Recently, in a season that has felt like a series of in-between spaces, my husband and I found ourselves surrounded by familiar faces—LGBTQ+ friends who, at one time, held pieces of our stories in a key season of life.

These were people we had done life with. People we stood beside as they got married and adopted children, and who later stood beside us—with those same children—at our own wedding.

People who had known us in a particular chapter. People who had shared in the work of becoming—of navigating identity, calling, belonging, and faith in spaces that did not always make room for all of who we were.

And as we stood together again, something stirred.

Not just because of where we were…
but because of who we were with.

Because these were the people.

The ones who had been there in a season when a particular community had brought us together—when we were all finding our way, discovering what it meant to belong, and learning how to hold faith and identity in the same breath.

And as we stepped into that space together again, there was that quiet, almost disorienting feeling of recognition—as if something in us remembered before we had fully caught up to it.

We were there to be present for a dear friend and colleague in ministry as he brought his time in that community to a close. But we were also there because these relationships mattered to us—because they had shaped us in ways that still linger, even after time and distance.

And as the morning unfolded, something unexpected happened.

We were welcomed.

Not in the formal, “please sign the guest book” kind of way. But in the deeper way—through eye contact that lingers just a second longer, through a smile that says I remember you, through the quiet recognition that reaches past time and distance and gently says, you still belong here.

And something in me softened.

Because in that moment, I was reminded that community is not always something we maintain the way we intend to. There are seasons when we mean to reach out, to stay connected, to show up… and life simply gets full.

Not because anything has been lost, but because life has a way of gently shifting our rhythms without us noticing.

And yet, there is something almost overwhelming about realizing how much we need those connections when we find ourselves back in their presence again.

Part of what made that morning so meaningful was not only being present—but being ministered to.

Our friend stood to preach one final time in that space—and it mattered that it was him. That it was them. That this was a story we had, in some way, lived alongside.

As he spoke, you could feel it—the weight of the years, the shared experiences, the sacred intersections of identity, calling, and belonging. This wasn’t just a sermon. It was a testimony of what it means to be seen and to be welcomed as your full self.

He spoke about the call he and his husband felt—the quiet but persistent nudge of the Spirit that led them there. He spoke about what it meant not only to be called, but to be welcomed… not in spite of who they were, but fully, openly, and without condition.

He named the intersections of life that were formed in that season—the friendships, the shared work, the moments that didn’t seem significant at the time but somehow became sacred. And in that naming, he lifted up those who had helped shape that journey—including Pastor Ali, who in her own quiet and faithful way had gently encouraged many of us as we stepped into our own becoming in ministry.

And he spoke honestly about a church that chose courage… a church that didn’t have all the answers, but was willing to grow, to stretch, and to become a more open and affirming home.

And more than that, it was a story of a community that chose to be the Good Samaritan.

A community that did not pass by.
A community that did not look away.
A community that stopped… even when it was uncomfortable…
drew near… even when it required something of them…
and made room.

It was not a perfect story.

But it was a brave one.

And as I sat there, surrounded by people who had once held such meaningful parts of my story, I realized I was not just witnessing his goodbye.

I was remembering what it feels like to be held in connection.

And as a gay pastor preparing to begin my first call to serve a church in the United Church of Christ, this moment held even more weight.

To sit in a space where a friend—alongside his husband—could speak openly about call, about belonging, about being fully welcomed into the life of a church… it was more than meaningful. It was encouraging in a way that reached deeper than words.

Because this is not just part of my story.
It is the story I am stepping into.

And to witness it lived out—to see a church choose welcome, to see a community choose presence, to see faith and identity not in conflict but held together with care—was a reminder that this kind of community is possible and does exist in many areas.

And that it matters.

As we step into Pride Month, I find myself holding that experience a little closer.

Because for many of us within LGBTQ+ communities, connection is not just a nice idea. It is something we search for. Fight for. Sometimes even grieve when it is absent.

To be known.
To be welcomed.
To be remembered.

These are not small things.

They are life-giving things.

And when they happen—even unexpectedly—they don’t just feel nice…
they restore something in us we didn’t realize had grown quiet.

In the work of abundant aging, we often talk about connection as essential to well-being. That as we age, meaningful relationships are what sustain us, shape us, and remind us who we are.

But perhaps it is important to remember that regardless of how many years we have lived, we are all aging. We are all moving through seasons of life—through beginnings and endings, through becoming and releasing, through moments of deep connection and moments of distance.

And maybe part of that sacred work is this: not only seeking connection, but becoming it.

Becoming the kind of people who notice.
Becoming the kind of people who draw near.
Becoming the kind of people who refuse to pass by.

Because connection is not only about who is present with us today.

It is also about the people who have held pieces of our story over time.

The friendships that shaped us.
The people who, even after time and distance, still recognize something true about who we are.

And perhaps abundance is found not in how many connections we maintain perfectly—but in the quiet, persistent grace of knowing that some connections endure.

That sometimes, we can return.

And sometimes, we are invited to be the reason someone else can.

And in that holy work, we just might find ourselves becoming the community we need.

For Reflection:

As you sit with this story, I invite you to pause—not just to think, but to feel.

When was the last time you found yourself in the presence of people who truly knew you—and what did that awaken within you?

How has your understanding of community changed as life has carried you through different seasons?

Are there relationships that once gave you life that you feel a quiet pull toward even now?

