As I entered the room, Alice was sitting in a wheel chair. She had warned me that ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease), the same disease that has ravaged scientist Stephen Hawking, had sapped much of her strength since I had last seen her 18 months ago.
But it was still a shock to see such a vibrant person so physically reduced.
As we hugged, we both wept. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she stammered, “but I wanted to see you again so badly.”
She was holding an email I had sent her about 50 students coming to the Lord at Ohio State. “Alec, I am so thrilled about this. My son-in-law attended OSU.”
Having broken the ice, we entered into familiar territory—stories about our lives together working for World Relief two decades ago. We laughed about the Laotian man who, not understanding his American doctor, had taken birth control pills himself and was very upset that his wife had become pregnant.
We roared as we recalled a young World Relief job developer who had seen an ad by a prospective employer asking for applicants with “Polish and Poise.” Assuming that this meant Polish refugees, he called the employer with great gusto, only to be sorely disappointed.
Ours was a surprising partnership back then. I was 27 years old—academically qualified but short on street smarts. She was 42 years old—battle savvy and salt of the earth. When I first showed up at World Relief, she must have rolled her eyes with concern.
But we were an unbeatable team. Over five years, we led a team that resettled 5,000 refugees in a five-state region. We even received a special commendation from the State Department.
Today as we rambled on, I recalled speaking at her husband’s funeral after he had fallen off a ladder. I remembered her raucous laughter whenever a naked, disoriented elderly gentleman would peer at us from the public housing building next to our office.
I didn’t want to tire Alice out too much, so I said it was time to go. As I did so, she handed me an envelope. Walking out the door, I wept a second time, this time for joy.
What a privilege to know such a saint, one who continues to find jobs for Kurdish refugees over the phone. One who is revered in so many new communities—Cambodian, Ukrainian, Sudanese, Vietnamese, Romanian. . . .
Later that night, I opened the envelope. As I did, a check for $200 fell out—truly a widow’s mite. Her letter, in part, read:
You will never know how much your visit means to me. You were the one who was there when Leo died… This is a horrible disease, one that only gets worse. However, there is some reward as I can plan ahead to say goodbye to those I love and prepare for eternity… I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again… Thank you my dear friend.
I was both humbled and inspired by my visit. Far too often, I pick the wrong heroes. But today, through Alice, the Lord had given me a gift far more valuable than money. God had opened my eyes to see Alice as He does, a faithful disciple whose devotion never waivers no matter what the challenge or circumstance. May I be granted half of her courage and character.
