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Authors: Dianne; Christner
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his toy.”
Fannie thumbed through the Good Book and cleared her throat. “Here it is. And it ain’t pretty. Proverbs 25:21–22. ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.’”
“Sounds like we should’ve invited Simon to dinner,” Jimmy stated sarcastically.
Carly considered the verses. “I guess if he hates me, he is the enemy?”
Auntie nodded. “And the best way to embarrass your enemy is to treat him with grace and respect. Even if he isn’t shamed into repentance, others’ll see who is right, and the Lord will bless your desire to help the residents.”
Carly grew thoughtful. “I suppose I could show him more respect.”
Jimmy shook his head with disgust. “I’m still mad. Why should Carly take the blame?”
“Because it’s our way. It’s God’s way, and I’ve seen it change people. Nothing Carly has done up to this point has changed Simon’s attitude.”
“She’s right, Jimmy. I only want the best for the residents. And I got the program approved. It’s just my pride hurting that I can’t administer it. Maybe my job is done.”
“Maybe,” Auntie replied. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll try to be kind to Simon and Sherie.” Carly cringed. “But I’m not ready to apologize to Simon.”
Auntie nodded as if the matter were resolved. “Ach! The food’s getting cold. And we’re here to celebrate the best caregiver at Sweet Life. Everybody eat up.”
Carly felt Cocoa snuggle in-between her feet, and the love of her family overwhelmed her. They’d provided a plan. They always stuck by her. They’d helped her get through the rumors buzzing around church after she’d split up with Dale. Rumors he’d spread. And now she had to forgive his dad. Given her temperament, the plan wasn’t going to be easy to implement.
Carly placed her bike in the stand and greeted Rocco as she passed the maintenance building. Her cheery countenance masked conflicting emotions, dreading her first encounters with Sherie and Simon. She punched numbers into a keypad, and sliding-glass doors opened to admit her into Sweet Life’s assisted-living facility.
“Hello! Hello!” Magnificent the cockatiel pruned its feathers from its cage. The lobby resembled a living room filled with second-hand sofas and out-of-date armchairs. It sported a round recreational table and television, though not a flat screen. Some shelves contained books and hideous knickknacks. Next to a stone fireplace was a wooden cradle filled with dolls and stuffed animals, which the senile residents could hold and rock.
Light bathed the lobby from its double doors and a side door that led to a walled-in flower garden with patio and benches. There a circuit sidewalk provided exercise for the residents. Carly glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. Her shift was 7:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Monday through Friday with an occasional Saturday. She headed to the receptionist’s desk, noting several residents were finishing breakfast. Klepto, their wanderer, turned her back to Carly, trying to hide the fact she was fiddling with the staffroom’s door handle.
Since Miranda had come to Sweet Life, the residents were dubbed with nicknames. Names solely used by the caregivers. It wasn’t malicious. Miranda had a hard time remembering names, and when needing to quickly identify a resident, descriptive nicknames flew out of her mouth. They’d stuck. The staff didn’t mean to demean anybody. It just happened.
For instance, Nines—the woman who always dressed to the nines for dinner and who used impeccable manners—could often be found sitting in the lobby with an outdated hat and purse in her lap as if waiting to go someplace. Since she wasn’t at the moment, it meant she was in her apartment with Teacup—her cat.
Carly stuffed her purse in a bin behind the receptionist counter and glanced down a long, carpeted
Fannie thumbed through the Good Book and cleared her throat. “Here it is. And it ain’t pretty. Proverbs 25:21–22. ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.’”
“Sounds like we should’ve invited Simon to dinner,” Jimmy stated sarcastically.
Carly considered the verses. “I guess if he hates me, he is the enemy?”
Auntie nodded. “And the best way to embarrass your enemy is to treat him with grace and respect. Even if he isn’t shamed into repentance, others’ll see who is right, and the Lord will bless your desire to help the residents.”
Carly grew thoughtful. “I suppose I could show him more respect.”
Jimmy shook his head with disgust. “I’m still mad. Why should Carly take the blame?”
“Because it’s our way. It’s God’s way, and I’ve seen it change people. Nothing Carly has done up to this point has changed Simon’s attitude.”
“She’s right, Jimmy. I only want the best for the residents. And I got the program approved. It’s just my pride hurting that I can’t administer it. Maybe my job is done.”
“Maybe,” Auntie replied. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll try to be kind to Simon and Sherie.” Carly cringed. “But I’m not ready to apologize to Simon.”
Auntie nodded as if the matter were resolved. “Ach! The food’s getting cold. And we’re here to celebrate the best caregiver at Sweet Life. Everybody eat up.”
Carly felt Cocoa snuggle in-between her feet, and the love of her family overwhelmed her. They’d provided a plan. They always stuck by her. They’d helped her get through the rumors buzzing around church after she’d split up with Dale. Rumors he’d spread. And now she had to forgive his dad. Given her temperament, the plan wasn’t going to be easy to implement.
Carly placed her bike in the stand and greeted Rocco as she passed the maintenance building. Her cheery countenance masked conflicting emotions, dreading her first encounters with Sherie and Simon. She punched numbers into a keypad, and sliding-glass doors opened to admit her into Sweet Life’s assisted-living facility.
“Hello! Hello!” Magnificent the cockatiel pruned its feathers from its cage. The lobby resembled a living room filled with second-hand sofas and out-of-date armchairs. It sported a round recreational table and television, though not a flat screen. Some shelves contained books and hideous knickknacks. Next to a stone fireplace was a wooden cradle filled with dolls and stuffed animals, which the senile residents could hold and rock.
Light bathed the lobby from its double doors and a side door that led to a walled-in flower garden with patio and benches. There a circuit sidewalk provided exercise for the residents. Carly glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. Her shift was 7:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Monday through Friday with an occasional Saturday. She headed to the receptionist’s desk, noting several residents were finishing breakfast. Klepto, their wanderer, turned her back to Carly, trying to hide the fact she was fiddling with the staffroom’s door handle.
Since Miranda had come to Sweet Life, the residents were dubbed with nicknames. Names solely used by the caregivers. It wasn’t malicious. Miranda had a hard time remembering names, and when needing to quickly identify a resident, descriptive nicknames flew out of her mouth. They’d stuck. The staff didn’t mean to demean anybody. It just happened.
For instance, Nines—the woman who always dressed to the nines for dinner and who used impeccable manners—could often be found sitting in the lobby with an outdated hat and purse in her lap as if waiting to go someplace. Since she wasn’t at the moment, it meant she was in her apartment with Teacup—her cat.
Carly stuffed her purse in a bin behind the receptionist counter and glanced down a long, carpeted
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