And who are the people who have held your story—who saw you, welcomed you, and made room for you to belong?

As you reflect, I gently invite you to consider this:

Where might you be called not only to seek community—but to become it?

Who around you might be waiting to be noticed?
To be met with presence instead of distance?
To experience a space where they can finally belong?

Because abundance is not found in what we hold onto—but in the connections we are willing to tend, the courage we are willing to embody, and the welcome we are willing to extend.

And in doing so, we may just become part of something that gives life—again and again.

The post Becoming The Community We Need appeared first on United Church Homes.

Research now suggests social isolation contributes to an estimated 100 deaths per hour globally. The mortality impact of isolation is comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Isolation increases risks for heart disease, stroke, cancer mortality, chronic stress, depression and even accelerated aging!  And while we generally presume loneliness is an issue among older adults, younger generations are now reporting some of the highest rates of loneliness and disconnection—thanks to our cell phones.

Folks, we were never meant to live this way.

From the very beginning of creation, Scripture reminds us of this truth. In Genesis 2:18, God said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” Community was not an afterthought in God’s design for humanity—it was foundational. We were created to live in relationship with God and with one another.

And yet, isolation has become normalized.

We fill our calendars, scroll endlessly, work remotely and stay digitally connected while often remaining emotionally disconnected. But no amount of online interaction can replace the deep human need to belong, to be known, and to walk through life alongside others.

As a person of faith and a communications professional working in aging services, I see every day how deeply community matters—not just emotionally or spiritually, but physically. People flourish when they are connected. They live with greater purpose, resilience, joy and hope when they know someone sees them, loves them and walks beside them.

Scripture repeatedly points us back to this reality. Ecclesiastes 4 reminds us, “If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.” Community strengthens us. Protects us. Grounds us.

We were never intended to journey alone. In 1 Peter, we are warned that the enemy “prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” Predators isolate before they attack. Isolation weakens us emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

Even Jesus modeled community. He could have carried out His earthly ministry alone, yet He chose disciples, shared meals, traveled together, and taught people in community. The early church in Acts devoted themselves not only to teaching and prayer, but to fellowship. Christianity has never been intended as a solitary faith.

Community, however, shapes us.

It teaches us patience, kindness, humility, forgiveness, accountability and love. Proverbs says, “Iron sharpens iron.” None of us can fully become who God created us to be apart from other people. Even the call of the Christian life reflects this truth: Love God. Love people. Make disciples. Only one of those can be done alone.

When I reflect on my own life, aside from simply being with my husband and son around our kitchen table, laughing, talking and planning life together, the deepest joys and strongest relationships have almost always come through community rooted in faith. Through church. Through serving together. Through worship teams, mission trips, church camps, Sunday School classes and shared ministry experiences.

Some of my closest lifelong friendships were formed not simply by attending church, but by serving shoulder to shoulder with others. There is something powerful about shared purpose. You pray together. Carry burdens together. Laugh together. Show up for one another in times of grief and celebration.

And some of the deepest conversations of my life happened late at night after church camp worship services, on long van rides in foreign countries during mission trips, or while preparing to lead others in worship.

Even now, some of the moments I treasure most are simple ones—like planning a trip to Nashville this summer with a group of women from church to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Those friendships matter deeply to me because they were built over years of shared life, faith, trust and presence.

Honestly, I often wonder where folks find this kind of community apart from the church.

In aging services, we often see how quickly isolation can impact overall well-being. The loss of a spouse, retirement, health challenges, transportation barriers or distance from family can slowly shrink someone’s world. But we also see the opposite: older adults who flourish because they remain connected to purpose, friendship, worship, volunteering, learning, and service. Community does not stop mattering as we age—it becomes even more essential.

Community is not weakness.
Needing people is not failure.
And investing in relationships is never frivolous.

It is part of how God designed us to live.

In a culture that increasingly celebrates independence and self-sufficiency, perhaps one of the most courageous things we can do is admit we need one another. Because we do. We always have.

And by God’s perfect design, we always will.

The post Community Was Never Optional appeared first on United Church Homes.

The People We Meet Each Day: Proximity

My mother taught kindergarten early in her career. Sesame Street became a significant cultural touchstone for our family.  Even though I was older than its original target audience, sometimes a Sesame Street song comes to mind. Community prompts one such ear worm.

Bob was the one originally singing “People in Your Neighborhood” with a parade of puppets as they walked down the street. Each verse introduced someone different—a grocer, librarian, teacher, baker, or mail carrier—answering the question, Who are the people in your neighborhood? The chorus returns to the same answer: “the people that you meet each day.” There is an element of being in proximity to others that is important, even when we don’t know much else about each other.

Some of those we meet each day are mere acquaintances. We recognize each other even if we don’t know each other’s name. I think of the grocery store employee who watches over the self-checkout lanes and says “hello” when he comes to fix one of my recurring scanning errors. As he smiles in recognition I hope he is not thinking, “here she comes again!” The postal carrier, seasonal “scooper” at the ice cream shop, the kid repeatedly racing down the block on a scooter: these relationships may be casual, but they still matter. Repeated contact helps to connect us and research shows that these are not insignificant elements of community.

