The Old Man's Heart

What did you say? Sitting next to him, I impatiently asked.

And then I saw the pain in his eyes that told me he was doing his best.

He was old now and his speech had begun to slur. I took his hand and held it. I was convicted. The twinge of pain ate at my soul. I looked at his hands. They were wrinkled and aged--they were old. He shook as he squeezed my hand back. There was an unspoken language between us at that moment.

In that brief existence, his heart spoke of a time when he was vibrant and virile. A man who raised a family. A man that had a career and worked a garden in the hot Sun. This is the reason his hands were weathered today.

His heart spoke through his eyes, he was a man of God. Although my impatience saddened him deeply, he understood. For he had once been young and he too had been quick to judge an elderly man like himself as I did him today. Oh, he understood, he just didn't like it.

I saw all this in the look of his eyes and the small tear that fell.

Time passed and we sat there quietly--together.

An understanding.

A forgiveness.

A love.