Awright, this was yesterday.

Once a month, my wife and I go to do a program at a nursing home. We kinda backed into it. For a couple of years, I was just doing the music for a very simple church service my Pastor Skip was doing. He claimed that the people came more to hear the music than his sermon, although he had a wonderful sense of humor, was very warm and loving, and did a ten minute sermon. (It is possible.) When he retired, the nursing home asked my wife if we would continue to come and we've been doing the program now for a couple of years, sans sermon. In that time, we've gotten to know some of the residents reasonably well.
There is one terminally loquacious fellow, goes by the name Ed, who is wheelchair bound. He doesn't make all the programs, because sometimes he just isn't up to it. But when he comes, he often brings photographs of family members, or a letter that he wants to share with my wife and me. He desperately needs attention, and it's hard to balance his raw need with that of thirty others, many of whom are equally needy.

When we went yesterday, he came wheeling in the room, right up to me as I was setting up my guitar and amp. I asked him how he was, and he looked up with tears streaming down his face and said, "I'm alright, but it's my nephew.." And his voice trailed off. When he saw Ruth, he wheeled over to her and started talking with her, and she called me over. She asked me to pray over Ed, and I asked what the problem was with his nephew. His nephew had just committed suicide, leaving a couple of young children, including a beautiful little girl who was a special favorite of Ed's. The nephew had lost his job and hadn't been able to find another one and was so depressed that the only way out he could see was suicide. My oldest son has lost two friends to suicide, both of them in their early 30's, and there isn't much that you can say. But, Ed wanted me to pray over him and his family, which I did.

When I went up to sing, I dedicated the first song to Ed... He Knows How Much We Can Bear. Even though the room was crowded, there were only two people in the room, in my eyes... myself and Ed, who I was singing to. When I ended up doing What A Friend We Have In Jesus, a little later, Ed was really moved, because it's his favorite old hymn.
By the time we finished up and I walked around to hold hands and talk with everyone, Ed was visibly lightened in spirit. Ruth sat next to him the whole time, and he told her how much he appreciated the prayer and the songs. He said that he felt a lot better, and he seemed more like his old self.

Songs are like that. They may be gospel songs or hymns for those of faith, or just an old song that brings back comforting memories. I've seen the power of music, and how it can lift the spirit, and it certainly healed Ed yesterday. After I talked to him, another woman came up and asked me to say a pray over her. She asks that every time that we're there, but she seemed to realize that Ed needed it more, this time. I also noticed another man go over and talk to Ed when he saw how upset he was. I encourage the people there to realize that while they are wheelchair bound, heavily medicated and sometimes in pain, that they are not powerless. Each of them has the power to comfort and encourage others. You can do that from a wheelchair. It doesn't take legs.

Each month, when we finish the program, nobody wants to leave. And that's the beauty of it all. Everyone wants to hang onto that feeling.

And it makes me grateful that I have been given the ability to make music, as all of us have. What a wonderful, simple gift to give...

And a wonderful story gnu....

Jerry