At the beginning of the week, I remember seeing him at the back of the line during a busy hour at the coffee shop. While other customers showed faces of slight impatience or hurry, I noticed his calm demeanor. He virtually had no expression on his face. While it hinted towards a face of contentment to stand and wait, this man seemed to have an agenda at the same time. And yet, patiently he continued to wait until the chaos subsided and he could have our attention. What he was about to say was important, I could tell. But the depth and substance about it was something that would soon floor me.
As he spoke to the owner of the coffee shop, I could barely hear him over his tenderly quiet voice. I heard him ask about a group of women that meet on the first Wednesday of every month for a Bible study at the coffee shop where I work. While many groups come in and out, we were having a hard time pinpointing which Bible study group he specifically meant. The idea came to look at our wall of photos, a sentimental collage of memories and people who frequent our coffee shop.
He found the group he was looking for. On the photo was titled "Discipleship Group". He went away with the owner and talked to her for a short while and that's the last I saw of him that day. But when she came back, she told a story about enduring love that brought us to tears. This was real life and the heart of this man bled with a desire to continue to love even greater.
Not long ago, maybe even within this past month, this man had lost his wife. For 62 years, they had been married and each year on her birthday, he would give her roses. I'm not sure if it was just one rose or a certain number of roses, but he faithfully gave them. But this year, her birthday came and went. I can imagine how his heart must have grieved on that day as he missed celebrating another year of her life with her.
Today was the day she would have met with her Discipleship Group at the coffee shop. As I said, I don't even know how long she has been gone, but the void of her absence in the group seemed fresh. This man, whose face is forever etched into my memory, brought a dozen roses to share with each of the ladies in the group. He wasn't even certain if they would still meet today. But he arrived at 11am, just as he had said he would do, and he brought a dozen red roses. And he waited. And waited. A good twenty minutes went by while he waited for the women to show up.
Finally, in came one. Then another. And in an effort to give them their privacy, I kept a comfortable enough distance to take in the endearment shared between all of them and him, but not intrude on the moment. I feel like I was paralyzed with his warmth as I watched it all unfold, kind of like those moments when you witness an engagement as it is happens and you can't help but stare.
I'm not sure what words were spoken. I don't know his name. Or hers. I can't even say I recognized many of the women in that group. I don't know much of the story at all. But what I do know is that I saw on the face of this man the heart of passion and love he held for his wife. To him, it didn't matter that she is gone. His love hasn't left and he chose to continue to honor her even in her absence. I've never been one to like roses. Today, that changed.
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