Nancy Parker Brummett

Author Writer Speaker

The End of the Journey…or the Beginning?

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Hope of Glory BoxedIf a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, then the journey to having a book you’ve written appear on your doorstep should begin with the first word, right? Actually, with The Hope of Glory: A Devotional Guide for Older Adults, it began long before the first word was written.

Back in 1999, the Lord placed on my heart the desire to do all I could do to connect older adults with their faith—or to introduce them for the first time to faith in Jesus Christ and the blessed assurance of eternal life that could be theirs. I was at a book group meeting and heard one friend ask another if she would be interested in facilitating a Bible study at an assisted living facility. She said no, she didn’t have time. Even though I only overheard the conversation, I felt the Holy Spirit tapping my shoulder and saying, “That was supposed to be for you.” I followed up with a phone call to the friend with the information a few days later, got in touch with the facility, and began a weekly Bible study with a fascinating group of residents there.

After about a year I realized I needed to devote more time to helping my mom and mother-in-law, so I stopped going. But by then the Lord had planted in my heart and mind the idea for devotional lessons directed to the aging population. I began working on the project as I had time, calling it The Hope of Glory after the verse in Colossians 1:27, Christ in you, the hope of glory. I tried shopping it around to publishers but didn’t get an acceptance, so it just joined other back-burner projects in my files. In fact, as my friend Merrily says, it’s possible I took it off the stove entirely!

But the Holy Spirit didn’t forget about it. In May, 2010, I began visiting my friend Denise in the assisted living facility where she had just moved. At first it was difficult for me to even enter the building, as it brought back so many memories of my mom and mother-in-law, both of whom had passed away. But I kept going back because of Denise, and I began to feel more comfortable there. One day I stopped to look at the activities calendar posted on the wall. I noticed there were no Bible studies listed. The Holy Spirit used that information to get my attention again.

A few days later I was leaving our church, which is almost across the street from the assisted living facility, and I heard the Spirit say, “Why don’t you just go over there and ask them if they need you?” So I did. I walked into the activities director’s office, introduced myself, told her where I went to church, and said, “Do you need someone to lead a Bible study or anything?” She smiled and said, “I left my card at your church, but I haven’t heard from anyone yet.” I got chills as we both realized God had sent me. Not only did I feel that I had a new assignment, I sensed the Lord not putting my writing project back on the stove, but rather of His taking it off a high shelf, blowing the dust off of it, and handing it to me saying, “Now, after all you’ve been through with your mom and mother-in-law, you are ready to finish this.”

Just weeks later I began volunteering, writing a new lesson for the class each week. Once I had 52 lessons, plus five more for special holidays, I began the search for a publisher again. The Hope of Glory: A Devotional Guide for Older Adults, was released by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas in March 2014. I’m not telling you all this to promote the book (although I’d love for you to see what it has to offer the elders you know and love), but to share two important lessons learned from the most drawn-out writing project of my life.

First, if God gives you an assignment, He won’t let you forget it. I hate to use the word “nag” in relation to the Holy Spirit, so let’s call it “encouragement that can feel like nagging!” Second, the completion of this book should reassure us all that God has not forgotten the older adults among us. In fact, His heart burns with love for them, and He sends His people to minister to them and share the life-saving truth of the gospel with them.

That’s why I pray that seeing the book in print on my doorstep, at long last, is not the end of this journey. I pray it’s the beginning of how the Lord will use The Hope of Glory to accomplish His purposes. My job now is to stay out of His way.

Thankful Living

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DSC04350When I am a very old woman, I want to be like some of the older women I know. Women who have a perpetual twinkle in their eyes. Women who draw everyone closer to learn the secret to their joy—the secret to their thankful living.

It occurs to me that since we tend to become more of who we truly are as we age, that it’s not too soon for me to practice thankful living: not too soon to turn grumbling into gratitude. I’ve observed that with the perspective of age thankful living has a deeper, broader definition. In years past grandmas and grandpas like us may have found it hard to be grateful if they couldn’t be physically with their kids and grandkids on Thanksgiving. With age, we understand that the real blessing is that these loved ones are in the world, are living the lives ordained for them to live, and that we have them to love. We give thanks.

