"She is 106 years old!" the nursing home resident said of her friend as they sat side-by-side in wheel chairs. Wow! We had heard about her in the church service just before, as her name was mentioned in a prayer request. Now here she was in the hallway. "She worked for the telephone company, and so did I," our informant shared proudly, "and she worked at the post office, and I did, too!"
When I heard that the church we had recently began attending had a nursing home service, I told my husband, and he quickly inquired about helping with it. This was the first time we had come, and Howard had brought his guitar. We were told to be there at 8:30, but it seemed no one had gathered yet. I asked a wheel-chair patient in the hall if she would like me to push her to the service. She seemed a little disinterested, but she agreed.
I placed her alongside some other residents who had trickled in, but soon she had wheeled herself to a place beside where I was sitting behind a table. "I like it better over here," she stated. Maneuvering into place, she encountered unfriendly resistance by another attendee. I looked to see another oldster firmly pushing against this fellow-resident's wheel chair. "You don't run this place!" the first lady said through clenched teeth, as the other patient glared at her! Apparently everything is not all sweetness and light in nursing homes!
The service seemed well organized, with two men coming in bearing communion trays, one standing at the podium and speaking a few words from scripture, then the other praying before they began passing out the communion elements. They served us as well, and we held our cups and bread, waiting on all to be served. But then I noticed some drinking it immediately and thought it was just their mistake. Turns out that's the way it was done here, and we were left holding our cups as the men left the room! We immediately took our communion!
We had a nice visit with the pianist who had come in to accompany the singing and left immediately afterward. I helped with assisting the patients find the right page in the songbook, and was impressed by their participation in the singing. One male voice dominated as it boomed out. "He used to be the shop teacher in high school," the director confided to me.
After a short devotional, everyone joined together in saying the Lord's prayer and their memory verse, John 3:16. Just before she dismissed, the leader invited Howard to play the guitar and sing, which he thoroughly enjoyed, walking around making eye contact with patients as he strummed and sang a couple of choruses.
Several began wheeling themselves out, and I looked for someone to help. I realized I didn't know their room numbers, and some were obviously not able to tell me. One lady said she knew where her room was, however. I pushed her down the hall and she didn't see her room, so we entered the next hall. Then a tall man met us, saying hello to her. "Her room is around the corner, first room on the right." he said, "I will take her home."
None of us know when our time will come, some may live to be 106 and others younger could go out in a car accident or some other untimely way. When I die, how wonderful it will be to hear God or an angel say, like the man in the hall, "I will take her home!"
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