One of the best friends I ever made at the nursing home was Helen, a beautiful little lady from Missouri. In her mid-80s when we met, she’d been raised by a mother and later a grandmother who hadn’t had much use for religion. But Helen was curious, and in her teens started taking herself to church to learn about this Jesus that people were talking about. And along the way she became, forevermore, a Christian.
 
Helen’s children loved her a lot, and they were always bringing her not only beautiful clothes but also reading material of all kinds, including books and magazines about her faith. We talked endlessly about these things, she in her quiet drawl, and I with unfettered enthusiasm that she, at least, seemed to appreciate.
 
One day Helen said excitedly that she’d read a wonderful little story about a silversmith, and that she wanted me to read it aloud so we could both enjoy it. But then she couldn’t find the publication it was in, so she told me about it instead, even though she sometimes had a hard time finding even everyday words. 
 
“It was like this,” she said, smiling shyly. “There were these lady friends who were reading the Bible together and came across a verse they didn’t understand. I think it was in Malachi – can you look it up?”
 
I reached for my New American Standard Bible, my translation of choice at the time, and began searching for the Old Testament book of Malachi. 
 
“I think it was chapter three,” she added.
 
Finding it at last, I started reading in verse one. She sat in her wheelchair, pressing her lips together and looking at the ceiling or the heavens, listening intently. It didn’t take long: When I started verse three, she cried, “That’s it! Start over again.”
 
“’He will sit as a smelter and purifier of silver,’” I read, “’and He will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, so that they may present to the LORD offerings in righteousness.’”
 
“Yes, that’s the one,” she said. “So these ladies didn’t understand that verse, because they didn’t understand how silver was made. So one of them decided to find out. She went to a silversmith and asked him to show her exactly what he did. And so he did!” 

Helen reached for her water cup and took a good long drink. She certainly wasn’t having much trouble with her words today.
 
“This lady’s idea was that this verse, the one you just read, had to do with the –“ And she was stumped. She looked at me and shook her head. “You know what it is. When He changes us.”
 
“Sanctifying?” 

“Yes, that’s it,” she said, smiling at me gratefully. “Sanctifying. This lady thought this verse was intended to get that idea across, that God will purify us the way a silversmith purifies silver. And then two things.”
 
She paused to make sure she had it right.
 
“Yes. First, he told her that he just sits and watches the furnace every minute that the silver is in there, because it mustn’t go a moment longer than is needed or the silver will be hurt.” 
 
We grinned at each other.
 
“He does that with us, you know,” she said. “He lets us go through trials but not more than –“ She stopped again and looked at me sadly.
 
“More than we can bear,” I said, nodding at her encouragingly. I looked at the verse again. “He will sit as a smelter and purifier…”
 
We grinned some more.
 
“You said there were two things, didn’t you, Helen?”
 
We both laughed; it was a rare visit when one of us didn’t forget something important we’d wanted to share. 
 
“And it’s the best part,” Helen said. “You will love this. The lady asked the silversmith how he knew that his silver was ready. And he said—“ She looked at me with the giddiest expression on her face, as if she was about to deliver the greatest punchline of all time. “Do you know what he said, Kitty?” 
 
I shook my head. 
 
“He said, ‘It’s done when I can see my image reflected in the silver.’”
 
“Wow.”
 
“I knew you’d love it. I do, too.”

(Adapted from Heaven Without Her, pp 235-237; originally posted 11/30/13)

For the last few years, I’ve been spending some time before bed with novels published in the 1920s or ‘30s. That means, for the most part, slowly devouring the novels of Kathleen Thompson Norris, the best-selling female author of the first half of the 20th century and my mother’s favorite writer.

Most of Norris’s books were billed as romances, which is not a genre I’ve ever enjoyed. But they’re nothing like today’s romances. There is no sex, for one thing, no divorce or adultery or violence. Instead, character development and moral awakening reign. Although these stories are not overtly Christian, they rely heavily on Judeo-Christian values: Bad behavior is invariably punished, while good behavior is ultimately rewarded. And interestingly, although each heroine’s eventual love interest may claim a share of her thoughts, she’s rarely obsessed with him; she has other things to worry about, from family responsibilities to paying next month’s rent.

In fact, money – or a terrifying lack of it – is usually a major theme in these books.

I’d heard about the grinding poverty of that era, of course. For example, both my parents lived in rented rooms when they were in college in the heart of the Great Depression, and both made it through school entirely by the grace of God, my mother insisted. But Norris does an amazing job of conveying what it was like to actually live under such circumstances. And she shows the other side of economic reality as well – usually demonstrating that money cannot possibly buy happiness.

One of the reasons I love these books is that they give me a glimpse into the lives of my nursing-home friends during their formative years. I now have an inkling of  what it must have been like to trust one’s parents implicitly, for instance, even as the money was running out – and to feel those first pangs of doubt that relief was really awaiting them next week, or next month. And I have a better understanding of the factors that influenced their most important life decisions, from choosing a husband to caring for their own aging parents.  

And because I’ve browsed through so many of my elderly friends' photo albums from that era, my reading is greatly enriched: When I read Norris’s often lengthy descriptions of people and places, I can easily picture the characters’ clothing and carriages, homes and furnishings. I can see, in my mind’s eye, the room that an entire family shared while Papa sought work, and picture a garden bursting with the blooms of old-fahioned lilacs and spirea and other shrubs long forgotten by us oh-so-sophisticated modern gardeners. 

