B 7. I 19. N 42. G 50. O 63. BINGO.

My dad taught Sunday School for many, many years ... he taught little kids; he taught high-schoolers; he taught young adults; he taught married couples ... he taught a lot of Sunday School in his day. Daddy's last stint as a teacher before he got sick and had to stop was for elderly gentlemen; the youngest guy in the class was 80 years old. While Daddy enjoyed each age he taught, I think those older fellows held an extra-special place in his heart. He was in his mid-60s when he had to give up teaching because he could no longer remember how to read, and I often heard him say, "I sure do miss my old men's Sunday School class ... I sure do miss those old boys ... I sure do." In addition to teaching the older men in Sunday School, Daddy would often attend the monthly senior citizen Bingo games that were held in the family life center at church. I can remember him coming home and talking about how serious the old folks were about playing Bingo. I can close my eyes and see the twinkle in his eye and the grin on his face as he talked about his elderly friends.

I have a friend who works at a local retirement home coordinating and facilitating activities for the residents there, and Thursday nights are Bingo nights. There are several folks there who need a little extra help to play, so volunteers come each week to do just that ... help those who need help. And from time to time, my friend will ask me to come be a helper, and there's never been a time when I went to help that I wasn't touched or moved in some way by one of the residents. So when my friend said she could use my help last week, I was glad to lend a hand.

Last Thursday, I was paired with a sweet and gentle lady, a lady I've helped before. Her trembling hands and the puzzled look in her eyes remind me very much of my dad, and perhaps that is part of why I like it when I get to help her. She asks me over and over what my name is, and if I'm going to help her play. Each time I tell her my name, she repeats it ... and then a few minutes later, she asks again and I tell her and she repeats it. I tell her the letters and numbers that are called, point them out to her, and she slides the plastic covering over the number. When she gets a Bingo, I tell her to raise her hand and point to the numbers as she reads them aloud to confirm that she has won a game. Then I help her choose a prize from the prize cart another volunteer brings to each resident who gets a Bingo.

It sounds simple and relatively unimportant, doesn't it? Not so much, my friends, not so much. As I sat there last Thursday evening looking around the room, I couldn't help but think that if I were to live to be old, I would probably spend my final days in a similar place. I wondered how many of the residents in the activity room have no one who visits them, no one who loves them, no one other than the staff of the facility who knows if they live or die. I wondered if they sometimes wish to be done with this life, if they long to go on to their heavenly home. I wondered about the stories of their lives ... where they had been, what they had done, whom they had loved. I wondered, and I wondered, and I wondered some more.

My attention was drawn back to the lady I was helping when she asked, "Did I get anything?" When I said, "Not yet," she nodded her head as if she understood what I was saying. A few minutes later when she got her second Bingo of the night, she again asked for a stuffed dog from the prize cart. I said, "Are you sure you want another dog?" and she replied, "I like dogs." "Me, too," I said as I chose a brown and white Beanie Baby dog to accompany the white one she had won earlier. "I like dogs, too," I said, with emotion causing my voice to crack. A kindred spirit, I thought, a kindred spirit who likes dogs. 

So here's the thing ... the reason I said earlier that being there last Thursday to help with Bingo wasn't simple and unimportant at all ... I feel like I don't fit or connect or belong with anyone anymore. And yet ... on Thursday night, I fit, even if only for a moment, with a sweet little lady who likes dogs. A sweet little lady who said, "I like you," when I brought her walker to her when the games were finished. A sweet little lady who will never know how much those three small words meant to me or how long it's been since I felt words like that were spoken to me without the person speaking them doing so out of a sense of duty or obligation. I went there to help, but instead ... a sweet little lady managed to touch my soul.

Bingo. Bingo. Bingo.