Waiting Round the Bend

     I wasn't sure what I would find as I entered the nursing home to  look for my old friends. Comer had been sick, and Evelyn had fallen and been in bed for much of the past two weeks. Comer had not sounded confident that we would be able to get Evelyn safely to the car.

     "Then we will use a wheelchair if needed, Comer. It would do her good to get out."

     "That it would," he agreed, "She is not doing well. Never says a word....sometimes mumbles but not so anyone can tell what she is saying. How will we get her in the car?"

      That was saddening- the Alzheimers seemed to be winning the battle lately.

     "I am an occupational therapist," I said, "I know how to help her."

     "Well ok, darlin, then see you then."

     But as I entered the Home, they both sat in the entry way as usual, Evelyn looking more chipper than usual. Her back was ramrod straight and her hand clasped Comer's. They both stared straight ahead, and I suspected that they had been there a while, though I was a few minutes early.

     "Hello!" said Evelyn, with a huge smile. She was thickly swathed in two heavy sweaters.

     "Good thing you're bundled up...it is frigid out there!"

     "Yes," she said, nodding, with sparkling eyes.

      "Shall we go get roast beef? I know that's your favorite Comer."

      "That would be grand," he said.

     I took Evelyn's arm, expecting a struggle with a shuffling sack of potatoes after Comer's description, but she was fine. She was a little slow getting in the car, but after a few slow shifts of her hips, she was in and comfortable.

     "Hey Comer, my book went to number one."

     "You are kidding me! That's fantastic."

     "Yep, in the dog training category on Amazon. You have a famous author taking you to lunch."

     Evelyn laughed.

     "I know Evelyn," I said, " A little exaggeration...But I wrote a second book too. It is ready to be published."

     I had had the music on as always, with songs from the 40s and 50s, their era. Evelyn sang along to many, and Comer smiled watching her.

Then Moon River came on. I cranked it up.

     "You know this one for sure, Evelyn!" I said. I was stopped at a corner so I sat there as the song blasted from the CD player. Evelyn reached her hands up, mimicking mine as we gestured dramatically in time with the words. Her voice was clear, and strong.

      Moon River, wider than a mile

      I'm crossing you in style one day

      We're after the same rainbow's end

      Waiting round the bend

      My huckleberry friend

      Moon River and Me.

The song ended and Comer gazed at his smiling wife as she sighed with contentment.

     "She's having a good day," he said, "What's your second book about?"

      "Miracles."

You shall rise up before the grayheaded and honor the aged. Leviticus 19:32

A Chorus for God

Yesterday in church, a group of children, from under 5 years old in a specially adapted wheelchair, up to older teenagers that seemed to have Down's Syndrome, or some sort of physical disability, filed onto stage. They all began singing while the wonderful orchestra accompanied them. From the first note, they were discordant, so far off-key that I winced, and some voices shrilled loudly above the others. Some performers stood mutely, waving their hands about.
Oh dear, I thought.
And then, inexplicably as they sang (badly) about Jesus, and the love of God extended to all, my eyes began to bubble with tears. One young man was waving his arms like a conductor in beat with the clashing harmonies. Another was stretching his hands upward. One looked ready to run off stage, but an adult with her held her arms around her and smiled at her encouragingly. She gazed into the child's eyes as they sang together.

The song swelled through the church, and my awareness of how really awful it sounded began to subside. Instead, I heard the voice of struggle, of trying to fit in to a world that one feels alienated from. However, the song was not one of pain, but of victory. I could not even tell you what they sang...that didn't matter. It was why they sang and who they were singing for that was important. I was very upset that I had not packed a box of tissues in my purse that morning, but glad that I don't wear mascara. The singers filed off stage to thunderous applause and the longest standing ovation I have seen in that church. Throughout the sermon, I had to keep dabbing at my eyes which were persistently dribbling tears.

