I remember as if it were yesterday. When Jerry was first diagnosed, we were both quite aware of what the diagnosis meant. Losing your mental faculties, and dying a slow death. Jerry was a very bright man.
As we lay in silent stillness that night, he broke the silence by asking, “How do you have a relationship with God, when you’ve lost your mind?” It broke my heart. But, trying to stay strong, I reached over and put my hand on his. I said, “Well, because God is who He is, and He is able, I’m sure He will instill you with His Holy Spirit”. “You, more than likely, won’t be encumbered by the things we all usually worry about and you will probably have an even sweeter experience with Him.”
I’ve seen this come true on so many occasions. Now, keep in mind, Jerry can read very little, he rarely remembers my name, nor does he know how to put toothpaste on his toothbrush. These are habits that he has done his entire life and were embedded into his brain. Yet, when he hears a song, like “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me...” or “At the cross, at the cross, Where I first saw the light and the burden of my heart rolled away....” he becomes misty eyed.
And on Christmas Eve, when we sing Silent Night, he still holds his candle high.
There are so many events in our lives that seem so important, but are really such folly. I've found that it’s the experiences that are true to the heart that remain.