I recently dove into a 1927 book by my mother’s second-favorite author, Anne Parrish. It’s called Tomorrow Morning, and so far it’s a lovely description of what it was like to be the happiest of homemakers a century ago. But trouble looms: the young heroine’s husband is very ill, and it’s apparent she will soon be a widow. How will she survive, with a little boy to raise on her own, no readily marketable skills, and no government programs to fall back on? I’m looking forward to finding out – and to comparing notes with a dear 95-year-old friend whose own mother experienced precisely these challenges in the years leading up to the Depression.

If you’re interested in discovering such literary gems for yourself, be sure to look for early editions. Many of these novels have been reprinted in recent decades, and rumor has it that they’ve been “updated” to suit modern tastes. I shudder to think what that might mean. 

Here’s a great way to spend it.

It was Bette Davis who said, "Old age is no place for sissies.” She was right. In spite of all the platitudes we hear about the importance of keeping an aging mind active and the joy of doting on grandchildren, the fact is that old age can be absolutely heartbreaking.

Physical deterioration is the most obvious problem. Some pain can only be controlled by virtual unconsciousness. 

Lack of mobility is perennially frustrating (try maneuvering a wheelchair around and between twin beds in a compact room, and you’ll begin to understand). And the onset of confusion – when you realize that your mind is going, and still feel embarrassed by it – can be very frightening. 

But for many, loneliness is the worst part of old age. That can be true for the childless, of course, unless we’re fortunate to have both all our marbles and a sparkling personality. It can be worse, however, for those with children who live nearby but don’t have the time or inclination to call or visit or even to drop the occasional card in the mail. 

For way too many people, life consists of decades of routine punctuated by sorrow, fear, and those occasional moments of temporal highs that we call happiness. And if we live long enough, those emotions can kick into high gear –especially if we have little-to-no hope of a heavenly end. 

Can you help?

Compassion comes in multiple forms, and there are many ways to spend it. But if you happen to be one of those with a heart for the elderly, and if you have the requisite patience and interest in others, you can make an enormous difference in the lives of these most obvious occupants of eternity’s waiting room.

If the idea appeals to you, and if you have yet to decide what to do about it, perhaps I can coax you into getting started soon. 

Use your imagination

What can you do to help? The possibilities are virtually unlimited, so maybe a better question concerns what you enjoy doing, and how you might parlay that into something that will benefit some old folks. For instance, perhaps you could: 

• Help your church stay in touch with shut-in members by starting up and running a cards-and-letters ministry.  
• Gather some friends and make lap robes or shawls for the always-cold elderly.
• Set up and conduct a weekly or monthly hymn sing, church service or Bible study at a local long-term-care facility, remembering that today’s elderly may be the last generation in which the majority have been lifelong and ardent church-goers.
• Give a hand to an elderly person who’s finding it increasingly difficult to “age in place” at home. 
• Bring your area of expertise – whether it’s banking or healthcare or crafts or just about anything else -- to share at a nearby senior center.
• Offer to serve as a wheelchair escort on outings sponsored by a nursing home or assisted living facility.   
• Just be a friend, calling and visiting lonely old people to share a cup of morning coffee, reminisce over a favorite photo album, play a game of Scrabble, or read favorite Bible books aloud.

And these are just a few of the ways you could bring great joy to an elderly friend. Whatever activity you choose, it’ll cost you little more than time. Yet it can mean the world to someone who has little left in the way of companionship or resources. 
 
A great place to start 

My personal experience is with nursing homes, primarily with the one where my mother lived and died -- Care-age of Brookfield, a terrific smaller home that’s staffed by people who really care about their residents, and bend over backwards to make them both comfortable and content. If I ever have personal need of such a facility, this is the one where I’d want to spend my last days on this earth.

But there are undoubtedly lots of opportunities to be a blessing to the elderly in your community. If you don’t know what you’d like to do, take some time to explore your options. Ask your friends and colleagues if they know someone who needs help. Call a nearby nursing home or two to ask what sort of hands-on assistance they could use. Or do an internet search using a phrase such as“eldercare volunteer opportunities,”  adding the name of your city or town, and you’ll probably discover scores of organizations that are eagerly awaiting your call. 

The Christian's charge

We Christians have been entrusted with sharing the Gospel far and wide (Matthew 28:19-20). I’m certain, in fact, that good deeds performed apart from the Good News are ultimately useless. Those elderly people who know Christ as their personal Savior will want to rejoice in that fact with you. And those who do not know Him need to, just as soon as possible – which means we need to speak up and proclaim the Gospel, speaking the truth in love (Ephesians 4:15).

As evangelist Mark Cahill wrote a few years back, "I was speaking in the farm country of Iowa recently. And farmers always know one thing: If you do not plant a seed in the ground, it does not matter how much you pray for a good harvest of crops, how much water, sunlight, and fertilizer you use; nothing will be coming out of the ground in three or four months. Why? If no seed is planted, nothing will grow."

We need to be about the business of planting the seeds of the Gospel in the hearts of those who have yet to receive Christ. And what better way to do it than while we’re ministering to the physical needs of people who – at least actuarially speaking – are closest to stepping into eternity? 

Adapted from a 9/30/13 post