The sound of my brass bell summons residents to exercise class. I move down the hall jingling as I go, opening a few doors to alert individuals with hearing loss that it’s time for our workout.
Residents make their way to the community room where I have placed chairs in rows, leaving spaces for wheelchairs. I announce to the usual dozen participants, “You can exercise standing or seated, whichever is best for you. Movement will help us stay as strong as possible so we can continue doing the things we like to do.”
We begin with breathing exercises, then proceeded to gentle stretches.
After that we march while singing “When the Saints go Marching in.” We move our arms as we chant, “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” We act out movements to the Hokey Pokey and The Chicken Dance.
I need the movement as much as the residents. I’m seventy-six, probably the average age of the people in the group. Phoebe, who has cerebral palsy, is fifty-five. Clarence, who is still alert at ninety-nine, uses a walker to help with balance. Gertrude is my age and becoming more confused by the day, but staff and other residents help her get to activities and meals.
We “older adults” come in a variety of sizes and shapes, of backgrounds and life experiences. Young people often think we’re all alike, that old is old, but we actually become more uniquely individual as we age. One 80-year-old is not anything like another 80-year-old.
But one thing we all have in common; we are marching toward unknown territory. We’ve never been this age before. We’re aware of the possibility we’ll become disabled or develop dementia or chronic illness as we get older. We know we have less time ahead of us than we have behind us. When I turned fifty, I comforted myself by saying I’d lived only half my life. I can no longer say that. I’ve now lived at least 75% of my life.
Sometimes I wonder if what I do at the assisted living facility, first as a paid employee, now as a volunteer, is worthwhile. Does it matter that I get residents to leave their rooms? To stretch and move? Does the fact that I’m still fit and active motivate them or discourage them because many of them can’t do what I am able to do? If they were as independent as me, they probably wouldn’t choose to live in community with other physically and cognitively challenged people.
In my weekly devotional reading and prayer time, residents say they appreciate me for bringing fun and laughter into what would otherwise be dull days. They don’t bemoan the fact that they can’t dance any more, or even walk in some cases. Instead, they thank God for the life He’s given them. They pray for the health and safety of loved ones and for the staff that help them.
I tell them I am blessed by their presence in my life. And it is true. I’ve worked with seniors for over twenty years. I’ve learned much from them—including how to age.
In the future I may need a walker to help with balance. But like Clarence, I hope I accept where I am in life and what my limitations are. I hope I appreciate what I am able to do while looking forward to the better life that comes after this one.
It’s possible I’ll someday require the use of a wheelchair, like Phoebe, in spite of my best efforts to remain active. If I do, I hope to be like her—listening and comforting people in distress, cheerfully approaching obstacles with humor and grace.
It’s possible I’ll develop dementia if I live a long enough, but if that time comes, I pray I’ll be happily confused like Gertrude. She talks to everyone, although she doesn’t remember anyone’s name and from the moment she awakens until she closes her eyes at night, she lives joyfully.
In Corinthians I read, “If I speak with the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.” (1 Corinthians 13:1 NIV)
I don’t want to be just a noisy gong. I choose to believe that bringing enjoyment to people in their later years is as important as the work health professionals and emergency workers perform.
If we profess to be Christians, none of us should be mere noisy gongs. There are many ways to reach out to people in need—through actions, kind words, or prayer. Whatever our circumstances, there is something we can do for others.
I like to imagine melodious bells pealing when we enter the gates of heaven. That’s not far off for some. Others have a lot more life to enjoy—or endure. In whatever time we have, though, we should not be mere resounding gongs and clanging cymbals. Our Father desires us to be instruments of love.
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Diana Walters has enjoyed a long career working with senior adults as social worker, activity director, and volunteer coordinator. She recently retired (at age 76) from paid employment and is now able to devote more time to her writing and her husband (in that order?) She has written devotionals for The Quiet Hour and Upper Room and been published in six Chicken Soup for the Soul books, but she is excited to be writing for and about her fellow Baby Boomers. She can be reached at dianalwalters@comcast.net.
