If you're searching for a present for a friend or loved one who lives in a nursing home, it wouldn't be surprising to learn that the perfect gift is not leaping instantly to mind. It can in fact be a real challenge. But as a veteran of nursing-home buying, I have a few suggestions for you. 

Let's start with a few don'ts:

• It should be obvious, but apparently it is not: Don't bring in anything that the recipient can't eat -- no sugary treats for those with diabetes, no nuts or popcorn for those with diverticulitis. If you have any doubts, do your research and check with a nurse.


• Be sensible: don't give a boom box to someone with a roommate -- unless it's accompanied by earphones and instructions for using them.


• Don't give conventional books to someone with failing vision, or books on tape to someone with no means of listening to them. 


• Don't give a gift that could be a fire hazard. That means none of those cute little packages of tea, mug and plug-in cup heater. No hot plates. Nothing that plugs in and heats up.


• Don't give an appliance if it will only cause frustration. A prime problem: phones with built-in answering machines. Younger residents may really appreciate them, but I promise you that they can reduce many old folk to tears in very short order.

There are far better choices available to those who know their residents fairly well. For instance:

• This is the generation that wrote letters, and many still do. Books of pretty stamps are always welcome, as are boxes of stationery or a selection of cards for any occasion -- Get Well, Happy Birthday, Thank You and Thinking of You are perfect.


• Look for wonderful new books or old favorites for a reader, large-print if necessary; I recently discovered a resident with a shared passion for Kathleen Thompson Norris, the highest-paid woman novelist of the early 20th century; she'll be ultra-easy to buy for, since Norris wrote dozens of books and one of the advantages to old age is being hazy about stories read decades ago. 


• Many will welcome reading accessories such as clip-on night lights (with a supply of batteries) or magnifying sheets or glasses.


• If the nursing staff okays it, candy and cookies are always a big hit.  


• How about a jigsaw puzzle, if there's a place to assemble it? And how about personalizing it? I'm currently searching for one featuring turtles for a resident who loves both puzzles and turtles -- if I can find the right one, I think she'll be delighted.

 

• If the home has a beauty shop, you could pay for a shampoo, cut and set for a resident who's low on funds.


• An easy-to-care-for plant may be just the ticket, especially for someone who once enjoyed gardening. Surprisingly, an orchid can be great; it may not live forever, but some of the most common types will bloom for a long time and need only an ice cube a week for moisture. And what an exotic gift!


• For the right resident and the right room, a stuffed toy can turn into a beloved "companion." And there are some very cool, battery-operated cats and dogs available today; but bring extra batteries and make sure there'll be someone available to change them.


• Another nifty gift is a pair of earphones for TV listening. The resident's roommate will appreciate them, and that can help keep the peace for everyone concerned.


• For the resident who has everything, you might want to make a donation in his or her name to a cause that he or she loves -- his or her church, a local humane society, or the Rescue Mission or Salvation Army, for instance.

But the best gift at all for someone living in a nursing home is the gift of time. That can be tough to provide during this era of COVID 19, but perhaps you can telephone frequently, or make special arrangements to visit; ask the home's Activities Director or Administrator for suggestions. Then, once the current crisis is past, make up for today's limitations, lavishing your time on him or her every month of the year! 

I was just reminded of this haunting poem. It seems to convey an important truth: the dementia patients who have the greatest peace are those whose children and friends continue to visit and love them even as deep confusion sets in. 

How sad that current fears of covid 19 have made such visits nearly impossible for those who are institutionalized. We really need to lobby to change this situation, even if it puts our loved ones at some risk; after all, staying physically healthy is not necessarily the most important thing in this life.
 
In the meantime, I hope we'll each do what we can to comfort those afflicted with any form of dementia; even sending them cards and letters to be read to them by caregivers can provide a few moments of happiness. The Lord will be pleased; after all, "Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their trouble ...”  (James 1:27a, NKJV). If we can't do it in person, we can at least try to make up for it via the USPS.

Like virtually all American nursing-home volunteers, I've been banished from visiting my closest friends since mid-March, thanks to covid. And so I'm left with communicating with them by phone and email, and with longing for a soon return to normal.

​And, just as important, with simply remembering the many happy times we've shared.

That means I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about my dear Doris, who died three years ago this month, just shy of her 98th birthday.  
 
Over the last six years of her life, Doris and I spent a great deal of quality time together, lunching weekly with her amazing daughter, visiting and singing and jabbering, sifting through thousands of her family photos, and wrapping up nearly every Friday afternoon with a spirited scrapbooking session during which we tried to artfully arrange the best of those photos – some dating back to before the turn of the last century.
 
Being so immersed in this photographic history, I got to know Doris and her family very well over the years. I learned all about the courage of her mother Lydia, widowed at an early age; about the love and humor of her husband Frank; and about the extraordinary kindness of her mother-, father- and sister-in-law.
 
Of special note were loving characters like Uncle Gus’s wife Aunt Coddle. She insisted on hand-making young Doris’s special-occasion dresses for such events as her First Communion. These dresses weren’t exactly fashionable, as the photographs demonstrated. In fact, the prospect of having to wear them out in public sent Doris to her mother in tears, hoping that she’d be told she could wear something else.

