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(This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Parts 1-6. Please read the previous posts first if you haven’t already.)

“Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12

Two of Georgia’s favorite things are stuffed animals and watching videos, so I decided a movie night with her would be perfect. Since it was only a few days before Christmas, I had my mind set on getting a particular holiday flick. Surprisingly, Georgia didn’t own it, so I checked our local library. Apparently, 33 other people had the same idea because I was #34 on the hold list! At that rate, I wouldn’t get the movie until summer, so I called a few family members and friends to see if anyone had a copy we could borrow. No one did. I couldn’t find that silly video anywhere.

Plan B was to make our movie night a game night, but since Georgia has trouble with her eyes and can’t see very well, I wasn’t sure if that would work. Still, I invited her to come over, knowing we would figure out something fun to do.

My daughters, Isabelle and Jocelyn, solved that whole issue for me. They were our entertainment for the evening! Dressed in their green Tinkerbell costumes, they flitted around the living room, dancing wildly to Christmas music. Justin, Georgia, and I laughed and enjoyed the show.

I could tell by the joyful expression on Georgia’s face that she was completely content. I hoped, though, that she wasn’t disappointed. In fact, when I was sitting next to her on the sofa, I leaned over and said, “I’m sorry we weren’t able to get a movie tonight. We’ll do it another time.” Georgia looked at me and smiled. In a soft voice she said, “This is much better.”

You’re exactly right, I thought. This is much better than staring at a television screen. We’re making special memories together that will forever be recorded in my heart. Georgia, thank you for reminding me how precious life is. You may have retired long ago, but my sweet friend, you are still teaching. You are teaching me.

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(This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Parts 1-5. Please read the previous posts first if you haven’t already.)

“If anyone…sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.”
– 1 John 3:17-18

Normally on Thursday mornings, I attend Moms in Touch, which is a group of mothers who meet to pray for students, teachers, and faculty at their child’s school. However, two weeks ago, my throat felt as if it was on fire, so I decided not to go. After I dropped Isabelle off at school, my youngest daughter, Jocelyn, asked, “Mommy, can we stop by Miss Georgia’s?” I said, “No, honey. Not today. Mommy doesn’t feel well.”

Neither one of us said anything for a few minutes. We listened to Christmas music on the radio as I drove home. However, a distinct voice interrupted my thoughts, the same one I’d heard the first day I saw Georgia walking in the cold: “You should stop.” Soon I found myself driving toward her street.

Georgia was thrilled to see us. She was wearing her coat, so I asked if she was getting ready to go for a walk. She shook her head no, and told me that her heat had gone off at about midnight and never kicked back on. Her thermostat read 62 degrees.

I tried to fix the heater myself, and even called the customer service number on the panel for help, but I couldn’t get it to reset. I assured Georgia that I’d have my husband stop by after work to take a look. Thankful, she said, “You always come by when I need you!”

That afternoon, all four of us went to Georgia’s. My husband figured out what the problem was right away, and within a few minutes, warm air filled her house again. After we returned home, I commented to Justin, “What if I hadn’t stopped by today? Who knows how long she would have gone without heat.” I shuddered at the thought.

The Lord used a sore throat, along with a simple request from my daughter, to put me in the right place at the right time to accomplish His purposes. Had I not been sick that morning, I would have been at the prayer group instead of at Georgia’s house. I also would have missed an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus to someone in need.

This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4. Please read the previous posts first if you haven’t already.)

“Every good and perfect gift is from above.” – James 1:17

This morning, the girls and I surprised Georgia with breakfast. When we arrived at her house, Isabelle and Jocelyn headed straight for the living room to find their favorite little friends – matching chipmunks that sing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” While the girls played, Georgia and I talked in the kitchen.

“Georgia, do you have any photos of you when you were younger? I’d like to see your family,” I said. She paused for a second, as if trying to remember where the pictures were, and then motioned to a large, black trunk. It was padlocked. Georgia searched through her stash of keys, and once she found the matching one, she unlocked the trunk. Inside were close to 20 albums. She pulled out a white one from the middle, handed it to me, and we sat down.

