confident

There is a phrase that pops up often, in our conversations, in our interdisciplinary team meetings, in our reports of patient encounters.  "And I did not know what to do...."  I realized that I was hearing this from competent, trained, skilled nurses, social workers and chaplains.  I realized that no matter how prepared we are, each situation is unique and the game plan isn't set in stone.  If these people, who I respect, don't always know, maybe it is time for me to relax.


I used to hope that one day I would walk into a room confident that I would know exactly what to do.  Now I walk in with the full confidence that I may not know what to do at all.  But I will figure something out.  Empathy, history, intuition and compassion will guide me.  And in the unknown something real and meaningful will take shape.  Usually surpassing any diagram I could have scripted or planned.


Yesterday morning, my team got a call.  A newly admitted patient had unexpectedly died in the night.   Not only was this a shock, but none of us had met the family.  We didn't know what to prepare for with levels of grief, how well they were supported, how we could minister to them, etc.  Three of us decided we would head immediately to the facility and just see what we could do.


When the family arrived we barely had time to introduce ourselves, before the daughter ran into the patient's room weeping.  Her husband said "She feels horrible that she didn't stop by yesterday.  This is her only time to say goodbye.  We aren't having a service."


And there I was.  Smack dab in the middle of a "what am I supposed to do now?" moment.  Did she want to be alone?  Should I go in?  If I did, should I offer prayer?  Were they expecting that from a chaplain? Or would it be offensive?  I hate feeling pushy.  Should I just talk to the son in law for awhile?  Arrgh.  What should I do?


And then I remembered the idea of full confidence in not having the answer.  I thought about how I would feel if it was my father.  I remembered times I had been able to comfort someone.  I decided that worst thing she could do reject me.  So what.  And I felt the tug to walk with another human through the valley of the shadow of death.  I went in.


I barely made it to her side before she had flung herself into my arms.  She poured out her guilt for not being there, and I assured her of things she already knew.  I offered a prayer of committal and she eagerly accepted.  We spend 30 minutes saying goodbye to the man she'd known all her life, and I'd met one time.  


Then she opened the door and pulled the others in.  Her husband, our nurse and our social worker.  They were already friends with and comforting the husband.  It took 2 hours for the funeral home to arrive.  For two hours the five of us sat with the body.  We listened as they told stories.  We laughed and cried.  We drank coffee and packed up the room.


And then it was time to go.  We hugged and encouraged and waved as they left.  And then the three of us looked at each other and said "Well.  We sure didn't know this is how we were going to spend the morning."


And I am confident in this, that God who began the good work within you, will continue God's work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.  Philippians 1:6