The Walk

Have you seen the movie “Gran Torino”?

We watched it with our Son Jon and his Wife Larina.

I was, initially, attracted by the title. Shirley and I bought a “Torino” soon after we were married. It wasn’t the “Gran” version tho’ I’d have gladly taken the upgrade. This was a class ride!

While the car does figure prominently in the story this movie deals with more profound issues. The premise; the screenplay; the performances are woven skillfully into a moving demonstration of the power of “sacrificial love.”

Last Sunday I talked about this in a Class I was teaching. We agreed that it is, also, the point of the Bible’s story; Christ’s decision to abandon all the privilege and prestige of Divinity and descend to the lowest of the low places in human existence and ultimately suffer the gross indignities of execution by crucifixion; the death of a common criminal. His life is – always has been; always will be – the most convincing demonstration of the power of such love.

We who claim to be His followers say we believe in this love. We claim, rightly so, to be the beneficiaries of such priceless love. We also, sometimes, tell Jesus we want to follow Him into His sacrificial way of life.

Here, I fear, we may have ventured farther from shore than we realize. “Sacrificial love” inevitably costs more than, in our limited knowledge, we humans can assess. I learned this “the hard way” recently.

Shirley has taken on a major challenge. She’s accepted an assignment to manage the care and Household business of a totally dependent Family – 2 elderly Parents and their quadriplegic Adult Daughter. I have agreed to assist with the care piece by walking with the Father. He is in advanced stages of Dementia. Despite that he is physically very healthy. He likes to walk. I discovered how much he enjoys it on one of my first outings with him.

We left for our walk around 5:30 or 6:00 on a Friday evening. My Friend said he wanted to go toward the Mountains which border the Northern edge of our Valley. I agreed not realizing what he was really thinking. We walked North along a major Street in his Community. The Street lead upward gaining elevation gradually but steadily. Every once in awhile he’d say, pointing to the Mountains, “It’s just up there.” After we’d walked about 3 ½ miles it dawned on me. He was, literally, “headed for the hills.” In his better days he’d hiked the rugged trails that wind through miles and miles of canyons and meadows faintly visible to us as we walked. And he was taking me on one of those hikes.

When we reached yet another major intersection I coaxed him to turn West. It was getting late. We needed to begin our loop back toward Home. He resisted a bit. But when I suggested that there was a McDonald’s a little farther down that Steet he smiled and agreed that’s what we should do.

We walked on, now on a course that would take us another 3 or 4 miles to his Home. We picked up a coupla Chocolate shakes and strode on, enjoying the downhill trajectory of the terrain. I’d glance over now and again and he’d smile. He was enjoying this!

We’d walked a mile when, suddenly I heard a clatter. I looked over to see his now empty cup bouncing down the sidewalk. He was lying face down on the concrete. A tree root had lifted the sidewalk and he’d tripped over the protrusion and fallen on his face.

I rushed to kneel beside him. The left side of his face was red with "road rash." I had paper towels in my pocket. (A personal quirk our Sons poke fun at me over. I do'nt like sticky hands. A handy towel is a useful deterrent.) I used them to clean his wounds. His hearing aids were loose but undamaged. His glasses, lying nearby, were also unharmed.

When I was sure he’d be able to stand up without further injury I lifted him to his feet. Motorists were slowing down, offering assistance. One couple stopped and walked over to us. They offered to, “give us a lift.” My Friend had already told me he was ready to resume walking. When I told him what they were offering he agreed, again with a smile.

As we prepared to walk to our Good Samaritan’s vehicle I heard sirens. Looking down the Street, I saw the Emergency Vehicles coming rapidly toward us. Laughing I said to our rescuer, “Do ya think they’re comin' for us?” He chuckled. About then we realized they were! coming for us. One of those concerned motorists had called 911! “How considerate!” I thought.

The first of the Emergency Team to arrive was the Police Officer; a Community Service Agent. Her manner was unusually officious for someone from her detail. She questioned me like she would a suspect in a criminal investigation, asking for my ID; what my relationship was to my Friend; how I came to be on the scene. There was something curious about this. The EMT’s arrived and began questioning me about my Friend and his condition. They too were not sure about my role in all of this. “Why all of this suspicion?” I thought. Moving with the Team toward the Ambulance I realized that this could be quite easily seen as something other than it was. I’d not “dressed up” for this walk. My shirt was old and tattered. My shorts were worn and frayed. I was wearing a most comfortable pair of shoes which my Wife had condemned long ago. And my hair, messed up by the wind, gave me the appearance of a crazy man. I looked derelict. Picturing myself in this state, as others might, I imagined the 911 call. “Ya! There’s some Wacko rollin’ an old guy out here on Lincoln. The old guy’s bad hurt! …” I smiled as I saw how this all could be misconstrued. Of course, by then, I’d produced my ID. My Friend, despite his memory issues, was able to vouch for me. I showed the Team his contact information on my Cell Phone and called his Daughter for them. With that the tone changed and I became a “Good Sam,” out doing a “Good Deed.”

These people, themselves, were compassionate and did their work with consummate skill. They took us to one of the finest Hospitals in the Country. En route they cleaned my Friend’s abrasions. Once at the Hospital the process of cleaning his wounds was taken to a new level. They examined a bruise on one hand. The Emergency technicians gave him a full brain scan because of his Dementia.

Five hours and a Tetanus Shot later we were pronounced fit for discharge.

When I set out on this walk it seemed like a compassionate thing to do. I was sure I was pleasing God. An hour or so walking with someone in need of a Friend is a godly thing to do isn’t it? Is this not “loving one’s neighbor?” People we’d meet on the Streets would praise me for what I was doing. The EMT’s and Police Officer praised me profusely once they knew I was actually up to some good. I became a bit of a hero. And that felt good! But it was also costly. This walk cost me my Friday evening. I thought an hour or two would be “no biggie.” Five hours?! I’m a busy man! And that bozo who thought I was a “mugger!?”

It was then I realized “sacrificial love” is not a walk on the “Red Carpet.” It is! “SACRIFICIAL!” Just ask Jesus! It involves a Cross; a price one will never understand until he’s paid it …

I’ll still walk with this Friend.

Now, though, I know that I don’t know what it will require of me …