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. on a mid-July day, 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 that summer. 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 in early September, playing a rousing game of phone tag. But the following week she didn’t call me back. I phoned another time or two, leaving messages, and started wishing that I had the name and phone number of the niece who was her loving caretaker.  

And then one Sunday, I picked up the local paper's 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 earlier. 

Her niece called me the next morning. R. had suffered what sounded 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.” 

Where will you be living circa 2040 or 2050? 
 
Okay, so if you’re a born-again believer, you’re probably happily envisioning heaven or are at least adding “if the Lord tarries” to the question. And if you’re not, and you’re over 40, you may be counting on moving in with your children or enjoying a living arrangement like the Golden Girls’ of 1980s TV fame.  
 
But just say none of these alternatives pans out, and you find yourself unable to live on your own. Will a decent nursing home be an option for you? 
 
The truth is that only God knows for sure. If our economy crashes and modern-day Huns overrun our country, all bets are off. But let’s assume that America’s still the Beautiful and we still have some viable financial resources to work with. What’s likely to be available?

It turns out to be a disturbing scenario.

On the one hand, the demand for nursing-home care is expected to more than double by 2050, according to a study released in 2013 by JAMA and the Kaiser Foundation. (I'd love to offer more recent projections, but have been unable to find any. I'd love to be able to show you even this 2013 study, but it has vanished. Perhaps this dearth of solid projections is telling.)
 
On the other hand, the supply of nursing-home beds looks like it’s destined to dwindle. Skilled nursing facilities are becoming less and less profitable. The reasons include sagging occupancy and reimbursement rates, with occupancy declines perhaps related to a boom in building for, and government funding of, the assisted-living arm of the eldercare industry.  

What's more, some state governments are stepping in to make sure that no one's making too much money from providing long-term care. (For a glimpse of what that might mean to the availability of high-quality nursing homes, consider what rent control does to the quality and availability of decent apartments.)
 
What will happen to those of us who eventually need skilled nursing care, 24x7?
 
“It’s literally schools versus nursing homes,” columnist Robert J. Samuelson wrote nearly a decade ago. “We need a better balance between workers’ legitimate desire for a comfortable retirement and society’s larger interests. Instead, our system favors the past over the future. Things could be done to mitigate the bias. None would be easy or popular. But it’s first necessary to acknowledge the bias and discuss it openly. This we are far from doing.”

I would argue that society has already turned it back on the past--i.e., the elderly. Whether it now favors the young is questionable; perhaps it simply favors the elite.

But I digress. Back to Samuelson's commentary: If you don’t find it chilling, you might want to ponder exactly what he means by "things could be done." Let's hope it won't ultimately turn into yet another case of our wanting to be "just like Europe," birthplace of a brave new world that exalts eldercare "solutions" from assisted suicide to euthanasia.  

Remember when high cholesterol was Public Enemy #1?
 
Oh, that’s right, it still is. Unless you happen to be between the ages of 85 and 94. Because at that advanced age, you’ll actually be better off with high cholesterol, cognitively speaking.
 
That, at least, is what one study reported a few years back.
 
It must be a good one, because it’s based on something called the “Framingham cohort.” (I don't have a clue what that is, but doesn't it sound impressive?)

Here’s what its authors discovered:
 
“Investigators found that cognitively intact people between the ages of 85 and 94 whose total cholesterol had increased from midlife had a 32% reduced risk for marked cognitive decline during the next decade, compared with individuals aged 75 to 84, who had a 50% increased risk.”
 
No word yet on whether we should toss the statin drugs and start pounding the eggs and butter when we hit 83.5. (Remember how eggs and butter used to be bad for us, but now they’re not? Perhaps this phenomenon is why they’ve now been given the green light. ) 
 
Nor is there any word on what happens to cholesterol-infused brains at age 95.
 
What’s more, we can’t predict what the next group of researchers will learn. As this current group reported, “an earlier study of the original Framingham cohort found no significant association between cholesterol and [Alzheimer’s disease].”
 
The best advice: Stay tuned.
 
And keep an eye out for a study that weighs that relative value of people suffering from cognitive decline, vs. those who retain all their marbles into great old age. Perhaps an enterprising future generation of researchers will find that, marbles or not, we all will die and head for eternities of unimaginable joy or suffering. Perhaps they’ll also realize that our ultimate destinations would be a far more worthy subject to investigate. This book might give them a head start on answering this most critical question.  

