After our service at the nursing home today, my wife, granddaughter and I sat down and talked with two fellows. One man named Lewis, 73, who we know, and a newcomer, Rod, 61. Both wheelchair bound. Conversation is very easy because no one ever gets enough visitors and they have stories stored up from months of loneliness. As we sat and listened to Rod pour out his stories without once taking a breath, in what I think was ten minutes, I found an opportunity to sneak a question to Lewis at a blink. Off he went like a dog who just stole another’s bone; he never looked back and were it not for his need to take a breath, there would have been no opportunity for Rod to steal back the bone and run with it. But steal it he did and much to Lewis’s chagrin, he told us about his entire family tree with but two breaths. It was humorous to watch the battle for the floor play out. But sad as well. James tells us that an important part of religion is to listen to orphans and widows, or widowers. It took no skill or education to minister a listening ear, and I enjoyed the stories of 62 pound Salmon, and Grandma’s great age of 103 years. Some, or all, of the stories may have been enhanced for listener’s pleasure I’m sure, but as I settled back in my chair and watched the joy they both shared strolling down memory lane, I couldn’t think of a place I would have rather been.