A Couple of Millionaire Sparrows

“I want to talk to you about your husband,” the nurse at the dialysis center told me. “Privately. Out in the hallway, please.” My imagination raced: What now? Another failure in my efforts to care for him?

“Lawrence is usually such an encouragement to everyone here on dialysis,” she said. “The fact that he’s not his usual, upbeat self is a matter for concern.”

I made my way to the cubicle where Lawrence was having his blood flow monitored.

“What’s going on, honey?” I asked him.

“I’m only half a man anymore; I can’t do anything for you; I’m worth less than those good-for-nothing sparrows chirping outside—you deserve a million dollars for sticking with me!” No, I thought. He’s the one who needs comfort—not me.

“But we’re rich already,” I assured him. “We have more clothes than we can wear; more food than we can eat; nice
neighbors who’d come even if we’d called at two in the morning. And, thanks to you, I’m ‘first lady’ in the ‘White’ House’ right here on our own street! Would we be any happier—or better off—being real millionaires than we are right now?” Lawrence smiled, settled down and we gave thanks and prayed. In my effort to cheer him up, I found myself cheered up as well.