My husband and I were once having breakfast at a restaurant during the holidays when we struck up a conversation with our waitress. She shared that she was indeed “having a good day” because she was excited about leaving to visit her grandchildren the next day.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“They are eight and six,” the waitress replied.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

“Oh, I’ve never seen them!” she answered.

I could barely swallow the rest of my breakfast as I realized how blessed we were. Not only did we have 12 grandchildren in our blended family, but we were able to snuggle each one as an infant—and have celebrated many birthdays, milestones, and holidays with various combinations of them over the years. Truly, we are blessed.

So how can we make our remaining days full of gratitude rather than grumbling? How can we engage in thankful living—the lifestyle of thanksgiving that brings a twinkle to our eyes? We might begin like the author Ann Voscamp. When Ann first accepted the challenge to list 1,000 blessings in her life, she had no idea the list would become the best-selling book One Thousand Gifts—or that it would lead to an international ministry. She simply developed the habit of noticing the smallest of blessings: jam piled high on toast, mail in the mailbox, the blue jay singing from the top of the spruce tree. We can do that. What great things will God do with our expressions of gratitude?

When I am a very old lady, I know what the secret will be that puts a twinkle in my eye—but I don’t want it to be a secret at all. It will be the fact that when I sit around a Thanksgiving table to give thanks, I have Someone to thank. I don’t have to thank the universe for my blessings, because I know they come from the Creator of the universe! I thank God. And I pray I can share all I know about His love and salvation until my dying day.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving—followed by a lifetime of thankful living. And may the Giver of all put a perpetual twinkle in your eye! It’s no secret that He wants to give you that gift.

Lee’s Lantana

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IMG_3461The down side of volunteering with older adults, and getting to know and love them, is that the chances are pretty high you will also have to say goodbye to them in this earthly life and be separated from them for a while. Such was my loss when Lee (short for Leora Jane), one of the residents of an assisted living facility who faithfully attended my weekly Bible study for over two years, died suddenly this month.

I was on vacation when Lee died, but a friend who was filling in for me for the summer called to let me know. I was so glad to find out about a memorial service that was to be held for Lee and to be able to attend when we returned. There I learned so much more about her life than just the last few years spent in assisted living.

Lee loved sitting outside the facility in her wheelchair. Every Wednesday when I arrived, except on the most blustery of days, she would be by the front door. She always greeted me warmly. With her gray pixie haircut, bright blue eyes, and big smile it was a greeting I grew to love. “I’ll be back to get you!” I’d say as I rushed inside to set up for our gathering.

Once our time was over, I knew Lee couldn’t wait to get back outside, so I’d push her back to claim her spot by the front door. One day I noticed a huge pot of beautiful yellow flowers near her spot. “Oh, Lee, those are gorgeous. I’ve never seen them before. Do you know what they are?”

“I don’t,” she replied, “but I’ll find out for you.”

The next week the flowers were still there. Lee still didn’t know what they were, but she’d found out who to ask, so together we learned that the bright, yellow blossoms we both enjoyed so much were lantana. Lee, lantana and laughter, three things that will forever go together for me. The laughter came when I tried to maneuver Lee back out through the heavy front doors and would forget from week to week that taking her over the threshold backwards was the best way to keep from dumping her out! Fortunately I never did dump her, but my awkward wheelchair piloting gave us both some laughs. And we never parted without a hug, after which she would pat my hand and say, “Thank you. I love you.” And I would say, “I love you, too.”

The chaplain who led Lee’s memorial service did a wonderful job. We all got to share our favorite memories. I learned from her family that she hated raisins and wondered how many times I’d served her oatmeal raisin cookies in class. She never complained. The chaplain said, “Lee would want all of us leaving here today with a smile on our faces and a smile in our hearts,” and I knew that was true. I also knew she was now embracing eternal life joyfully, and was with the husband and son she had lost and grieved. Still the tears spilled down my face. I wasn’t crying for Lee, but for my own loss.

