In that moment

Forever is composed of nows.-Emily Dickinson

Hello there.

I realize that it has been a looooong time since my last blog post.  I apologize to  my faithful followers (all 13 of you).  I'm sure you have been thankful missing these brilliant posts of mine ;)   I'd like to say that I was much too busy climbing mountains, sailing the high seas, or finding a cure for cancer to blog, but truthfully I have been busy adjusting.  Adjusting.  yep.  That's it.  Unimpressed? Yea, me too, but that's the truth.   I won't bore you with the details of how my life has changed this last year.  I will, however, share with you something I've learned.

I work, part time,  as a nurse's aid in a nursing home.  The people I care for are in advanced stage dementia.  Dementia includes Alzheimers as well as several other diseases that cause the brain to  literally stop functioning.  It is a terrible thing to watch a person slowly lose their ability to do a simple task such as washing their face.    You watch and care for them as they go from semi-independent to completely dependent and then you watch and care for them as they die.    I've worked at this place for a little less than a year, and we've had 13 deaths.  It's heartbreaking.

These are men and women you don't see out in society.  These are men and women who in a values clarification class would be thrown off the lifeboat.    These are men and women spending their last days here on earth forgetting all they have ever known.   And yet, these are men and women of great value.  They have purpose.  They are great teachers.    If you look beyond the surface of their weaknesses,  you can see that in them lies a treasure.

When I first began working with this people group, I was very discouraged.  I was wondering how I could possibly make any lasting difference in their lives when I knew that they would probably not even remember my name the next time I came into work.  I thought what a defeating job this is.  What does anything I do with them even matter if they will never remember anything.    I remember praying and asking what the purpose of this could possibly be.  When everything you build with these people is torn down within minutes, what good could I ever be to this people group?

That day, the day I asked that question, I received an answer.  For that moment.  That was the answer.  For that moment.  And what I had to do was change the way I viewed the work I was doing-and life I was living.   Maybe I wasn't building relationships that would be remembered for days or even hours, but I was giving love and care for that moment.   And for those who suffer with dementia, that moment is all they have.    And so when I grab the hand of a sweet elder and look into their eyes as they are  babbling nonsensically and I nod my head and say "Ok, that sounds good" or some other various form of a response,  in that moment that elder knows that they are important enough to be heard, they are seen and worth paying attention to, and they are valuable enough to be loved.  Maybe in 10 minutes they will not remember what happened, but in each moment spent listening, caring, loving I can share the love of Christ.  

Some remember me.  Some remember my face, but not my name.   Some think I'm somebody else and they are so glad to see me when I come, because they've been waiting for me for a long time.   It doesn't matter to me anymore what they remember, or who they think I am,  because when I'm with them we live together only in that moment.  And if in that moment I can help them feel important, valued and loved just for who they are in that moment,  then that counts.

I have been learning, as I continue to work with these sweet elders, that sometimes, well LOTS of times, I try look too far ahead.  I wonder what the lasting impact of each day will be.  I attempt to live for the future.  In that, lots of times I miss what's happening in that moment.  I can't hear the laughter of my children, because I'm too busy worrying about preparing them for their future.  I can't  smell the spring blossoms in the air because I'm too busy thinking about work I need to get to.  I miss opportunities to show my children that I love and value them for who they are right now in this moment, when I'm too focused on preparing them for the future.  I miss the blessing of God's gift of spring smells and songs from the birds when I'm focused on getting on with my day.

I have learned that love given and love received counts, even if it is only remembered in that moment.   I have learned that laughter is indeed good medicine and a good sense of humor is essential when working with this group of people.  I have learned that gifts from God come in the strangest of packages.  The gift of learning to stop and live in this moment has come to me in a package of worn out bodies and wrinkled faces.  It has come to me in laughter and singing from a woman who, while she can't feed herself, she can still teach me that love happens in that moment that I stop to receive it.   When a hand worn by time reaches out to grab mine, I receive that gift.  When the arms of one who has carried nine babies and lived a full life reach out to hug me, I receive that gift.   The gift of the now is continually presented to me every time I walk through those doors.  Now is all they have, and really isn't it also all we have?   All this I have learned from these elders.

AT work this afternoon we had a Mother's Day Tea Party.  Some family members of the elders joined us as we celebrated life with tea and sweets.   Some family members brought pictures of their mothers that were taken years ago, in a different time.  Before time had worn out their bodies and this wretched disease had stolen their minds.  These people I care for were once young and strong. Some were lawyers, judges, nurses, teachers, mothers, fathers.  They were all people of purpose.  While they are no longer young and their bodies no longer strong,  they are still people of purpose.  Because until we take our last breath here on this earth, we all still have purpose.  And our purpose is fulfilled one moment at a time.  

Yes, Emily, forever is composed of nows.  I am thankful that these elders are teaching me just how to live in that moment.

Thanks for reading.