Really?  Really, God?
After all this time it has come to this?

"Will you play for the service we are going to start at the rest home?" Just once a week for a half-hour.  Can you help us?"

"Miriam, I have an opportunity for you!  We need someone to come to our Alzheimer's unit and conduct a service every week.  There won't be many that come, but they need "soul care" as well as physical care, and I think you could do this for them."

"I understand you play piano, is that right?  We have a facility that has a rest home, an assisted living facility and a rehab unit all in one location.  We really need to offer them some music.  All of them love music--to sing along, to listen.  Will you come and play in all three locations?"

And so I began last August.  I was scared to death.  I kept physically and emotionally distanced from everybody for the first month or so.  And then I began to have the nerve to actually look at the people, to watch as they heard songs from decades ago--hymns that they sang as children, songs of comfort they have sung to themselves looking for peace in a place they never thought they would be.

Perhaps the following descriptions won't be politically correct but you must know the details to understand the stories:  (not their real names)

Sally--African-American with a voice that started softly but when she realized I knew she once had a VOICE, she began "letting it out!" especially with the old Spirituals.  Soon she was staying after the service and choosing her own tunes.  Sally loves to be "in charge" and often attempts to turn the attendees into her backup choir!

Sarah--104 years old.  Sitting directly in front of the piano and singing her heart out and clapping her hands and tapping her feet on the footrests!  She knows every word to every song from the '40s and '50s and doesn't bother with the book of words I supplied.  Her Russian Jewish heritage is exposed when she asks for "If I Were A Rich Man!"  I played it as well as I could and she sang every single word.

Don't know her name:  For the entire hour she sat on a stool, sometimes singing, sometimes just watching.  Very young to be in such a facility, I thought.  Then I played "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" and all her reserve crumbled as she broke into sobs and looked at me and mouthed "Thank You, oh Thank You!"

Just yesterday:  An African-American apparently very old man was wheeled into the service.  His chin was on his chest and he appeared to be asleep.  I was playing hymns prior to our service and began the verse of "In the Garden."  His head moved, he began to sing along in this precious tender tenor voice, his eyes never opened and I was broken one more time.  In the back of the room was one patient I hadn't seen before and she began to sing with "gusto" and she also knew every word and smiled from ear to ear.  Here was the gentleman who is in the room right across from where we meet.  He and his wife share the room.  She was having a bad day yesterday and he came alone in his wheelchair and also knew every word.  I then began "Leaning On the Everlasting Arms" and the old boy in the front row sang tenor to the top of his lungs and I was crying again.

My definition of ministry is being radically changed--but only to the degree that I allow God to soften my heart, open my eyes, adjust my priorities and give me His love for the people I could not love on my own just a few months ago.  In the process I am beginning to earn a nice living.  There are no platforms, no applause, no adulation.  But there is a deep, settled awareness that I have once again discovered "Man looks on the outward appearance but God looks on the heart!"