Once upon a time there lived a lady I shall call Ruth. Sitting in the church waiting for her funeral service to commence, I worked out we had been friends for around 20 years. I had not thought of this until she died. Ruth lived a busy life until, having reached 90 years of age, that dreadful thief called dementia eventually stole her mind and well-being. Yet every testimony spoken in that service blessed her life as a strong, independent woman. A Christian lady, she gave her care and life skills in the service of everyone else. Often at considerable personal cost.
Ruth applied her professional skills as a chef to many worthy causes. She became renowned for the thousands of Melting Moments and Lamingtons (would you believe) she prepared as a means of raising finances for her church.
I was one of a fortunate few who frequently discovered on our desks, a container of her expert cooking. While we often bragged about our gifted treats, we knew they were given in the full expectation that we would share them among our colleagues. Or we would hear about it if we didn't. When our paths did cross, she called me, "My brother." Such acceptance was priceless...and still is. After every chat about how each of us were doing that day, she would smile and say,"Well, let's get on with it the best we can." Yeah - once upon a time I knew a grand little old lady I call Ruth. A lady full of unexpected acts of kindness.