Thread of Faith

I cursed the bad cell coverage as I desperately willed 1980's worship music to load on Spotify. 

The temperature of the room sat at a warm 78 degrees, typical for a skilled nursing facility such as the one where my mother now lives. I sat on the edge of the bed, attempting to talk with her knowing she lost her ability to respond years ago. Moments of awareness quickly dissipated back into a dementia fog as she opened and closed her eyes and struggled to see who it was who spoke tender tones and offered reassurance through a gentle touch on her atrophied arm.

I love you, Lord.

And I lift my voice

To worship you.

O my soul, rejoice.

Take joy, my King,

In what you hear.

May it be a sweet, sweet sound

In your ear.

The moment the music finally started playing and I put the phone on the bed next to her pillow, she turned her head, opened her eyes, and painstakingly attempted to make words with her dysfunctional mouth. Though she could not sing, it was clear the music awakened an ancient and deep place within her where a vibrant love for Jesus still resides. Now buried and private, the faith of this woman is the reason Restoration Project exists.

A few years after the birth of my intellectually and physically disabled older sister, sometime in the late 60's or early 70's, a kind and compassionate neighbor invited my mother into a relationship with Jesus. Though I was yet to be born, the course of my life shifted in that moment of faith, transforming the nature and culture of our family forever. Once I came along, the ardency and depth of her love for God, the scriptures, and the world inspired me also (in my own way and time) to love a wild and good God. Had she not introduced me to Jesus as a boy, I honestly do not know what path I may have travelled. 

Much more could be said about my mother's life -- for who she was to many, for how she loved and suffered and hoped and healed -- but now as she approaches ever closer to the next threshold of her life, my prayer is that she finds most fully the peace she has relied upon for the better part of a century.

As the deer panteth for the water

So my soul longs after Thee.

You alone are my heart's desire

And I long to worship Thee.

For the first time in years, her mostly paralyzed hand reached out to me as I sat there on the bed. Bent and weak, with fingers unable to open, I held it, thanked her, and released her into the arms of the Jesus we both know is waiting for her. Though her body still fights and somehow her physical constitution remains insistent on living, in that moment heaven and earth collided and together we joined in worship once again. 

As you consider your own life and journey with Jesus, where and to whom can you trace the thread of faith?