Shared Purpose Builds Connection

Some of our community’s concentric circles of support happen without much effort on our part. These are related to not only proximity, but shared purpose. Work can create meaningful ties through regular contact connecting us with our co-workers, even if we are not close friends away from the office. Parenting often introduces us to other parents living through similar schedules and challenges. Faith communities, social and civic groups are also places where relationships grow through a common purpose. When previous patterns for meeting people fade, we have to become more proactive in populating our own communities of support. And trust me, as an introvert, I know that is easier said than done.

We cannot assume these networks will simply maintain themselves. We need to be intentional about defining and participating in the communities that support us. That can be especially hard after a move, after retirement, after children leave home, or whenever the patterns that once connected us begin to change.

Professionals in the Circle

In addition to those we meet on a regular basis, there are those whose professional expertise is key to our well-being. Doctors, dentists, and other health professionals are part of this circle within our community of support. They know the details of our care in ways that friends and family cannot and yet we develop personal connection with them as they get to know us in our own authentic self.

Who Helps With Real Life?

Then there are the people who we trust for practical help. Who do you call when you need a ride to the airport? Who can accompany you to a medical procedure? Who can get you to urgent care after an unexpected kitchen mishap (hypothetically speaking, of course)?  These are not abstract questions nor are these needs usually served by the same people. Thinking about these questions helps reveal whether our support network is broad enough for real life.

Joe Coughlin, director of MIT’s AgeLab, has a set of questions for those who are retired: Who will change my light bulbs? How will I get an ice cream cone? Who will I have lunch with? Those questions point to several essential kinds of support: help with home maintenance, transportation, and companionship. In other words, our communities of support need to include those who can help with everyday practical activities.

The Closest Circle

Finally, the closest circle of our community networks that we need to tend are those with whom we are most intimate. These are the people whom we trust the most.  They know and love us, warts and all. These may be the people we someday rely on for care and decision-making if we can no longer manage those things ourselves.

It is important to talk now with the people you hope to include in your inner circle of support. A colleague said recently that he realized if something happened to his spouse, there was no one else he felt comfortable calling on for real support. None of us knows what lies ahead, but a little “what if” thinking can help us identify who we need in our network.

The closer circles within our network know our preferences. They know what flavor ice cream we want and how we define a “good day”. They know our short-comings and strengths and what is most important to us. These individuals may be an offspring, a sibling, or best friend. They may include those with whom we have shared a significant portion of our life or be a more recent friend. Regardless, we have to tend to the trust and care that form the bond between us.

Taking Inventory of Your Community

Who are the people in the network that forms your community? They need to include the range of relationships from the people that you meet each day, to those who have known you for many years, even if you only see each other occasionally. They include professionals, friends and family–both of birth and those who you choose to support you. And our community includes the connections with those who we merely recognize along the way.

May you take some time to inventory your community networks. Challenge yourself to strengthen those circles that are thin. Look around and find ways to connect with others who encourage your personal growth, your well-being and who strengthen your community of support.

The post The Concentric Circles of Communities appeared first on United Church Homes.

In the case of my 79-year-old mother, the answer was no.

While helping my sister pack for a move, she decided to climb a painter’s ladder to clean high kitchen cabinets. One missed step changed everything. She fell—and soon after, she was headed into surgery for a shattered hip.

For years, I had warned her: one bad fall can be life-changing. But like many older adults, she felt confident in her independence and didn’t think twice about climbing that ladder.

Before the fall, she was fiercely independent. Today, she relies on a walker and other assistive devices to complete everyday tasks.

Her story is not unique.

Why Fall Prevention Matters for Older Adults

Each year, over 14 million Americans age 65 and older fall, representing about 1 in 4 seniors. Falls are the leading cause of injury in older adults, resulting in:

• Over 3 million emergency room visits annually
• More than 1 million hospitalizations
• A significantly higher risk of falling again—the chance doubles after the first fall

These numbers highlight why fall prevention at home is critical for maintaining independence, safety, and quality of life.

Practical Fall Prevention Tips for Home Safety

While not all falls can be prevented, there are many proven ways to reduce fall risk in seniors:

• Review Medications Regularly
  • Some prescriptions and over-the-counter medications can cause dizziness, drowsiness, or blood pressure changes. Regular medication reviews with a doctor or pharmacist are essential.
• Encourage Strength and Balance Exercises
  • Activities like walking, chair exercises, and Tai Chi for fall prevention can improve stability, coordination, and confidence.
• Schedule Annual Vision Checks
  • Keeping prescriptions up to date helps identify trip hazards more easily and reduces fall risk.
• Improve Home Safety
  • Simple home modifications can make a big difference:
    • Remove clutter and secure loose rugs
    • Keep walkways clear
    • Increase lighting and use night-lights

• Install Safety Features
  • Grab bars in bathrooms
  • Handrails on both sides of stairs
  • Non-slip mats in showers and wet areas
• Wear Proper Footwear
  • Choose non-slip, well-fitting shoes instead of slippers, socks alone, or worn-out footwear.
• Use Assistive Devices Correctly
  • Walkers, canes, and other mobility aids should be within reach and used as recommended.
• Move Slowly and Mindfully
  • Standing up too quickly can cause dizziness, especially for those with low blood pressure.
• Avoid Climbing
  • Keep frequently used items within easy reach to eliminate the need for ladders, stools, or chairs.
• Talk About Falls Openly
  • If a fall or near-fall happens, discuss it. Early conversations can prevent more serious injuries.

