It was one of those glorious spring days when one almost wonders if the Fall really took place. Multicolored tulips, daffodils and hyacinths formed a gay mosaic against a fresh green carpet of unmown grass. The soft spring breeze wafted waves of perfume from pastel-colored blossoms. The birds seemed to be trying to outdo one another in bursting out with high trillers and peals of song. The drab, dull winter was gone and everything spoke of new life, hope and joy. “Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land . . .” (Song of Solomon 2:11, 12)

But not inside the well-kept, modern nursing home I entered for a visit. At other times, coming in from the cold of a winter’s storm, the home had appeared as a shelter and haven from the inhospitable elements. But today it seems as though death is stalking the corridors. A few visitors push patients confined to wheelchairs. Vacant stares and an occasional faint smile meet my cheery greeting. Glancing sideways into the rooms off the long hall-way I see aged men and women sleeping, some with mouth wide open towards the ceiling, others curled into fetal positions. A frail–looking lady laboriously moves one foot ahead of the other with the help of a walker. There is the familiar, faint odor of nursing homes—a mixture of disinfectants and urine. The contrast with the Eden–like beauty outdoors is overwhelming. Here inside, everything speaks of frailty, helplessness and decay.

The first lady I visit is well past the Biblical age of the strong. She is in her mid–nineties and sitting in a chair beside her bed in the room she shares with another lady. I tell her of my impressions of the blossoms and the song of the birds. But it makes no impression on her. When I tell her that even though nature is already so beautiful, heaven and the beauty of the Lord are much greater, her reply is: “Yes, they all want to go to heaven, they all say that.” She is very deaf and almost blind and evidently she’s not in a good mood today. She’s had a hard life and much grief. She’s brought two husbands and all her children to the grave. She’s often told me the stories of her life—the struggles, the griefs, the financial difficulties, the death of loved ones, and also her struggles of faith. I quote Scripture verses to her, both in English and in Dutch, but there is no response. “I’m tired,” she finally says. She cannot see the spring sunshine streaming through her window, nor hear the carols of the birds outside her room, and today she_cannot see the sunshine of God’s presence nor feel a song in her heart either. It is dark. The Lord has veiled her physical and spiritual senses to His beauty in nature and in grace.

The next resident I find dozing in bed. It is warm and the thin covers reveal a frail, angular skeletal form. With an agonizingly slow effort she raises herself from her bed to sit up, resisting any help on my part. Later I realize she can’t bear to have anyone touch her—the arthritis has attacked the bones in her body so severely that the slightest pressure is painful to her. Her deformed hands uncertainly grasp for a cover. Her arthritis has misshapen hands which once were graceful and steady in performing the numerous tasks of an intelligent, industrious woman. Her body no longer responds to her strong-willed mind. As I watch her agonizingly slow, but determined efforts, I slowly grasp the suffering, not only in body, but especially in the mind of this woman who only a few short years ago was independent, charming and attractive.

It is hot in the room and I suggest a window be opened to let in the spring air. As the fragrant breeze touches her body, she winces. Even this is too much for her pain-racked body and I quickly close the window. The atmosphere in the room is stifling. Well then, if the spring air is too much, I can point her through the window to the golden-yellow forsythia shrub which is blooming a short distance away from her window. But she cannot see it. She has cataracts she tells me and the doctor cannot operate. Not “cannot,” but “will not,” I suspect. “What would be the use, at her age and in her condition?” the doctor probably reasoned. Then she begins a long story about making an appointment to see her eye doctor. “Maybe he can do something for me,” she says. “I must go see him again.”

At this point there is a cheery, musical voice from the hallway. The nurses are changing shifts and a bright “hello” greets us as a nurse comes into the stuffy room. My nursing home resident’s face lights up. She can still hear. Quickly she confides to me, “She’s the best nurse! There are only a few like her.” Watching her, I understand the reason. While plumping the pillows the nurse carries on a comforting, cheerful conversation. “You’re such a good patient; you try so hard, don’t you,” she says reassuringly. “You know, you shouldn’t try to feed yourself; let me do it for you.” Now I know why my lady friend is so frail. She probably isn’t able to get all her food into her mouth because of her arthritic condition, but she is too independent to be helped. The nurse continues, “you’re such a dear, so brave. I’m going to take good care of you the rest of the day.” And off she goes with her cheerful voice trailing behind her all the way down the hall.