The sermon was about serving God. One of the pastor's main points was that serving God was not based on ability, but on availability. He behooved us to keep a hedge of unscheduled time in our lives that we would be able to serve when called. But he noted that more often than not, the call to serve comes at most inconvenient times. And more often than not, the call to serve comes in areas we do not feel gifted in. The apostles were largely uneducated, unskilled men. Yet when called, they left everything to follow Jesus. Those who are called are not only the wealthy, the beautiful, the exalted, or the talented. Often they are a motley crew of discordant singers who have formed the most poignant chorus for God.

Luke 14: 13-14
¹³ But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, ¹⁴ and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Luke 5: 10-11
Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.” ¹¹ So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.

Give your hearts a song to sing

I spent the day before the whirlwind wedding week resting. I lay down with my book and even napped. All the packing is done and the car is loaded and ready to carry me to one of the great joys of life- watching my son marry a wonderful girl. I know it will be hectic however, and I thought it would be a good idea to catch up on some resting before I was exhausted. So I spent the day gathering a backlog of peace.

In between my proactive resting, I decided to run out and visit Comer and Evelyn in the Senior Home. I knew I wouldn't see them for at least another week and I had some photos for them of our outing to the restaurant a few weeks back. It had been the only restaurant outing they had had together in a long, long time. I had framed the photos, hoping Evelyn would look at them and remember.....

Evelyn was sleeping, so I just visited with Comer. Visiting with old folk is very restful in its own right, and in many ways more rewarding than a nap. There is nothing hurried about old people. They are often so removed from the rest of humanity, that they cherish every word you say, hanging on every little particle of small talk. Old people really believe that you are worth sitting and listening to. It may be they can do little else, but nonetheless, it is gratifying. I always feel special when I sit and talk with Comer and Evelyn.  Though Evelyn isn't doing much talking anymore.

"And when she does talk," Comer told me, "You can't understand a word she says."
He looked down.
"Is she still singing?" I asked. I hadn't seen them for two weeks between the trip to help Amy in Texas and the wedding prep.
He brightened, "Oh yes! Every word of every song!"
"Can you understand her then?"
"Yes!"
"Well then, keep her singing."
He smiled.

It was fitting that I was visiting this old couple who had remained married for 65 years, on the verge of  witnessing the marriage of the young couple starting this journey. It reminded me that despite the dire statistics and struggles of married folk, some do make it. And some make it with no words left, but with hearts still overflowing with song.

I wish you bluebirds
in the spring,
to give your heart
a song to sing.
and then a kiss
but more than this,
i wish you
love.

Isaiah 62:4-6

⁴ No longer will they call you Deserted,
   or name your land Desolate.
But you will be called Hephzibah,
   and your land Beulah;
for the LORD will take delight in you,
   and your land will be married.
⁵ As a young man marries a young woman,
   so will your Builder marry you;
as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride,
   so will your God rejoice over you.

When You are Smiling

As soon as Evelyn saw Comer and me walk into the Alzheimer Unit, she smiled.
"Well you seem happy," I said.
"What a smile!" said Comer.
Suddenly Evelyn began to sing, "When you're smiling, when you're smiling...."
"The whole world smiles with you," I sang in unison.
She beamed at me and we linked arms singing as we approached my car. Asherel sat in the front seat watching us, trying to control the horror in her eyes.
"But when you're crying, you bring on the rain," sang Evelyn.
"So keep on smiling, be happy again!" I crooned.
"When you're smiling, when you're smiling! The whole world smiles with you!" we belted out together.
"Well now," said Comer, "That was right pretty."
"How about this one," I said, "You are my sunshine...."
"My only sunshine," sang Evelyn.
When we finished that one, I called out, "Bicycle built for two!"
"Daisy, daisy, give me your answer true...." we sang.
"Alfie!" I called back from the front seat.
"What's it all about, Alfie.....," her voice rang out in perfect tune.
"White Cliffs of Dover!"
"There'll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover, tomorrow just you wait and seee....."
"Red Sails in the Sunset!"
"Red sails in the sunset, way out on the sea, come carry my loved one, home safely to me...."
When she faltered, which was seldom, on the words, I remembered them. Together we reprised the 1940s and 50's. Comer joined in on some of the ballads, but mostly just listened, his mouth agape like he didn't know this woman he had lived with for 75 years.
"You have a beautiful voice!" I told Evelyn, "How do you remember all those songs?"
"I do remember them," she said, beaming.
"I didn't know you knew all those!" said Comer, "I wasn't expecting such a fine concert today."

