Nancy

Feeling Invisible

October 13, 2015 by Nancy 20 Comments

A common comment coming from the lips of aging adults with enough boldness to speak the truth is, “I feel invisible.” In her book Voices of Aging, author Missy Buchanan presents perspectives on several key topics from the point of view of the adult child and the aging parent. One elder said, “Sometimes I feel obsolete. Unnecessary. Irrelevant. Like a carton of milk whose expiration date is long past.” Another aging parent said, “I remember sitting in my room while my children talked about me as if I weren’t even there.”

No one should feel so invisible. If we take the time to look into the eyes of older people, and truly listen to what they say, it’s possible to see both who they were, and who they still are.

“Don’t judge my story by the chapter you walked in on,” reads a poignant anonymous quote. But isn’t that what we do? If we meet someone for the first time at the end of their lives, don’t we too often forget that this is simply one chapter? Would we want those who meet us later in life to make that same error in judgment?

This week I will add another assisted living Bible study class to my schedule. I sought a location close to our new home so it will be easy for me to visit there during inclement weather. I felt the Lord leading me to the place I selected, but when I met with the activities director there I learned that 90% of the residents have dementia. Will they still have moments of clarity when they can hear the truth of the gospel presented in the lessons in The Hope of Glory? Will the old hymns stimulate their long-term memories and put a smile on their faces? I pray so. But if not, the homemade cookies and hugs I offer will have to be enough of a reason to show up.

Most important, as I look forward to meeting these dear old souls, I pray I’ll be able to see who they were at a younger age, and who they authentically are today. I want to know about the earlier chapters of their no doubt fascinating lives, and appreciate the totality of the lives they have lived. I don’t want them to say, like another older person in Buchanan’s book, “My life is a library filled with books that no one reads anymore—books of adventure and romance, advice and how-tos.” As I get to know them, I hope to explore all the volumes of their lives.

Even people in their sixties, those categorized as “young seniors” but on the far side of “prime,” can feel invisible at times. Meeting the residents in the patio home community to which we moved this past summer, I sometimes think quietly to myself, “I sure wish I’d known you sooner.” And I wouldn’t be surprised if those who met me for the first time thought the same thing.

Recently we had a social gathering in our community and as I met each 60-plus person I couldn’t help but surmise: He must have been an effective CEO before he retired. She was obviously a beauty queen or a cheerleader. He was probably an excellent athlete earlier. She has no doubt been a patron of the arts her whole life. That couple must have always been partiers! Seeing them as they are now provided me with plenty of clues to the earlier chapters in their lives, and I’m looking forward to getting to know more about each person here. None will be invisible to me.

From the youngest to the oldest, we can all feel invisible at times. Yet we are never invisible in God’s eyes. He always sees us as we are and wherever we are, and only He sees who we ultimately will be when all the trappings of this earth fall away. Invisible? Not on His watch.

A Door With a Story

September 19, 2015 by Nancy 14 Comments

We just moved to a new house and I was so happy that we inherited a refrigerator with a magnet-friendly door from the past owners. No sterile, stainless steel, magnet-resistant fridge door for me. No sir! Centuries from now when archeologists dig around to learn more about our culture, I’m convinced it won’t be the computers at Norad nor the Space Center in Houston that will attract most of their attention. No, rather they’ll all gather around tables examining decayed construction paper or bits of ceramic magnets as they attempt to understand the hub of communication in our society—the refrigerator door.

Whenever I’m a guest in someone’s home I love gazing at their refrigerator door because that spot, more than any other, tells the story of their family. Families with young children have the most colorful and crowded refrigerator doors, with construction paper art, magnetic alphabet letters, and reminders about school activities, dental appointments, or soccer games. (Thanks to daughter-in-law Abigail McConnell for sending the photo of their family refrigerator above!)

