All Who are Thirsty

There have been so many times in my life where one way or another, I end up leading worship through music.

In college, friends and I would gather in the chapel late at night and worship God together through music for hours.  I'll never forget those times.  "Freedom," we called it.

When I lived in Bellingham, some friends and I did a monthly worship set.  It was usually just the worship team and one or two others that came.  I treasure those times.

Here in Georgia, I've stayed out of being on a church worship team.  I think it's one of the better choices I've made.  I do, however, play piano every Wednesday night at an assisted living home in town.  And this is unlike any worship leading experience I've had.  Maybe the most powerful.

Tonight it was just me singing - only two of us showed up and the other person doesn't like to sing.  Residents trickled in over the course of the hour.  And as I poured out my heart to God through music, I prayed for the residents surrounding me.  And I realized just how powerful music is.  In offering worship to God and lifting those precious people and their concerns and worries and sadness before the throne of God, we were imperceptibly bound together.

One of the residents never talks.  I am assuming there is something wrong that causes her to be unable to speak. But she comes every week and sits there smiling.

One resident reminds me of a stereotypical old Dutch woman (no idea whether she's Dutch or not).  She's crotchety and emotionally aloof.  And yet she is always there, and I love talking to her.

One resident told me tonight that she is "alright," that life is up and down and she wishes it would just stay steady.  I can relate all too well.

I love these people.  I'm too socially awkward to engage them in a ton of conversation, but I try.  And maybe having in depth conversations isn't the important part.  I think the most important part is being there.  Week in and week out.  Playing music for them, praying for them while I do so, and taking an interest in their lives.  Asking them how they are.

These people are the forgotten.  The visitors' log is so often strangely empty.  They are at the end of their lives, and they have so little to look forward to.  But tonight, as I sang "All Who Are Thirsty" for the residents seated around me, my prayer for them was that they would find peace at the fountain of life.

"All who are thirsty
all who are weak
come to the fountain
dip your heart in the stream of life
let the pain and the sorrow
be washed away
in the waves of His mercy
as deep cries out to deep
Come, Lord Jesus, come."