Georgia was beautiful. A carefree, happy woman, probably in her late 20s, stared back at me. In many of the photos, she was surrounded by family – her parents, sister, brother, and niece. A few pictures were of her with friends. There were also work-related magazine articles and group photos of the kindergarten classes she taught. Georgia’s eyes lit up when she saw the children.

I was so intrigued by this glimpse into her past that I asked if I could see more. She let me choose the next album. When I opened it up, I was speechless. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Georgia had pages and pages of her own artwork and poems. Not only that, but they were good. “Georgia, this is amazing,” I told her. “You are very talented. These things should not be locked in a box!” I felt as if I had uncovered a treasure that had been buried for years.

After looking through two or three more albums, it was time for us to go. I reminded Georgia that I would be back at 5:30pm to pick her up for Christmas Eve dinner with us. Isabelle said, “Miss Georgia, you get to open presents tonight!” Georgia’s reply was, “And, I thought you people were my present!”

I had to laugh when she said that because I have been thinking exactly the same thing about her. Georgia is the greatest gift our family will receive this Christmas.

This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. Please read the previous posts first if you haven’t already.)

“Then Jesus said to his host, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” – Luke 14:12-14

I like to cook, so when I know we’re having people over for a meal, I usually go all out. I also try to plan the menu a few days in advance. This particular night, though, I didn’t have time to do either. What I ended up making – a Greek-style rice and beans dish, salad, and fresh vegetables – wasn’t my proudest moment in the kitchen. The rice was slightly undercooked, which made it crunchy, and the flavor was much too bland for my taste. However, I had a feeling Georgia wouldn’t notice at all. She didn’t. She kept commenting on how much she enjoyed the food. Georgia was just happy to be with us, and we felt equally blessed to have her in our home.

After dinner, Isabelle and Jocelyn played in the living room, while Justin and I visited with Georgia in the kitchen. We stood because it was more comfortable for her. Her legs tend to cramp if she sits for too long. As we talked, Georgia revealed more details about herself, her family, and the accident that changed her life.

Occasionally, though, Georgia would make random comments that seemed unrelated to our conversation, making it difficult for us to know how all the pieces of her past fit together. Our best understanding is that when Georgia was in her 40s, she suffered from extreme work-related stress, which caused severe physical problems, causing her to deteriorate rather quickly. She got very sick, lost too much weight, and ended up in the hospital. Eventually, she was forced to quit the job she loved.

When I could tell she was getting tired, I offered to take her home. Again, she thanked us profusely for the evening. As I walked her to the front door to make sure she got in safely, Georgia asked me to come in for a few minutes. She had something she wanted to show me.

She handed me a box filled with papers and receipts – medical records, worker’s comp claims, physical therapy documentation, and settlement forms. Georgia was reaching out, trusting me with a few of those mysterious puzzle pieces. She didn’t want me just to read information about her illness and what she endured. She invited me to see her. To know her.

This precious lady has a history. A story. Who was Miss Georgia? What had she been like in her younger days? What were her hobbies? Did she really understudy with Bing Crosby’s daughter-in-law, as she claimed? Had she done some modeling? What had happened to all her friends? Has everyone abandoned Georgia?

I had so many questions and hardly any answers. I was sure of one thing, though. I wanted to know more about this unforgettable woman God has brought to our family.

This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Part 1 and Part 2. Please read the previous posts first if you haven’t already.)

“If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” – James 2:16

Georgia showed me her kitchen. The first thing that caught my eye was a small baker’s rack that displayed a gorgeous set of dark red dishes that were obviously quite old but still in perfect condition. Since I’m a foodie and love all things kitchen related, I was fascinated by her collection.

The second thing I noticed wasn’t something she had, but rather what she didn’t have. There wasn’t a refrigerator. Immediately, the ache in my heart was back. Tears came to my eyes, and a lump formed in my throat. I’d always concluded that Georgia’s rail-thin frame was a result of her walking. However, at that moment, I knew that exercise wasn’t the only factor keeping her so skinny. She doesn’t eat, I thought. When Georgia walked out of the room in front of me, I quickly peeked inside a few cabinets to see if what I suspected was true. It was.

I had trouble focusing on what Georgia was saying. All I could think about was the fact that she probably rarely had a well-balanced meal. I couldn’t stand it any longer. No more small talk. I had to know.