After the service, I decided to stop by Home Depot for a couple of things we needed for Saturday chores, in spite of being overdressed and needing to keep my sunglasses on to hide my red eyes and mascara smears. As I walked into the garden area I stopped in awe. Right before me were two very long rows of hanging baskets, all yellow lantana. I know they weren’t there earlier in the season.

It didn’t take me long to put two of the baskets in my cart, justifying that they could replace two that hadn’t done well in the summer heat. Now I get to look at yellow lantana from my office window every day and thank the Lord for my friend, Lee. They not only remind me of her, they remind me that love is always worth the risk, even when it hurts.

Be Prepared

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IMG_2752Some mottoes are solid enough to sustain us our whole life. How well I remember learning the Girl Scout motto, “Be prepared.” You could still wake me up from a dead sleep in the middle of the night and I would be able to recite the oath, too: “On my honor, I will try to do my duty to God and my country…” Those things we learn at such an early age are forever imprinted.

So what does it mean to be prepared at 65? Obviously it’s not just having spare batteries for your flashlight, matches in a waterproof tin, and dry kindling for a campfire, although those are still excellent practices. It’s not even stocking up gallons of purified water and canned goods in the basement in case of natural disaster, although I followed that advice prior to Y2K (remember that non event?). More recently we’ve thought seriously about what we would want to take with us should we have to evacuate our home due to wildfires. It could easily happen, and we want to be ready. But what else calls us to be prepared?

After a certain age it’s  important to “have your affairs in order” as they say: to have all the legal end-of-life documents in place to make life much easier for your children and grandchildren when you go. That kind of advice can be found in any number of resources, and it’s important, but I’ve also picked up tips about being prepared merely by observation.

I’ve been blessed by friendships with several women much older than I who taught me pragmatic approaches to being prepared on a daily basis. For example, my friend Myrtle gave up driving at night, so she reluctantly but graciously accepted offers for a ride to book groups or organizational meetings. Myrtle made fabulous, unforgettable peanut brittle. One thing she did to be prepared was to always have small baggies of fresh peanut brittle to slip into the handbag of anyone chauffeuring her as a personal thank you. Much to my husband’s delight, more than a few of those bags ended up in my purse! She was prepared.

Planning ahead is a coping skill all my older friends cultivate. When we would arrive at an event, I would be digging in my purse for a pen and checkbook in order to pay the pre-arranged fee for lunch, while my older friend Denise simply handed over the check she had filled out in the comfort of her own home before leaving. She was prepared.

Now being prepared spiritually is what matters most to me. We’ve been to far too many funerals this year; most for people our age or younger. Like all who have accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior, I have the blessed assurance of knowing where I am going when I die. I truly believe Jesus has gone to prepare a place for me (John 14:2). Yet I want to be prepared for whatever comes my way before I go to heaven by having the Word of God buried deep in my heart.

I’m beginning to wonder if I will live to see the day when all Christians, even in this country, are persecuted for our faith. If I’m ever incarcerated without a hymnal or a Bible, I want to have a wide selection of hymns and Bible verses memorized to sustain me! I guess the little girl in me who memorized the Girl Scout motto and oath, and earned all those badges on the sash in the photo, still wants to be prepared.

Simple Instructions

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A friend recently encouraged me to subscribe to an online newsletter titled The Writer’s Almanac (newsletter@americanpublicmedia.org) featuring a daily dose of poetry, quotes, and other musings posted by none other than Garrison Keillor. At the end of all his posts the ever affable Keillor signs off with, “Be well, do good work, and keep in touch ®.” Yes, it seems he registered that line, and I agree it “has legs” as they say! Today I saw it as a better than average set of simple instructions for Baby Boomers with parents in assisted living or nursing home facilities.