I remember them because they are the songs I used to sing with my dad on our Sunday drives. While all my friends were listening to rock and roll and heavy metal, I was crooning Judy Garland ballads. The only time on the 2 hour drive we were silent was when the KFC chicken was handed back to the old couple holding hands. Evelyn ate every bite of her two piece meal.

When we returned to the Alzheimer center, I didn't give her a chance to collapse into the inevitable tears and dismay. As I pulled the car to the door, I began singing, "When you're smiling....."
She joined in, "When you're smiling.... the whole world smiles with you."
I started dancing, "When you're laughing, when you're laughing..."
She swayed to the music, her arms linked in mine and danced beside me, "The sun comes shining through!"

As we waltzed through the chairs of slack faced men and women lost in the throes of Alzheimer's, Evelyn and I were still singing and dancing, Comer following behind. The startled faces lifted and watched us.
"You know Evelyn had three pieces of fried chicken at lunch," shouted out one of the aides.
"And we just fed her two more," I said.
Evelyn looked slyly at me and giggled.

As Evelyn settled onto her bed, her face took on briefly the look that always preceded weeping.
"When you're smiling," I sang softly, as I helped her feet up over the edge of the bed.
"When you're smiling," she sang along.
Comer and I shuffled out the door, and as we closed it behind us, we heard her still singing.

Proverbs 15:13
A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit.

Job 29:24
²⁴ When I smiled at them, they scarcely believed it;
   the light of my face was precious to them.

Tangles of Life

Our Science Olympiad Helicopter team devised a clever way to retrieve our helicopters when they got stuck in the gym rafters. They tied fishing line to a big fat rubberband. Then Asherel positioned me, with my arms outstretched above my head, one end of the rubber band under my finger nail. She then lay on the floor, pulling the other end of the rubber band as far as she could and carefully aiming.
"Move left Mom! Not that left! The other left! Now forward. Too far! Back. Now don't move."
Then the rubber band would shoot up, twanging past my ear with its line of fishing string trailing, like a harpoon. We found the fishing line critical since we were losing too many rubber bands in the rafters. When they would finally hit the helicopter, they would tug on the fishing line and haul in the catch.

The only difficulty with this ingenious helicopter retrieval system is that no matter how carefully we put away our rubberband harpoon, the line always tangled when we needed it next.We could waste half our practice session untangling the fishing line. Fishing line is one of the most impossible materials to untangle. The only thing more difficult to untangle is life.

I won't share the specifics, but yesterday was one of those tangled life days that looked impossible to untangle. Just when we thought we were beginning to ease the knots a little in some fairly important aspects of our sojourn here on earth,  new undesirable events tugged in just the wrong direction. When I stopped blowing my nose and dabbing at my eyes, all I could see were hopeless, insurmountable tangles.

Our helicopter team discovered there were only two ways to untangle fishing line. The easiest is to just cut away the knot. Sometimes you can lose as much as half the line or more. I usually opt for the 'cut away the knot' method, but the kids have more patience, and something inside them just won't let them snip the errant section off. Instead, while I cross my arms, and tap my toes, and twiddle my fingers against my elbows, they methodically and carefully start at one end, and untie every tangle until we have at least enough line to shoot our rubberband harpoon again.

In the tangles of life, most of the time I can't use method one. It means cutting away my heart, or the equivalent, since it usually involves a loved one. I am stuck with method two. Slowly, laboriously, patiently starting at the first knot and with bloodied fingers, working it free....then moving onto the next.

