Treasured
friend,
But it wasn’t the “what” that had us feeling ambivalent. It
was the “where.” The request came from the congregation that meets at a senior citizen
village a few miles down the road.
Now, we love seniors. In fact Mom is one. (Don’t tell her I
admitted that for her!) But having just spent so many months beside Daddy in places
where people are ill and dying, we didn’t feel emotionally ready to take on this
challenge.
We agreed only to this much: “We’ll help you out until you find
someone else.”
Yet Chaplain George insisted. “I don’t want someone else; I
want you two.” His persistence won us over. Somewhere in those first few visits
as fill-in temps, we realized that the folks in this congregation were our fellow
worshippers with names and concerns we began to pray for – as they came to know
and pray for us.
Many of the residents are independent and active—vibrant and
energetic. Drawing them out and helping them participate in ministry has become
our joy. Then again many aren’t independent or able-bodied. They need help adjusting
their lap blankets or turning on their hearing devices or remembering to turn a
page when they’re reading. Others are ill unto death—like Daddy was. So we sing
with them songs they can carry into eternity, and we choose music to sooth their
grieving loved ones at their memorial services.
Another part of our joy is hearing the choir that’s grown
to 30 singers make a joyful noise as they sing old hymns of the faith no one else
seems to be playing anymore. Our saddest moments come when choir members or
other residents move on up to heaven.
Some days a resident touches our hearts in a special way. Like
today. We played a prelude that combined a beloved hymn in medley with worship choruses.
It had a finale tagged onto the end, and we leaned into it. The organ swelled, the
violin sang.
Then in the silence that was supposed to hang after the last
note, a voice rang out, clear and powerful: HAL-LE-LU-JAH! No stronger word of spontaneous
praise was ever heard in any holiness church anywhere in the Bible belt. Funny thing,
though. The voice belonged not to a strapping youth but to a man strapped into one
of those tall specialty wheelchairs. He can’t move much; he often sits in the service
slumped, with his eyes closed; and his speech, what there is of it, is not usually
intelligible. But I assure you, not one person in the room missed a vowel or a consonant
of his affirmation.
In his own way, this brother in the faith reminded Mom and
me of just how much these fellow believers are supporting us through our grief.
Surrounded by their challenges and their willingness to push through into praise
and worship, we find ourselves drawn out, willing to connect again, grateful to
be useful to Christ in this new season.
Blessings and prayers, Julie © 2014, Julie-Allyson Ieron. All rights reserved. For reprint permission, email: orders@joymediaservices.com
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