Be well. After dealing with runny noses, middle of the night flu bugs and a hodgepodge of other illnesses and wounds over the years, it’s hard for seniors to stop hoping their kids are well, even if the “kids” are in their fifties or sixties. My mom would always notice if it sounded like I had a cold when we talked long distance, and a couple of days later I would be treated to another call just to see if I was feeling better. I knew she was concerned because she never made long distance phone calls capriciously. They cost money, you know! Take your vitamins, eat healthy food, and get some exercise. Be well.

Do good work. One of the things I’ve missed most now that my mom is with Jesus is that she was my most loyal reader, my most enthusiastic audience member, my biggest fan. She would carry the latest copies of my newspaper column crumpled up in her purse to share with anyone who would sit still long enough to look at them. And although she found a couple of the books I wrote to be much too transparent by the standards of Southern propriety, she was thrilled to receive the first copies and would sit down and read them as soon as she could. Then I would get the congratulatory call. The parents who drove us to school all those years and paid for our lessons and college tuitions did so to invest in our futures. They are interested in our work and want to hear about it, and will help us keep a healthy perspective on the definition of success. Do good work.

Keep in touch. My husband and I were both blessed in that neither of our mothers was a guilt inducer. No matter how long it was between phone calls, they were just happy to hear our voices on the other end of the line and never said, “Well, it’s about time you called. I thought you were dead,” as I understand some parents are wont to do! Yet because they didn’t complain, we may not have called and visited as much as we could have. Now we’d love to be able to do both, but they are gone. How long does it really take to make a phone call, write a note, send a photo, or drop by for a hug? Keep in touch.

So with apologies to Mr. Keillor, I’ll close as he does. Be well, do good work, keep in touch®.

Expecting the Unexpected

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Two categories of folks in our society need a bit of extra nurturing and attention: the very young and the very old. If, like me, you are blessed to be in between these two groups on life’s journey, you probably spend time caring for one or both. And as an “in betweener” you soon learn to expect the unexpected.

Certainly children aren’t predictable, and words you wish they wouldn’t repeat can come out of their mouths in public any time, any place! I was sure I had learned all there was to know about expecting the unexpected the year I was a Cub Scout den mother. But even those darling, unpredictable eight-year-old boys, who were calm and attentive one minute and pinging off the walls the next, did little to prepare me for the volunteer work I do with older adults now.

One day I was setting up the room for the devotional hour I facilitate at an assisted living residence when a dear resident who had been coming to the group for weeks came into the room. She walked directly up to me, took both my hands in hers and said, “I will give you any amount of money to take me home.” My heart was breaking as I explained to her that I really couldn’t do that. Over her shoulder I saw the tears in the eyes of the caregiver assigned to her.

The next week I came braced for a similar difficult situation, but none occurred. In fact, one class attendee gave me a big hug as she was leaving and said, “I love you and I always have.” Now whether she means she’s loved me for the two years she’s been attending the class, or whether she momentarily thought I was her daughter or granddaughter, I’ll never know. But does it really matter? That day I left with a much lighter heart and a bounce in my step.

At the end of each class session we always sing a familiar hymn and I hand out a copy of the words to each person. One day we sang “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” after a lesson on “Walking in Truth.” Later, as we were in the middle of gathering prayer requests, one of the ladies happened to notice the words to the hymn on the handout in front of her. “Hey, we should sing this!” she said loudly. By the grace of the Holy Spirit I took a deep breath and said, “Sure, let’s sing it!” Not only did we sing “His truth is marching on…” more enthusiastically than we did the first time, but this time, at her suggestion, we also marched around the room—canes and walkers tapping out the rhythm! Would I have wanted to miss that by telling her we’d already sung our hymn for the day? Not on your life.

So whether you are caring for the very young or the very old, go ahead and make a “to do” list for the day but consider putting “be flexible” at the top of it. In the number two position I suggest adding “don’t miss the blessings,” because there are sure to be many of them. Bathing your efforts in prayer is always a good idea, then move forward confidently as you expect the unexpected.

 

What I Learned from Two Old Women

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Occasionally you read a book that stays with you long after you close the cover for the last time and place the book on the shelf (or delete it from your reader!).  So it is with a small volume I read with my book group not too long ago, Two Old Women by Velma Wallis.

