Go Tell it on the Mountain

Nothing could have pleased her father more than when our daughter Amy said, "Dad, how would you like to minister at the nursing home singing and playing the guitar tomorrow?"  Howard's face lit up! We are with her family in Georgia, and this would be one of the days she is the requisite RN at a small facility here.  We hadn't brought his guitar on the plane, though, and grandson Reid had left his back at college.  "Oh, that's alright," she said, "We can borrow one from our neighbor."

And what a fulfilling time it was!  The residents were so welcoming and attentive. My engaging husband had them smiling and singing in no time.  They loved it when Amy added her lovely voice to some of the hymns.  "Praise God, Praise God, Praise God," they sang, raising their arms heavenward on the last verse of "Amazing Grace."

After a lengthy service and we had gathered our things to leave, Amy asked if we would visit some of the rooms of the bedfast who couldn't come to the service.  She has become acquainted with all the patients and some have especially touched her heart.  In the hall, she greeted a man slumped in a wheelchair.  "Hi, Mr. Clemons!  Do you feel like singing today?" The old, black gentleman moaned a little, but she nudged her dad to begin.  At the first strum of the guitar, a deep, melodious sound came from Mr. Clemons as he sang the words of  "Amazing Grace."  It was we who were amazed.

"This lady likes to sing "I'll Fly Away," Amy said as we approached another room.  "She has been bedfast since she was young and injured in a car accident where her children were killed," our daughter confided.  Sure enough, when Howard began the song, this severely contorted lady opened her mouth and joined in joyfully singing the words, bright eyes sparkling in her twisted countenance.

Amy had us pray for several patients, who gladly received prayer and from whom tears often squeezed past tightly shut eyes. We couldn't help dabbing tears of our own as we felt the presence of the Holy Spirit ministering to these precious people.

Amy had told us smilingly about the different personalities of the residents, some cranky, some gossipy, some sweet, others unresponsive, or even vain (one was a noted model of days gone by who still took pride in her appearance), but all, the bossy, the critical or the demanding, needed the good news of the Saviour, news which never grows old no matter how many years one has heard it.  I love to tell the Story!