For several years, Lois has lived in a home dedicated to the care of Alzheimer's patients. I have never heard her speak, but she has the loveliest smile. It starts slowly, and then widens to cover her entire face and eyes. I have not seen her the past few months, so I was glad to see her today. I noticed her deepening wrinkles, and her hair is more grey. I went to give her a blessing and to say hello. She smiled her slow moving smile that washed over me like a wave. Baptism is not just a one time event.
Nancy was there as well. She has been ill, but today she looked so much better although her tremors are a little stronger. At one point, she had even stopped singing, but today she sang again in her beautifully sweet, soft voice. When I asked her if she would like communion, she quietly replied, "Yes, I believe I will take communion." She then asked God to watch over me and bring me back to them. The prayer touched me deeply. Elva was there, cantankerous as usual. Yet, something happens when she takes communion. She becomes grateful. As I offer Marion communion and she accepts, I know she will not be able to take communion much longer. She struggles to stay upright, but her body fails and she slumps. Yet, in whispers, she continues to sing and pray.
At least four assistants tell me that there is a gentleman in room 4 who wants communion. I go there afterwards. There, I meet Juan, a gentle soul, on oxygen. After communion he said, "Please thank her for sending you to me." I know the assistant to whom he was referring, but his comment made me think about how often in these communities I have a sense of God as Mother, drawing us all in and holding us together, helping each of us to bloom in this time.
I, too, am grateful.
The murmur of the prayers are to me like stepping stones,
the mysteries like wings.
All things spoken on the beads are now accomplished
and today
I walk on their slender, incredible strength.
Catherine De Hueck Doherty (1896-1985)
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