A poignant account of aging is found in this short but powerful book. Based on an Athabascan Indian legend passed along for many generations from mothers to daughters of the upper Yukon River Valley in Alaska, it’s the inspirational tale of two old women abandoned by their tribe during a brutal winter famine. The chief regrets having to leave the old women behind, as do the families of the elders, but the decision is made that they must be abandoned so the others can move on.

What happens next should encourage all of us who aren’t as young and capable as we once were. “We have learned much during our long lives,” said one of the women named Sa’. “Yet there we were in our old age, thinking that we had done our share in life. So we stopped, just like that. No more working like we used to, even though our bodies are still healthy enough to do a little more than we expect of ourselves.”

Her slightly older friend, Ch’idzigyaak, listened carefully to her friend’s revelation as to why they were left behind.

“Two old women,” Sa’ continued. “They complain, never satisfied. We talk of no food, and of how good it was in our days when it really was no better. We think that we are too old. Now, because we have spent so many years convincing the younger people that we are hopeless, they believe that we are no longer of use to this world.” And then she lays down a challenge for herself and her friend: “If we are going to die anyway, let us die trying!”

By the end of the book, the two old friends have done more than try—they have survived and survived beautifully. So successful are they in employing all the wisdom and skills they accumulated over their many decades that, when they are eventually reunited with the tribe, they have pelts and food enough to share with those who walked off and left them to die in the cold!

The lesson is one we can apply to helping our elders. Without unmercifully nagging them into doing everything they once could do, we need to gently encourage them to do that which they still can. How often we hear of elders dying shortly after retiring simply because they felt their life was over. Likewise, older adults can simply give up once they move into an assisted living facility if those around them treat them as if they can’t do anything for themselves anymore. Better to err on the side of encouragement than discouragement. Wait until you are sure help is needed before jumping in to button a blouse, tie a shoe, or make a bed.

And the lesson for those of us who aren’t quite there yet? Stop moaning about what we can’t do as well anymore and keep doing everything we can! Then, like the characters in the Alaskan legend, we’ll do far more than survive–we’ll survive beautifully!

Old Friends Are Best

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Those caring for older adults would be wise to remember the power and comfort of lifelong friendships, and to do all they can to help the elders they love sustain their key friendships, whether in reality or just in memory.

“The Best Antiques are Old Friends,” reads a popular friendship saying. Whenever I see that motto stitched on a sampler or framed in a gift shop, I think of my mother-in-law, Mary Frances, and the friendship she shared for almost 70 years with Dorothea and Dorothea’s sister Jim (a nickname that stuck). All three of them are gone now, but while they were still alive I had a chance to ask them how they became such good, lifelong friends.

“We met at the streetcar stop on Pearl Street in Denver when I was sixteen,” Mary Frances remembered. “I lived in one apartment building and Dorothea and Jim lived in the one next door.”

“I saw her standing at the stop from my second story window,” Dorothea remembered. “I knew she went to our school, so I decided Jim and I should go down and talk to her.” The three were inseparable from that day on.

“One time we rode the streetcar together to a band concert at the park, but I couldn’t even tell you who was playing,” Dorothea said. “We talked a blue streak that night, and I guess we just never stopped.”

One summer my husband and I took Mary Frances to Las Vegas, New Mexico, to Jim’s 80th birthday party. Although she was the youngest of the three friends, Alzheimer’s was slowly robbing Jim of their shared memories. Through tear-filled eyes we watched Mary Frances and Jim embrace. Dorothea was there too, oxygen tank and all.

“If we live to be 103, we’ll still be best friends you and me,” reads another friendship quote. Given the power of friendship to sustain us, it’s no wonder a strong friendship can even outlast the death of one of the friends.

Help older adults you know stay in touch with their friends who are still living, even if it has to be a long-distance phone call rather than a visit over a cup of coffee. When you visit, ask them about good friends they have lost. How did they meet? What did they like about one another? What would they change if they could? What do they miss the most about their friend?

