"I thought I was all alone," she said as she grasped my hand and kissed it. Her next words were as mixed up and confused as they are 90% of the time. Then, with her eyes closed, my hand pressed to her heart, and with great reverence as I sat next to her, this: "Oh, God, last night when I was alone in my room and I prayed for someone so I would not be lonely and afraid, you heard me." I must admit, I teared up. Not because of her kind sentiments about me, but because this sweet lady, who sometimes couldn't remember what to do with a fork or the word for the bathroom, still remembered how to pray.
I'm fairly sure that God translated her words for my benefit. And in my heart of hearts, I too offered a prayer. Please, Father, if I ever get dementia, please let me never forget how to pray. Even if I forget all the names of all my children, or my own name, or even how to form sentences, please help me remember thee.
And right now, please bless my efforts to be the best friend I can to any and all who need me.
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