“Georgia, I see that you don’t own a refrigerator,” I said. “What do you do for food? You do eat, don’t you?”

“Yes, when I’m out walking.” She told me that if she gets hungry, she’ll grab something at a restaurant or grocery store. If, I thought.

Georgia then led me out to her sun room. Curtains covered the windows, and she pulled aside one curtain to show me what was behind it. On the windowsill sat two cans of fruit cocktail and one can of mandarin oranges. That was her pantry.

As we wrapped up the tour of her house, I told her I’d stop again. I gave her a hug, said good-bye, and walked out to my car. As I drove away, I called my husband at work to tell him what had happened. “Justin, we have to do something.”

I thought about Georgia for the next two hours. I couldn’t get her or her situation out of my mind. However, the last thing I wanted to do was just to feel sad for Georgia. I was determined not to let that happen.

That night the Feola family had a very special guest for dinner.

(This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Part 1. Please read it first if you haven’t already.)

“And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” – Matthew 25:40

“It’s way too cold for anyone to be out in this weather. Can I give you a ride?” I asked her. She replied, “Yes, that would be nice.” Georgia was thankful to be out of the wind, even though she said exercising eases her struggle with fibromyalgia. She walks because it makes her feel better. That’s why she’s always on the move.

Georgia said she was headed to the bank, which was probably at least 1 ½ miles from where we were. As I drove, I enjoyed getting to know my new friend. I discovered that Georgia grew up in California. She never married nor had children of her own. However, she worked as a kindergarten teacher for several years. Judging by her kind disposition and warm personality, I was sure she was an excellent one.

When we arrived at her house, Georgia asked me to come in for a few minutes. I was thankful that she trusted me enough to invite me into her world. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but because she’s always impeccably dressed, I imagined her home would be tidy and clean. I was right.

What I saw, though, caused a deep ache in my heart that’s indescribable. In the middle of Georgia’s living room was a group of about 30 stuffed animals, all placed neatly in rows and facing a small television.

Georgia introduced me to her “babies” and took great pride in showing them off. What was interesting was that most of the animals made noises. At the push of a button, they would sing or talk. It made me sad to think that such sounds were probably the only voices that ever broke through the silence in Georgia’s home.

With no car, no phone, and no family in the area, Georgia probably goes days without talking to a single soul. Even though she might occasionally have conversations with employees at stores she frequents or tellers at the bank, for the most part, Georgia is all alone.

I knew from that first encounter that I would see Georgia again. I had to. There was no way I could walk out the door, drive away, and forget about her. God had put Georgia in my life for a reason and it wasn’t just to give her a ride.

“Whoever closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself call out and not be answered.” – Proverbs 21:13

For the past few months, God has been doing major some demolition work in my life, breaking the hardness of my heart into tiny pieces. The problem? I have been apathetic and unconcerned about the needs of others. God has shown me that if I want to be like Jesus, I have to care about the things he cares about, and what he cares most about is people.

Her name is Georgia. If you drive down Battlefield Road in Springfield on any given day, you will see her walking. In fact, many people in town probably know who she is, although they might not know her by name. She’s a tiny lady, maybe 5’2”, and she can’t weigh more than 100 pounds. My guess is that she’s in her late 70s or early 80s, and she looks quite frail. One thing that always catches my eye is her outfits. She obviously likes clothes, and she usually wears a hat. Because I see her so often and in a variety of different locations, I’ve often wondered how many miles she walks each day.

This past Monday while driving home, I saw her. All bundled up in a parka, she was doing her best to shield herself from a fierce headwind. It was a bitterly cold day, and the wind chill was dangerously low. I sensed the Lord saying, “You should stop.” It was as simple as that. My response was, “But we’re headed home, and it would be inconvenient. I have things to do, and I’m busy, and ….” Blah, blah, blah. I’m embarrassed that such selfish thoughts entered my mind. Where was compassion? Where was love? Here was this poor woman, walking out in 20-degree weather while I sat in my cozy, warm car, and I am debating whether or not I WANT to help her! Sad. Pathetic. Not at all like Jesus. Within a few seconds, though, the desire of my spirit to obey the Lord overcame the selfishness of my flesh. I turned the car around and drove up to her.