I Am Only the Driver

Every month I pick up one of our volunteers so she can join us for worship.  Esther (not her real name) is small, very spry, and probably one of the most opinionated people I know.  She walks just about everywhere she goes, and she would walk to the home we serve together if it were just a bit closer.  She is educated, speaks several languages, is very frugal, and maybe even more stubborn.  In the years that I have known her, I do not know if I have ever seen her dressed in anything but tweed and sturdy shoes.  She has never missed a worship service.         

This week as we were returning home, she said, "Would you look at my hand?"  The middle joint of her small finger was swollen.   

"Esther, that looks like arthritis."  

She looked surprised, as if it was a rare condition just recently discovered in this country.   

"Well, you are 85.  It is amazing that it is just now showing up."  I don't know why I was so confident I knew her age, but foolishly, I jumped right in those dangerous waters.      

She huffed and quickly replied, "I am most certainly not 85.  Try again."  

"OK.  84." 

"Nope. Barely a day over 83. Furthermore, do you know where I was Saturday night?" 

She is always asking me if I know, and, of course, I do not.    

"I was dancing." 

Now I was the surprised one.  I simply could not imagine this tidy woman in her sturdy shoes and practical tweed jacket gliding along the dance floor.  She went on to tell me that her son and daughter had taken her for an evening out, and that she danced, not just one dance, but every single number that the band played.   

I had to ask.  "Esther, what did you wear?"  

"Well, an evening dress, of course." I could almost hear her thinking, "You really do not know much, do you?"

 She smiled, "It was slit up the side.  You know, my husband loved to go out so he was always bring such dresses home (she said this in such a matter of fact way that she could have just as easily said that he was always given to bringing home stray cats).  People were particularly surprised when I danced the tango. Do you really think this is arthritis?"  

"Yes, I do, but talk it over with your doctor."   

"You can let me off at the corner."  She says this every month.    

'No, I can't. YOU KNOW  I can't just drop you off at the corner."  

"All right, darling.  You did a nice job today.  I'll see you next month.  You know, the band leader blew me a kiss when we left."     

  

So did I. But you know not at the corner.  Band leaders and chauffeurs know what they need to do.