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The COVID crisis has wiped out most of 2020 for our in-person ministry at Care-age of Brookfield. But thanks to the wonders of technology, we can listen once again to the wonderful message that Chris Carrillo delivered there on 12/31/17. Examining the gifts of the magi, he explains how those who have yet to receive the greatest gift of all can make this the most meaningful Christmas season ever.
(If you’re reading this via email, please click on the title above to be taken to the audio recording.) The COVID vaccine is finally on its way, and surely it will soon be safe for nursing-home residents to receive visitors again--and for the elderly with no other options to seek the best possible place to live out their days on this earth.
Several years ago, the New York Times reported on the Green House Project, which purports to be a new sort of nursing home. Now with nearly 300 licensed homes in 28 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 and drink. 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 himself or 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 (although except for the small residences, I don't see that they offer anything that's not offered by the nursing homes I'm most familiar with). But aren’t human beings more than the sum of their circumstances, minds and emotions? Are we not also spiritual beings – in fact, primarily so? For more than 25 years, I have witnessed 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 subject wasn't mentioned by the New York Times or on the Project's website simply because the responsible writers aren't much interested in the subject, or don't feel it's pertinent. But I do hope that you are interested, and that if you’re looking for a nursing home for yourself, or for a beloved parent, grandparent, spouse, 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. If you're searching for a present for a friend or loved one who lives in a nursing home, it wouldn't be 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:
There are far better choices available to those who know their residents fairly well. For instance:
But the best gift at all for someone living in a nursing home is the gift of time. That can be tough to provide during this era of COVID 19, but perhaps you can telephone frequently, or make special arrangements to visit; ask the home's Activities Director or Administrator for suggestions. Then, once the current crisis is past, make up for today's limitations, lavishing your time on him or her every month of the year! I was just reminded of this haunting poem. It seems to convey an important truth: the dementia patients who have the greatest peace are those whose children and friends continue to visit and love them even as deep confusion sets in.
How sad that current fears of covid 19 have made such visits nearly impossible for those who are institutionalized. We really need to lobby to change this situation, even if it puts our loved ones at some risk; after all, staying physically healthy is not necessarily the most important thing in this life. In the meantime, I hope we'll each do what we can to comfort those afflicted with any form of dementia; even sending them cards and letters to be read to them by caregivers can provide a few moments of happiness. The Lord will be pleased; after all, "Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their trouble ...” (James 1:27a, NKJV). If we can't do it in person, we can at least try to make up for it via the USPS. Like virtually all American nursing-home volunteers, I've been banished from visiting my closest friends since mid-March, thanks to covid. And so I'm left with communicating with them by phone and email, and with longing for a soon return to normal. And, just as important, with simply remembering the many happy times we've shared. That means I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about my dear Doris, who died three years ago this month, just shy of her 98th birthday. Over the last six years of her life, Doris and I spent a great deal of quality time together, lunching weekly with her amazing daughter, visiting and singing and jabbering, sifting through thousands of her family photos, and wrapping up nearly every Friday afternoon with a spirited scrapbooking session during which we tried to artfully arrange the best of those photos – some dating back to before the turn of the last century. Being so immersed in this photographic history, I got to know Doris and her family very well over the years. I learned all about the courage of her mother Lydia, widowed at an early age; about the love and humor of her husband Frank; and about the extraordinary kindness of her mother-, father- and sister-in-law. Of special note were loving characters like Uncle Gus’s wife Aunt Coddle. She insisted on hand-making young Doris’s special-occasion dresses for such events as her First Communion. These dresses weren’t exactly fashionable, as the photographs demonstrated. In fact, the prospect of having to wear them out in public sent Doris to her mother in tears, hoping that she’d be told she could wear something else. But no dice. Lydia invariably said, “Oh, I know it’s awful, Doris dear, but Aunt Coddle would be so hurt if you didn’t wear it. You’re just going to have to.” And so she did. Maybe it was being raised by a mother like Lydia that gave Doris such a compassionate heart. Because in my eyes, at least, she was the epitome of the Christian woman – a doer of the word, not just a hearer (James 1:22). Perhaps most telling, I never once heard her say an unkind word to anyone, or about anyone. Never. On the contrary, she always greeted staff and residents with the friendliest “Hello!” you’ve ever heard, and the brightest smile. And she often commented on what terrific people they were when they were out of earshot. Nor did I ever hear her complain about anything. Not once. Not when a neighbor was ear-splittingly noisy, a staffer was cross, a fellow resident gobbled down all her chocolates, or an aide was painfully slow to respond to a call light. Not even when reflooring the hallways necessitated detours that were inconvenient for all and a trial for a 90-something woman relying on a walker; rather than complaining about it, she lauded the workers, complimenting them enthusiastically on their efforts. What’s more, Doris seemed to be obsessed with your comfort, especially when you were sitting in her room. She wanted you to take the best chair. She wanted the temperature to be set at your comfort level. She wanted you to have just the right amount of the right kind of light, incandescent or fluorescent, for the task at hand. The foundation of it all: a heart filled to overflowing with gratitude. “I’ve had such a wonderful life,” Doris said more than once. And indeed, it was clearly a life filled with love and simple pleasures – her lovely extended family, a relatively modest but well-built and tidy home, long lists of girlfriends who got together regularly, family vacations at rented cottages in northern Wisconsin, volunteer work at a local hospital. This gratitude continued into the last years of her life. Even though her daughter made repeated efforts to persuade her mother to come live with her, Doris kindly refused. She found her final earthly home beautiful, loved the staff and her fellow residents, nested happily in a room filled with family photos and favorite knickknacks, appreciated the food and courtyard garden and thoroughly enjoyed the constant slate of activities, all tailored to the interests and abilities of her generation. And now I wonder: If this splendid woman found so much to love about this fallen world, even while dealing with the infirmities of great old age, how do you suppose she’s finding heaven? Doris was one of a kind, and I will never forget her. Happily, thanks to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, that won’t ever be necessary; we’ll both be in that happy, heavenly throng, singing our hearts out in worship (and, she and I always hoped, doing so with far more beautiful voices than those we had in this life). Until we meet again, my beloved friend. I tend to spend a lot of time pondering the varying paths we travel to death. Understandably so: Over the last 20 years, I’ve bid a final farewell to literally dozens of friends at the nursing home where I normally hang out.