A Final Thought on Preventing Falls at Home

Even with the best fall prevention strategies, accidents can still happen. But in my mother’s case, increased awareness and safety precautions could have reduced her risk.

These conversations matter.

We must continue to talk openly and often with our aging loved ones—not to take away their independence, but to protect it for as long as possible.

Because ultimately, fall prevention isn’t about limiting life—it’s about preserving it.

Need help, but want to stay at home? Check out NaviGuide!

Find a United Church Homes senior living community near you!

by: Kim Yoder, MSW – UCH Engage Program Director

Stay Connected and Live Life Abundantly

The post Fall Prevention for Seniors at Home: Tips to Reduce Risk and Stay Independent appeared first on United Church Homes.

My final semester of college was filled with celebrations, heartfelt goodbyes, and reflection. During my last weeks at school, my fraternity held a candle-pass where seniors shared favorite memories and thanked the people who had shaped their experience. As my brothers went around the circle and reflected on our time together, I realized I had made an impact and built friendships that would last beyond college. Those final weeks gave me a chance to look back on everything that had led me to graduation. Although I felt deeply grateful, I have never been someone who loves endings. I was leaving behind close friends, the organizations I had poured myself into, and a daily life that had come to feel like home. I did not realize it at the time, but the transition would be more complicated than a clean break. I continued visiting my college friends and saw that life on campus went on without me. I was still connected to my people, but I was no longer part of their everyday rhythm. It was time to find a new home. I came to understand that I would have many homes throughout my life, and I felt grateful to have many meaningful places rather than just one.

Over four years, I had built a life at school and an identity I valued. I wondered what would happen when I no longer had the friends, responsibilities, and routines I was used to. In leaving, I gained a deeper appreciation for the community and culture that had shaped me.

During that season of reflection, I had to trust that I had made the right choices and created a college experience I would remember with gratitude rather than regret. I also had to trust my ability to move forward with grace, even when it was difficult. Listening to others share their own transitions reminded me that I was not alone in what I was feeling.

Neutral Zone

This is a period I am still in: a time of deciding who I am becoming and what matters most to me right now. Do I want to continue on the path I have been following, or grow into something more? I have always been driven by passion and people, and I care deeply about cultivating community. College strengthened that part of me, but it also revealed how it can sometimes hinder me; I often care too much. Even so, I hope this process of becoming never ends. I want to be someone committed to growth. Now that I am one year post-graduation, what has mattered most in this middle period is personal growth. In college, I was often focused on classes, organizations, and work, and my own development came second. Now that I have more time to focus on myself, I feel I better understand my identity, my place in the world, and the ways I want to contribute to a healthier community and culture.

Trusting time has been my greatest anchor in this middle period. Growth does not happen overnight, and change requires patience as much as effort. I remind myself that life can shift quickly, but it can also take time to see progress. Welcoming each day as a new opportunity helps me keep moving forward without rushing my own timeline.

New Beginnings

Although my next chapter is still unwritten, I am envisioning what I want for myself and the next period of my life. Overall, I want happiness, spontaneity, and community. Even if I do not yet know exactly what my future will look like, I am learning to welcome each day with openness and trust. There is comfort in knowing that my story is still being written, and that with each new day comes the possibility of unexpected growth, connection, and opportunity. Rather than fearing what I cannot yet see, I want to embrace the unknown with hope, believing that new beginnings do not always arrive all at once, but often reveal themselves in small moments, choices, and chances to move forward.

The post Trusting the In-Between appeared first on United Church Homes.

It’s not the moment after the decision is made.
It’s not the clarity of arrival.

It’s the long, sacred, often uncomfortable space before.

The waiting.
The wondering.
The listening.

I’ve been living in that space.

The search and call process in the life of the church is, in many ways, one of the most vulnerable journeys a person can take. It is not just a job search. It is not simply a professional transition.

It is a discernment of call—of vocation—of where your life might meet the needs of the world in a meaningful way.

And when I say call, I don’t mean a job title or a single role.

Call is the ongoing invitation to live with purpose. It is the quiet (and sometimes not-so-quiet) pull toward what gives life—both to you and to others. It is where your gifts, your passions, your experiences, and the needs around you begin to intersect.

For some, that takes shape in ministry.
For others, it is lived out in caregiving, teaching, creating, organizing, advocating, or simply showing up with presence and compassion in everyday life.

Call is not something reserved for a few.

It is something that unfolds within all of us.

And that kind of transition asks something deeper of you.

It asks for trust.

The Weight of Anticipation

There is an anticipation that builds during a season like this.

Emails that could change everything.
Conversations that carry possibility.

Moments where your heart quietly whispers, “Could this be it?”

And yet, alongside that anticipation is a steady invitation to patience.

Not passive waiting—but active, intentional, grounded patience.

The kind that resists the urge to rush ahead.
The kind that holds excitement and uncertainty in the same breath.

Because the truth is, you can feel ready for what’s next…

…and still not be there yet.

That tension is not a failure.

It is part of the formation.

Listening for a Still-Speaking God

In the United Church of Christ, we often say, “God is still speaking.”

But in seasons of transition, that becomes more than a phrase.

It becomes a practice.

A discipline of paying attention.

Because when so much feels uncertain, the temptation is to grasp for control—to make something happen, to force clarity, to fill the silence with our own voice.

But discernment doesn’t work that way.

Instead, it asks us to slow down enough to listen.

