We came to sing to her. But she insisted on singing to us, too, as she lay in her hospital bed.
That happened every time we visited the geriatric floor of the hospital.
We were a group of young teens led by a few adults from our church. Walking from room to room, we’d sing songs like “Jesus, Name Above All Names,” “I Love You, Lord” and other choruses popular in the 1980s.
Some elderly patients responded with a “thank you.” Others didn’t say anything — in some cases they couldn’t.
But as for Adele, she sang back to us and always sang the same song: “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.”
“That was beautiful, children. Now, I have a song for you,” she’d say, and then she’d begin to sing.
Why should I feel discouraged
Why should the shadows come
Why should my heart be lonely
And long for heav’n and home
Adele’s voice was soulful and sincere, reminiscent of Ethel Waters, who’d sung the same hymn at Billy Graham crusades.
When Jesus is my portion
My constant friend is He
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me
As she sang, we stood quietly around her.
I sing because I’m happy
I sing because I’m free
Free, even though both of her legs had been amputated.
For His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me
Assurance in spite of her blindness. Her Heavenly Father watched her, and she knew it.
These many years later, I still remember Adele, a woman confined to a hospital bed — unable to walk and unable to see — who did what she could do. She sang.
I think about her gratitude and her faith.
I think about how Jesus was her constant friend.
And I think about the lessons she taught us, simply by singing a song.
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