Opal Alwashousky* was an abundant lady, not morbidly but pleasantly obese. Some condition had eliminated most of her hair, leaving a few strands on top that went wherever they wanted to go. But these were merely first impressions, put aside when one got to know her exuberant affable personality

I recognized her address at the edge of town when the call came late morning. I ran the two blocks to the ambulance garage, glad to see Steve arriving. At that hour few volunteers were around, most working daytime shifts. A neighbor had heard Opal yelling from her bathroom, where she had fallen in her tub and couldn’t move without torment. Opal had called for a long time; her voice was hoarse. She said later that she thought she’d probably die there, and a part of her wanted to.

When Steve and I arrived a few minutes after the call, the neighbor met us and sent us inside. We brought a neck brace, stretcher and backboard, a couple of blankets and lifting straps. Opal was naked and—for the time being—beyond embarrassment. She had managed to empty the water and toweled herself mostly dry. Bruises were beginning to show in large patches.

Slowly and carefully we put on the neck brace, maneuvered a blanket and straps under her body and lifted her out, apologizing all the way for the hurt we were causing, and encouraging her to yell all she wanted. Somehow we got her out, onto a stretcher, covered with blankets, into the ambulance, and on the way to the hospital. It was a miracle. She asked Steve and me to promise not to tell anyone the condition in which we found her. We promised, as was our duty anyway.

I had served Opal communion in regular pastoral visits, so it was natural to visit her in the hospital afterward. She had broken a hip, but everything else was intact, including her sense of humor. She recovered and lived a few more years. I had the privilege of returning to her home, accompanied by a deacon, to share communion. She would always ask, in front of the deacon, with a wink, if I had told her secret.

“Definitely not,” I would answer.

To which the deacon would ask, “What secret?”

“If you only knew,” she would say.

Now, nearly fifty years later, and Opal long gone to a larger bathroom in the sky, I’m telling.