I went to my grandparents' branch today. My grandpa is president of his branch, which is made up of the six residents of an Orem nursing home. Every Sunday he and my grandma drive five minutes to the nursing home, help move chairs and couches into position, pass out hymn books with over sized print, and help the elderly get from their rooms to the lobby-chapel. Wards in the stake take turns providing a chorister, an organist, priesthood to bless and pass the sacrament, speakers, and a musical number; the meeting lasts less than forty five minutes. It's a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.
I went because I wasn't feeling well, because I still wanted to take the sacrament, because I was running late (their church starts 30 minutes later than mine), because I like the serenity of church in the nursing home. When your head is foggy and your throat is sore, it's nice to sit in the company of those whose minds are functioning but their bodies are not. It was so peaceful. The meeting was brief but the spirit was strong. And the messages were tailored to those who were reaching the end of their lives; it gave me an opportunity to reflect: what will I be like when I'm in my eighties or nineties? How will I feel? Will I fear death? Will I welcome it? Will the veil be thin as I prepare to return to my Maker? Will I even realize what is happening around me?
The secrets of the old remain hidden from me, but on a day when I wanted peace and quiet, I found it during the church meeting of six weathered old men and women. My body still felt out of sorts, but my spirit was lifted and I am grateful that I was able to enjoy the Sabbath in the company of strangers: it was just what I needed.
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