Morning is a dark time right now in Minnesota.
Of course, it's dark everywhere this time of year (except in maybe another hemisphere). But our lamentable lack of snow and dank cloud cover has added an extra layer of dreary as of late.
Combine that with the incredible fog that's been brooding over us the past few days, and southwest Minnesota was transformed into foggy London town yesterday. My hour long drive down to Iowa at 8:00am was a strange experience. I knew I was on the prairie, and would get glimpses of it every once in awhile, but I could just have easily been back in New Hampshire with the ocean just around the next corner.
No, I was not driving to Iowa just for the fun of it (insert Iowa joke here). An elderly parishioner from one of the churches I serve lives in a Senior Living facility down there. We've never met before, and I was a bit nervous. You see, she has Alzheimer's and lives in the Memory Wing of her senior apartment complex. I have worked with people with this disease before...but still, there's always some trepidation that goes along with meeting a person for the first time who lives in an alternate reality. It can be a scary experience, both for them and for the visitors to their strange new worlds. And yet, some of the most incredibly human and divine experiences I've ever had have been with people such as the lady I was going to visit. You just never quite know what you're going to get.
I got lost, of course, both because of my iPad and because of my miserable sense of direction. So by the time I walked into the common room of Alice's (not her real name) home, I was thoroughly discomfited. (Translation: I was feeling like a downright fool, as I always do when I get lost.) It was a very large, open room, about the size of the top floor of my house. It was decorated beautifully for Christmas, tree and all. There were several chairs and couches, a large tv mounted on one wall, and behind the couches a series of tables and seats leading up to a wall of windows. It was a room that had obviously been planned with care and concern for its residents.
As I'd never met Alice before, I hesitated, casting glances at the various residents of the room, trying to match a face to the picture I'd seen. One of the nurses took pity on my obviously forlorn self and led me to Alice. Even though she didn't know me, she got up almost immediately when I asked if we could chat. There after came a strange game of something akin to musical chairs: I tried to sit down at the closest table behind the couches, but she moved to the next one over. So I went to join her at her table, and then she moved to the next, until finally we were at the table closest to the Christmas tree and windows. "So you can...see...some things," Alice said softly, smiling and gesturing toward the window. I realized she'd led me to the table that had the best view of the room and outside. We sat.
Our conversation at first was quite stilted. If you've never had the chance, introducing yourself to and having a conversation with someone who has memory loss can be difficult. When in such a situation, I first try to determine how extensive are their memory issues: do they remember the church they used to attend where I am now a pastor? Does asking questions about their past agitate them? How much do they remember about the conversation from minute to minute? It soon became apparent that Alice most certainly remembered her church, wasn't bothered if she couldn't remember things about her past, and generally had just a sweet disposition. Our exchanges were very short since she had trouble elaborating on her thoughts. There were long pauses as I thought of things to say. Soon, she asked again where I was from, and our conversation began again: her church...her family...her Christmas plans...the Christmas decorations in the room...the weather.
This conversation repeated itself every few minutes, interspersed as before with long silences and companionable smiles. I started to relax a bit. As I said above, Alzheimer's is a tricky disease that affects people very differently, and can be a landmine to navigate--but Alice was obviously at peace with her world. I'd brought along my communion kit, so we shared the Lord's Supper together. I had to remind Alice what to do with the wafer, that it was alright to eat it, but she didn't seem to mind, and joined in with various words of the Lord's Prayer. After a few more minutes, we said goodbye, and I left.
As I was driving away, thinking and praying about the visit, I smiled rather ruefully to myself. It occurred to me that yes, perhaps I had come to "give" pastoral care to Alice, but much of the credit was certainly due her for the pleasant nature of the visit. She had been readily willing to engage this strange young person who had interrupted her morning. She had successfully offered what hospitality she could in showing me to the table with the finest view. My clumsy and prodding questions she'd answered with grace and cheerful shrugs when she couldn't remember. And with her sweet demeanor, she had helped me relax in what was potentially an awkward situation as two citizens of different realities came together over prayer and a shared spiritual meal.
Yes, I thought as my car slid through the hovering mist, these prairie people will teach me to be a pastor yet.
