So the Israelites did as Joshua commanded them. They took twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, as the Lord had told Joshua; and they carried them over with them to their camp, where they put them down. Joshua set up the twelve stones that had been in the middle of the Jordan at the spot where the priests who carried the ark of the covenant had stood. And they are there to this day.
Joshua 4:8-9 (NIV)

A few weeks ago, I shared about Storii, the company our daughter, Taylor, works for. As a part of their suite of software applications, they’ve introduced a process by which an individual regularly receives a phone call asking them a specific question (e.g. “What was your first job?”) and then giving them four minutes to record their answer. The recordings are then made available to family members. It’s genius in its simplicity, and it’s been fun that Taylor has my father participating. I’ve heard him share some things I’d never known before.

I’ve often shared in these posts about my love of history, including the history of my own family. I’ve always found that an understanding of the past helps inform my own present earthly journey. Wisdom can be found in knowing family stories. I just wish I knew more of them. Hence, my joy with what Taylor’s employer is doing.

In today’s chapter, Joshua orders twelve men, one from each of the Hebrew tribes, to gather a stone from the Jordan River bed. Joshua then had the stones placed as a memorial for future generations to remember what God had done on that day when the waters of the Jordan River were stopped up so that the people could cross on dry ground.

That got me thinking this morning about memorials. Ironically, sitting on my desk as I write this is a photograph and ticket I had laminated of the night Taylor had the folks at the Iowa Cubs surprise us, revealing the gender of our first grandson, Milo, on the giant scoreboard. It was such a great memory. I wanted a way to be continually reminded of it. I use the laminated photo as a bookmark, and it makes me happy every time I see it. It’s a memorial for me.

I’m reminded this morning that God specifically told His people to share their God stories with future generations:

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.
Deut 4:9 (NIV)

Of course, this begs a few questions: Do I have stories of what God has done in my life? What have my eyes seen God do? How have I experienced God’s goodness and faithfulness along my journey?

In the quiet this morning, today’s chapter has me thinking quite simply and practically. How do I share and leave the story about what God has done in my life for my descendants?

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

When caring for someone with Alzheimers or Dementia, you learn that conversation is a lot like an improv exercise in theatre. You can’t control what the other person is going to say or do. You simply say “Yes, and” then go with the flow no matter where the absurdity takes you. As a care giver you can let it bother you, or you can choose in to the amusement.

Our daughter, Taylor, is working and writing for a company in the UK that provides web applications that help Dementia and Alzheimer’s care facilities called Storii Care. The following is a post she wrote on their blog that I’m reposting here with her permission.

Confessions of a Carer: Finding Amusement in Absurd Conversations

Posted on May 14, 2019 by Taylor Vander Well

I used to work as a CNA in the dementia unit of a long-term care home, located in a small town in Iowa.

I haven’t worked as a nurses aide for many years now, but have continued to be around people with dementia both personally and professionally.

If you are reading this, you probably already know that having a conversation with someone in the later stages of dementia can be completely nonsensical. In the moment, inside their mind, they are often in a completely different time and place than you.

The fact that I sort of delight in having these wacky conversations feels like something I must confess (as opposed to simply telling you), because I am fully aware that the confusion and distress that someone may be experiencing in their mind is real and concerning. It is sad when someone endures the loss of their memory and grows increasingly disoriented from reality. There is no doubt about that. There is a time and place for indulging in illogical chat and there is a time and place for redirecting. One has to know when to make that judgement call.

But, why not meet people where they’re at? That’s all I’m saying. It can be refreshing. Even fun. Especially if you have a flair for the dramatic arts.

Scene I

Case in point…one time working as a CNA, I passed by the TV room where Lois beckoned me to come over.

When will the valet bring the car around?

The valet? You see, this is like being in an improv scene where the situation and your identity is provided only through prompts.

You car should be here shortly, ma’am.

Oh, wonderful. Thank you, sweetie. And the luggage? Will they bring the luggage down?

Ah, it appears we are in a hotel.

Yes, I will make sure every item is loaded in the vehicle for you.

Even the two horse saddles?

Horse saddles?! Alright, then…

It might be a tight squeeze, but we will do our best to make it fit.

Yes, Gerald spent a pretty penny on those, you know.

Oh, that Gerald. Has to have the best of them, doesn’t he?

She touches my arm.

Isn’t that the truth?

Then Lois chuckled and turned toward the TV, seemingly happy to know everything was in order and would be just fine.

Scene II

Another time, a different resident approached me.

Excuse me, could I ask you something?

Sure, what can I do for you?

She brings my head down so that she can whisper in my ear.

Do you happen to have any sanitary pads? You see, I’ve just gotten my period.

There is absolutely no way this 82 year-old woman is still getting a visit from Aunt Flo, but I go along with it.

Don’t worry, dear. I have some in my purse. I’ll just go grab you one. Would you like some ibuprofen as well?

She nods and winks at me, mouthing a silent “thank you”. Sisterhood.

I come back with a pad and she stuffs it in her cardigan pocket with the stealth of covert ops mission.

Later, when I went into her room to start the bedtime routine, I found the pad open and stuck to her nightstand with an oatmeal raisin cookie lying on top. Well, you know, I’m glad she found a use for it.

A New Perspective

Sure, these exchanges are illogical. However, at the time, I was invited into someone else’s present reality. Even though it involved being a bit off the wall on my part, the result is that these women stopped worrying. Their demeanors shifted. All was right once again. Who wouldn’t find a little joy in that?

Building up life stories is such a large part of what care staff focus on in senior homes. When the opportunity presents itself, perhaps you can be part of a resident’s life story by acting out a scene with them. You both might like it.

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AuthorBio: Taylor Vander Well heads up Best Practice + Communication for StoriiCare. She lives in Edinburgh, UK with her partner and son.