If you're a born-again Christian and a student of God's word, have you ever considered conducting a Bible study at a local assisted-living facility or nursing home--or asking your pastor to do so? Now that things are opening up post-covid, the opportunities for reaching the elderly are blossoming, too. There's no doubt that such sessions can have a life-changing and eternal impact on residents, even for those whose cognitive skills have seen better days. As the 86-year-old protagonist of The Song of Sadie Sparrow learned in just such a group, it's never too late to change your tune.

​
It was on this very day, under Jamie’s tutelage, that things began to click in Sadie’s occasionally befuddled brain.

The previous week, he had wrapped up his long but fascinating “tour of truth,” as he called it. He had spent several weeks on science. (Whoever would have guessed that the Bible made scores of scientific statements in passing, millennia before secular scientists made the same discoveries about everything from the sun’s own orbit to the mountains and valleys of the ocean floor? And whoever would have guessed that little ol’ Sadie Sparrow would manage to follow a fair portion of it?)

Next Jamie had walked the little class—Beulah, Charles, and Elise were now permanent fixtures, she was a little sorry to say—through the Good Book’s prophetic accuracy, focusing heavily on Israel’s rebirth as a nation in 1948. Not that she had noticed it back then, but Sadie vaguely recalled Ed talking about the situation in the Middle East with great excitement. So now at last she understood what the fuss was all about, and she regretted not paying more attention to him at the time. What fun they might have had discussing these things!
           
But what fun it was to learn about it now. It wasn’t that she really needed proof of the Bible’s authenticity as the word of God; she’d always respected Ed’s opinion on the matter. But this proof, confirmed continually by Charles’ enthusiastic “Amen!”, was making a difference in her attitude towards scripture. She was taking it very seriously now, and it was making her look at her life differently, reflect more on her blessed past, and see God’s hand in shepherding her along every step of the way.
           
And today a major piece of the puzzle would fall into place for her at last.
           
“So,” Jamie had said after they’d all exchanged happy greetings, “we’ve covered a lot of ground, especially in terms of science and history. What I’d like to talk about today is the gospel itself, and how confident you’re each feeling that heaven is your eternal destination.”
           
For some reason he was looking right at Sadie.
           
Am I supposed to go first?
           
“Why don’t we start with you, Sadie?” Jamie said cheerfully when she didn’t respond.

“Are you confident that you’re headed for heaven?”
           
“Oh yes, I think so. I believe in Jesus, and I’ve led a good life.”
           
Jamie cocked his head and looked at her expectantly, like a dog that didn’t quite understand his master’s command. She smiled at him and rubbed her hands together nervously. Of course, it was the wrong answer, and she knew it. She was just nervous about being quizzed in front of these other people, all of whom obviously knew a lot more about the Bible than she did. She racked her brain looking for the right phrase to rescue herself, but it was too late.

“So you’re a good person, are you, Sadie Sparrow?” 
           
That question she could handle.
           
“I try,” she said, smiling at the others. “I’ve learned from the best, after all—my parents, my husband, and now you!”
           
Jamie’s response was totally unexpected. “How many lies have you told in your life?” 
           
“Lies?” She was aghast. How could one even count? “Too many,” she replied, after an embarrassingly long delay.
           
“So you’re a liar.” Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “How about this—have you ever taken the Lord’s name in vain?”
           
“In vain?”
           
“Used it as an expression of dismay or anger or just as a casual exclamation?”
           
“Oh. Well, I suppose I have.”
           
So you’re a blasphemer, too. What about this: Have you ever hated anyone?”
           
“Oh no,” Sadie said, shaking her head. But immediately the image of Elsie Teckel popped into her mind—Elsie, the busybody neighbor who had repeatedly called the police on the Sparrows because of dear little Cappy’s barking. One yip was enough to send Elsie shuffling to her phone. And more often than not, the old bat had sparked the barking herself by letting her cat out when Cappy was outside with Ed.
           
“I take it back,” she admitted. “I guess I have hated.”
           
"And yet Jesus said that hating another is committing murder in your heart. So what does that make you?”
           
“A murderer?” She looked at Jamie hopefully, awaiting some reassurance. Surely a kind word was on the way.
           
