Once I had a parishioner who was–to put it as it was–a deformed dwarf. Maxine was about three feet tall, and had little stubs of hands and feet. Her condition confined her to a wheel chair in a room in a facility that allowed similarly limited individuals with varying conditions to have a place of safety and such freedom as their situations permitted.

All Maxine’s limitation were in her body, however. In her personality and in her spirit, Maxine was one of the most outstanding and engaging Christian women I have ever met. In fact, as a young pastor, I’d go make a visit to cheer her up whenever I was feeling particularly low myself. I’d always leave afterward feeling like a million bucks. Maxine had that gift. She told me a man once asked her to marry him, but she turned him down. She didn’t want him confined by her limitations.

One day, Maxine said, “Pastor, I don’t know why I am alive.” This was so unlike her, that it caught me off guard. I said, “What do you mean?” She said, “I asked God to keep me alive until my parents died, so I could pray that they would become Christians and be saved. He did. Then I asked God to keep me alive until my sister died, so I could pray for her. He did. Then I asked God to keep me alive until my brother died, so I could pray for him. He died a few months ago, and now I don’t know why I am alive. There is no one else left, except me.”

I said, “Maxine, you are alive because God has a work for you to do yet. I don’t know what it is. You don’t know either. But until it is finished, looks like you’re going to be here with the rest of us.” We prayed she would know why God was keeping her alive before I left.

A few times later when I stopped by to see her, Maxine said, “There is a deaf woman who lives just the other side of the wall from me in the next apartment. I believe she was once of our faith. But she married a man not of her faith, went through a divorce, and it has been many years since she’s been to church. Would you be willing to visit her?” Of course, I would. But getting permission to knock on the woman’s door was a rather involved process. In fact, we had to write to her relatives on the opposite side of the country to obtain their permission before we could make contact. Maxine kept after me and the folks who ran her facility for weeks until that was achieved.