For years I didn’t have any watercolor ponies or construction paper ladybugs on my refrigerator, and I really missed them. Finally, the grandkids were old enough to create refrigerator art for us. Then fairy princesses with ruffly dresses and long eyelashes and stick people families were held in place on our refrigerator by magnets reading, “My Grandchild Did This.” Heaven forbid a grandchild who visited us then didn’t see one of his or her creations hung in the refriga-gallery.

Given the use of refrigerators as art galleries and message centers, it’s no wonder refrigerator magnets are such hot-selling items in gift shops across the country. I gave up long ago trying to have any sort of design theme with mine, although I understand collectors of certain types of magnets are very serious about their choices. Magnet-backed photo holders are often my choice. We have one whole side of our refrigerator dedicated to family photos in magnet-backed acrylic frames, and our adult children still check to make sure they are well represented when they visit. It’s almost as if they believe if they aren’t on the refrigerator, they might not still exist. Otherwise our magnet assortment includes a few hummingbirds with broken beaks, a ceramic taco, message magnets reading, “Some Bunny Loves You” and “Slow me down, Lord,” and lots of advertisements for everything from pizza to dry cleaning. The archeologists will be hard put to understand what mattered most to us when they dig all this up!

On our old fridge, magnets that weren’t used for artwork held up invitations to special events, cartoons we particularly liked, or newspaper clippings. (I knew I was a real newspaper columnist when someone told me she had clipped one of my columns and put it on her refrigerator. Wow! Whatever else I write, I’ve already earned my spot in the annals of our civilization.)

All our magnets went into a plastic sandwich bag when we moved, so our recently acquired fridge is a “blank page” at this point. But this fall I’m sure I’ll post schedules of our favorite football teams and grandkids’ sporting events. From there the story will continue. What about you? What story does your refrigerator door tell about your life and your family? Make it a good one.

This blog post also appeared in an issue of The Country Register in the US and Canada. Pick up a copy at your local antique or crafts store!

Why Resist a Rest?

September 9, 2015 by Nancy 13 Comments

On the route I take for my morning walk there are several inviting places to sit and rest. Comfortable benches, picnic tables, big flat rocks…all seem to say, “Stop and rest awhile.” Yet unless I need to tie a shoelace I seldom stop. Why not? I am there for the exercise, it’s true, but won’t I still take the same number of steps if I take just a minute or two to sit quietly and absorb the beautiful mountain views? Why do I tend to resist a rest?

Rest is critical to our well-being and ability to function in this world. And it’s vitally important for those who are grieving. A close friend of mine recently lost her father. She has gone on a relaxing trip with her husband simply to rest. To read if she can. To gaze at a river flowing on its course. Just to rest. Such rest is necessary if we are to allow the Holy Spirit to sift through the memories we have of a departed loved one and separate the painful ones from the joyful ones, the ones that will bring us comfort in the days to come. To grieve well, we must rest well.

In fact, in Matthew 6:28 Jesus suggests we can put much of life into perspective if we will simply “consider the lilies of the field.” This time of year the lilies in the fields of Colorado are the wild Black-eyed Susans. Jesus didn’t say, “stop and consider the lilies if you need to tie your shoe.” He said intentionally noticing and appreciating them will reduce my worries and remind me that my real treasure is stored up in heaven. I can’t really understand that message unless I rest in it.

I find fall invigorating. Maybe it’s because my biological clock is still set to the beginning of the school year—and because I still love sharp pencils, clean notebooks, and new shoes! Yet it’s a busy time for so many moms, dads, and kids. I sense the buzzing all around me wherever I go, and I just want to say, “Take a deep breath, and make time to rest.”

Our elders can also find rest elusive, for any number of reasons. Some of them just feel “bone tired” as my mother would say. They are worn out by life in general, and by how difficult it can be to do the things they used to do so easily. In my senior devotional The Hope of Glory, I encourage these seniors to ask the Lord to give them the rest they need. He promises He will in Matthew 11:28 when He says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

On my next walk, I’m going to take time to sit a spell. I will consider the lilies. I will not resist a rest. What about you?

