The NY Times recently reported on the Green House Project, which purports to be a new sort of nursing home. With 242 licensed homes in 32 states, it’s based on small residences, consistent assignment of aides to residents, and greater flexibility in meeting residents’ preferences for, e.g., when and what they eat. It comes at the cost of higher-than-average monthly bills for residents and/or insurers, but claims better outcomes and significantly lower costs to Medicare. 
 
All of which would certainly make the Green House model worth investigating for anyone seeking a nursing home for a loved one.
  
But hold on a moment. Yes indeed, the Green House model seems to address a number of circumstantial, mental and emotional issues. But aren’t human beings are more than the sum of their circumstances, minds and emotions? Are we not also spiritual beings – in fact, primarily so?
 
For almost 18 years, I have been witnessing first-hand the positive impact that ardently Christian activities and staff can have on nursing home residents. As I observed several years ago, “Whatever their individual circumstances might be, Christians in long-term care seem to be happier than non-Christians in long-term care.”

My question then: “If this is true, shouldn’t all nursing homes put some major emphasis on feeding the spirit? At least as much as they do, say, entertaining those in their care, and reminding them of the good ol’ gone-but-not-forgotten days?”
 
To which I now add: “Shouldn’t all nursing homes put as much emphasis on feeding the spirit as they do catering to residents’ dining preferences and physical surroundings?”
 
I don’t have any fancy studies to support my observations; I still can’t seem to find any researchers who’ve examined the impact of Christian ministry on the elderly. (I’d love to be wrong about this. If you have evidence to the contrary, please send it to me!)
 
Perhaps the Green House Project does feed the spirit with eternal truth. I certainly hope that this is the case, and that the New York Times reporter simply failed to mention it because she isn’t much interested in the subject, or didn't feel it was pertinent. 
 
But I do hope that you are interested, and that if you’re looking for a nursing home for a beloved parent or grandparent, spouse or sibling or child, you will put spiritual things at the top of your list of evaluation criteria.
 
If you do, your loved one may be grateful not only for the remainder of this life, but quite possibly for all eternity.

It's been a while since I visited Christian Family Eldercare -- so I was excited to see that the organization now has an online store featuring resources for just about anyone who cares in any capacity for the elderly.   

Of special interest is a Bible-based video series entitled Caregiving 101. Both inspiring and practical, it features advice on everything from the legal and financial aspects of caregiving to meeting the emotional needs of the elderly. 

Whether you're caring for a beloved senior citizen in your own home or are involved in a nursing-home ministry at your church, chances are you'll find something of value here. I hope you'll stop in soon! 

Many thanks to Kent Stolt, a fine Wisconsin-based writer whose sister Wendy passed away suddenly last summer at age 66, after retiring from her post as a Professor of Social Work at Concordia University. Kent offered Everlasting Place the following essay, which she wrote in 1985 while serving as Social Director at Milwaukee’s Luther Manor Nursing Home. As you’ll see, Wendy was herself a skilled and thoughtful writer.  Her brother’s closing comment: “So true. Rest in Peace, Wendy.”
  
During the past twelve years I have had the opportunity to view what life can be like for those over 80 years of age. I do not speak from the experience of growing old itself — I have yet to be 80 years old. I have yet to experience a serious health problem. I have yet to experience what it is like to be at the end of one’s lifetime. Rather, I speak from my experience in working with the elderly. They have been my teachers. And from them I have learned a great deal. I have had the privilege of hearing about good times and the not-so-good times. I have also learned that life is not always fair. I have been wisely advised that ‘the first 100 years are the hardest — after that life gets easier.’
 
During the past twelve years I have come to know many people and become familiar with some of the issues which confront older people today. Now I’d like to share some of my learning with you.