Many of these dear people have left us after the proverbial “brief illness.” Others have died after weeks of excruciating pain. Still others have traveled far longer and more arduous paths under the burden of diseases like Alzheimer’s, MS, and Parkinson’s. But thankfully, I no longer complain about such trials, demanding to know (and refusing to consider) how a good God could allow such suffering and sorrow. Instead, the Lord has used these deaths to bring me back to His word. To Romans 8:28, for example: “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” And to Romans 1:18-20: “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse.” And to Psalm 51:16-17: “For You do not delight in sacrifice, otherwise I would give it; You are not pleased with burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God …” The Lord uses death to break our rebellious spirits. To bring contrition to our hearts. To cause us to examine the truth He has written on our hearts. And to work together for the good of those who are His, or will be. He certainly used death in these ways in my life. My mother’s Home-going was not sudden. She died after years of failing health – years that had drawn us as close as two people can be when they occupy different spiritual planes. So close that, when she died, I, still an ardent atheist, was forced into a relentless quest for truth. It turned into a 15-month quest that forced me to evaluate and reject every major religion and worldview until, finally and irrevocably, I found myself at the cross of Jesus Christ. I believe that the Lord does something like this every time He calls someone in death – that He brings the dying and the bereaved to the precipice of forever so that they will ask the most important question of all: “Where am I going to spend eternity?” Sadly, the majority will opt for a Christless forever, choosing instead the impossible task of paying their own sin debt; as Jesus said, “For the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it” (Matthew 7:14). Maybe those who ultimately reject Christ are simply too in love with their sin to fear final judgment, or too lazy to seek truth. Maybe they are too arrogant to believe there could possibly be just one way to heaven, or too self-righteous to accept a place of eternal punishment. I could write volumes about each of these attitudes; they surely characterized my thinking throughout my atheist years. But finally, the Lord used death to bring me up short, to cause me to look up rather than to myself for the answers – answers that He graciously provided in the wake of instantly forgiving my entire sin debt. I submit that He is doing exactly that every time He issues the call to eternity. Whether that call is unexpected or long-anticipated, I believe it’s all part of His plan to do whatever it takes to capture our attention once and for all. The Lord does not waste death. Nor does He let anyone head into eternity without issuing a final wake-up call. Sadly, there seem to be no numbers available to quantify the power of the 4th annual Women's March in Washington D.C. this past January. But according to the always-accurate Washington Post, roughly 700,000 women took part in the 2019 event. That’s 700,000 women who spent hours making arrangements, crafting clever signs, dressing for the weather, traveling to their rallying points, marching till their feet hurt, saying their fond farewells and making their ways home.
Would it be fair to say that, on average, each woman invested 20 hours of time in the effort? Let’s say it would be, and do the math: 700,000 women x 20 hours each = 14,000,000 woman-hours – the equivalent of 7,000 women working full time for a year. Far be it from me to judge their motives. I’m sure most of the marchers thought they were doing something good for women today and for generations to come – protecting “choice,” advancing the cause of equal pay for equal work and possibly comparable worth, making paid parental leave a right for partners, and supporting any number of other “women’s issues” that they believe can impact our quality of life. There’s just one problem: This tremendous show of unity will have exactly zero impact on our legislators, who were elected to office by voters who may not share the marchers’ views. In the end, it was pretty much a complete waste of time, energy and money. May I make a suggestion? If you were among the 700,000 marchers, why not consider investing your resources in activities that will actually help those in need? Volunteer at a food bank or soup kitchen to feed the hungry. Raise money for the Rescue Mission to house the homeless. Become a Big Sister to a girl who needs extra love and guidance. Teach someone to read. Or my favorite, share your love with the neglected elderly. I'm sure some of these activities are possible even now, as we wade through the dregs of our latest existential threat; but it'll be over soon, and it's never too early to start planning how you, too, can make a real difference in this world--or, even better, in the life of one needy person. Just think how much good could be accomplished if 14,000,000 women-hours were to be invested in works such as these! If you love an old person, and especially if you’re his or her primary lifeline to the outside world, please make it a point to monitor the medications he or she is taking. And be on the lookout for any changes that might be significant, from weight gain to personality change; you may need to do some research and then go to bat for your beloved.