But no dice. Lydia invariably said, “Oh, I know it’s awful, Doris dear, but Aunt Coddle would be so hurt if you didn’t wear it. You’re just going to have to.” And so she did.
 
Maybe it was being raised by a mother like Lydia that gave Doris such a compassionate heart. Because in my eyes, at least, she was the epitome of the Christian woman – a doer of the word, not just a hearer (James 1:22).
 
Perhaps most telling, I never once heard her say an unkind word to anyone, or about anyone. Never. On the contrary, she always greeted staff and residents with the friendliest “Hello!” you’ve ever heard, and the brightest smile. And she often commented on what terrific people they were when they were out of earshot.
 
Nor did I ever hear her complain about anything. Not once. Not when a neighbor was ear-splittingly noisy, a staffer was cross, a fellow resident gobbled down all her chocolates, or an aide was painfully slow to respond to a call light. Not even when reflooring the hallways necessitated detours that were inconvenient for all and a trial for a 90-something woman relying on a walker; rather than complaining about it, she lauded the workers, complimenting them enthusiastically on their efforts.
 
What’s more, Doris seemed to be obsessed with your comfort, especially when you were sitting in her room. She wanted you to take the best chair. She wanted the temperature to be set at your comfort level. She wanted you to have just the right amount of the right kind of light, incandescent or fluorescent, for the task at hand.
 
The foundation of it all: a heart filled to overflowing with gratitude.
 
“I’ve had such a wonderful life,” Doris said more than once. And indeed, it was clearly a life filled with love and simple pleasures – her lovely extended family, a relatively modest but well-built and tidy home, long lists of girlfriends who got together regularly, family vacations at rented cottages in northern Wisconsin, volunteer work at a local hospital.
 
This gratitude continued into the last years of her life. Even though her daughter made repeated efforts to persuade her mother to come live with her, Doris kindly refused. She found her final earthly home beautiful, loved the staff and her fellow residents, nested happily in a room filled with family photos and favorite knickknacks, appreciated the food and courtyard garden and thoroughly enjoyed the constant slate of activities, all tailored to the interests and abilities of her generation.
 
And now I wonder: If this splendid woman found so much to love about this fallen world, even while dealing with the infirmities of great old age, how do you suppose she’s finding heaven?
 
Doris was one of a kind, and I will never forget her. Happily, thanks to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, that won’t ever be necessary; we’ll both be in that happy, heavenly throng, singing our hearts out in worship (and, she and I always hoped, doing so with far more beautiful voices than those we had in this life).

Until we meet again, my beloved friend.

Sadly, there seem to be no numbers available to quantify the power of the 4th annual  Women's March in Washington D.C. this past January. But according to the always-accurate Washington Post, roughly 700,000 women took part in the 2019 event.  That’s 700,000 women who spent hours making arrangements, crafting clever signs, dressing for the weather, traveling to their rallying points, marching till their feet hurt, saying their fond farewells and making their ways home.

Would it be fair to say that, on average, each woman invested 20 hours of time in the effort?
 
Let’s say it would be, and do the math:  700,000 women x 20 hours each =  14,000,000 woman-hours – the equivalent of 7,000 women working full time for a year.
 
Far be it from me to judge their motives. I’m sure most of the marchers thought they were doing something good for women today and for generations to come – protecting “choice,” advancing the cause of equal pay for equal work and possibly comparable worth, making paid parental leave a right for partners, and supporting any number of other “women’s issues” that they believe can impact our quality of life.
 
There’s just one problem: This tremendous show of unity will have exactly zero impact on our legislators, who were elected to office by voters who may not share the marchers’ views.

In the end, it was pretty much a complete waste of time, energy and money. 
 
May I make a suggestion? If you were among the 700,000 marchers, why not consider investing your resources in activities that will actually help those in need?
 
Volunteer at a food bank or soup kitchen to feed the hungry. Raise money for the Rescue Mission to house the homeless. Become a Big Sister to a girl who needs extra love and guidance. Teach someone to read. Or my favorite, share your love with the neglected elderly. I'm sure some of these activities are possible even now, as we wade through the dregs of our latest existential threat; but it'll be over soon, and it's never too early to start planning how you, too, can make a real difference in this world--or, even better, in the life of one needy person. 
 
Just think how much good could be accomplished if 14,000,000 women-hours were to be invested in works such as these! 

If you love an old person, and especially if you’re his or her primary lifeline to the outside world, please make it a point to monitor the medications he or she is taking. And be on the lookout for any changes that might be significant, from weight gain to personality change; you may need to do some research and then go to bat for your beloved.
 
The research part is easy. Just plug each of the drugs into a search engine like Google, add a symptom or two that you’ve noticed, and check out the results. If you’re able to process more technical information, try a medical search engine like www.pubmed.gov or https://scholar.google.com/.
 
Don’t believe everything you find, especially on the non-technical side of the web. But if you come across significant evidence that a drug may be harming your loved one, and if it comes from apparently reliable sources, start building your case: Compile the evidence along with a full list of the medications he or she is currently taking, print it out and highlight the key points for presentation to the doctor in charge.
 