“So you, Sadie Sparrow, are a liar, a blasphemer, a murderer at heart,” Jamie said softly. “Just like the rest of us. You’re not such a good person after all, are you?”
           
“No,” she said in a small voice, studying her hands. She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself, and hurt that Jamie was being so unkind to her.
           
But wait: He said “Just like the rest of us.” What does that mean?
           
“And this,” Jamie said, rising and stretching his arms out dramatically, “is why the gospel is such good news. Do you all see? When God the Son died on the cross, He died bearing all the sin this world has ever committed, and will ever commit. He took the full punishment for your sin, in other words, as well as mine—the punishment that would have landed us in hell for all eternity. And all we have to do to get our personal sins expunged is to repent of them and trust in Him instead of in our own goodness.”
           
“Amen,” said Charles, as Beulah and Elise nodded in agreement.
           
At first, Sadie couldn’t quite grasp it—it seemed almost too easy. But then something clicked in her heart.
           
“So my goodness doesn’t matter?” she asked.
           
“Not a bit, at least from the standpoint of getting into heaven.”
           
“Jesus paid it all,” Elise added, “just like the song says.”
           
“And goodness really doesn’t matter?” Sadie thought of all the hypocrites she’d known in church over the years and found herself vaguely disappointed that they might well be heaven-bound themselves.
           
Jamie sat down again and explained it all again—how repentance and trust result in being born again, and the indwelling of the Lord in the human heart, and how the new Christian then experiences growing love for, and obedience to, Jesus Christ.
           
“It just blows me away every time I think about it,” Jamie said. “It’s so simple, and yet so transforming. It was the only way the Lord could create a people for Himself, loving and obedient by their own choice. No robots needed or allowed!”
           
Sadie sat quietly, her heart pounding. It all sounded both familiar and totally new to her. On the one hand, it was pretty much what Ed had always told her. But on the other hand, Jamie’s harshness with her seemed to have opened a door somewhere deep inside, as if his explanation had finally reached beyond her brain and into her heart. If it was true—and she had to admit that it made some sort of crazy sense—then it changed everything.
           
“You’ve given me a great deal to consider, Jamie,” she said finally. “I need to spend some time thinking about it.”
           
She was uncomfortably aware that she was probably the only one in the room who hadn’t understood these things. But no one else seemed to mind; they were all smiling at her, and Elise came over to give her a big hug.
           
“I guess maybe it’s a bit of information overload, isn’t it?” Jamie pulled a couple of little brochures out of his briefcase. “Here are some tracts to help you digest it all—you can look up the verses they cite in your Bible, okay?”
           
​For the first time in her life, Sadie couldn’t wait to crack open the books.

--From The Song of Sadie Sparrow, pages 190-192

In the growing chaos of our world, I hope someone will find this passage from The Song of Sadie Sparrow encouraging.


Elise was astounded to find several emails addressed to her at her “Advice for the Life-Worn” address—her first genuine questions from readers, appearing just two days after she had officially published the site, in time for her last creative writing class.
           
The first two were relatively useless, with one asking about which of two boyfriends sounded like a better bet, and the second proposing that “love your enemies” really referred only to citizens of enemy nations; she would just send these writers quick personal responses. But the third posed a question she had been asking herself for years.
 
Dear Elise,

I am a single woman and have been taking care of myself for my entire adult life. I have a good job, a nice suburban home, and a few close friends. Sounds perfect, right?
    
But it isn’t, and I don’t know why other than to say that I am so afraid of so many things. Crime, rodents, driving in traffic, disease, getting old, not getting old, having too much money to manage, having too little money, being broke, being homeless—the list goes on and on.
    
I have heard it said that the Bible says “don’t be afraid” something like 365 times. I would love to obey—but how?     
​
Emily
 
Elise poured herself a glass of grape juice and sat down to compose an answer to put both their fears to rest.
 
Dear Emily,
    
Boy, do I identify with your question! In fact, I have personally searched the Bible for all the passages saying, essentially, “fear not” and have found it very helpful to spend a little time each day in one or more of these references. (Luke 12:32 is probably my favorite: “Do not fear, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” I just love the image of being a poor dumb sheep who is utterly dependent upon her shepherd.)
           
