Snapshots of Dementia: I Bowed on My Knees

Snapshots of Dementia: I Bowed on My Knees
Saturday, November 11, 2023 by Marti

*Tom directs an outdoor Christmas choir performance, c. 2014*

How it’s going:

— Tom asks for help much more often with the word games he plays on his iPad; sometimes he can’t fill in any of the missing letters or words on his own.

— At bedtime, he sits on the side of the bed, staring into space, until I tell him it’s OK to lie down and go to sleep.

— He occasionally tries to tell me about something that bothers or upsets him, but his sentences make no sense.

The prediction his neurologist made last year was accurate: Tom’s decline has been more rapid this year than in the past. He’s had two major falls in the last three months, although neither caused severe injury. In short, life has become more challenging for him and for those of us who love him.

But none of this either surprises or challenges God. My late friend and writing partner, Walker Moore, used to remind those in difficult situations, “The heavenly Father is not calling an emergency meeting over your life.” I know this still applies to my husband.

Last Thursday, as we do twice a month, we traveled with the Joy Singers (senior adult choir) from our church to a local nursing home. We spoke with the residents for a few minutes before presenting our usual mini-concert of popular hymns and old-time Sunday school favorites.

And then it happened. Our minister of music began the solo that ends most of our sessions, “I Bowed on My Knees and Cried Holy.” I stood with my fellow choir members, eyes closed for part of the time, as we listened and worshipped.

But Tom was looking straight ahead. And as he did, he noticed tears rolling down the face of one of our fellow choir members—not an uncommon response to this song, which describes a Christ-follower's first moments in heaven.

Before long, he whispered to me, “I want to go over and sit with that lady” (whose name he doesn’t remember). Of course, I told him that was fine.

He walked over to join her on the little couch where she and one of the residents sat. Before long, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as tears poured down his face, his concern obvious to all. I don't think he said anything, but he didn't need to. The sense of awe this song brings us grew exponentially; we all sensed we were watching God at work.

As the song finished, he gave our friend a final comforting hug and returned to my side. We and our fellow choir members spoke with a few more residents before leaving for lunch at a local restaurant.

Our friend had a special reason for her tears. Only days before, she had received a concerning diagnosis of recurrent cancer. Although doctors had not yet outlined a specific plan, she knew she was facing surgery and months of treatment.

Because Tom’s memory is so short, although I was praying for our friend, I had not yet told him of her situation. And apparently, I didn’t need to.

The Spirit of God is more powerful than dementia or the apathy it often brings. Tom’s blank expression and lack of verbal response may often make him seem uncaring, but his caring heart has not disappeared. As I observed his compassionate response, the verse God kept bringing to mind was Romans 11:29, “The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.”

Tom can no longer preach a sermon, direct a choir, or conduct a marriage ceremony. Short of a miracle, he will never again serve on a church staff. But that day, God reminded us all that His purposes have not changed. Called as a pastor at age sixteen, Tom remains a pastor and continues to have the same caring heart that characterized all the years of his professional ministry.

That day, God used him to bless and encourage our friend—who will no doubt cherish this tender time as she faces the difficult months ahead.

And that day, God reminded me that despite his more rapid decline, Tom’s life still has meaning, power, and purpose.

For this, I am grateful. And so is our sweet friend.

If you or someone you love is living with dementia, have you seen the real person behind the dementia mask? Have you watched God use them in ways that seem to defy their cognitive decline? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below or on social media. Our story matters—and so does yours.

Share This Blog: