Fons meets Sweet

Leonard Sweet came by to visit yesterday evening for exactly one hour. No socks. On his feet no socks looked unobjectionable. I don't think he was making a fashion statement. No socks on Len looks like the closest thing to bare feet in sandles on the dusty road.

He cared enough to come. To visit the sick. He talked and listened. It was as if he had come and we were spreading a picnic. Then, before he left, his prayer gathered the pieces of our conversation up into the whole cloth as if he were taking the picnic table cloth from all the ends until all the dishes, utensils, crumbs and morsels were encapsuled in the fabric bundle and handed over to God.

Len taught me sign language. The finger placement and movements for "united," are finger to thumb on each hand, right hand locking circle with left hand, then rotating the two-handed clasp as if stirring the pot. Len motioned "Methodist," by rubbing both hands, palms flat, together. Even without saying, the motion speaks "oh boy, oh boy, almost here, here it comes" anticipation. A fire of enthusiasm starts with the rubbing of palms. The enthusiasm in me has not quit. I rub my palms with glee and am reminded of the spirit kindled.