The Real Deal?

About every 4-6 weeks, a group from our church visits a local nursing home. We lead the residents with songs, share a devotional, and offer Communion. Last year I wrote about my experiences here: http://anotherbeautifulbrownday.blogspot.com/2008/08/gimme-some-old-time-religion.html Now that I’ve been several times, I’m over the awkwardness of “what to do” when I get there. That has opened up some freedom for me to jump right in: Walking down the hallway, poking my head in the rooms, looking for those that are willing and able to join us. On today’s trip, Rick joined me. I am very pleased he was able to come and that he wanted to experience this with me. Because I can only do so much in describing my emotions of each visit. I say “my emotions” because that is my focus of contemplation after this most recent visit. My goodness, I knew it would happen. Why would today be any different? EVERY time I visit Mabank Nursing Home, I lose control of my emotions. My stoic resolve cracks and my eyes fill quickly with tears threatening to brim over. There is just something about these gentle souls marching into the twilight of their lives belting out “When We All Get to Heaven.” There’s the little man who struggles to steady his shaking hand as he allows a helping hand to guide the juice cup to his lips. And the sweet lady who holds the songbook, never looking at the words, but singing with her eyes closed. She knows all the words, having probably sung them her whole life. There is a fading generation in there. People who served their country valiantly in a war long ago. Women who worked their knuckles bare washing clothes before washing machines were common-place. People who raised their children the old fashioned way to be honest, hardworking citizens who know right from wrong And sometimes, those children live a long ways away. Or simply aren’t able to stop by very often. Maybe it’s too hard for them to see Mom or Dad like this. Or maybe, they don’t have children. Today I met a woman who didn’t want to leave her room and join us “just in case” her family called. Because to miss a call from family would be devastating. That’s all she has, and she clings to the hope that they will remember her. Rick and I left with her still in her room waiting, as we silently prayed that her phone would ring. Then there is Mr. Templin. Sweet Mr. Templin visits his wife at the nursing home every day. Margaret doesn’t remember much from days gone by so he’ll sit and talk about the daily things. She still has her wit though… When Mr. Templin asked her if she had heard anything he had said over the last hour, she replied “Yes, but you talk too much!” Margaret wasn’t able to join us for worship & Communion today. She was sleeping. But Mr. Templin was there, just like he always is. And his presence today touched me deeply. His genteel spirit, loving nature and undying devotion for his wife took my breath away. Actually, it almost knocked me to the floor. The wife he married (65 years ago this coming January 6) isn’t the same anymore. Her body is failing, and yet his firm resolve and dedication for daily visits continue, day in and day out. I wonder how hard it is for dear Mr. Templin. He seems so strong, but does he ever feel alone? Scared? Sad? God willing, they will celebrate their 89th birthdays in September together. I know he’ll be there, probably with a small gift for her, and most assuredly with a gentle kiss as he brushes her hair back. Oh, here I go again… getting emotional. Aside from all of this, I’ve been struggling with finding “my calling” of service, as it relates to my church and the community I live in. Rick and I have given a couple of years to the youth program, serving as small group leaders. This year, for a variety of reasons, we decided not continue with that role. And yet, I still don’t exactly know what I want to do instead. I wonder… if one’s natural strengths and gifts show up in the things we do “good,” or in the things we feel “passionate” about, could this be mine? Spending time with those that are rounding the last turn in the great racetrack of life? I certainly enjoy serving them, although my experience is limited. My professional life is spent with the families left behind. Not exactly the same. Many, many times in dealing with the family left behind, I feel a sense of having missed out of something, of knowing their loved one. At the risk of being too transparent here with my readers…I’ve been praying for an “ah-ha” moment, a convicting feeling that is greater than…what I’m cooking for dinner. Or where our next vacation is. Or how to maximize profit while minimizing expenses. Could this be it? Something real. Serving others. Getting over myself. So I’ll throw this blog out there. No apologies for the intimate nature. Because this is me, at 7:47 pm on a Sunday evening.