Samuel Tilton Young just missed greeting his new parents with a Happy New Year’s entrance by one day; instead he appeared as a bright, bustling babe on January 2nd, 1877.  He enjoyed a normal childhood growing up in Manheim, PA along with his other siblings. He surely expected to live a productive life by going to school, getting a job, finding a wife, raising a family, and growing old in the usual sort of way.

In fact Samuel did most of that, but not all of it in the “usual” sort of way.  He took Mary as his bride and settled down in his hometown.  He learned to be a bricklayer that would not only provide income but also come in handy when he built the house where he and his family would live.  Sam and his wife brought a slew of children into this world, twelve in all, although one died in childbirth and one in infancy.  Tragically, one also died as a result of a self-inflicted wound following the atrocities he witnessed during his military service in World War II.  Another daughter died at the age of 24 from leukemia.

Sam began to experience the first signs of arthritis by the age of 21.  It rapidly progressed and by the time he reached his mid-thirties he was completely bedridden.  Though he had built a two story home he was no longer able to sleep in his upstairs bedroom.  Living out the rest of his life laying on a bed his living room also became a bedroom, dining room, bath and at times a doctor’s office. His essential needs were met by his wife and eventually his daughter and her husband as he lay on his bed of suffering for the next 35 years or so.

As you can imagine the financial needs were very worrisome. There was no social security or disability available at that time. On occasion the townspeople, members from Sam’s church, and his extended family would bring food and help in various ways. In time the children, as young as 14, were sent out to earn money for the family.  When five of the boys grew old enough to enlist in the military, during World War I, they joined so they could send money home.

Mary cared for her husband as best she could while raising her children and also tending to the household needs.  After being his full-time nurse/caretaker for about 25 years Mary died in her early 60’s.  In 1942 Mabel & Arthur Nelson, Sam’s daughter and husband, who had seven children of their own, took on the added responsibility for the next ten years until his death.

Sam’s bed was set up in their living room near the front window so he could be entertained by the passersby outside the house.  Arthur erected a bright light on top of the roof and directed it to shine down on the road so Sam could watch the seasonal parades and other small town events that took place right in front of their home on Main St. in Manheim.

His charming and clever personality was not impaired by the crippling arthritis he suffered.  He would routinely ask his granddaughter, Sarah, (whom he called Sally) and her younger brother, Frank, “How did you sleep last night?  Come up on the bed and talk to me.”  They’d climb on his bed and he’d tell them a story he made up, often with a hunting theme, along with other tales that would captivate their young minds.  Sam was witty, full of one-liner jokes and riddles.

He was also artistic, having won an artist award in high school.  With fingers that were very stiff and crooked he would convolute them in such a way that he could clutch a pencil and draw characters, buildings, animals and landscapes.  Many of them have been preserved and continue to be a blessing to Sam’s family.

His condition continued to deteriorate as Sam suffered in agonizing pain at times and his knees locked in place as they became fused over the years.  With the blanket pulled up over the lower part of his body it gave the appearance of a small tent erected on top of the bed.  Arthur shaved and bathed him daily.  His caregivers lovingly wrapped his ankles and were dutiful in turning him often to prevent deadly bed sores from developing.  When the pain became unbearable the doctor would make a visit and give Sam morphine to alleviate his pain and put him into a sleep like state for a couple days.

One would think that Sam’s suffering might embitter him or fill his mind with thoughts of euthanasia due to his confinement, pain, and dependent state. Instead he turned his thoughts toward heaven and called upon God for intervention.  He wrote poems, corresponded regularly with missionaries and sang hymns that strengthened and encouraged him such as, “He Lives” or “The Old Rugged Cross”.

People would come to visit him but they would leave more refreshed than before they arrived.  The infilling of Christ’s presence was visible in Sam’s spirit in the midst of his incapacitation.  It was contagious and had a way of making Sam’s room a spirited place of joy, overcoming, and thanksgiving for those daily blessings most visitors took for granted before their visit with him.

Finally, on August 20, 1952 Sam was promoted to glory and bid good riddance to the rheumatoid arthritis along with the painful grave clothes he left behind.  Clothed in a robe of white his new imperishable body no longer lay stiff in a sick bed, but he strolls down the streets of gold along with a skip here and there, given his personality.

We don’t ask for suffering, but when we receive graciously that which has been given us, He produces in us character that is not shaped by the world but by the hand of God conforming us to His image and positively affecting those around us for His kingdom.

“…But we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Romans 5:3-5).


"I Know For Me He Cares"  Video  Samuel Tilton Young wrote a lot of poetry. One poem especially caught my attention so I adapted it slightly to be sung to the tune of the familiar hymn, "I Know Whom I Have Believed".   Mike Book and I recorded it w/o instrumentation in our home office and makeshift studio.

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*(Written during World War II when his five sons fought overseas)




I think I’ll head out to Hernley’s church to visit the family plot:
 

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