“Nursing Home Noel,” New Era, Dec. 2019, 26–27.
Nursing Home Noel
I was dreaming of a relaxing Christmas Day, but my parents had something else in mind.
Illustration by Brooke Smart
During my first year in high school, my parents decided that we would go caroling at a nursing home on Christmas. I was reluctant when I heard the plan. Mom reminded us that it gets lonely at Christmastime for many of the people in the nursing home, but I was used to Christmas being a blissful, relaxing day of lounging in pajamas, playing with new gifts, eating treats, and watching movies. The nursing home was unfamiliar, and the 30-minute drive through the New Hampshire woods to get there seemed so long.
Christmas Day came and brought a morning of opening new gifts and gadgets and filling the living room floor with wrapping paper remnants and empty boxes. That afternoon, Mom and Dad cheerfully herded my three siblings and me into the family minivan. As we entered the nursing home, we were greeted by the smell of disinfectant and cafeteria food. Another family from our ward met us in the lobby and handed out Christmas songbooks.
As we walked down the white tiled hallway, we started singing “Silent Night.” I felt awkward—a few of the residents were out in the hallway, some half asleep in wheelchairs, most in their pajamas. I wasn’t really sure they were even listening. Song after song, we slowly made our way down the hallways, and residents’ faces lit up when they recognized familiar songs like “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls.” One man tapped his foot, one woman started waving her hands in the air as if she were conducting. A few people even tried to sing along. It started to feel less awkward—maybe our caroling did mean something to these people.
As we passed the rooms, lots of the residents came to their doorways to hear us. We would pause and finish the song for each one, wishing them a merry Christmas as we left. One woman, though, couldn’t come to her doorway. We sang “The First Noel” outside her door, and she waved her hand for us to come in. As our big group squeezed into her small room where she sat in an armchair near the window, I noticed the nametag on her door said Norma. When I asked her how her day had been, she told us that we were her only visitors the whole day. Not even her children or grandchildren had called or visited. We sang another song for her, our voices filling the room with Christmas cheer. She reached out and held my hand, and I was so glad we were there. When we finished, everyone turned to go, and I bent down and gave her a hug. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.
It was getting dark when we left the nursing home, but I didn’t even care that we had spent most of the afternoon there. It felt good to see the smiles on peoples’ faces and bring them a little comfort and love on Christmas. Walking down those halls, I had the distinct impression that if Jesus Christ had been on earth that day He would have been doing the same thing. Instead of thinking of what I had missed out on at home, I was grateful to have been able to serve and feel closer to the Savior.
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then of the First Presidency, said, “To truly honor His coming into the world, we must do as He did and reach out in compassion and mercy to our fellowmen. This we can do daily, by word and deed. … May the contemplation of the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem inspire us to be more like Him. May Christ’s mission and example cause our hearts to swell with divine love for God and deep compassion for our fellowmen.”1
I couldn’t think of a more fitting way to celebrate His birth and remember His perfect life than serving others by caroling in the nursing home. It was the best gift I gave that year and is now a special tradition I look forward to every year.
The author lives in Virginia, USA.