Pearl of Great Price

Again, the Kingdom of Heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.
- Matthew 13:45

The pearl of great price is the twin brother of the Hidden Treasure story. Same brain twist. Just what would you have if you did this? You'd have a really great pearl, and nothing else. Don't be thinking this merchant kept anything back, either - clearly it cost him everything. Today you would also have maxed out your credit cards. What could possibly be worth that?

Robert and I visited my parents in Phoenix a few weeks ago. My dad is 85 and his body is rigid and slow. He takes several tries at things like dialing phone numbers. He is tired most of the time; the bypass surgery didn't restore his energy as we had hoped. And he is the sole caregiver to my stepmother, Marilyn, who has Alzheimers disease. She seems to me like a frame with a very faded picture inside. She can't follow conversations very well, and she dozes a good part of the day. My father takes her to the bathroom and tells her when it's time to go to bed, guiding her by the hand in their slow shuffle step, because she cannot find the bedroom. He gets her ready. In the morning, he pours her cereal and juice. After a few bites and she's lost interest, he points to the bowl - You got cereal there, Kid. She falls infrequently, and he does her exercises with her to build strength. There was a note from the visiting nurse after she was in the hospital, saying she should have 24-hour care. So far he hasn't mentioned it.

We all say they'd be in much better shape if they were in "assisted living". Someone could track her pills with greater precision. They could have prepared meals. He might meet some other people who haven't heard his jokes. And it's not likely to happen.

One morning I go into the kitchen and hear them laughing. I touch her back, and she starts, greeting me by name (which I'm not always sure she knows). Her voice is bright and youthful, her face somehow released from its sleepy mask. I ask about a gingerbread-making kit on their counter, and my father tells me that Marilyn used to make the best gingerbread cookies. Now they're just a memory. She smiles and sings, Thanks for the memories... He says her granddaughter Betsy came to visit them awhile back, and asked Marilyn to make some; they were her favorite as a child. Remember that? he asks. Nope, she says cheerfully, as if she might, just not this time. Marilyn couldn't remember what she put in them, he continues. They were awful. With perfect comic timing she sings loudly, Thanks for the memories... We laugh so hard.

This must be his pearl, I think. These flashes of her as she once was. He gives everything he has for this - mind, heart, body, everything.