By Brenda Black
More than usual turned out for the
Sunday afternoon church service at the nursing home. Typically, our
attendees are in the middle of sweet after-lunch slumber about the
time we show up to sing a few songs and serve up the Word of the
Lord. On this day, they came --in walkers and wheel chairs, with
assistance and resistance -- to worship.
As I stood to lead the singing, it
occurred to me the vast range of comprehension from one patient to
another. At one table near the front sat three ladies I'd just met.
One introduced herself no less than half a dozen times to my husband
and myself, as if seeing us each time, for the first time --all in
the span of about 10 minutes. To her left a misty-eyed darling rested
her arms gracefully on the table. She did not know her name. She
resorted to pat, memorized phrases to respond when she couldn't
process our simple and kind questions. Next to her reclined a
beautiful little woman, dressed in bright pink sweats and sporting a
short-cropped, silver shock of hair that looked so soft, I wanted to
stroke it. She said nothing, just stared straight ahead when I leaned
in to welcome her.
We started off on an upbeat note with
a song I thought they might recognize. Though we distribute hymnals,
I've noticed very few of the residents open the books. Mostly, they
just cradle them, sometimes fondling the pages with quivering fingers
when I announce the selected number. But when the music starts, some
in the room perk up. They mouth the words, and smiles cross their
faces. Even the most non-responsive sometimes taps one socked foot or
lifts a bent and frail hand heavenward. My heart melts. They know the
words, they feel the rhythm, they experience for one blissful moment
a touch of God here on earth.
My little friend met me one more time
before we departed. Chances are pretty good she won't remember me the
next time I see her, but she knew the melodies and the messages of
those timeless songs. The precious lady in the middle may not have
known her name, but she knew she was loved and that we cared. And I
caught a glimmer in the eye of “pinky,” when I sang right to her.
One time, she even grinned.
To my delight and off to my right, a
sprite and alert resident, whom I had not met prior to the service,
nearly bounced in her chair on some of the selections. She closed her
eyes on others, slightly lifting her slender chin upward. Her face
appeared soft and peaceful at times; joyful at others. I watched her
recall from memory every word of every verse. When I left the service
that day, I stopped to thank her for her sincere worship. We agreed
and sealed it with a hug, that when all other memories fade, the
words of a melody remain.
When I grow old and more forgetful, I
pray that what's left of my mind will be filled with good music and
meaningful lyrics. I'd like to think that someday, though I may not
know your name or mine, I'll recognize an old song. And when I don't
have much strength left in this faltering body, that some of the
songs that have ministered to me all my life, will still be touching
my soul when the lights are going out.