Late-in-Life Love

August 28, 2015 by Nancy 10 Comments

I just spent a delightful day in the company of a close friend, a widow, who told me with stars in her eyes that she “met someone.” Both my friend and her new beau are in their seventies, but as she described their meeting she said it was as if she were thirteen again—all the same butterflies flitting around inside her! The “sweet nothings” they whisper to one another may have to be spoken a bit more loudly at this age, she confessed. And instead of getting-acquainted questions like “what’s your sign?” it’s more likely “are you on any medications?” But the sparkle in her eyes and the giggle in her voice told me this is true love all the same.

Is it ever too late for love? I don’t think so. Many years ago my mom was also in her seventies when she began a long companionship with Cecil, a dear family friend. He had lost his wife and my dad had passed away. The two couples had known one another since junior high. Mom and Cecil kept being asked to the same social gatherings, so eventually he said, “There’s no reason for both of us to drive. I’ll swing by and pick you up.” Thus began a 15-year relationship that nurtured them both.

My sisters and I were very fond of Cecil. Our families had vacationed in Florida together many times over the years, so we already thought of him as a second dad. He was extremely witty, and we quickly welcomed him to family gatherings. We would not have minded one bit had Mom and Cecil decided to take the next step and get married, but they never did. Theirs was a platonic love, but a true one.

And the benefits of their relationship were many. They looked forward to seeing one another and having a reason to get dressed up. I’m sure they both ate more nutritiously than either would have without the other, as my mom would cook a real meal once or twice a week when Cecil came over—usually to watch a University of Tennessee ball game—and they had a standing date for brunch after church.

“We don’t even have to tell each other entire jokes,” Mom said the day she called to let me know what was going on with Cecil (lest I hear rumors of impropriety!). “We know all the same jokes, so one of us just remembers a punch line and we have a good laugh!”

Many seniors would be open to late-in-life love but aren’t sure how to meet someone if they don’t have a lifelong connection like my mom and Cecil shared. Some actually have success with online dating sites, but more likely they connect through a mutual acquaintance or a shared interest. Other couples reconnect at a 50th or 60th high school reunion, after both are single again, and pick up right where they left off—although not as likely in the back of the pick up! Psychologists explain that the spark of “first love” is one that is easily rekindled, and every summer this romantic phenomenon plays out around punch bowls in gymnasiums from coast to coast. This gives new meaning to the phrase “take my hand again” that I’ve been using to refer to adults helping aging parents.

Is it ever too late for love? I think not. As for me, I’ll stick with the love I married when I was forty. A good man is hard to find at any age.

Portions of this blog post are excerpted from the author’s book, Take My Hand Again, Kregel Publications, 2015.

A Moving Experience: Part Two

July 29, 2015 by Nancy 18 Comments

In every move there is the physical side and the emotional side. Physically you are dealing with the logistics of the packers, the movers, the storage locker, what can’t be packed, where to put houseplants, pet relocation, etc. Even in a local move, the “to do” lists can be extensive.

Then there is all the emotional baggage. We prepared for the move we made in June out of a house we’d been in for 26 years for the better part of two years. All the fixing up and spiffing up that precedes a move had taken a toll on our personal time and our checkbook. We were ready.

Still, I expected the departure to be wrenching. Every place I looked in that house another memory would wash over me. (Imagine my consolation in knowing that those memories are still with me now although the house is not.)

I’ll never forget seeing our oldest granddaughter Francesca climbing up the steps from downstairs by herself for the first time. Her dark hair was in two ponytails that stuck out on either side of her head. She wore a red sweater with a black Scotty dog on it. As she climbed each step she was saying, “Juice! O’s!” letting me know it was time for breakfast.

Similar memories of visits from all 12 of our grandkids are permanently with us wherever we go. We shipped the stones with their handprints to their parents before the move, but we’ll never be without their impressions on our hearts. And in their hearts, they have so many memories of “Papa and Grancy’s house.” A collection of finds from the family room provided a history of those visits. Behind the bookcase that was too heavy to move for cleaning was one blue Barbie shoe, a marble, an orange plastic Easter egg, some cat toys, a green Hot Wheels car, a wooden block, and one red checker. Oh the fun we had!

