Unexpected Gratitude

Because of a scheduling snafu last night, I found myself wandering aimlessly about in Mabank. I had some extra time to kill, and it seemed my car practically steered itself into the parking lot at the nursing home.

Hmmm, 7:30pm – is that too late to drop in and visit? The sign posted that visiting hours would end at 8pm, but I wondered if 7:30 would still be too late. But I felt compelled, I needed to go in.

I ventured in, meandering down the hallway towards Ma Felker’s room. Ma is a lovely little lady from church who has assumed the name of “Ma” for many of the folks in her life. A couple of weeks ago, she decided that it was time to move into the nursing home, as they could better care for her than her family. I admire her strength in making that difficult decision without burdening her family.

The walk down the hallway is always interesting. I passed several residents calling various greetings to me. And I do mean various! They always call out from their room, and I’m reminded that some of these people don’t have visitors like Ma Felker or our sweet Margaret Templin.

Ma was still awake, waiting on her evening medicine to be brought to her. Her pain was great, resulting from a fractured spine. But her countenance was brimming with gratitude. How can that be? She began counting her blessings as I sat there with her, listing the ways to me that she is grateful.

Her tiny little room seemed sparse to me. The little bit of space carved out in this nursing institution is so different from where she moved from. I looked around the room for personal effects. A vase with two roses, beginning to wither. Eye glasses and a hearing aid case. Her Bible - that faithful companion for what looked to be years. And that was all I saw.

My mind wandered to all the things she left behind. The little knick-knacks that make up a home, the pictures and furniture and household items that becomes the landscape of our life. What was it like for her to walk through her home one last time, knowing it might be her last? Did she take it all in, caressing with her eyes those items that she may never see again? Pieces of her life that hold memories of all the years past, these tokens of life lived and shared, did they evoke memories of both pain and joy?

And the item she carried out with her… Her Bible. Heading out into a new phase of life clutching the one thing that has sustained her through the years. Her Bible.

The squeeze on my hand brought me back to the present. I was the one with the wandering mind, not Ma. She was very much in the here and now – calling me out of my reverie to thank me for coming. She asked about Rick and the boys, commenting on how handsome they all are.

I told her we miss getting our hugs from her at church, seeing her in that pretty pink suit she wears. I promised to be back soon.

And as I walked away, I felt encouraged. How does that always happen? I go to encourage someone else, and I end up getting the better end of the deal!

I hope that I grow into a woman like Ma Felker. I hope I can count my blessings, no matter what the circumstance.

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.

Wrapping up the weekend

I just returned from a trip to the Nursing Home. We took requests for songs, and the top ones were: When We All Get to Heaven We're Marching to Zion The Old Rugged Cross I sat next to a little lady who waved her arms and sang at the top of her lungs. She had the most glorious look on her face and her eyes shone so brightly! I'm not entirely sure how "present" she really was with us, but she sure did enjoy the singing. It always does my heart good to spend some time with these friends. ------------------------------------------ It's been a busy weekend. Saturday we started out at a benefit breakfast for a woman in our community that is now paralyzed due to an accident... sad story, but the community is really rallying for her. After the breakfast we participated in an all-day retreat at our church. We looked at our mission statement "Sharing with our Neighbors God's Hope and Love" and brainstormed on ways we could go deeper into that mission. An outline resulted that is going to guide us in setting some priorities for the next year, as far as our church activities/missions is concerned. We were able to grab a quick nap before heading to an open house for a new Funeral Home in town - Moorehead-Epps Funeral Home. NICE family that started this business and we wish them great luck. They actually volunteered some time at our Red Cross Shelter last week. So it was good to get out and support them in their business efforts. The evening rounded off with boot-scooting and bar-b-que! The second annual Denim and Diamonds fundraiser was held at our good friends ranch - Ed and Nan Creel. (www.triplenranch.com) It's a real working Longhorn Ranch, and a perfect venue for last nights excitement. The Library at Cedar Creek Lake was why everyone showed up, and the support was generous. Good music, good food, and best of all, we made some new friends. It's Sunday afternoon now, and we're going to lay low (aka NAP) until it's time to go to Jan and Stan's house for the Cowboy game. The whole crew will be there, so we'll have great fun! ----------------------------- Oh, did I mention that the people who looked at our house last week were Hurricane Evacuees? They are wanting to retire up here, away from the hurricanes! They liked our house, but haven't requested a second showing yet. So what does that mean? Stay tuned... I'm trying not to be too discouraged.

Gimme Some Old Time Religion

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?