The young man named Domingo stood at the head of the bed … barber’s shears in hand. Four months had passed since I had been admitted to the hospital due to a spinal cord injury. Halloween and Thanksgiving had come and gone. Christmas would soon be here. My husband (now an ex), who was stationed at an AFB in Texas, was coming “home” on leave. Home for us that Christmas was Room 409 in a hospital in the middle of Montana several hundred miles from our real home. The nurses had decided to gift me with a haircut and “do” in preparation for his coming. I had graduated from the circle bed to a regular hospital bed, but I was still unable to sit in a chair. This would come later … much later. But I digress. Domingo had an agenda … other than a haircut. Domingo knew Jesus. Domingo loved to talk about Jesus. I was Lutheran. I didn’t know Jesus the way Domingo knew Jesus. This was about to change. His enthusiasm knew no bounds. What he couldn’t articulate with his tongue, he articulated with his hands. Remember now … he’s there to cut my hair, and I was growing a bit apprehensive as his gesturing gained momentum. I watched {carefully} and then listened quietly as he told me about his Jesus. There was very little to be said on my part … some of his expressions were unfamiliar to me and I didn’t fully understand. That would change … he would be back … there would be more haircuts … and I would learn about praise and worship … and Jesus. Oh, how I would learn. And I would learn that we both knew the same Jesus … him ... according to the zeal that was an integral part of his personality … me ... in the quietness that was an integral part of my personality. I would like to think that we learned together.
Domingo … wherever you are …
thank you for telling me about your Jesus.
The word of choice for the blog carnival today
is
remember.
As it has many meanings
I chose the one
that means
to reminisce