In the midst of life knot untying yesterday, Asherel asked me to practice guitar with her. I am a horrid guitar player, but I do love it. Asherel is a good teacher and told me to pick a favorite song that I would love to practice. She would help me learn it. I spent a couple of days thinking about it. And then I told her I would like to learn "Eidelweiss".  I really didn't feel like leaving the tangled knots of life I was working on, even to practice Eidelweiss, but Asherel begged me. So I settled next to my dear daughter who finger plucked the melody while I strummed the chords and sang. My voice cackles and cracks more than it used to when my dad and I would belt it out on our Sunday drives. I have to strain to reach the high notes.... but some of the sadness of the day did melt away as I sang and made music with my girl.

The song is a simple one. It has a sweet simple melody and easy chords. It is about a flower. The Eidelweiss plant originated on the harsh steppes of Asia. It was able to survive there because of deep, fibrous roots, and also a felt like covering on its leaves. The deep roots help it to cling to the soil through the harsh winds of the steppes, and the covering of the leaves prevents scorching from the often brutal sun. In the movie, The Sound of Music, the song Eidelweiss becomes the anthem of freedom, love of homeland and family, the strength to persevere in the face of impossible circumstances.

"Can we videotape this song of you and me singing?" I asked Asherel. The girl who hates to have her picture taken finally acquiesced when I grovelled at her feet.
"Please, it would mean so much to me...and to my mom. It's her favorite song. I'll send her the video."
So we sang and played Eidelweiss about a thousand times. Sometimes we would start and she would miss a note. Take 2. Sometimes I would play the wrong chord.Take 3. Sometimes I would be unable to suppress unexplained laughter and we would have to cut and begin again.Take 4, 5, 6, etc. After about 290 takes, we finally got one that didn't sound too awful. As we watched the playback, I cringed. Is that old, serious looking lady really me? Why did it sound so beautiful while I was singing it? The American Idol judges would not only call it "pitchy," but I am pretty sure they would threaten to resign unless someone cut out my vocal cords immediately and fed them to the sharks before they could inflict more pain and suffering.

I may not send it to my mom. I may wait til the science of vocal transplant has been perfected. The tangles I was working on were still there when we finished our guitar lesson. But of their own accord, some of the knots seemed a little less tight. I will try to be an Eidelweiss, I decided.

After all, my roots are deep and I am covered.

Jeremiah 17: 7-8
 ⁷ “But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,
   whose confidence is in him.
⁸ They will be like a tree planted by the water
   that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
   its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
   and never fails to bear fruit.”

Climbing Mountains

One of my favorite movies is The Sound of Music. When I was a little girl, I always pretended to be Julie Andrews and went on long walks and long bike rides singing songs from that musical. When I was in need of encouragement, I sang Climb Every Mountain. I had to either scare away all little creatures with the impossibly high "till you find your dream!" concluding notes, or drop it an octave. If I was high on a deserted mountain top, I would shriek it out and the poor daisies in the field would close their petals.

I had a favorite mountain to climb in Binghamton, NY. We lived in the foothills of the Adirondacks. The mountain was across the street from our neighborhood, covered with forests and open fields, and it was huge. It rivaled Mt. Everest. I would often pack a lunch and head for the hills, singing under my breath until I hit the deserted slope, and then I would belt out, "Climb every mountain, search high and low, follow every by-way, every path you know...." while puffing up the steep scale, huffing to the distant peak. In the back of my mind, I knew that had I not packed lunch, surely I would have died on that precipice, my last ounce of strength exerted to reach the summit. Besides singing at the top of my lungs, I would contemplate life, and goals, and heartbreak. But I would soldier on, determined, fortified by the message of the song, and when I reached the peak, I would gaze out for hundreds of miles across a land studded with possibilities and dreams. I had conquered the mountain and thought perhaps I would be able to summon the strength now for ninth grade.