The gift of friendship is too precious to discard along with all the other losses that can accompany growing older. Embrace it, and encourage it in the elders you know and love.

When the Roles Reverse

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On one of my visits to Tennessee from Colorado to visit my mother at her assisted living facility, the two of us started down the hall to go to the dining room for dinner. Holding onto the railing that ran along one side of the wall with her right hand, Mom reached her left hand out to grab hold of mine. “Somehow I always feel better when you’re here to hold my hand,” she said, as down the hall we went.

I knew that feeling all too well. When I was a little girl and Mom took me downtown to shop for a new Easter dress or back-to-school shoes, I felt better when she held my hand as we crossed the busy street. Going up those big tall stairs into the school where I would start kindergarten, I couldn’t have made it without her hand to steady me. All my life I’d found security in reaching out for her and knowing she was there for me. Now she was saying, “Take my hand again,” only it was she needing the reassurance, and me being asked to find the courage and the strength to provide it.

It’s not as if she was alone during the months between my visits. My two sisters were local and visited her frequently, and she was surrounded by other caregivers and friends in her facility. But Mom liked knowing all three of her “chicks” were home to roost, and so holding my hand gave her a special sense of security.

To say I was pleased to take her hand is an understatement, but most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, are reluctant to accept the role reversal it represents. We see signs of aging in our parents that startle or alarm us, but we dismiss them as momentary lapses or anomalies. After all, if we accept that we now have to be the one to make the decisions and carry the load, then we are relinquishing the security we’ve always found in relying on our parents to do that.

And our reluctance to accept the role reversal has nothing to do with our chronological age. Some of my friends lost their mothers at a young age and were involved in their care when they were only in their twenties or thirties. A special friend of my mom’s was in his eighties when his mother passed away in a nursing home.

Regardless of how old we are when the roles reverse, we just wish things could stay the way they were a bit longer. In the midst of so much uncertainty, holding hands is never a bad choice.

My Mother’s Hands

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I was blessed to be with my mother for two weeks before she passed away at 92, even though we lived thousands of miles apart. Sitting beside her bed I found myself drawn to her hands—wanting to touch them and hold them as long as I possibly could.

These were the hands that cared for me when I was little and reached out for me when we crossed the street—both when I was small and carefree and when she was old and frail. These were the hands that created the home my two sisters and I remember so fondly…the hands that stirred the gravy, tied the bows on the backs of our dresses, decorated the Christmas tree, and folded the laundry.

On family vacations my Mom would lay her arm across the back of the front seat where she sat with my Dad, tapping her fingers in time to the music on the car radio or to the songs she was teaching us. I remember marveling at her long red nails and sparkly rings and thinking my Mom’s hands had to be the most beautiful hands in the world!

As she aged arthritis took its toll on Mom’s hands, but they were still beautiful to me because they were the hands that clapped excitedly whenever she first saw me on one of my visits to Tennessee from Colorado. And when she wanted to call her three daughters together one last time, and it was so difficult for her to speak, she motioned to us with her hands. Saying, “I want one, two, three” as she pointed to three spots on the foot of her bed, she indicated she expected us all to be present at once. When we were assembled, in an incredible and memorable blessing, she told us how much she loved us, how proud she was of us, and thanked us for taking good care of her in her old age. Then she sang the words “He touched me” from the old hymn, and simply said the word “peace.”

Mom lingered for two more days but never really spoke or opened her eyes again. She had said her goodbyes. As I sat by her bed after she had slipped away, I was still holding her hand and wondering how I could ever let it go.

But the Lord knew that day would come and thought of a way to comfort my sisters and me in it even as He was creating us in our mother’s womb. For you see, when we look at our own hands they remind us of our mother’s in so many ways. With hearts full of the love Mom gave us, and still gives us from heaven, we are left to carry on with our children and grandchildren. The work of her hands is now ours to do, and by God’s grace we will do it joyfully as we celebrate her life and the legacy she left us every day we live.