God Whispers

My mother had Alzheimer’s disease for many years. She degenerated from being an alert, intelligent woman to a forgetful woman (“Dear, I think I’ve locked the keys in the house”), then to a woman who was barely there. A fast-aging woman who lay upon a bed in a nursing home. She had all but disappeared. For quite a long time after Mum stopped talking, she sang. Formerly a successful singer, she had a lovely soprano voice. Once-popular songs and hymns rang through the wards, blessing other oldies and the nurses. She worshipped God in her singing, arresting workers in their footsteps to listen. And pray. She grew silent. Eventually she was unable to speak or sing at all and simply lay there. We’d visit her, bringing flowers and perfume, anything she used to love and would, we hoped, enjoy. We’d walk along the flower-edged paths to the large building. Through the wide passageways, smelling dinner cooking already. All the familiar smells of a nursing home. F

Jenny and I were paddling, sometimes floating, hanging on to the edges of a rubber raft in shallow water. It was an unpatrolled beach on the Gold Coast.   The warm sun lulled us into a hazy, ‘half with it’ state as we talked … Suddenly Jenny interrupted. “Nettie, can you touch the bottom?” her voice curled tightly around the question mark. I poked my toes down. Further and further. All I felt was cool, deep water and no sand at all. What had happened to the beach? “We’re way out!” I exclaimed, looking in dismay at the fast-receding beach. “We’re caught in a rip!” Jenny was a good a swimmer so was less concerned than I was. I was scared. Soon we were out in the menacing-looking ocean, surrounded by turbulent waves as strong currents slapped against one another and splashed wildly. I felt helpless. Were we going to drown? “Let’s praise God,” Jenny suggested. “You know, like Paul and Silas.” So we did. Out loud against the roar of the crashing wa