“Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained by living a godly life.” Proverbs 16:31

Not a day passes that we don’t give someone a lift into or out of George. If it’s the truck, the bed is usually filled with people struggling with heavy loads, small children giggling and smiling, or elderly women. I limit my transport to people I know, children or the elderly. It still amazes me to see women with babies tied on their backs with shetanges climb so effortlessly onto the back of the truck. Or pregnant women, put one foot on top of the tire and then whoever is already in back pull them inside. I can’t get my foot anywhere near the top of the tire! There is one man I’ll never forget. There was a small group of women and children near the entrance to George, on their way home. As the truck stopped, I turned to watch through the back window of the truck, and wave as the children easily slid on. Then I saw a man walking slowly toward the truck. His head was crowned with gray hair, his face gnarled with age, appearing to be more than 80 years old. It didn’t matter that the temperature was well over ninety degrees, the hot noon day sun beating straight down on us. He was dressed in a slightly tattered green suit complete with a tie. He walked with a crutch, which helped to hide a definite limp and the frailty of his gait. He waved his crutch in the air, signaling that he wanted a lift also. And so I watched as this tiny gray haired man scaled the side of the truck. He tossed the crutch in the back, grasped the side of the truck with both hands and then heaved his bad leg over first. Then two of the women pulled the rest of him up, over and in. The ride into George is not an easy one. It is a dusty dirt road filled with holes followed by craters followed by rocks – over and over and over again. It is a long, slow, bumpy drive – especially in the back of the truck. But each time I looked, this elderly gentleman was wearing a big toothy grin. When the truck stopped I said a silent prayer as I watched this man carefully lower himself over the side of the truck, the women surrounding him with outstretched arms, making sure he didn’t fall. The women and children waved, clapped their hands in the traditional thank you, and called out “Natotela” which means thank you in Bemba. But the elderly man, slowly and purposefully made his way to the driver’s side of the truck. He looked up at Ron, smiling all the while, and in his very best English, each word pronounced distinctly and very precisely, said “I thank you. Thank you for helping me. And may God bless you always.” It is so humbling. His respect for us was so great…and ours for him. As he stood there, looking up at Ron, I noticed his ill-fitting spectacles, the aluminum crutch, and his big smile, and it suddenly struck me that these things were the result of our clinic several weeks earlier. The ride into George was the least of it. The glasses and the crutch help him on his journey every single day. There is no photograph of this gentleman. The only picture is the one we hold in our minds and treasure in our hearts.