To listen not only in prayer, but in conversation.
In the wisdom of others.
In the quiet nudges of the Spirit that don’t shout—but persist.

And perhaps most importantly, to listen within ourselves—

to that place where calling and truth meet.

There were moments in this journey when I had to ask not, “What do I want?”

but rather,

“Where is God at work—and how am I being invited into it?”

That question changes everything.

Call Is Not a Destination

One of the gifts of this season has been a deeper understanding of something we don’t always name clearly enough:

Call is not static.

It evolves.
It stretches.
It grows with us.

In the framework of Abundant Aging, we often talk about life not as a slow diminishing, but as a continued unfolding—a deepening into meaning, purpose, and connection at every stage of life.

Call works the same way.

What we are called to in one season may look very different in another.

A role may shift.
A path may change.

New opportunities—or even new limitations—may invite us into a different way of living out our purpose.

And yet, the call itself remains.

Not as a fixed destination…

but as a living relationship between who we are and how we are invited to love the world.

Trust as a Way of Living Abundantly

Trust, then, is not just something we rely on in moments of transition.

It is something that sustains abundant living across a lifetime.

Because to live abundantly is not to have everything figured out.

It is to remain open.

Open to growth.
Open to change.
Open to the ongoing invitations of God.

Trust is what allows us to say yes—

not just once,

but again and again as life shifts.

It gives us the courage to release what was,
to embrace what is,
and to step into what might be.

In this way, trust is not simply about getting through a transition.

It is about becoming the kind of person who can live fully within it.

Even Now—Another Threshold

And here is the truth I am holding now:

Even as I have reached the end of this particular search and call process…

Even as I have said yes to a new call…

I am not arriving at an endpoint.

I am standing at another beginning.

Because accepting a call is not the end of transition.

It is the doorway into a new one.

There will be new relationships to build.
New rhythms to learn.
New ways of listening, leading, and growing.

And so the practices that sustained me in the waiting—

patience, attentiveness, trust—

are not behind me.

They are what I will carry forward.

Because this is what a life of faith looks like:

Not a single call, clearly defined once and for all…

but a lifelong conversation between our lives and the voice of God.

A conversation that continues to unfold,

season after season.

A Few Questions to Carry With You

As you reflect on your own seasons of transition—and the ways your life continues to unfold—I invite you to sit with these questions.

Not to answer them quickly,

but to hold them gently:

• Where in your life are you being invited into something new, even now?
• How has your sense of purpose or calling changed over time?
• What practices help you listen for the voice of the Still-Speaking God?
• When have you experienced trust growing slowly, over time?
• What might it look like to embrace this season not as an ending, but as part of your ongoing becoming?

Transitions are rarely easy.

But they are often sacred.

And in the waiting,
in the listening,
in the courage to trust—

not just once, but throughout a lifetime—

we begin to discover something deeper.

That abundant living is not found in staying the same…

but in being willing to keep becoming.

The post At the Edge of the Call: Trusting God in the Waiting—and Beyond appeared first on United Church Homes.

Pastoral or Spiritual Care is an important component for United Church Homes as we work toward our vision of creating a culture of community, wholeness and peace. In our healthcare communities, we have trained chaplains on staff to not only tend to the spiritual well-being of residents, but to staff and extended families. These chaplains have earned Master of Divinity degrees through three-year graduate programs, are ordained clergy, maintain their denomination’s continuing education standards and have completed multiple units of Clinical Pastoral Education. In short, they are highly trained spiritual care professionals called to serve individuals of all faith backgrounds–meeting people where they are and offering compassionate, person-centered support. 

Unfortunately, too many people assume that chaplains working with older adults are there to help residents prepare for their death. And yes, chaplains are available to accompany those who are transitioning toward end of life, but even more important, they are present to meet residents where they are on their spiritual journey. This includes being attentive to what gives the resident meaning and purpose at this point in their lives. How are they experiencing their connectedness to God or their higher power? How are their relationships and connections with others? How is it with their souls, their inner lives, as they reflect on the past, look to the future and experience the current realities as they live in bodies that are aging? 

Chaplains and Medical Care 

There are numerous clinical assessments that need to be documented for multiple compliance agencies in skilled care settings. One of these is a Mood Assessment. This is a short set of questions for newly admitted residents to monitor their feelings to better understand their overall well-being.  

If you were to look over UCH’s data prior to mid-2025, it would appear that everyone who moved into our communities was just fine and dandy.  It was recorded that just about every new resident basically indicated they were “fine”. Senior leadership knew, however, that this is not so. There are all kinds of very natural and conflicting feelings in a period of adjustment when residents move into a new home.  

So, they asked the chaplains to administer this assessment, instead of clinical staff. Suddenly it was observed that new residents were grieving their former homes; they were struggling with establishing new relationships with staff and new neighbors. The chaplains training provided a different lens through which they could really listen to what was going on in the new resident’s life. Because of the change in who collected the information, through one-on-one conversations with the chaplains, the communities are now better able to meet the real needs of new residents because we have a better understanding of what they are feeling. 

It’s Not Just About the Residents 

Recently in a workshop at a large conference, which was talking about end-of-life care, one participant talked about their frustration and concern when one of their clients dies. Their employer tells them to close the file and move to the next person who needs their care. This participant was expressing their personal feelings of grief and burnout. The floor was opened up and the rest of us were invited to share how our organizations support staff in those moments of loss.  

