Teckla and I read Scripture, sing hymns, and pray together every morning. We take turns reading Psalms but because of her dementia she can’t read from a book. I don’t know if this is because she loses her place or because she no longer remembers the words she sees. So, I read the Bible out loud while she agrees with a whispered “yes” or a quiet “hmm.”
A few days back I was reading Psalm 119:105: “Thy word is a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path.” To my surprise, Teckla added, “But not to my mind.” Her voice was without anger, bitterness, or complaint. It was stated like an observation, a fact that had just occurred to her. Of course, it broke my heart because it was true. And it is hard to see how God might be a guide to her mind—one that malfunctions more each day. She climbs into bed on her hands and knees and then can’t remember how to lie down.
As I meditate on Teckla’s commentary, a quiet joy has filled me. Her matter-of-fact comment reminded me of how grounded her spiritual life has always been. Nothing, to use a trendy word, was performative. She has always wanted reality—a God that meets us in the mess and mire of daily life. In the pathless swamp of dementia, she wants God. I suspect Teckla’s path isn’t lit because God is carrying her.
Teckla has always been a woman of God’s Word. When I read the Scripture to her, I can still see her leaning in to understand and be shaped by God’s words. And to whatever degree her words were a complaint—such a complaint fits perfectly with all the complaints of David. These are complaints anchored in God’s promises and a revelation of His goodness and everlasting mercy. Her comment still brings me grief, but I rejoice in Teckla’s faithfulness to open herself completely to God.
Today, Teckla could not remember her name—but I know she is remembered by her God.
