In April 2021, my friend Wendy posted a quote on Facebook:

“Dementia doesn’t change divine recognition. God, and only God, still knows who we really are.“

John Swinton, 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢: 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥

Her post evoked a memory of a poignant visit with my stepmother Carol in memory care. As I got into my car at the end of that visit, a vivid image dropped into my mind — of Carol standing at the edge of a cliff. Lonely. Confused. I sat there watching helplessly as pieces of her blew away bit by bit — her very “self” disintegrating and lost across the chasm. Sitting there in the parking lot, I dropped my head and dissolved into tears with the grief of it.

But then a Quiet Voice spoke into my tears: “Look again, child. Follow the bits. See where they are going?” Lifting my head, I saw Hands, just “offscreen”, lovingly catching each precious bit. Gathering up all the pieces of her whom He had made.

And who is He is now making new.

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A few months after the Facebook post (and our exchange about it), a package arrived — from Wendy! Who, it so happens, is also an artist. And wonder of wonders! she had created a piece of art from her own thoughts about my initial reflection. (It’s an indescribable thing to have someone take your own thoughts and make them visible!)

It took me some time to decide what mounting and framing I wanted, and just the right place for it to live in our home. But a few weeks ago, Gary installed this beloved piece at the top of the stairwell to our second floor. Now I see it each day as I climb to my office.

And funny thing. The last few days, I’ve been seeing not just Carol in the picture, but myself! (And not just because I’m seeing my reflection in the glass…)

Because more days than I care to admit, I start up those stairs with questions, with doubts, about who I really am. What difference I’m supposed to make. Where my story is headed.

But then I lift my head, see this picture, and am reminded: today — and every day — God, and only God, knows who I really am.

And who I am, by His grace, becoming.

I’m finding that climbing the stairs each day, gazing on this gift, anchors me deeper in the truth that every part of me is held in the hands of my loving Father.

So thank you, Wendy, for my new liturgy of climbing the stairs. 🙂