I immediately thought of the many stories of how UCH chaplains provide space for residents and staff to remember the death of those they have come to know and love. Sometimes that is meeting with the staff at the beginning of their next shift and inviting anyone to share a story about the resident and remember how their life had contributed to the community. Sometimes the chaplain is asked to provide a bedside liturgy at the time of death including family and staff. Sometimes they preside at the funeral or memorial service. These are important rituals honoring the life of the one who died. 

At one of our communities, three residents passed away on one day and by the end of the month, there were a total of 12 deaths—many of them long term residents, and several of the deaths were sudden and not expected. Recognizing the extensive grief, the chaplain organized a Grief Fair for staff and residents, creating a space to acknowledge and process their own feelings of loss. The event reinforced an important message: grief is a shared human experience, and those feelings deserve care and attention. 

Connecting beyond ourselves

When we talk about spiritual care we also consider how the individual is connected to God or their higher power. When we recognize that we are a part of something larger than ourselves, we are able to consider not only our own inner lives but experience the awe and mystery of the transcendent. Thanks to brain imaging technology today, researchers know that just telling someone else about these experiences has the same effect on our brains as getting a hug from a grandparent or someone we love. Chaplains encourage spiritual growth as they provide opportunities to experience the sacred. 

Spiritual care is also attentive to how we connect to others. Chaplains encourage residents to participate in their communities, with families and friends. Our connection to others reminds us that belonging and meaningful relationships are important elements in overall well-being. 

The transitions that come in later life are sometimes unrelenting. It can be helpful to have others who support our journey as we process the many forms of grief we experience. It can be a source of comfort to know that there is someone who will listen and hold our confidence as we make sense of our life experiences.  

Legacy can be another area where chaplains can be helpful. Legacy is concerned with the questions of what we can do now to make a difference in the world. What gifts have been given to me that I can share with others at this time in my life?  

We know that more than 60% of people do not have active engagement with a religious community or belief system when they reach later life. But we also know that 100% of us are spiritual beings. It has been observed that many are more curious about and interested in exploring their spirituality in later life than they ever were before. Tending to our spiritual growth is just one way that we contribute to aging abundantly, and the chaplains who provide spiritual care are important assets as they work to support and promote the health of everyone in their community. 

Spiritual care is ultimately about presence—meeting people in the fullness of their humanity, not only in moments of crisis or transition, but throughout the entire aging journey. At United Church Homes, our chaplains help create environments where residents, families and staff are supported as they navigate life—change, loss, meaning, growth. In doing so, they help us live more fully into our mission of community, wholeness and peace. Their work reminds us that aging is not just something to be managed—but something to be honored, supported and deeply understood as part of the sacred fabric of life. 

Find a United Church Homes senior living community near you!

by: Rev. Beth Long-Higgins – Vice President of Engagement & Director of the Center for Abundant Aging

Stay Connected and Live Life Abundantly

The post More Than End‑of‑Life Care: Why Spiritual Care Matters at Every Stage of Aging appeared first on United Church Homes.

No family expects a loved one to need skilled nursing care. No one expects a serious illness or injury that requires a hospital stay. Yet many people do need post-hospital care in a skilled nursing community to recover safely before returning home.

When a physician or social worker tells you that your loved one needs skilled nursing care, the experience can feel overwhelming. You may feel concerned, unsure, emotional, or even guilty. That reaction is completely understandable. Choosing a skilled nursing community is a big decision, and it helps to know what to expect before taking the next step.

What Is Skilled Nursing Care?

Skilled nursing care is a level of care that is different from assisted living. Skilled nursing provides medical support, rehabilitation, medication management and daily care for people who need more help than they can safely receive at home right away.

For many families, a skilled nursing facility becomes the bridge between a hospital stay and a safe return home. For others, it provides the right level of support for ongoing health needs. Either way, the goal is to help each person stay as healthy, comfortable, and safe as possible.

One of the most reassuring things to know is that skilled nursing is not only about medical care—it’s also about helping people regain confidence. This may include rebuilding strength after surgery, learning to move safely again, adjusting to new limitations, managing medications, or settling into a new routine with the support of caring professionals.

What To Ask

When choosing skilled nursing, it helps to ask thoughtful questions:

• What services are available on site?
• How is the care plan developed, followed, and updated?
• How does the interdisciplinary team communicate with residents and families?
• What types of therapies are offered?
• How are residents supported emotionally and socially?
• What does a normal day look like for someone receiving skilled nursing care?

These questions help you understand the experience, not just the services. A facility may look good on paper, but the way staff communicate and interact with residents often says much more.

What Families Can Expect

The transition into a skilled nursing community after an acute hospital stay can feel unsettling simply because it is unfamiliar. Here are a few things that can reduce uncertainty.

• The hospital transfers the needed parts of the medical record to the skilled nursing facility, so the treatment plan and medications can continue there. The SNF stay begins with assessments and questions. Having a family member or close friend available can be helpful when staff are gathering medical history, previous level of function, mobility needs, daily habits and personal preferences. This information helps the team build an individualized care plan that reflects the resident, not just the condition being treated.
• The family or responsible party is an important part of the care-planning team. In a good skilled nursing setting, communication matters. You should feel informed about your loved one’s progress, therapy schedule, and any changes in condition. Asking questions is encouraged.
• The first few days can feel like a lot, but routines usually become easier to manage. Meeting the interdisciplinary team, learning the layout of the community, and understanding the daily schedule can help everyone feel more at ease.

