​I’ve been on the receiving end of a great deal of advice over the years – and the best of it has actually stayed with me. Take, for example, the tip given to me a decade ago by the late Frances H. This long-time nursing-home resident informed me that our monthly Christian Music Hours could be considered successful only if the day's repertoire included “Amazing Grace,” “How Great Thou Art,” or “In the Garden.”
 
She was right: the residents always sing these hymns with particular gusto. And so each month, as I put our song list together, I always try to include at least one of these favorites.
 
Yesterday, we sang “In the Garden,” written by C. Austin Miles and published in 1912 – the same year our oldest resident was born.  
 
His inspiration? The story of Mary Magdelane's encounter with the newly risen Jesus Christ, recorded in John 20. Meditating on this account, Miles realized that it not only describes one of the most important events in all of history; it also reflects the Christian’s daily walk with the Lord Jesus. And he proceeded to write one of the best-loved gospel hymns of all time:
 
In the Garden
 
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.
 
I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.
 
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.
 
He speaks and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.
 
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.
 
This wonderful hymn has been recorded by many singers, from Roy Rogers and Dale Evans to Willie Nelson, Doris Day and Elvis Presley. But we love to sing it with Tennessee Ernie Ford; if you listen to the recording above, you’ll understand why.

I can’t count the times I’ve pulled into the nursing home parking lot feeling quite sure that I had no business being there.
 
“They don’t want to see you,” hisses the little voice in my head. “They’ve got better things to do than visit with you. You’ll look like a fool traipsing around there looking for someone to talk with. Go home before it’s too late!”
 
The voice has always been most insistent when I show up for our monthly Christian Music Hour. That was especially true in the early years, when I arrived lugging boom box and CD case and enough hand-made songbooks for the 15 residents who gathered faithfully in the Activities room to sing or snooze or do a little of both.
 
Conditions have improved remarkably since then. These days, up to 50 residents and family members gather together to worship each month. We meet in the main dining room now, and hymns recorded by men like Tennessee Ernie Ford and Gordon MacRae go out over fancy ceiling speakers. A wonderful deacon from our church delivers a five-star Bible message while his wife and children hand out gospel tracts and help other volunteers turn songbook pages.
 
Still, I sometimes hear a familiar warning when I make that final turn into the parking lot: “They’re just showing up as a favor to you. They don’t really want to be there. Go home!”
 
This voice speaks less frequently today, after almost 16 years of visits and hymn sings. I’ve learned not to think about myself so much, I suppose, and to focus instead on serving the Lord Jesus Christ amongst those James mentioned in his epistle to the 12 tribes (1:27a): “Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their trouble.”
 
Our old folk are all orphans, and almost all are widows or widowers, and so I continue visiting; He is faithful and so I will be, too.
 
And almost invariably, I’m the one who is blessed. By the time I point my weary bones towards home, my heart is filled with joy that lasts until the next visit.
 
Please don’t let anyone – least of all that nasty little voice in your head – prevent you from visiting the elderly. You can make someone’s day simply by investing a little time, effort and love. And more often than not, he or she will make your day, too. 

​I’ve recently fallen in love with the novels of Anne Parrish, my mother’s second favorite author when she was a young woman. Parrish was apparently most famous for her children’s books, having been a three-time runner up for the Newbery Medal. But she also wrote some wonderful novels for adults, featuring characters from the somewhat noble to the extraordinarily flawed.
 
I’m just finishing her The Perennial Bachelor, set in the 19th century and published in 1925. (To give you an idea of how popular she was, its first printing was in June of 1925; my copy, from its seventh printing, was published in September of that same year.)
 
I’m only guessing, since it can be difficult to find reviews of books written almost a century ago. But I have to think that one reason for Parrish’s popularity was her insight into the human heart. For instance, here’s a passage from The Perennial Bachelor – a description of the impoverished heroine’s visit to the house she’d lived in all her life, now owned and newly remodeled by a wealthy family:

• “No matter what changes they made, Maggie thought, she could keep The Maples unchanged in her heart. When her home had been hers, she had never been able to hold it – the leaves fell, sunsets faded, darkness drank up the river, everything changed and passed like flowing water. But now that she had lost it, it was hers forever, immortal.” 

This is certainly true of places that have been dear to us; I personally spend a great deal of time remembering, room by room, the house I grew up in, as well as the homes of my little friends.  
 
But it’s true, too, of our loved ones, and especially as we lose them to age and death. The longer these loved ones live, the less we are able to hold them, and the more painful it becomes to watch them deteriorate physically, mentally and emotionally. We may perhaps be able to relieve one source of misery today, but it will only be replaced by others tomorrow. And along the way, we become so preoccupied with the dying that we lose our beloved, often long before he or she draws that final breath.
 
Ah, but then: Death not only frees our loved one from this decay; it frees us from the anguish of good-bye and into our fondest memories. To paraphrase Parrish, “Now that I have lost her, she is mine forever, immortal.”
 
Of course, when this process involves followers of Jesus Christ, death is merely a temporary separation that will culminate in blissful reunion and eternal joy. And those wonderful memories provide exquisite comfort in the interim; surely that was by His design.
 
Not so for the thoughtful unbeliever. He must realize early on that nothing can be his forevermore. And surely that must turn even the loveliest memories bitter.
 
Fortunately, there’s good news for all: As long as we have breath, it’s not too late to receive the free gift of eternal life. You can do it today; and so can your loved ones. And then you can truly belong to each other “forever, immortal.”