"Faith is one of those things that gets tougher to acquire the older you get." This quote from a blog that shall remain nameless seems to reflect conventional wisdom, doesn't it? 

"If you aren't saved by age 18, chances are you never will be," is another way of putting it.

It makes me wonder what the underlying message is. Maybe something along the lines of "Don't bother witnessing to adults, 'cause they're not likely to listen"? 

And that in turn makes me wonder who's the author of this little piece of advice. The god of this world, perhaps? 

If I had to guess, I'd say that 40% of the people I know were born again when they were well into adulthood, often because of the sort of life-changing trauma that is peculiar to the over-30 crowd. 

Just yesterday, I heard about a nursing-home resident who was saved at age 102. Thanks be to God that someone ignored conventional wisdom and shared the gospel with her, apparently not concerned that she was too old to become a believer! 

Time to update a post from last year.

If you're searching for a present for a friend or loved one who lives in a nursing home, it wouldn't be at all 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 (although that may be an old wives' tale, as a study published in 2009 seems to indicate). 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 without automatically turning itself off after a few unattended minutes.


• 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 great choices. Or how about an elegant pen?


• 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. (I'll blog about her books one of these days. She's wonderful!)


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


• If the nurse 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 still 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 (which seems to be most of them).

• I'm told that gifts of hand lotion are to be avoided because some folks might be allergic to an ingredient. Okay, advice duly noted, but I personally think it's hogwash. That's my first choice for the many residents I give gifts to at Christmas, and I'm always happy to see them finishing off their bottles or tubes in mid-summer. I usually go to a fabulous discount place like Tuesday Morning to buy them; it's a shopper's paradise for the unusual at reasonable prices, and they always have a wonderful selection of lotions at steep discounts.   

• 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 it makes!


• 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; and your loved one won't have to miss a thing. 


• Sleepwear is always welcome. A new flannel nightgown or pajamas, a pretty robe, or cozy skid-resistant slippers may be the best gift of all; do some detective work to find out what would be most appropriate for your friend or loved one. Or consider a bed jacket: I saw some recently at a local discount department store, so apparently they're making a comeback. What an ideal gift for someone forced to spend a lot of time in bed. 


• For the man or woman who truly has everything, you might want to consider making a donation in his or her name to a cause that he or she loves -- his or her church, or a local humane society, or the Rescue Mission or Salvation Army. 

But the best gift at all for someone living in a nursing home is the gift of time. Lavish it on him or her not only during the Christmas season, but every month of the year! 

From now on, I’m going to try to treat every parting as if it’s the last time I’ll see that person on this earth -- because it may well be.

I met R. when her husband was a resident at the nursing home where I hang out. He was a dear, and she was instantly one of my favorite people ever. She was funny, sharp, compassionate, well-informed, loving, grateful, nuts about dogs and cats, a small-business woman with a keen understanding of the challenges entrepreneurs face. All this in a tiny little 80-something frame.

R. and I became friends, growing especially close after her husband died. We talked at great length over the phone, and saw each other every now and then – less often than I would’ve liked, but she rarely felt up to visits or outings.

I last saw R. in mid-July, when I took her to see her eye doctor. As usual, we had a great time every step of the way. She was greeted with great delight by both the doctor and his staff; she always made them laugh, and that day was no exception. Afterwards, we had lunch at her favorite restaurant, the Peach Garden – a dark little place with the best (and cheapest) Chinese food I’ve ever had. She had egg foo young; I had cashew chicken; we each took half our meals home; and she insisted on picking up the tab.

When we got back to her house, she invited me in for a piece of cake that she’d bought especially for the occasion. She didn’t insist, because she knew I had work to do, but she was so hoping that I’d have time for dessert – how could I refuse? It was Pepperidge Farm lemon cake, light and delicious, and we chatted away about her beloved cat, about the feral cats outside and a tree that she wanted to have removed, and as always about the Lord Jesus Christ. I tried to put our dishes in the dishwasher but as always she insisted I leave them for her. And then I hugged her good-bye and headed back to whatever was awaiting me in my home office.

She didn’t walk me to the door this time. I remember being glad that she was resting after what had been a pretty full day for her.

We talked on the phone a number of times throughout the rest of summer and into autumn. We couldn’t go out; she wasn’t feeling up to it, but she’d let me know just as soon as she was back on her feet and then we’d go back to the Peach Garden. Maybe next week, or the week after.

We last talked via voice mail a couple of weeks ago, playing a rousing game of phone tag. But last week she didn’t call me back. I phoned another time or two, leaving messages, and started wishing that I had the phone number of the niece who was her loving caretaker.  

And then yesterday, I picked up the Sunday death notices and instead of starting with “A” as usual, flipped to the last page – and was at once stunned and not at all surprised to see R.’s picture, and the obituary she’d had me edit for her some months ago.

Her niece called me this morning. R. had suffered what sounds like a massive stroke. She’d been hospitalized for five days, unresponsive and beyond the help of medical science, and had died just three days ago.

I wish I’d known. They say people in comas can often hear, even if they can’t respond. And the hospital where she spent her final days is less than 10 minutes from here. I could have spent some time with her, talking with her about all the little things that always seemed to interest her so, and about the big things as well. I could have read her some wonderful passages from the Bible, including the one from 2 Corinthians 4 that we used to close her obituary:

“For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.”

Imagine, a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, and dear R. is now experiencing it! And I am left to regret that we never had a proper good-bye. Which is why I’m going to try, from now on, to treat every farewell as if it’s the last one for a time, until that joyful reunion in a land where “there’ll be no parting, beyond the sunset forevermore.” 

 

Of my four grandparents, I knew just one – Meta Bendt Foth, AKA Granny, my dad’s mother. The other three died long before I was born, and my knowledge of them is miniscule.

For instance, all I know about Granny’s husband – pictured above with her at the turn of the last century – is that he fought for Kaiser Wilhelm II, the last German emperor, and immigrated to the U.S. sometime in the 1920s. That’s about it; I don't even know when he died, or where, or of what.  I know absolutely nothing about his parents, or hers – not even their names. And the time for asking has long since passed.

I don't suppose it makes much difference in the greater scheme of things. All that really matters long-term is where we each spend eternity, and that has nothing to do with how much our descendants know about our lives.

But perhaps these thoughts suggest a great way for today’s young people to spend some quality time with those who are still with us, particularly their parents and grandparents.

Here’s the idea: Next time you have a chance, grab a pen and notepad (or laptop or whatever else people use to take notes these days) and interview each one. Ask for their vital statistics, of course, from date and place of birth to their hopes for eternity. Then ask them about the people, places and events that shaped their lives – for example:

• Who were their parents and siblings, and what happened to each of them?
• Where were they during World War II, or the Korean or Vietnam War?
• When and how did they meet their spouses?
• How about their faith, and their church lives?
• Who influenced them most, personally and perhaps professionally?
• Who were their best friends?
• How did they like to spend their free time at various ages?
• What apartments and houses did they call home over the years?

 
And so on and so forth. Just imagine the stories you’ll hear!

Then consider documenting each conversation by writing up your notes and displaying the finished text in a scrapbook, complete with appropriate graphics – family snapshots, maps, even historical photos found online. What a wonderful gift such a scrapbook would be for the special people in your lives today, and for you, years down the road, when you get to thinking about the good old days. Which you almost assuredly will, sooner or later.