David McElroy

An Alien Sent to Observe the Human Race

Without things to look forward to, the human heart gets ready to die

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When I was a child, one of the highlights of my year was getting the Sears Christmas Wish Book. For about six weeks before Christmas, my sisters and I would go through that catalog over and over again, choosing exactly what we wanted and marking our top choices.

I remember wanting walkie-talkies and chemistry sets and electronics kits, among other things. There were always things I hoped for. Some years, I even got what I wanted.

Did I enjoy the gifts I got? Very much. I have fond memories of playing with other kids in the neighborhood with my walkie-talkies. I fascinated myself for many hours as I learned about electronics. And I joyfully mixed up disgusting things with my chemistry set. (I tried to dye the hair of one of my sister’s dolls, but I somehow turned the plastic hair green. Ooops.)

As much as I enjoyed playing with the things I got for Christmas, though, the gifts never matched the excitement and anticipation of looking forward to Christmas. Eventually, I came to understand that having something to look forward to is even more important than the things I have at the moment.

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A year later, my father’s death looms large, but I have no regrets

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There was no dignity in my father’s death.

Edward Leroy McElroy died a year ago today. He had been admitted to a hospital in Anniston, Ala., about a month before that. He was only 87 years old and he had been in excellent physical health six months before this. But when I reviewed his journal entries from the 18 months before his death, he talked often of wanting to die — and of the possibility of killing himself.

I had several conversations with a hospital social worker while he was waiting to die. She told me there was nothing specific wrong with him. He had some minor infirmities that are typical of older age, but if he hadn’t spent the previous months starving himself, he would have been fine. The social worker told me that he was too weak and frail by the time he was hospitalized. Doctors couldn’t make him strong enough to survive.

He had given up long before this. He wanted to die. He got his wish about 4:30 a.m. on April 17, 2018. A nurse named Linda Anderson was the only human being with him when his life slipped away.

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To stay sane during life’s battles, aliens need places of sanctuary

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But when I thought how to understand this,
it seemed to me a wearisome task,
until I went into the sanctuary of God…
— Psalm 73:16-17 (ESV)

As I listened to the people around me squabbling with each other that night, I felt a vague sense of unease. They snapped at one another. They were petty. On the surface, things were almost civil, but you could feel the hostility of unhappy people taking their feelings out on others.

I felt completely out of place.

I felt as though the boiling anger in these people’s spirits should be obvious to everyone. Much of what I was seeing seemed to be outward projections of internal rage at self. The tension in the air felt emotionally painful to me.

Once more, I felt like an alien among creatures who made no sense to me. Once more, I needed to find peace somewhere. I needed sanctuary from the world. I needed a person, a place or a loving spirit which made sense — which gave me refuge from the storm of this world’s banal and routine hatred.

Again and again, I’ve tried to make sense of this world — and of the people of this world — and I’m left frustrated and feeling alone. What’s more, I can’t find a sense of peace. And like the ancient psalmist, I found myself needing sanctuary — where there might be refuge and understanding.

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