• I know an 85-year-old gentleman who strongly believes that God saves the hardest part until last. He views his life as a journey. The hardest part of his journey is right now — coping with his limited vision and his arthritis. Hanging on the wall in his room is a sign which reads “Old Age Is Not for Sissies.”
• I know a 92-year-old woman who continues to purchase Estee Lauder’s Age-Controlling Creme at $40.00 a half-ounce. She continues to purchase dresses which she describes as ‘stylish’ and cost an average of $100 apiece. She also prefers the company of men as she finds it easier to trust them.
• I know a 93-year-old woman who likes to recall her active social life of years ago. Going out to dinner or entertaining at home was always special for her. Even though entertaining no longer plays an important part in her life, those good memories are still with her. And whenever she talks of the past there is a noticeable sparkle in her eye.
• I know a 95-year-old woman who experienced the death of her only daughter this year. The grief is still felt — she hasn’t figured out why God did not take her instead. This has become a real struggle for her.

 
A little over a year ago I delivered a birthday card to a nursing home resident who was turning 96 years old. It was right before Christmas. I told her it was hard to believe her age. During our visit she began to tell of family holiday gatherings. She spoke warmly of the people in her past — her mother, her father and her sister. This particular Christmas she would be alone. And then, acknowledging the beginning of her 96th year, she remarked “…nothing ever stays the same.”
 
Nothing ever stays the same. How true that is for all of us. Just think of how many changes we make in our lifetime. Think of the many hellos and goodbyes we say. As a young child we say goodbye to mom and say hello to the kindergarten teacher and fellow classmates. As a family we may leave one neighborhood, saying goodbye to friends we have made there, and move to a new neighborhood or city where we say hello to new ones. As a young adult we say goodbye to mom and dad to live away from home for the first time. 
 
When you think about it, so much of life involves changing, letting go, moving on. Making changes often involves at least some sense of loss. Loss is part of life, part of being alive. Loss plays a far more encompassing theme in our lives than we realize. 
 
When we think of loss we usually think of obvious instances, such as the death of a loved one, a divorce, a separation or breakup of a romance. Other not so obvious losses may include the loss of youth, health, money, job, childhood dreams, hair, even our teeth. Then there are the innumerable ‘mini-losses’ that add up during the course of a day, a week or a lifetime: an unexpected dent in the car, an argument with a friend, losing the car keys.
 
Knowing we all experience loss, beginning at birth, it becomes a fact of life itself that the longer we live, the more loss we will experience. Age will burden us profoundly before we are done. 
 
Thus, learning to live with loss becomes a predominant theme of old age. Society in general does not value its old people, and as a result older people too often do not value themselves. A low self-esteem, combined with recurring losses, will leave anyone vulnerable to depression and grief.
 
The purpose of grief is to let go of what has been and is no more. Grief is hard work. It is important to the healing process that we be with the pain and feel the hurt. Feelings need to be expressed. The sooner we allow ourselves to be with the pain, the sooner it will pass. Still, the process of healing is neither orderly, predictable, nor smooth. 
 
But given time, healing does occur — the pain does lessen. One does survive. When the pain decreases, the understanding grows. The higher understanding that tells us change and separation are a natural, inevitable and necessary part of life.
 
Because indeed nothing ever stays the same.

Here is a lovely old poem I found in a book called Heart Throbs: The Old Scrapbook, published in 1905 by National Magazine. My mother was herself an ardent scrapbooker; in bulging looseleaf binders, she collected hundreds of poems, proverbs and essays that appealed to her for one reason or another. And so it's no surprise that she was also the owner of Heart Throbs. Perhaps your mother, or grandmother, or great-grandmother, owned this precious book, too.

Penned sometime after the turn of the last century, the introduction to this poem tells us that it's been around for at least a couple hundred years: "Many will be glad to see reprinted the following poem, which has been a classic for a century. No scrapbook (if such things exist nowadays) is complete without it.--Editor"

Heart Throbs provided no attribution, most likely because its author had been long forgotten. Maybe someday we will meet her in heaven, so we can thank her for the smile she has brought to hearts over the centuries, and even today. And maybe we'll meet her dear mother as well.

My Mother

Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet lullaby
And rocked me that I should not cry?
My mother.

Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the part to make it well?
My mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
To love God's holy word and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee
Who wast so very kind to me,--
My mother.

Oh no, the thought I cannot bear; 
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My mother.

When thou art feeble, old and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head,
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,--
​My mother.