Senior Saints

Tonight I gave a vespers talk over at the Villa where Mother lives. I love going over there. The warm welcome I receive makes me feel like I have 30 sets of concerned parents, all who make over me, ask how I am and give me advice. It is lovely.
For example, there is a very elderly man there who uses a walker. He was probably 6' 6" in his younger years, and he has a gangly appearance as he hovers over his walker. He is a retired doctor who has spent many years in the mission field. This fine man is rather quiet, but always seeks me out after I speak and with sincerity always thanks me for my comments. There is something peaceful, kind, and gracious about him that I can't quite put my finger on. One evening after I spoke, a group of seniors met in the parlor to sing hymns. As I played the piano for them, I noticed the good doctor come in, settle in a chair in the corner, and sit back in his chair. He closed his eyes and mouthed all the words of the hymns. He knew them all by memory. I was touched by this. He strikes me as someone who has walked a very long time with God at his side.

Then there is Alice. She is 96, I think. She can outwalk a mule and has a youthful bounce in her step. Alice is the widow of a pastor we knew in New York years and years ago. She always talks to me whenever she sees me and thanks me for speaking. Her energy fairly sparks out of her. Alice's white hair hasn't seen a perm in months, and she combs it straight out from her head, giving her a halo type effect. But she's a going concern.

Pastor Johnson has become rather teary in his later years. He's told me that he has many questions about his years as a minister in a large area congregation. "There were so many times that I didn't know what to say!" and the tears trickle down his cheeks. "There are too many things in the ministry that we aren't trained to do." So he took a counseling degree and the church administrators wouldn't give him leave time to get licensed--a terrible disappointment that continues to trouble him. He is an avid listener and loves to "talk shop."

Of course, Evelyn, Mother's best friend there, always comes up and kisses me after I speak. She is a real dear--always holding Mother's hand, hugging her often, and trying to keep up with her. She is 89 and her ankles and lower legs are very edematous--so much so, that she looks like she has no ankles. Apparently, she has congestive heart disease. "Those water pills make me pee like a race horse," she explains, as she scurries off.

Martin lead the singing tonight and he has a lovely voice. I'm sure he must be in his 80s, and his voice is polished and well modulated. He hasn't lost his evangelistic touch. "Third stanza!" he interjects at the end of the first chorus, as he directs with his right hand. "Altogether now," he prompts as we start in on the third verse. He drops in a fermata before the last phrase, holding the high note for several moments, just for effect. I love singing with him, and he glances appreciatively at me.

At the piano sits Marilyn. She was a pianist for a tent revivalist for many years. I love how she plays--full hand chords, perfect sounding progressions, octaves in the right hand on the last verse, and um-pahs on the off-beat. Marilyn is a very quiet little woman who wears a magenta Pakistani outfit: silk tunic over a matching silk trouser type garment. She must have been in the mission field at some point.

And speaking of garments, Joy asked me if I would go up to her apartment after vespers. So Mother and I went on up to see her. Joy has a cochlear implant and reads lips most of the time. She has a voice that could strip wallpaper, poor dear, since she can't hear how loudly she speaks. "I found this nice little jacket and it is so fun, but it is too large for me. And do you know how much I spent for it?" I couldn't guess. "One dollar!" She produces a silk, chartreuse jacket with fuschia and pink beaded ribbon medalions over the front of it. I'm speachless. I look jaundiced in chartreuse, but looking at Joy's expectant face, I can't refuse the jacket. I thank her and hug her, and off we go. But not before she shares pictures with us of her four children, three of whom I used to know in college.

Mother walked me out to the car. She looked marvelous tonight--her hair recently permed and set, a linen sleeveless shirt over khaki shorts and sandals. I don't remember her ever looking so good. She hugs and kisses me and tells me how proud she is. She's had a wonderful day with us in our new house, even if every one of us fell asleep in the living room for most of the afternoon. Her eyes are shining, and she is basking in the joy of being a proud mother. It is worth every bit of effort it took to come up with a talk for the evening.

As I drove away tonight, I thanked God that Mother can be close by and that I have been blessed with all the senior saints who grace my life. They continue to serve God through their love, warmth, and faith in me. What a priceless gift!