One Sunday a month, our church provides the worship service and offers Communion to the folks at Mabank Nursing Home. I joined in with this ministry last month... and with the visit on Sunday, I now have been twice.
I'm still getting used to the awkwardness of "what to do..." We walk up and down the halls and assess who might be able to come down to the community room. We invite the ones that look able, and have to pass over those who aren't able to get out of bed. If they can, we wheel them down in their wheelchairs or help them with their walkers.
This "hands on" part was awkward at first for me to get into. Approaching total strangers and helping them get in their wheelchair took some getting used to.
But then I met Miss Ida. Wow, she is a pistol! She was already in her wheelchair waiting by her bed to be pushed down to "have church." But before she'd let me take her I had to brush her hair and make her all pretty! It was a sweet moment for me, brushing her hair and fluffing it up. I had to get over any reservations about being "hands on" real quick. And as I brushed her hair she talked to me about how she wants to look pretty for everyone and how she just can't seem to keep her hair done anymore.
Miss Ida then asked how old I thought she was. Great... how am I supposed to answer that??? I hemmed and hawed, and I knew she was pretty far up there... So I went conservative. 80, I said.
Silence.
"Oh, honey," she said "Do I look that old?"
Great. Just great. I went and offended a little lady in the nursing home. I felt 2 inches tall.
Then she elbowed me in the rib and said "Gotcha! I'm really 97!"
That Ida, she IS a pistol!
Well, long story short... we had "church," and these little people belted out the hymns at the top of their lungs. A couple even lifted their arms up and waved them like they were directing a choir. Maybe they were music teachers in years past. It really is an odd feeling singing "When we all get to Heaven..." with some people that may be checking in sooner than later.
All kidding aside, I had to fight to maintain control of my emotions as we sang. Touched by the faces of these gentle souls, I saw my Granny in every face. This was the highlight of their day. Visitors, Worship, Communion. Something different from the hum-drum of their daily routine.
And as I went around the room offering a piece of bread to represent Christ's body, tears whelled up in my eyes. I was so humbled. Who am I, to offer the sacrament of Holy Communion to these beautiful people? These trusting faces who just wanted to reach out and hold my hand? And when I got to Mrs. Templin (a long time member of our church) I had to place the bread in her mouth because she couldn't do it herself. Yep, my tears spilled over then. I was overwhelmed with humbleness at serving these people, and touched by their circumstances at the present.
After the service, we wheeled everyone back to their rooms. I sat down with Miss Ida for a few minutes to visit with her. She had a jar of pickle relish in her wheelchair, but that's another whole story. And you know what?
Time flew. Before I knew it, 30 minutes had passed and we had laughed and shared with each other bits and pieces of our lives... like why she carries relish with her. And how her mother died when she was 4. And how her step-mom loved her like her own.
I went to the nursing home to serve others. To participate in a ministry our church offers. And yet as I left, I knew that the "serving miracle" had happened again.
Because I was the one that was blessed. I was the one that left feeling ministered to, invigorated, loved, accepted.
Amazing, isn't it?
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