The Scripture portion I read with my lady friend is from John 14: “Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” Jesus’ words were meant to comfort His disciples as He prepared them for His coming suffering, death and departure for heaven. He has gone to heaven to prepare a home for His people here below. Now they are waiting, sometimes in dreary and difficult circumstances while their earthly tabernacle is being painfully broken down.

The stifling room seems smaller and more confining than ever. But compared to eternity this is only a little while. In heaven a place is being prepared and waiting for all God’s people who are still on earth. At the mention of this there are tears. A ray of hope has come, not from nature, but from God’s revelation in His Word.

The last stop is with a lady, still in her sixties, but flat on her back in bed, unable to move herself into a different position. She’s been unable to take care of herself and has been confined to a wheelchair ever since she was a young married woman. For many years her husband, with outside help, has taken care of her at home. But, a few years ago, her disease progressed to the stage where she was even unable to sit up in a wheelchair, (anymore) and she had to be admitted to the nursing home. They have no children.

As usual, she greets me with a cheerful greeting. She’s never complained to me about her condition. But she has often expressed her concern for her husband. Recently retired, he leads a lonely life and does not take care of himself very well, she thinks.

When I ask how many years it has been since she walked, she says, “It’s been so many years, I don’t even remember.”

“Do you just lie here then?” I ask. “Can’t you read or do something with your hands?”

“It’s too difficult. My hands don’t have any power, and I can’t see very well either,” she slowly remarks. “So you can’t see the spring flowers and blossoms? It’s so beautiful outside right now,” I blurt out. “I know, I remember . . . But they take good care of me here. The nurses are nice, especially some of them. You can tell the difference. You know which ones care,” is her reply. As though afraid of going beyond her emotional threshold, she brusquely changes the subject, relating a recent accident which cut electrical power at the home, requiring the use of the emergency generator. I get the whole story in detail and I listen as patiently and with as much interest as I can muster. It is evident that this was a big event in her small life.

A few moments later I stand in the brilliant sunshine again and I go back to a full and useful life. Nature is resplendent in its spring dress. ButI know the Fall is real. I have seen its results with my own eyes inside the nursing home. But also in nature it is real. Spring is only a brief season, especially in Michigan. Summer will soon follow with its oppressive heat, and then autumn and winter.

So is our life. It consists of seasons. There is the glorious beauty of spring time, followed by the maturity of summer and the fruitful autumn season. But finally the cold blast of winter storms will come, causing destruction and death. The visit to the nursing home has confronted me with the reality of death. “The day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die” (Gen. 2:17) God told Adam. The Fall is real.

But seeing the renewal of nature in the spring also reminds me of another truth revealed in Scripture.

“I believe the resurrection of the body; And the life everlasting. Amen.”

This truth Christians all over the world confess with the Church of all ages. Death is a reality for everyone, but thanks be unto God, it is not the end for the true Christian. The believer will live again. Not only God’s special revelation in His Word teaches this, but also nature reveals this truth. Surely, if God can make a seemingly dead earth sprout green grass and beautiful flowers, and seemingly dead branches bear blossoms, leaves and fruit, He can also raise up our dead and decaying bodies. And that not just temporarily like nature at spring time, but forever. “I believe . . . the life everlasting.”

One day broken bodies will be renewed, blind eyes will regain sight, and deaf ears will have hearing restored. “And God shall wipe a way all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Rev. 21:4).

Until that time comes we are to carry out our calling on earth. This means that we are to bring the Word of grace in word and in deed wherever we can, especially showing God’s concern for those who are weak and helpless. An institution such as a Christian nursing home is also a testimony to grace, general grace perhaps, but grace nevertheless. Here helpless, suffering and dying people are lovingly cared for until God calls them away from earth. Thank God for grace which moves people to devote their lives to be Christian doctors, nurses, aides, workers and volunteers in institutions of mercy.

It was Christianity which gave the impetus for the establishment of institutions which cared for the weak, the helpless, the sick and the dying. If Christians forfeit their calling in this area, we can only expect a return to the pre-Christian era when only the fittest survived. Then society will be at the “mercy” of nature at its worst.

Have you learned to exercise Christian grace? One day you may need it, too.

Mrs. Pronk is the wife of Cornelis Pronk, pastor of the Free Reformed Church of Grand Rapids, Michigan. The editor of this department is Mrs. T. Vanden Heuvel, 207 Kansas Ave., N. W, Orange City, IA 51041.