How To Support A Loved One

Families play an important role in making the transition smoother. A familiar face, regular visits, and personal items can help make an unfamiliar place feel more comfortable. Small comforts matter.

It also helps to stay engaged without feeling like you must do everything yourself. The interdisciplinary team is there to support your loved one, and they are also there to support you. Sharing personal preferences, routines, or concerns can help staff provide more personalized care.

If your loved one is able, encourage active participation in recovery. Attending therapy, taking medications as prescribed, eating nutritious meals, following the care plan, and speaking up about needs or discomfort can all support better outcomes. Recovery is more manageable when everyone is working toward the same goal.

If possible, encourage your loved one to eat meals in the dining room and join appropriate community activities. These opportunities can support socialization, help restore normal routines, and bring a little enjoyment into the day.

Moving Forward

No family expects to need skilled nursing care, and it is normal to feel uncertain when that time comes. But uncertainty does not mean you are unprepared. When you understand what skilled nursing care is, ask thoughtful questions, and stay connected to the care team, the path becomes clearer and more manageable.

At its best, skilled nursing care provides more than medical support. It offers reassurance, structure, and a team working toward one shared goal: helping your loved one heal, adjust, and feel supported every step of the way.

Find a United Church Homes senior living community near you!

by: Debra Durbin- Senior Executive Director of Clinical Operations

Stay Connected and Live Life Abundantly

The post When Skilled Nursing Becomes the Next Step: What Families Need to Know appeared first on United Church Homes.

Those who love us also witness our emotional growth as it unfolds through relationships. We hope that by adulthood we’ve moved beyond toddler tantrums and the emotional whiplash of adolescence, learning instead to respond with greater self-awareness and compassion.

Across the many dimensions of our lives—physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual—growth doesn’t always happen in a smooth, steady line. Sometimes it comes in spurts. Other times it unfolds slowly, almost imperceptibly. There are seasons when we feel as though we are standing on a plateau: familiar, steady, and relatively comfortable. Nothing dramatic seems to be changing, and the ground beneath our feet feels solid.

The challenge comes when we are moved—sometimes abruptly, sometimes reluctantly—from one familiar place to another. These transitions often feel far less comfortable. They may be welcome and planned, such as retirement, a career shift, or the birth of a child. Or they may arrive uninvited: the loss of a loved one, a health diagnosis, a relationship ending, or an unexpected change in work or identity. Moving from what we know into what comes next can leave us feeling unmoored, confused, and even deeply pained.

Toward the Unfamiliar: Cliffs and Fog

In his book What to Make of a Life, Jim Collins offers language that many of us find startlingly accurate. He calls the initiating event of a major transition “the Cliff.” What follows—when we’ve stepped or been pushed into something new but haven’t yet found our footing—he calls “the Fog.” The Fog is a time of disorientation, when we are trying to make sense of who we are now and where we belong. It is often uncomfortable, and it lasts as long as it lasts. There is no rushing our way through it.

Dr. Janis Clark Johnston, a recent guest on The Abundant Aging Podcast and the author of Transforming Retirement, describes a similar experience. After saying goodbye to what was, she writes, we often enter “a maze of emotions and unmet needs.” She calls this a “muddling stage,” marked by loss of energy, vulnerability, and swirling uncertainty as we try on new ways of living and being. Her language offers reassurance: this confusion isn’t a failure. It’s part of the process.

One recent retiree I know refers to this season as his “fallow time.” Just as a field sometimes needs to rest—to lie fallow before it can bear fruit again—so, too, do we. There is wisdom in pausing before rushing into what’s next. And yet, being still can feel deeply stressful, especially after decades shaped by calendars, productivity, and the expectation that we will always be accomplishing, improving, or producing.

Eventually, this foggy, muddling time begins to lift—not because we force it to, but because we rediscover who we are and what gives our lives meaning in this new season. Collins encourages us to take small steps, one at a time, without the pressure to plan too far ahead. Johnston suggests we are, in many ways, rewiring our personalities, learning how to inhabit ourselves differently than before.

Trust Beyond Our Fear

One of the greatest challenges during times of transition is learning to trust ourselves again—especially when familiar routines, roles, and relationships no longer anchor us. When we feel untethered, our inner voices can grow loud with doubt. In those moments, seeking wise and loving support becomes not a weakness, but a spiritual practice.

At age 51, after serving as a local church pastor for 25+ years, I found myself facing an unexpected opportunity to apply for a different position. I hadn’t been searching. I still felt deeply committed to my pastoral role. After imagining what such a change might mean, I dismissed the possibility almost immediately. I wasn’t ready—or so I thought—for such a significant shift in my ministry.

What I didn’t initially trust were the subtle but persistent hints of energy and curiosity that surfaced alongside my fear. Excitement and resistance danced together, and fear gave me plenty of reasons not to consider the change. What I did trust, however, was my spouse, who encouraged me to look more closely. I trusted my spiritual director, who helped me gently untangle my conflicting feelings. Their presence created space for discernment rather than urgency.

