In my mind- I envisioned- lovingly being the hands and feet of Jesus caring for those closest to meeting Him. The Elderly.(Maybe with a tiny motivation that they’d tell Him what a great person I was.) In a nursing home. I envisioned- reading to them, brushing their hair, listening to their stories and encouraging them that they mattered.

I also thought I’d look pretty hot in a nurses uniform. Even if I was just an “aide.”

I was 18. What can I say?

When I  walked in for my interview, I was startled by the smell. Which is saying something -because since a nose job at 16- I don’t have much of a sense of smell. It was ‘eau d soggy depends and bengay. It had undertones of other things- but I won’t hazard a guess as to what they were.  Breathing through my mouth- I smiled and made it through my interview.

Apparently I was dazzling. (Or, they were desperate.) Because they hired me on the spot. I was given paper work to fill out. I filled it out. Then I was taken on a tour.

The tour was more than I could handle.

I smiled. Thanked the director of the center, and told them I’d see them for training.

I lied. I knew before I walked out, that I was NOT going back.

I never did.

It wasn’t the smell that did it. It wasn’t the messes or, bodily function fails. It wasn’t the neediness of the wonderful people living in the nursing home. It was the dementia. Honestly? It creeped me out.

  • The talking without meaning. and maybe without even hearing.
  • The moaning that can’t be soothed.
  • The awkward and inappropriate statements.
  • The disconnected thoughts said aloud.

I had no idea how to respond. I know how to respond to people with mental clarity. (Well to some degree.) But this? No clue.

It was overwhelming- and honestly? It scared me.

I knew I wasn’t that person I thought I’d be. The one to hold their hands and pray for them. The one to feed and tenderly care for them. I. Just. Couldn’t. Do. It.

I was so embarrassed- I just never showed up for the job.

I felt guilty for years. I mean- isn’t caring for widows and orphans and the forgotten and lonely- what Jesus calls us to do? Didn’t Jesus wash feet? (Feet are gross by the way. Just saying.) More than guilty- I felt like a failure.

Here’s the thing: nursing home caregiving is not for everyone.  It’s certainly not for me.

I’m not a failure. I’m a human.

I love kids. I love moms. To serve them? It’s a delight.  Public speaking? Delight. Writing? Total delight. Reaching out to the marginalized? (in other ways.) Delight.

For some people? That would be their nightmare. Their failure. Their job they’d never show up for.

I’ve learned its okay to be who God created ME to be. Not what I want Him to make me be. Or some idea of what a “good Christian” should be. (Ie- a hot in a nurses uniform -angel of nursing home -mercy.)