And then there were all the gatherings that occurred under that roof! Graduation parties, engagement parties, showers, Bible studies, holiday meals with departed moms, dinner parties with friends…and on and on. God blessed us richly when He provided that home to us and our blended family.

How, I wondered, would I be able to say good-bye not only to the memories, but to the everyday joys I experienced there, especially in the last 20 years when I’ve been working from home and such a part of daily life in that house? I was saying goodbye to the deer who greeted me most every morning, the hummingbirds, the rainbows from the deck, the gardens I nurtured and cared for year after year. I was saying good-bye to the pink sunrise reflections on Cheyenne Mountain, and to neighbors we’d known for so long. It just seemed like too much good-bye. More than I could face.

But the Lord knew that. That’s why He showed us the new house He picked out for us just as we were ready to give up and look for an apartment to rent. We were energized by the discovery of the new house as we patched nail holes and cleaned at the old one. Amazingly, although there had been tears at unexpected times in the preceding weeks, when it was time to get into the car and drive away for the last time, I didn’t cry. Instead there was just a sense of blessing and relief flowing over my husband and me. The words from a favorite praise song came to mind and made their way to the refrigerator at the new house, where a month later even the cats feel right at home: He gives and takes away. He gives and takes away. Still my heart will choose to say, blessed be the name of the Lord.

A Moving Experience: Part One

July 28, 2015 by Nancy 15 Comments

It really happened. A large moving van arrived at our house the middle of June and the men loaded up what was left of our belongings after the two-day garage sale, the bulging boxes shipped to family members, and the donations. Then they took it all away. We moved.

My guess is, you know what it was like in the days leading up to the move. You weren’t there, but you’ve been there. You, too, know the sound of packing tape being pulled off the roll (and the aggravating attempt to find the end of the tape again), the desperation to grab hold of anything even slightly resembling a box, and the last-minute scrawling of “miscellaneous” on the last boxes of stuff that didn’t get packed anywhere else. (Turns out those are the boxes holding most of what you’re looking for after the move!)

Moving out of a house we’d been in for 26 years was a bit unsettling and emotional for us, but we knew there was a plan and we were excited to downsize and begin what we happily referred to as Act 3. Our cats, Molly and Beau, didn’t have the same level of reasoning and understanding, however.

The day of the move they were cloistered in an empty back bedroom with food, water, and litter. When we let them out at the end of the day, they slowly explored the completely empty house. We could only imagine what they mewed to one another.

“Well this is definitely NOT an improvement. What were they thinking? I’ll just jump up on the…the couch is missing!! Oh well, I’ll just hop on the…the kitchen table is gone!! How are we expected to live like this?”

Retrospectively it may not have been the best idea, but we decided to leave the cats alone in the empty house that night since we didn’t have to turn it over to the new owners for a few days. We wanted to get ourselves situated at The Residence Inn, where we would all live for 10 days, before bringing them over. Other than food, water, and litter, all they had was a sundry assortment of toy mice and jingly balls that turned up behind the furniture that was moved. Happy to see their lost toys, they would still have preferred a stuffed chair or a bed with a down comforter.

The next day they were most cooperative about being put into their cat carriers, however. My husband thinks they may have thought they had been left behind permanently and were relieved we came to get them. If so, that may explain how easily they adapted to life in a one-bedroom apartment at The Residence Inn.

“What do you think happened?” Molly may have asked Beau.
“I don’t know. Obviously they’ve had some sort of financial downturn,” Beau may have conjectured.

“Well, at least they kept us. We’d best just hunker down and make the most of it,” Molly may have concluded.

Whatever they were thinking, it’s true that there is bonding in adversity. The cat fights have drastically reduced since the whole moving experience began!

TO BE CONTINUED