Could practices of the heart—like contemplation, prayer, or creativity—help us meet aging with greater peace?
I recently attended a symposium for elder care professionals and the community. A couple of the topics sparked my interest, and I was especially eager to hear Dr. Paul Ford, PhD speak about artificial intelligence and the ethics of its use in healthcare. (I recently submitted an article on artificial intelligence in spiritual direction that will be published later this year—more to come on that!)
During one of the table conversations, an attendee told me about their family member who now lives in a care facility. There loved one struggles with both anxiety and dementia, a combination that brings frustration and heartache for everyone involved.
As I listened, I couldn’t help but wonder: what might help ease anxiety, even as memory begins to slip away? My mind kept circling back to the practices I know—contemplation, mindful breathing, meditation.
I began to imagine: if someone had lived with these practices daily, would they have a different way of meeting the confusion that comes with dementia? Could prayerful rhythms or mindful breathing offer a thread of calm to hold onto, even as so much else unravels?
And I wonder, too, about practices of the mind, heart, and body: walking the labyrinth, feeling the beat of a drum, or entering the creative flow of SoulCollage®. Could these embodied, soulful rhythms help us find steadiness and presence as we age? Could regular self-care sessions of Reiki bring calm, focus, and grounding?
I don’t have clear answers. There may be research unfolding even now that could shed light on these questions. What I can share is the value of grace and slowing down in my own life. I’ve also witnessed moments that suggest these practices matter—like the elderly woman with dementia who used a lap labyrinth with me. When I gently asked if she liked it, she looked at me and said one word: Yes.
The wondering itself feels important. Maybe these practices don’t prevent decline in a scientific or measurable way. Perhaps they shape the heart and spirit so that when decline comes, there is still a deeper ground of peace—an anchor in the True Self, rooted in the Spirit of God.
Walking away from the symposium, I carried both the sorrow of that story and the hope that small daily practices might matter more than we realize. Maybe one day science will confirm what so many of us intuitively sense: that the mind, body, and spirit are deeply connected in ways we don’t yet fully understand.
As I drove home, I reflected on my own journey with these practices and my continual walk with Spirit. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a seeker. Spirit has always been with me—guiding, healing, and supporting me. I know that prayer and meditation ground me, and I know that when I neglect them, I quickly become off-center, worried, and fretful about the world as it is.
So, I leave you with this wondering: what practices—whether prayer, creativity, movement, or silence—are you weaving into your days now to tend your heart and mind for the years ahead?
I invite you to visit my Events page to discover something new to try.