So that’s one important thing to do. The other one is to consider God’s nature: He is all powerful and sovereign, He loves each of us enough to have died for us, and He has told us that we are more valuable than the sparrows He tends to with such perfect diligence. In short, He is able to take care of us, He wants to, and He will.
    
If these things are true—and they are!—why do we think He would do anything less than take care of us perfectly? With the Creator of the universe Himself watching out for us, why in the world would we ever fear anything?
             
She reminded Emily that God’s idea of what’s good for us is often quite different from our own, and that we need to learn to trust what Romans 8:28 says about all things working together for the good of those who love Him. She then tapped out what would become her standard closing: 
      
Thank you for writing, Emily. Please let me know if you have further thoughts, or if I can help in any way.
    
Blessings,
Elise
 
She proofed and posted her reply and then sent the link to Ms. Slocum, to show off her first genuine reader Q&A.
           
“You may or may not agree with my content,” she wrote, figuring that Ms. Slocum was likely as agnostic as her best friend Meg. “But I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see that Everlasting Place is already attracting readers in need of spiritual help. Thank you for holding my hand through this process! Elise Chapelle”

--From The Song of Sadie Sparrow, pages 310-312

It's bad enough that there are people who support assisted suicide. As sick as that is, at least it's supposedly voluntary. Far more troubling are those who think it'd be a great idea to put old people "to sleep" in order to reduce healthcare costs.

Think it couldn't happen here? Think again: It turns out that many Americans are perfectly willing to play God, and have been for some time. A 2017 Gallup poll, for instance, found overwhelming support for euthanasia for "terminally ill" patients--shockingly, even among church-goers. 

It really makes you wonder how far we can be from the end of time. As the apostle Paul wrote in 1 Timothy 4:1-2, "Now the Spirit expressly says that in latter times some will depart from the faith, giving heed to deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons, speaking lies in hypocrisy, having their own conscience seared with a hot iron..."

In the meantime, fellow seniors, look out! Way too many people figure it's our duty to die just as soon as we become a drain on the system. Even worse, many of them seem to be happy to help us do it.  

For those of us who are born-again Christians, that's not such terrible news. After all, "to be absent from the body" is "to be present with the Lord" (2 Corinthians 5:8). But not so for the rest of the world. And those who go to their deaths supporting murder of the elderly and infirm may find themselves repenting of it for all eternity.

I recently re-watched the 1942 melodrama “In This Our Life,” the story of an abominably selfish and miserable young woman named Stanley (Bette Davis). Stanley remained troubled to the bitter end of the movie, in spite of the gentle intervention of her wise father. “In my day,” he commented in the midst of one of her tantrums, “we didn’t talk much about happiness. If it came, we were grateful for it. But we were brought up in the belief that there were other things more important – old fogy notions such as duty and personal responsibility.”
 
It wasn’t the first time such apparently obsolete wisdom was delivered in movies of that era. Think of Ashley Wilkes agreeing with Scarlett O’Hara that there was nothing tying him to his wife – “nothing but honor,” he said. (“Gone with the Wind,” 1939). Alas, virtues like these were routinely rejected by the heroines of such stories, and those who expressed them risked being portrayed as weak-minded and pitiable.

All of which paved the way for our modern ideas about what matters in this life.
 
In a word: me. It’s all about me. I am all that matters.
 
This notion came into its own in the 1960s, becoming the battle cry of my generation and the underlying MO of those that followed in our wake.
 
Our culture has encouraged this form of Nouveau Narcissism from the start, making it tough to resist. Consider our music, for instance. I could name a number of pertinent titles, but one of the most obvious contributors was Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All.” Check out the chorus:
 
I found the greatest love of all
Inside of me.
The greatest love of all
Is easy to achieve
Learning to love yourself
It is the greatest love of all.
 
As if we needed advice on how to love ourselves! As the wisest man who ever lived proclaimed in Ecclesiastes 1:9, “There’s nothing new under the sun.” And, in fact, self-love permeates the Bible’s accounts of man’s ancient rebellion against his Creator.
 
Modern movie-makers and songwriters have simply borrowed the same old themes, and we’ve embraced them eagerly in pursuing the same broad way to destruction. Think of “Is That All There Is?”, 1969’s musical answer to “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die (Isaiah 22:13). Or consider Sinatra’s “My Way,” a first-person version of “Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 17:6, e.g.).  
 
