I walked into my Vocare site, the Gables of Germantown, on day one, expecting to play games with the residents and maybe clean some things. What I didn’t know was how impactful these two weeks would be. Both the memories and lessons that I would take home with me, along with the connections I made.

The first person I met was a nurse with the biggest smile on her face, and joy was radiating out of her. I was immediately struck by how she was so positive and full of love. She sat me down and explained the idea that at the end of the day, we walk through the doors and get to go home and return to our life, while the residents live in care 24/7, and this is their entire world. She immediately opened my eyes to see the joy in the small moments and not to wait for the big ones to happen.

A few days later, she called me to her office and handed me a poem, saying she felt inspired to share this with me. It’s called “The Station” by Robert Hastings, and it describes how so many of us spend our lives waiting for the station: that moment when everything will finally feel complete. But joy isn’t waiting for us at some far destination. It’s here, in the journey, in the everyday moments we usually look past. The poem includes a verse from Psalms 118:24: "This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." And during my time at the elderly home, I began to understand what that really means. Today — this day — is the gift. Not the next milestone, the next achievement, but the moment right in front of us. The residents aren’t waiting for their future anymore. It's right in front of them. They have to find joy in the present — today's conversation, today’s laugh, today’s shared story.

I would like to share about how encountering two residents shaped my Vocare experience: The first is Tom. Tom is one of the oldest residents there, very hard of hearing, quiet, but full of gentle joy. His thing is coloring. He is always creating something beautiful, and he is very good at it! Every morning when we walked into the activity room, he would look up, and a huge smile would grow over his face. I could tell he was genuinely excited to see us. He reminded me that the simplest human connection — somebody's presence — can brighten someone’s entire day.

The next resident is Sarah. Sarah brings warmth with her wherever she goes. Not a day went by during Vocare that she didn’t comment on how beautiful she thought I was. Sometimes I would catch her looking at me when I was playing games with other residents. I felt a connection with her. On our last day, I was saying goodbye to the residents and giving hugs and high fives. I knelt down to get on Sarah’s level and said goodbye just like I had with the other residents and hugged her. As I looked at her, she said to me, “It’s not goodbye, it’s see you later. We will see each other again.” I understood what she was saying, but hearing those words out loud really came with a heavier meaning. This moment was healing. Sarah lived her life in gratitude, hope, and in the present moment.

These residents — and nurse Tanya — taught me to slow down and appreciate the small things. I realized we often rush through life — waiting for the next thing — but joy is in the everyday moments. Life isn’t about reaching the station. It’s about creating the best day you can, right where you are. The beauty of the present — and the people in it — are the things worth noticing. The gift is today, and it's happening right now; it’s too precious to miss. Life happens in the middle of our journey — and the joy we’re looking for is already in our hands — we just need to pick it up and see it.

So I encourage you to do what Tanya, Sarah, and Tom taught me: to find joy in the ordinary moments, cherish the people in front of you, and live fully in the present. Like the poet Hastings wrote, “Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.”