked the touch of another human in his lonely day.

He was a puzzle. I could not read him at all. In the south where I live, almost everyone seems to know about the Lord. The rest of my clients had all confided in me about their faith. Not so, Paul. I tried to imagine how I could speak to him about his soul, and the time never seemed quite right. I had other clients waiting for their lunches. I put it off, thinking one day I might find a natural segway.

Finally, one Sunday afternoon, I was returning from driving one of the other folks on an errand. As I neared Paul’s home, I thought this would be a good time to stop in and try to talk with him about the Lord. Satan whispered, “It would be better to ask him first if you could visit sometime. You’ll see him tomorrow. You can do it then.”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

God whispered, “What if he dies tonight?”

“Right. Good point. I would regret not having talked with him.”

“You don’t have a Bible with you.”

“So true. How can I show him the way of salvation without a Bible? He needs to see it for himself. Wait a minute. I think I have a New Testament in the glove compartment.”

Aha, there it sat. I was running out of excuses.

I made the right hand turn onto his road, and prayed as I approached his house. Parked in the driveway, I made no move to get out of the car. I started to feel a little foolish. What made me think I had the freedom to pop in and start asking such personal questions? After all, I was just a volunteer. I had no real intimacy with him. Maybe the county prohibited the volunteers from discussing “religion”. I had never been told that, but I wouldn’t want to cause problems, maybe get the county sued and jeopardize the whole feeding program.

What if someone from his family showed up and got mad about me being there? What if he got angry or upset and had a stroke or something? After all, who knew what went on in that old mind? It seemed as though I sat there for an hour, holding an inner debate. In reality, it was probably just minutes.

At last, I exited the car. I dragged my feet all the way to his door, and rapped lightly. Of course, there was no response. I almost hoped the family might have taken him on an outing, or home for Sunday dinner. I rapped again and pushed open the door. No turning back now. Paul saw me, and looked at me questioningly.

“Hi. I was wondering if we could visit for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” He put the banana back on the counter. “Come in.”

I took his arm, and steadied him as we walked into the living room. We talked about his family and how the sons had worked with him building homes. I asked if he attended church when he was able. Then I took a deep breath, and praying silently, I questioned, “Do you know where you would go if you died tonight?”

“Heaven. Well, I hope so.” Then he brightened. “The Bible says if you believe, you will go to heaven, and I do believe.”

I breathed normally again. “Can I read you some Bible verses?”
He nodded. I read verses like John 3:16, and then prayed. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see tears dribbling down his wrinkled cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.” I apologized.

“You’re not making me sad.” He smiled.

Paul died a few days later. Thank you, Lord for not letting me put it off any longer.

"Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and
doesn't do it, sins." (James 4:17NIV)

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