If this physician is less than approachable, or is always pressed for time in today’s drive-through healthcare environment, consider first taking your case to a local pharmacist. (Make an appointment if necessary; pharmacists seem to be even busier than doctors these days and will no doubt appreciate your sensitivity to his or her stress level.) Outline your concerns and what you’ve found out so far. Take careful notes and add them to your evidence document – and then approach the responsible physician with this professional take on the situation.
 
Never assume that having a slew of healthcare providers tending to your loved one is adequate protection against dangerous drug side effects or interactions.
 
Here's an example: My mother had a seizure disorder for which her five-star neurologist often tried new medications. She’d been on just such a “latest and greatest” drug for about a week when she suddenly became extremely dopey. Her nurses and primary-care doctor just shrugged it off. Fortunately, I was freaked out enough to call her neurologist; he demanded that she be sent to the ER immediately, for cold-turkey removal from the drug without the mandatory weaning, because he considered her situation to be life-threatening.
 
That’s just one example; I could cite many more from what I’ve seen over the past 25 years.
 
So if you are a loved one’s court of last resort, remain on high alert for medication issues. Be willing to do the necessary homework. And get ready to sound the alarm far and wide whenever necessary.   

One of the sweetest things about being a nursing-home volunteer is seeing how the residents come to love one another, or at least look out for each other's well-being--often behind the backs of those in charge. We youngsters could probably all learn a lesson from them! Here's a scene illustrating that point from The Song of Sadie Sparrow.

Sadie Sparrow
Sunday, March 25
 
Sadie and Gladys brunched together on Sunday, enjoying a feast of fresh strawberries and blackberries, French toast with maple syrup, bacon that was every bit as crisp as any Sadie had ever had, as much orange juice as they wanted, and coffee that tasted like something you’d get at a fancy cafe.
           
Gladys shocked Sadie by calling the meal “good” and then shocked her again by pointing out that Marcia at Table Nine was on “the thick stuff.”
           
“Do you mean thickened liquids?” Sadie was ashamed that she’d let that subject slip to the back burner in recent days, her new spiritual life and time with Jamie being foremost on her mind.
          
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Gladys sniffed, “although I don’t know why you always have to make everything so complicated. Pretending to be something you’re not.”
           
“‘Thick stuff’ is just fine with me,” Sadie said, humbled by the rebuke. “So how did you find out?”
           
One of Gladys’s nicer traits was her willingness to leave a hurt behind. “Before you got here, I heard her complaining about it to the servers. But they wouldn’t help her. I think it’s a crime.”
           
“A crime?”
           
“Without a doubt.” Gladys lowered her voice and glanced back over her shoulders to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It kills people, you know. If you don’t get enough to drink, you get fuzzy headed and then you die. I’ve seen it happen again and again.”
           
Gladys had lived at The Hickories for several years, and Sadie didn’t doubt that she knew a lot more than she let on.
           
“Have any of your—have you known anyone who’s been on it?”
           
Gladys eyed Sadie up before answering. “My friends, you mean? Were you assuming I haven’t had any friends here?”
           
“No, of course not, I just meant—”
           
“I’ll have you know that I’ve had plenty of friends here. It’s just that they’ve all died or gone home.”
           
“Of course you have.” Sadie felt her face flush; she’d been caught red-handed. She quickly changed gears. “So have any of them been on the thick stuff?”
           
“Yes, and they’ve all died within weeks, except for one. Her name was Ida—she lived next door to me. She survived for two years on the stuff, finally had a coronary.”
           
“Well, then, if Ida made it that long, maybe it’s not so bad after all,” said Sadie, hoping for a silver lining.
           
Gladys looked around for eavesdroppers again. “It’s not so bad if someone is sneaking you water and soda every day,” she whispered. “I kept her supplied.”
           
“Why Gladys,” Sadie whispered back, impressed. “You really do have a heart, don’t you?”
           
Gladys glared at her. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

--The Song of Sadie Sparrow, pages  227-228

Of all the people suffering during this horrific nationwide lockdown, the institutionalized elderly are no doubt hurting most of all. Those in long-term-care facilities are largely isolated from everyone but their gowned-and-masked caregivers. Friends may be allowed to visit through open windows; family members, for a brief time outside as long as they are wearing masks and are maintaining proper social distancing. It's hard to imagine the loneliness, heartache and hopelessness these dear old folks must be feeling these days, especially when there's no end in sight. 

But as I reflected on their trials during my morning walk today, I remembered that Scripture contains the solution to every problem we humans may encounter in our fallen world. And what popped into my mind next was the memory of a message I heard several years ago during the Christian Music Hour at Care-Age of Brookfield--a message prepared and delivered by our five-star preacher Chris Carrillo, who had been providing the residents of Care-age with knowledge, wisdom, and eternal hope for many years, until COVID-19 shut us down last March. 

In this short sermon, Chris explained how one heavy-hearted woman overcame her bitter disappointment and sorrow, with eternally significant results. It’s the story of Hannah, as told in the Old Testament book of 1 Samuel. Here is Chris's message, ready to inspire anyone who is suffering through any sort of intense and prolonged trial.