Clearing the Fog—An accompanied Process

There is a process within the Quaker tradition known as a Clearness Committee. When someone is wrestling with a decision or transition, they gather a small group of trusted people—not to give advice, but to listen deeply. Committee members ask only clarifying questions. They may reflect back what they hear so that the individual can listen anew to their own truth. Silence is welcomed. The process is unhurried, grounded in trust that clarity emerges when we are truly heard.

While I didn’t formally convene a Clearness Committee, the constellation of trusted people around me—my spouse, my spiritual director, and close colleagues and friends—served a similar role. They helped me clarify what I was feeling and what I might be called to consider. Had I relied solely on my own internal dialogue, I would have stayed safely on the familiar ground. Instead, I eventually stepped off the cliff into a new role. Nearly thirteen years later, I can say with gratitude that the risk opened the door to deep fulfillment and growth that I could not have imagined at the time.

The stress and anxiety of transition can be eased significantly when we move through the fog alongside others we trust. Friends who know us well, family who want us to flourish, spiritual companions, counselors, and pastors can all help hold us steady. So can connecting with others who are also in the fog—or who are a few steps farther along the path. When we can’t yet trust our own instincts, borrowed courage matters.

Fogginess is a normal and faithful response to profound change. But confusion does not have to become our permanent address. With time, wise companionship, and attention to the movement of the Spirit, new clarity emerges. We find fresh ways to carry divine light into the world, contributing to our communities and rediscovering meaning and purpose. Even—and perhaps especially—in times of transition, abundance is still possible.

Questions for Reflection:

Where do I recognize myself right now—in a familiar plateau, standing at the edge of a cliff, or somewhere deep in the fog? What feels hardest to name about this season?

What voices or relationships do I trust that help me listen more deeply to my own truth and to the movement of the Spirit—and where might I need to lean into that support more intentionally?

If this reflection on transition feels familiar, you’re not alone—and you don’t have to navigate it by yourself. NEXT Steps, offered in partnership with The Center for Abundant Aging and Eden Theological Seminary, is a semester‑long, non‑academic program designed for people who are approaching, navigating, or newly beyond their professional lives. Rooted in trust, spiritual reflection, and shared discernment, NEXT Steps offers a supportive cohort experience for those finding their way through the fog beyond titles, roles, and paychecks. Rather than rushing toward answers, participants are invited to reframe this season as one of renewal and possibility, listening for what’s next with the help of trusted companions—much like a clearness committee. Learn more through the links on our website.

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One of the most unexpected transitions in my adult life happened in March 2007, the day my husband and I were headed to close on our first home. We had planned that day down to the minute. My husband met me for lunch, and we were floating—dreaming about paint colors, remodeling, family dinners, and the life we imagined in our new home. We held hands as we drove to the bank to sign the papers.

And then, the phone rang.

The closing was canceled. The housing market had crashed. Our lending company was collapsing, likely heading for bankruptcy. Our plans evaporated in an instant.

I remember my husband quietly pulling the car over. Neither of us said much—what could we say? We didn’t buy a house that day. Instead, we swallowed the disappointment and the uncertainty that followed. Our conversations quickly shifted from “When we move in…” to “What do we do now?”

We found another lender through our local bank, and one month later, we prepared to sign again. Only this time, a few days before finalizing the purchase, I learned I was losing my job—the first one I had after college, the one I thought I’d grow into. On top of that, I was pregnant. Everything felt fragile, uncertain, and heartbreaking.

My first instinct was to worry. “What about the house?” I asked.

My husband didn’t hesitate. “What about it? You’ll find another job. Don’t worry,” he said.

Even in that moment, when I didn’t want to trust the process or step into the unknown, God was teaching me something vital: trust is not optional. It is essential. Over the next 30 days, He provided. I was offered another position—one that would become an unexpected blessing for our family. It allowed me to work from home long before remote work became common, and it offered extended maternity leave when our son arrived.

We signed for the house. We moved in. And together, we rebuilt everything room by room.

Nearly 20 years later, in 2028, we will celebrate two decades in that home. Nothing remains untouched—paint, flooring, fixtures, all of it has changed. But our love, our faith, and the story of how God carried us through uncertainty remain unshaken.

Growing older doesn’t make transitions easier. Sometimes, experience only teaches us how deeply uncertainty can cut. But it also teaches us something far more important: worry adds weight. Trust lifts it.

My husband’s calm confidence reminded me of God’s steady promises. I didn’t want to trust Him at the time. I didn’t want to trust the process. But trust was exactly what I needed to practice—trust in the Lord, and trust in the partner God had given me. He cares for me, even when I am anxious and uncertain.

Transitions are inevitable throughout life. Housing changes. Work changes. Family rhythms shift. Our bodies and abilities evolve. But we are not asked to face any of these alone. Scripture is full of reminders:

• “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” — Proverbs 3:5–6
• “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” — Matthew 6:34
• “Cast your burden on the LORD, and he will sustain you.” — Psalm 55:22

In each season, God invites us to place our fears into His hands. The Bible emphasizes the sovereignty of God and the call to surrender our anxieties to Him—not because life is easy, but because He is faithful.

Today, when my husband and I laugh about how our house has changed—how nothing looks the way it originally did—we also remember a deeper truth: the home we built is anchored in a story of God’s provision, of lessons learned in trusting Him even when we didn’t understand.

Transitions will come. They will surprise us. They will interrupt and overwhelm. But they also shape us, deepen our faith, and teach us trust we didn’t know we needed. And sometimes, they lead us to blessings we never imagined.

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