A Wrinkled Kiss

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Mothers

BY: Robyn Langdon

God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.
~Hebrews 6:10

I was not nervous, but neither did I know what to expect. I was taking my children to a nursing home to serve the residents. It was an opportunity presented through a group of people in my church who regularly reached out in love to the elderly. Though my children, ages seven and five, had not been around older people very often, I was pretty sure they would be comfortable enough to interact positively without being too frightened.

We were asked to help the residents paint a pot for their garden, and then serve cookies and coffee. My kids are always up for a craft project, and anything having to do with paint especially excites them. They gladly plopped down at one of the tables next to the residents and began to paint little animals onto the clay pots, with minimal apprehensive glances at the shaking hands painting beside them.

It was during "snack time" -- as my son, Josiah, endearingly referred to it -- that I was stunned and filled with pride all at once. After passing out cookies, my children finished their crunchy sweets in no time, and began to follow me as I meandered and mingled among the residents. If you've ever been to a nursing home, you'll be able to relate to the fragrant wet-diaper-mixed-with-antiseptic-soap-and-Bengay smell that permeated our noses, even as we tasted the cookies. For me, a former certified nursing assistant, it was no big deal, but I feared that my kids and their hypersensitive young noses were not going to tolerate the environment much longer.

It was then, while I was predicting how many more minutes they would last before whining to go home, that I observed one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. No matter how long I live, I'll never forget it.

One particularly fetid woman had taken a fancy to my son, even being so bold as to hold his hand and squeeze his cheeks. (My son is extremely handsome, bearing the cutest freckles splayed across his sweet little face.) She would beckon him over to her if he wandered too far away. The lines were etched so deeply in her face that I guessed she must have been at least ninety-five years old. Her hands held the beauty of age spots and long, twisted fingers that shook when she reached up to touch him. I was just about to retrieve our jackets and tell them it was time for us to leave when this lovely, endearing woman pointed to her face and puckered her lips to ask him for a kiss.

I felt my eyes widening in curiosity at what he would do. While I could not condone any disgust or rudeness from my son, neither could I force him to do anything awkward or embarrassing. And while I stood there pondering my next move, Josiah amazingly and without hesitation reached out, braced his hand on her wheelchair, and puckered his own pink lips to meet hers. Gentle. Sweet. Unafraid. A smile filled her ancient face, and her delight shone just as bright as if she were decades younger. My charming son could not help but smile in response. Needless to say, my proud tears slid down to the upturned corners of my mouth.

We left that day different from when we had arrived. God had revealed His tender love through my son's courage and grace. It is a wrinkled kiss I'll never forget.

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