As an adult, I return often to visit my folks in Binghamton, NY. The "mountain" is covered with houses now. No open fields or forests of hope remain. And someone also shrunk the mountain. I don't know how they did it, but it is now just a bump, a small hill. I still shake my head every time I see it. What happened to the mountain?

I suspect that is similar to how I will feel someday, standing in Heaven, looking back over the eternity of my life that lasted but a moment. I think I will be smiling, probably with my old cat Friskey on my lap, and I will wonder where did all those unscalable mountains go?

Genesis 49:26
Your father's blessings are greater than the blessings of the ancient mountains, than the bounty of the age-old hills.

He is My Song

I wish I could sing, or play an instrument other than the kazoo with skill. Every member of my family can either sing or play guitar or piano.... except me. I mean, I can play a few chords, and I can sing within a very narrow range. In fact, my ability to sing was one of the delusions of my childhood. And it was my mom's fault. As I have mentioned in prior posts, my sister Wendy was highly intelligent and highly talented. All the things I could do, Wendy could do better, and yes, that included art. I hated Wendy, which was the only way I knew to cope with all the feelings of inferiority. My mother, wisely seeing me drowning in my paucity of self esteem, tried to bolster me by focusing on the two things Wendy didn't have that I did. Everyone else in our family (except Mom) had brown eyes, but I had green eyes. My mother made such a big deal about my green eyes that I came to believe I had personally selected them and then special ordered them to arrive on the day of my birth. Were it not for my exceptional ability to procure those emerald orbs, I would have eyes like dirt like Wendy did. (I use the past tense, because in His infinite sense of humor, God gave Wendy brown eyes that faded to green with age, removing one of the two things I had that she did not.) The second thing I had over Wendy which I believe persists to this day was that I could carry a tune. As far as I know, Wendy still can not sing without bats torpedoing out of their caves. So while I honestly probably could sing better than Wendy, with all respect, the bar was not very high in that endeavor.
However, I trusted my mom and so I joined the elementary school chorus. I was put in the soprano section, but I don't think it was really that I was a soprano. I think it was just that since I was such a shy and frightened child when placed before humans, whenever I sang to anyone but myself in the shower, my vocal cords constricted and the squeak that emerged was labeled the closest thing the choir teacher could compare it to. I huddled with the other sopranos.
Despite my debilitating shyness, I had moments throughout my life when I was determined to rise above my temerity. When the tryouts for the School Choir solos were announced, I had such a moment.
When I told the choir teacher I wanted to try out, she paused and said, "Are you sure?"
This may be interpreted by more astute minds as an indication that perhaps I should take up another calling, like removing lint from dryers, but I persisted.
On the day of the tryouts, we were called one by one into a small room, and we sang a verse in front of the choir director. I wore my new dress, the one I can still picture to this day with a white top, green full skirt to match the eyes I had selected, and a yellow sash. I loved that dress and I felt beautiful in it. Inexplicably, when I sang my solo, my voice didn't squeak and I remembered all the words. It was with astonishment (I am sure to the entire choir) when it was announced that I would sing the solo.
So the next month was to be spent practicing for the big event. In practice, as far as I can remember, every single time we came to the part where I was to sing in front of all my fellow choir members my one small solo, I blew it. My terrified vocal chords would take one gander at the crowd and go hide behind my tonsils.
The choir director would try to smile. There would often be shocked silence from my choir mates. How had this worm with no voice won the coveted solo?
After two weeks of this farce, the choir director announced that due to an unforeseen event, the song with my solo would have to be cut from the program. Now of course, I understand that the unforeseen event is that the soloist sang like a wounded burro, but at the time, I only felt a twinge of disappointment. Mostly I felt relief.
With age and dawning wisdom, I understand that whether I want to be a swan or not, if I am a duck, I must be satisfied with what a duck is made to do. And much as I wish I could sing with notes that have the scent of Heaven upon them, I really don't need to. God tells me that in my weakness is where He shines. What joy to read in Exodus, 15:2_

The Lord is my strength and my song;
he has become my salvation.