Today I went with my father to a nursing home to have a Bible study. Seven ladies came out - a larger group than usual. Some were in wheelchairs and dozed, some were alert and sharp, and some had trouble knowing their name. But when we sang, the tunes triggered memories, and voices sang old hymns of their youth.
My father started a series of the story of Pilgrim's Progress with an old flannelgraph set. (paper figures with scraps of flannel glued to the back) The residents were fascinated by the pictures and seem to be enjoying it. I'm not sure how much they understand, but even a child's mind can understand the concept of sin and seeking God for forgiveness. We didn't get too far in the story in the last two weeks. (Poor Christian has been left in the Slough of Despond until we go back next Tuesday.)
I must have heard or read this story a dozen times or more since I was a child. I never grow tired of it. I love allegories. I love the concept of a story symbolizing and explaining deeper concepts of life.
Today, I found time to be very relative. It was strange to see old people with minds of children listening to a story that I had heard as a child. The texture and smell of the old-fashioned flannelgraph transported me back to when I was young. Time seemed to blend together. It was hard to know who was young or old, even myself.
I wonder what it will be like in Heaven - in the Celestial City. Will there be any ages? Will we all have the attitudes of children but the wisdom of the elderly? Will it matter? Will we even care?