I stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at the big house. It was too big for one
person. But, they just didn’t understand the memories that were inside. My wife
had been gone for about five years, yet, everything remained the same as it had
been before she left.
(Sitting by her side, I told my wife that I would like to stay to see our
grandchildren grown and married, maybe a great grandchild or two. That way, when
I did leave to go to her, I could tell her all about the family.)
It seemed that the only thing I ever did anymore was to drive downtown, on
Sundays, and go to our church. After two years of going to church, this Sunday
was going to change my life.
When the sermon was over, the pastor said, “I have a challenge for those who are
interested. The local nursing home is looking for someone to go out, on Sunday
afternoons, and play the piano for the folks living there. If you are
interested, please come and see me after church.”
Eager to participate, I went to the pastor and told him that I would like that
job as it would get me out of the house and, maybe, help me meet new friends.
The pastor gave me the name of the lady I needed to contact. Excited, I could
not wait to get back to the house and start playing the piano.
Once home, I changed clothes, poured myself some tea, and sat down at the piano.
Then, as I slowly raised the lid, I realized that the piano had not been played
since Mother had been gone.
My fingers were not as fast as they used to be and, sometimes, they were not
hitting the right notes. But after several songs, my fingers began to loosen up
and move up and down the keyboard with ease. I was ready.
Going to the nursing home, that Sunday afternoon, I met the lady in charge. She
showed me around, introducing me to the folks who lived there.
As I went into one room, the lady told me that this young girl had been hit by a
drunk driver. Her name was Cindy Lou. She was about sixteen years old, with long
blonde hair that hung to her waist. Cindy Lou sat in a wheelchair, not knowing
anybody. The doctors had said that she would be there for the rest of her life.
Her mother would not come to see her.
I walked over to the Cindy Lou, introduced myself, slowly lifted her hand, and
kissed the back of it. I told her my name and said that I was glad to meet her.
Sunday after Sunday, the folks, there, would come out and listen while I played
the piano for them. One little old lady, named Betty Mae, told me that I needed
to practice if I intended to come and play for them.
None of the elderly folks there sang along with the music. Instead, each of them
sang their own song. I did not mind one bit, as they were enjoying themselves
and clapping along to the music.
Sunday after Sunday, I would go to Cindy Lou’s room to see how she was doing.
She never came out to listen to me play, but just sat there, in her wheelchair,
with a blank stare in her eyes. Though I would gently kiss her hand and tell her
that she was looking very pretty, she never smiled or even nodded her head.
At church, the Sunday after my first visit to the nursing home, I told the
congregation about the young girl and requested earnest prayer for her.
When I reached the nursing home, at about 7:00 P.M., I saw an ambulance there ~
with its lights flashing. The first person I thought about was Cindy. So, I
quickly made my way to her room. Her parents were there, as well as the doctor.
When I asked the head nurse what was wrong with Cindy Lou, she just looked at me
with tears in her eyes.
“No, she’s not dead,” I whispered. “She can’t be ... ”
The nurse shook her head, “No. There was a miracle performed tonight. But,
nobody can understand how or why.”
As I walked into the room, I saw Cindy Lou standing. She was smiling at everyone
and talking up a storm. When she saw me, she quickly ran over to me and threw
her arms around my neck. She said that I was the one who had brought her back to
life.
“No, dear, it wasn’t me,” I told her. “The man upstairs was looking out for you.
Give your thanks to Him.”
Everyone cleared the way so she and her parents could leave the room. Cindy Lou
started to walk out the door, then stopped and ran back to me, and hugged my
neck. She kissed me on the back of my hand, smiled, and gave me a piece of
paper. “Read this after I leave,” she said.
Cindy Lou went to the door, then turned and threw me a kiss, and waved goodbye.
Then, she was gone.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, with tears in my eyes, I slowly opened the
folded letter that Cindy Lou had written to me.
Somewhere, somebody’s silent prayer was answered. Sometimes, one person’s silent
prayer is heard louder than a congregation of people, in a church, praying
together. Someone’s silent prayer was answered, but maybe not entirely
fulfilled. He has His reasons.
Keep up your silent prayer, because it just might be yours that He answers.
P. S. Mine was.
© 1997 by Robert H. Gilbert, Jr.
RGBLUEBOY@aol.com
The Illustrator: This daily newsletter is dedicated to encouraging
everyone to look towards Jesus as the source of all the solutions to our
problems. It contains a daily inspirational story, a Bible verse and encouraging
messages. HTML and plain text versions available.
The Nugget: Published three times a week, this newsletter features inspirational devotionals and mini-sermons dedicated to drawing mankind closer to each other and to Christ.