You remember having one of those horrible days when nothing went the
way it was supposed to? The coffee spilled on your last clean shirt and
then the car wouldn't start. Or you got that awful phone call just as
you were leaving for work but there was no time to process it. You had
to quickly assume that plastic face and pretend you were on top of the
world. You had a job to do and there's no way around it. The usual pep
talk you recite didn't work this time. That's how my workday started.
In fact, the entire week had been like that.
Feeling physically and emotionally drained, I knew I had 20 residents
to take care of and they all needed their morning medicine in the next
few hours. I think I plowed along on auto-pilot for the first hour. Then
it was time to enter Ms. Nester's room. Even on a good day, this was
unpleasant. Her strong body and shrill voice belied the late-stage
dementia her mind was suffering from. In general, it mattered how calmly
you approached a resident and how soothing your voice was. Not so with
Ms. Nester. When anyone crossed her line of sight, she began to scream
loudly and gesture wildly. Usually she spat, bit, scratched or slapped
at anyone within arm's reach. Inevitably, before you left her room she
cried. Not softly, but in a sputtering, woeful screech that hurt your
ears and heart to hear. Maybe once in a blue moon she would cooperate
with a caregiver. She did not carry on conversations, but rather seemed
to exist in her own world where everything was disjointed. I don't think
I had ever heard her form a complete sentence.
Knowing her
as I did, if you told me what I'm about to tell you, I would not
believe it. Forgive me for being brutally frank, but that's the truth.
Holding my breath, I knocked on her door. I was greeted with the sweet
sound of silence. Tentatively, I pushed the door open.
Sometimes miracles come because we've prayed for them. Sometimes they
are much-anticipated and long-awaited. And sometimes, they catch us
completely by surprise. Ms. Nester was smiling--no, she was laughing
as she reached for me with both arms. Then she patted her heart and
literally sang, "I heard somebody and I kept looking and there I saw
YOU! Oh you look so good. I'm so happy to see you, come over here!" I
was tempted to look behind me. Was she talking to someone else? No, her
eyes were definitely focused on me! Dare I get within arms' reach? This
was my best opportunity to administer her medication, if the mood lasted
long enough. To my amazement, she happily accepted my offering, then
reached out to gently hold my hand. Her exuberant salutation continued.
"Oh, you look so good. Thank you, Lord. I'm so glad to see you, come sit
down."
Was she looking at me but seeing someone else? I
was not about to burst her bubble. "Oh, I just feel so happy! Praise the
Lord; He is so good to me." Her face lit up with the most beautiful
smile. Sitting by her bedside, wondering if I should pinch myself, I
assured her that I was so happy to see her, too. Then as she quieted, I
patted her hand gently until she slowly let go of mine. She gazed at me
happily as I closed the door. Never had I seen her so calm and
rational. Never before and never since was she glowing and ecstatic. Not
once had she calmly let me leave the room, as she did that day.
Somehow I felt as if tender arms had hugged me. Tears filled my eyes,
and I asked, "God, what just happened?" He replied softly, "I did that.
That's my love for you that you've seen here today. I used her to show
my love for you." A passage from the book of Zephaniah rang in my mind.
"For the Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty
Savior. He will rejoice over you with great gladness. With His love, He will calm all your fears. He will rejoice greatly over you by singing a happy song" (Zephaniah 3:17 NLT).
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