What’s really interesting is that all of this adds up to the fulfillment of yet another Bible prophecy. In 2 Timothy 3, the apostle Paul had this to say about our times:
 
“But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come: For men will be lovers of themselves ...”
 
The good news is that there is an escape from the “all about me” path. All it takes is trust in Christ and an act of God. To learn more, consult the Bible. And to see how this wisdom plays out in real-life human beings, why not visit some old folks in the nearest nursing home? You'll probably have to mask up for now, but it will be well worth your while.  

Are you a young adult hoping to break into journalism or copywriting or book publishing? Or an older retiree whose bucket list includes joining the ranks of published authors? Here’s a great way to pursue either goal: sign up to be a volunteer biographer for the elderly.
 
You don’t have to be Ernest Hemingway to write someone's life story. Once you've found the right subject, you simply need to ask lots of questions, take good notes, and then compose brief synopses of his or her life.
 
You’ll be amazed at how much you will learn in every interview. And what a blessing you will be to your subjects!
 
Here’s how the 86-year-old heroine of The Song of Sadie Sparrow felt in the wake of her first interview with Activities Assistant Meg, official biographer of a fictional nursing home called The Hickories:

• “It was really no big deal, girls,” she told her friends, borrowing one of daughter Dana’s favorite phrases. “No big deal at all.”
•                                     
• But it was a big deal, and Sadie knew it. Her new friends had given her a lift, no question about that. But she knew she couldn’t count on any of them long-term; old people die and their young loved ones disappear forever, even after promising to visit you soon. She’d already been here long enough to see it happen more than once. But Meg’s biography-in-progress was different. It had begun changing her attitude from the moment they’d scheduled this first interview, especially once Meg had given her the interview questions.
•                                       
• It was amazing, really. It had always been Sadie’s policy to advise complainers to count their blessings. Yet she’d apparently not done a good job of counting her own, as depressed as she’d felt since moving in to The Hickories. But when she started pondering the questions that Meg planned to pose—questions about her late husband Ed and their life together, about Dana and her family, about Sadie’s best memories and even the worst—it was as if the Lord were playing a movie about her life. And even if it wasn’t a magnificent movie, populated by beautiful people, places, and things, it starred people who loved each other, living with all their needs met in a humble but well-kept house.
•                                       
• It had been, she realized, a happy story about a solid American family living out solid American values. So what if there hadn’t been more children? And so what if it wasn’t ending quite the way she’d envisioned, living with Dana’s family as a beloved grandma? Short of that idyllic (and quite possibly romanticized) scenario, you really couldn’t beat The Hickories as a place to spend your last days.


• --The Song of Sadie Sparrow, pages 81-82

 
As biographer to the elderly, you can help them gain all-important perspective on their lives and the joys they’ve experienced over the decades – and perhaps see their hearts overflow with gratitude as they reflect on the blessings they’ve enjoyed.
 
To make the process even more fun, you can ask your subjects to provide a few of their favorite snapshots to illustrate their life stories. As long as you have access to a scanner, you’ll be able to insert them easily into the final files.  Whether that means simple Word documents or multi-page booklets complete with gripping titles and cover art, you’ll be creating pieces that your subjects’ families will treasure for many years to come.
 
In fact, these biographies would make great birthday or Christmas gifts for your subjects to give to their family and friends – all at no cost, an important consideration for anyone living on a fixed income.

What's more, if you're looking to make a career out of writing, this is a terrific way to jump-start your portfolio, which can be key to landing your first position. 
 
Intrigued? Why not start searching for a good subject soon--perhaps someone in your own family, or a friend's? If that's a dead end, consider calling a local nursing-home Activities Director to explore the possibilities?

Sadly, some elderly people spend their last days waiting for what they think is the worst. They’ve lost their parents, spouses, siblings, and friends, and now they are just waiting for their own deaths – too often with dread.

The good news is we can occasionally help.

For instance, the problem is sometimes (and increasingly) plain old unbelief.

“I don’t buy any of that heaven stuff anymore,” one aged lady told me, with great sadness, some years ago. “When we die, we cease to exist and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

She is a reader, so I gave her a copy of Heaven Without Her and she promised to read it. It’s my prayer, of course, that she will be pointed towards the narrow gate (Matthew 7) by the evidence it presents for the truth of Christianity -- or at least come to see that eternity is worthy of both consideration and investigation. I may never know, however; we only met in passing.

