This past weekend, my two oldest kids went with their church youth group to a retirement home to play BINGO with the residents, as well as to lead a Vespers service there. I was tasked with helping lead the music.
Before we went, one of my children was lamenting how awkward it was going to be, and begging both my wife and I to let him opt out.
“We can do hard things” I told him. And besides: I was going so he had to, too.
I am always amazed at how visiting folks multiple decades older than you can affect your whole outlook on life.
Every resident I interacted with on Sunday was exactly one question away from a treasure trove of life lessons. Like a loose and rusty latch on a barn door, you didn’t even need a key: just ask them one question. Here’s three that I tried out:
- So, where’d you grow up?
- What’s your favorite type of candy?
- If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you visit?
I asked one absolute firecracker of a lady (who insisted that I sit next to her, insisted on holding my hand during BINGO, AND insisted on offering me a cookie no less than 4 times in utter refusal to even hear about “my diet”) question number 1 above, and 15 minutes later I had learned that her husband had been a nuclear engineer, her kids and grandkids and great grandkids (she has 3 but only gets to see one of them regularly) visit her often, and that she sneaks cookies to her room under her shirt. Also, her husband was “Richard” when he was behaving but “DICK” when he wasn’t.
She treated me to that joke on three separate occasions.
She gushed talking about her hometown, her favorite TV show as a child, and her utter disbelief that the BINGO caller was not calling B9, no matter how much she begged for it.
Later, at the Vespers service, I sat down briefly next to a woman I’ll call “Doris” who was clearly sad. She said that earlier that afternoon they had had a memorial service for a friend of hers. She went on to say “…and because I’ve had some health problems of my own, I hadn’t been able to visit her as often as I’d like.”
Then she trailed off: “I can’t quite keep a grip on names, faces, or where I was in the story. I’m so sorry.”
Oh Ms. Doris, there’s no need to apologize.
Isn’t that all of us? So busy with what’s going on in our lives that we fail to notice folks sitting *right there* who would give the entire world for what we take for granted.
There was such joy in that place, even in spite of the disorienting sterility that comes with retirement homes.
I picked two songs that in retrospect I now see I needed those beautiful souls to sing to me.
See, Ms Doris might have had trouble remembering names and faces, but there, gathered round the throne of Grace, I watched as she mouthed these words from memory, alongside a room of believers:
High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heav’ns Sun!
Heart of my heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O Ruler of all.
I was exhausted on Sunday, and had even considered opting out myself. I’m so glad I didn’t. Sometimes the hard things that we plan on doing end up being such a sweetness.