I remember Mom painting her nails an iridescent pink, after they'd been filed to perhaps too much of a point, and then holding them under the "nail dryer portion" while she sat under the "hair dyer portion" of that crazy now-vintage turquoise appliance.

I remember Mom's hands loading up syringes with whatever immunization we kids were in need of, and then lining us up face down on her bed so she could expertly jab each backside as she worked her way down the line.  (Yep - she was an RN.  And also the hospital administrator.)

I remember Mom's hands fanning me in church with the bulletin - back and forth - back and forth.  Teaching me to sew a straight seam, demonstrating how to snap beans, fixing a puzzle with me and my Great Aunt Nell, applying red lipstick in front of the bathroom mirror. 

So last week we traveled to visit my parents.  Dad - with Alzheimers.  Mom - with advancing dementia.  Apparently Mom and Dad go down to dinner a bit early every day at the nursing home, so Mom can play hymns and Dad can sing along.  Reportedly everyone loves it!  My siblings and I decided to show up one day and sing along, and it's an experience I'll never forget.  Impeccable harmonies (I'd forgotten how talented everyone is).  Fond smiles as dusty lyrics sprang to life.  Sporadic applause of encouragement from a few residents.  And yes, tears.

It's funny....I lived in the same house as Mom for some 20-odd years and I knew she used to play organ in church back in the day, but I heard more music from her in that one visit than I can remember hearing in the totality of those 20 years living at home.  It's like present-day has dimmed for her (which it has) and the distant past has grown brighter.  She played absolutely any hymn that appeared in front of her eyes.  Every key signature, every time signature.  Granted, we ended up singing Have Thine Own Way Lord in the "mix" four or five times, as well as a few others....but eventually my brother figured out that she couldn't remember what we had just sung a few moments earlier, and so he began gently turning pages to something "new".  But she never skipped a beat. 

I grabbed my sister's camera and took some pics of everyone singing around the piano, and then snapped a few close-ups of her hands as she was playing.  Hands that once looked exactly like mine do today.  Hands that still look much the same, veins and all.  Hands that cared for myriads of hospital patients, that cared for me when I couldn't care for myself, and eventually cared for newborn grandchildren with practiced ease.  Hands that have grown arthritic, but play the old hymns like a pro - even though she can't remember what we talked about 5 minutes ago. 

Yes, sometimes I "see" my dad's hands when I watch my sons working on something.  But that's another topic.   For today, I see my mom's hands - Grandma's hands - and I'm amazed at the way her hands "remember" how to enter into God's presence.  I've become convinced that even if there are days when she can't focus her thoughts on her Savior, that once she sits down at that old upright, her hands remember - and they take her right into God's throne room.  And you know what?  They take my dad there too, and a whole lot of other people. 

Even at 85 years of age, with dementia wielding its worst, she has a ministry.  And she doesn't even know it. 

How cool is that?

Signed,
Aye wunnuh B. lyk herr

This morning's co-write was the exact opposite of the "we wrote an entire hit song in 30 minutes flat" scenario.  Today's project was a song we started months ago on one of my trips to Nashville.  (Actually, it's been over a year!) 

Sometimes it's hard to find the necessary opportunities to revisit inspiration, so this morning we decided to use Skype.  I'll admit I felt slightly guilty about the suggestion when I discovered my co-writer was heading out last night to purchase the necessary equipment.  (!)  But then my husband reminded me that guys are usually looking for opportunities to buy more gear. (Oh yeah.  I almost forgot.)  Anyway, it was my co-writer's first time on Skype and, true to Murphy's Law, the newly acquired webcam was acting up.  Throw in some Nashville thunderstorms, internet bugs, and spy satellites who I'm quite certain simply wanted to steal our killer ideas, and you get the picture.  But we pushed onward!  And if nothing else, my co-writer quickly became adept at redialing Bev's Skype ID after each disconnection.

Okay, so the technical aspects of the co-write didn't go smoothly  I'll give you that.  ....  But you know what?  We made excellent progress anyway, the song is gonna be awesome, and none of the rest mattered one eensy weensy bit - to me anyway!  Who cares about dropped calls and evil eavesdroppers when you can sit down together and create something absolutely brand new that didn't exist a few hours earlier?  That's a gift from God that not everyone gets to experience in life.  And it's so - much - fun!!

I think tomorrow I'll try it again.....

Signed,
Uh dikk Ted