The research part is easy. Just plug each of the drugs into a search engine like Google, add a symptom or two that you’ve noticed, and check out the results. If you’re able to process more technical information, try a medical search engine like www.pubmed.gov or https://scholar.google.com/. Don’t believe everything you find, especially on the non-technical side of the web. But if you come across significant evidence that a drug may be harming your loved one, and if it comes from apparently reliable sources, start building your case: Compile the evidence along with a full list of the medications he or she is currently taking, print it out and highlight the key points for presentation to the doctor in charge. If this physician is less than approachable, or is always pressed for time in today’s drive-through healthcare environment, consider first taking your case to a local pharmacist. (Make an appointment if necessary; pharmacists seem to be even busier than doctors these days and will no doubt appreciate your sensitivity to his or her stress level.) Outline your concerns and what you’ve found out so far. Take careful notes and add them to your evidence document – and then approach the responsible physician with this professional take on the situation. Never assume that having a slew of healthcare providers tending to your loved one is adequate protection against dangerous drug side effects or interactions. Here's an example: My mother had a seizure disorder for which her five-star neurologist often tried new medications. She’d been on just such a “latest and greatest” drug for about a week when she suddenly became extremely dopey. Her nurses and primary-care doctor just shrugged it off. Fortunately, I was freaked out enough to call her neurologist; he demanded that she be sent to the ER immediately, for cold-turkey removal from the drug without the mandatory weaning, because he considered her situation to be life-threatening. That’s just one example; I could cite many more from what I’ve seen over the past 25 years. So if you are a loved one’s court of last resort, remain on high alert for medication issues. Be willing to do the necessary homework. And get ready to sound the alarm far and wide whenever necessary. One of the sweetest things about being a nursing-home volunteer is seeing how the residents come to love one another, or at least look out for each other's well-being--often behind the backs of those in charge. We youngsters could probably all learn a lesson from them! Here's a scene illustrating that point from The Song of Sadie Sparrow.
Sadie Sparrow Sunday, March 25 Sadie and Gladys brunched together on Sunday, enjoying a feast of fresh strawberries and blackberries, French toast with maple syrup, bacon that was every bit as crisp as any Sadie had ever had, as much orange juice as they wanted, and coffee that tasted like something you’d get at a fancy cafe. Gladys shocked Sadie by calling the meal “good” and then shocked her again by pointing out that Marcia at Table Nine was on “the thick stuff.” “Do you mean thickened liquids?” Sadie was ashamed that she’d let that subject slip to the back burner in recent days, her new spiritual life and time with Jamie being foremost on her mind. “If that’s what you want to call it,” Gladys sniffed, “although I don’t know why you always have to make everything so complicated. Pretending to be something you’re not.” “‘Thick stuff’ is just fine with me,” Sadie said, humbled by the rebuke. “So how did you find out?” One of Gladys’s nicer traits was her willingness to leave a hurt behind. “Before you got here, I heard her complaining about it to the servers. But they wouldn’t help her. I think it’s a crime.” “A crime?” “Without a doubt.” Gladys lowered her voice and glanced back over her shoulders to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It kills people, you know. If you don’t get enough to drink, you get fuzzy headed and then you die. I’ve seen it happen again and again.” Gladys had lived at The Hickories for several years, and Sadie didn’t doubt that she knew a lot more than she let on. “Have any of your—have you known anyone who’s been on it?” Gladys eyed Sadie up before answering. “My friends, you mean? Were you assuming I haven’t had any friends here?” “No, of course not, I just meant—” “I’ll have you know that I’ve had plenty of friends here. It’s just that they’ve all died or gone home.” “Of course you have.” Sadie felt her face flush; she’d been caught red-handed. She quickly changed gears. “So have any of them been on the thick stuff?” “Yes, and they’ve all died within weeks, except for one. Her name was Ida—she lived next door to me. She survived for two years on the stuff, finally had a coronary.” “Well, then, if Ida made it that long, maybe it’s not so bad after all,” said Sadie, hoping for a silver lining. Gladys looked around for eavesdroppers again. “It’s not so bad if someone is sneaking you water and soda every day,” she whispered. “I kept her supplied.” “Why Gladys,” Sadie whispered back, impressed. “You really do have a heart, don’t you?” Gladys glared at her. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.” --The Song of Sadie Sparrow, pages 227-228 |
Kitty
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