Sometimes end-of-life fears are the result of unbiblical theology.

Many years ago, I found a 100-year-old woman sobbing in her room. “I’m afraid of dying,” she confessed through her tears. “I’m so afraid of Purgatory!” I gently showed her from scripture that if she repented and trusted in Christ, she could count on being “absent from the body, present with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5). Did these truths relieve her fears? It seemed so at the time; but she suffered a massive stroke and died soon after our discussion, so I won’t know until I get There myself.

Occasionally even the faith-filled elderly fear death -- not its reality but its mechanics, in particular the prospect of pain.

Fortunately, we really don’t have to deal with overwhelming pain anymore, thanks to modern pharmaceuticals. In two decades as a nursing-home volunteer, I saw only three residents suffer greatly, and in two of those cases it was because they refused medication to relieve it.

But even when that relief is incomplete, it’s possible for the dying to rest in the knowledge that God is at work in and through them, and that eternal bliss is just beyond the horizon. 

I’ve seen this attitude time and time again in Spirit-filled Christians. What a blessing and encouragement it is to spend time with those who are waiting patiently not for the other shoe to drop, but for joy forevermore!

For many reasons -- from difficult working conditions to low wages, the inevitable result of inadequate Medicaid reimbursements -- most nursing homes are understaffed these days. And there's doesn't seem to be much hope of improvement in sight.

If you're involved with a nursing home in any way, how can you help change the situation? Perhaps it would help in the long run to contact your legislators and make this issue a priority in your future voting decisions.

But for now, you can help prevent the loss of more employees, from nurses to CNAs, by being patient and understanding, and encouraging residents and family members to be, too.

To give you some insight into exactly what nursing-home caregivers are facing each and every day, here is a brilliant, anonymous essay posted on Facebook by Cindy Shepard, and reproduced here with her permission. Please give these words careful consideration before complaining to or about anyone involved in direct care-giving; I know I will.

Imagine this.......

You walk onto the floor and you have 25 patients. 25 humans you are responsible for, 25 humans you will have to know everything about. When they eat, if they eat, how much they pee, what color it is, when their last bowel movement was, what color, shape, and consistency it was, what their labs look like, their cognitive status, if they have wounds, what meds are due, what are their vitals.

You get to the floor and get report on these 25 people. All not well, some with orders that need completing. One has bladder scans every 6 hours and has to be cathed if they are over a certain limit; one is on an IV infusion every 6 hours and frequent monitoring. 5 ARE aggressive and need to be kept away from others. At least one had a fall requiring neuro checks every hour; one is dying with no family at their side.

Then imagine being short staffed.

Then imagine the family calling wanting a check up on their family members and complaining when you can’t get on the phone right now. Imagine that you are in the middle of cleaning up a patient, alone, when the family calls and you can't stop to take the call but will call them as soon as you're done. Imagine your manager reprimanding you for not taking the call as the family is angry and complaining.

Then imagine 6 of those 25 calling out for pain meds every 2 hours. Some of it is pain seeking, some of it is actual pain from the cancer or other causes. Then the one that is dying needs pain meds for comfort every hour and just wants someone at their bedside.

Oh, and don't forget the high fall risk patients that you have circled around your station so you can keep an eye on them.

Then imagine doing everything you can for all these humans you are responsible for and getting cursed out, talked down to, criticized for not being “fast enough,” asked “where were you?” and told “I’ve been on the light for 20 minutes?!”

NOW imagine also not having a enough CNA’s - the backbone of the skilled nursing system! So now, with all of that, you’re also TRYING to help respond to call lights, bathroom calls, changing patients, turning patients every 2 hours, getting water, getting snacks, emptying catheters, measuring intake and output, bathing, and more changing. Imagine a patient getting upset because you didn't bring them coffee and snacks quick enough and giving meds for comfort to your dying patient.

And now… you have a new admit coming to the floor with a wound vac, needing pain meds that you don't have. Another human, another life to take care of.

Now imagine administration always complaining you never do enough, dressings aren’t changed on time; tubing isn’t labeled correctly; rooms are messy. Charting isn’t done, write ups are threatened.

This is Nursing.

This is Why we are burned out.

This is Why we are short staffed.

This is Why Nurses and CNA’s are leaving the profession.