Page 36 of Intermission
“Do you need some help?”
Her eyes well. “I wanted to hear the singing, but I fell asleep in my chair. I thought they’d wake me.”
“I can push you in, if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s no bother. I’m glad to do it.” I release the wheel brakes. “I’m Faith. What’s your name?”
“Mrs. Harvey Welch. Gloria. I’m a widow.”
I push the wheelchair forward. “Can I call you Gloria?”
“Sure, honey. That’d be fine.”
I settle her into a spot as close as I can get to direct line-of-sight to Noah, the main attraction, at least in my opinion, and set the brakes.
I sit cross-legged on the floor beside her, and as I reach for her hand, I find Pastor Jack watching me. He gives me a slow nod as the song ends.
“Noah,” Pastor Jack says, his gaze swiveling that direction, “how about a couple more songs?”
“Sure.” Noah stands. “Does anyone have any requests?”
The residents pipe up with suggestions as if they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to hear their favorite Christmas carol. Noah leads us in “Away in a Manger,” “Deck the Halls,” “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” and “Angels We Have Heard on High”—all songs we sang earlier—before I follow his gaze to a nurse who’s looking at him with a sour expression and tapping her watch.
Wow. Scrooge much?
“Okay, one more request,” he says, sending a million watts of warmth around the room with that smile, “and then we’ll finish up.”
“Amazing Grace!” Gloria’s near-shout makes me jump.
“Excellent choice.” Noah lowers his chin toward his chest and takes a deep breath. When he lifts his face again, his eyes are closed. He sings a few words, and everyone joins in.
At the end of the first verse, I’m forced to bow out because I don’t know the rest of the song. But as I listen to the words and watch the emotion of the lyric play across the wizened faces of the nursing home’s residents, I determine to learn the rest. It’s beautiful. I seewhy Gloria wanted to hear this song along with the Christmas carols.
This isn’t just a song. Not to them. When they talk about grace leading them home, they know the journey’s not that far away.
Christmas has always seemed like an ending point to me, probably due to its positioning on the calendar. But tonight, in the words of that song and the faces of those so close to realizing eternity, I recognize my error. Christmas is not the end at all, but the beginning of something beautiful and sacred. This is hope, revealed. Renewed.
Gloria’s eyes are closed, but there’s a fresh shiny path on one cheek. I’m moved by the confident awe giving depth to her time-shaken voice as she sings the second-to-last verse. Tears well, but somehow I manage to hold it together. Barely.
“Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease, I shall possess, within the veil, a life of joy and peace.”
By the end of the sixth and final verse, my throat is tight with the beauty of the song’s lyric as a whole, as well as how I’ve heard and seen it sung here tonight. Tears sting my eyes. It’s almost a relief when Pastor Jack takes a seat at the piano and plays the opening bars of “Joy to the World,” signifying the program’s close.
I wheel Gloria back to her room myself, visiting with her a little bit and thanking her for requesting that song before returning to the main room where Noah waits for me.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Noah says as we make our way to the parking lot.
“Just thinking. Thanks for asking me to come. It was really nice.”
“Thanks for bringing that lady in.Thatwas nice.” At my look, he says, “I wondered where you were going when you got up, but I couldn’t ask. Then I saw you wheel her in. Pastor Jack told me the rest. That was very cool of you.”
I shrug. “She seemed so lonely.”
When we arrive at Fellowship Community Church, Noah takes my coat to hang it up. As soon as he’s out of sight, two of the younger carolers approach me.
“Hi, I’m Kaitlyn Roscoe. This is Bailee Stevens.”
