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August 22, 2003
“I call myself grandma, but Greg Boyd calls me spunky,” Adella quips while tying her bright lavender scarf. “I’m 84; these guys are still kids.” Adella is one of several seniors who come to Woodland Hills each Friday morning to assemble bulletins for the weekend services. Materials are prepared Wednesday and Thursday by still more volunteers who do the layout and printing and run the folding machine. By 8:00 a.m. Friday morning,  two building engineers have set up tables and boxes filled with the pages that will become more than 2500 bulletins.
The bulletin project started about four years ago, when Ruth Olson, Woodland Hill’s Executive Coordinator, spotted Adella among the sea of young people; there ARE seniors at Woodland Hills! Soon the two decided that helping with bulletins was a ministry seniors could do. Word got out and some more joined the group, and now most have been doing this for 3 or 4 years.
By 8:30 a.m. they arrive in good spirits, wearing lipstick and slacks and comfortable shoes...except for Larry, 70, the only man in the group, who is wearing his stocking cap and eating a banana. Armed with natural sunlight and sticky finger goo, they take their seats and get down to business.
The conversation one May morning was lively as they worked with their hands—everything from theology to movies to trips to Alaska. Phyllis, 75, and her sister Dorothy, 77, have invited Larry’s wife to take an Alaskan cruise in June. “I can’t decide on my dress,” says Sue, 67. “I don’t know what size I’ll be then.” Some things never change, regardless of generation.
 Meanwhile, Dorothy and Larry go around about whether or not the voice of God is audible. This was before the war with Iraq and Jeff, an engineer, asked for opinions about whether or not we should go to war. Dorothy responds matter-of-factly, “Every time I think I don’t want to go to war, I remember what happened when we turned our back on Hitler, and what a mess that was.” The whole nation was searching for the ‘voice of God’ on that matter!
As they near 10:00 a.m., Phyllis reaches into a box they use every week marked "I hate dumpsters." She teases Larry about his constant striving for healthy living. “If I outlive you, I’ll stand by your casket and say, 'I told you so.' ” A bit of harsh reality that many of them have known, having already lost their husbands. “It’s okay now,” Dorothy smiles, in her sweet optimistic way. “I don’t have anything to be sad about anymore.”
“I need some page 5,” “I need two covers,” and the last bulletin is assembled. They bid farewell, knowing they have done their best and again enjoyed their unique kinship. After all, as Larry proudly proclaims, “This is our small group.”
story by Diane Rideout |
