dismantling

The house is quiet.  Which it hasn't been for awhile.  The sun is shining through the cold windows.  I am fully engaged in my yearly ritual of taking down Christmas.


It was a really good Christmas.  Full. We started early with present buying and hanging sparkling icicles outside the house.  We listened to tons of Christmas music.  We reminisced while we hung up our unique assortment of ornaments.  Jake wrapped most of our presents freeing up hours of my time.  We drank lots of hot chocolate with marshmallows and candy canes. My parents made the long trip safely. We had festive meals and rich family time, sprawled around the fire place. 


But now, after six weeks or so of parties and planning and presents,  we're back to normal. Ordinary.  Calm.   And this solitary act of dismantling seems symbolic to me today.


It is quiet while I wind up the lights, and pad all the ornaments in their boxes.  I clear the mantles of stockings, reindeer and the nativity scene.  I read through the Christmas cards once more.  It's time to start a new year.


I wonder what 2012 will bring.  It will have its own great holidays.  It will have vacations and trips.  Lasts and firsts days of school, weeks at camp. I t will also be filled with lots of every-day moments.  Times that will never make the 2012 Christmas cards.  Rides to school together every morning.  All of us cramming on the couch to watch Man vs. Wild.  Sabbath breakfasts.  Waiting for the news to confirm a snow day.  Summer morning runs at Bent Creek.  Raking leaves. Watching puppy and kitty chase each other through the house.  Friends coming over to play.


These words from Shauna Niequist's book Cold Tangerines remind me to appreciate every moment.


     Today is your big moment.  Moments, really.  The life you've been waiting for is happening all around you...This is life in all its glory, swirling and unfolding around us, disguised as pedantic, pedestrian non-events...
     Your life, right now, today, is exploding with energy and power and detail and dimension, better than the best movie you have ever seen...You have stories worth telling, memories worth remembering, dreams worth working toward, a body worth feeding, a soul worth tending, and beyond that, the God of the universe dwells within you, the true culmination of super and natural.  
     You are more than dust and bones. 
     You are spirit and power and image of God.    
     And you have been given Today.

christmas actually

Christmas of 1911.  A little boy in Asheville woke early on Christmas morning and rushed the the fireplace to see what Santa had left in his stocking.  In the night his parents had filled it with two coins, three pieces of candy and a little toy fish.  But little Emmett had hung up one of his socks with a hole in the toe.  The fish fell to the floor in the night, and when he got the fireplace, Emmett's cat had chewed the fish in half.


A few years later, Emmett woke up to a snowy Christmas.  He and a friend grabbed their sleds and headed to a nearby hill.  The boys flew down the icy hill and couldn't stop before they crossed the road and slid under a bobbed wire fence.  Emmett's hand flew up to protect his face and the barbed wire sliced his right hand.  His mother dosed it with karosene and wrapped it up.  His father snapped "how are you going to keep up with the milking?"  Emmett assured his dad that he would do all his milking with one hand even if it took him twice as long.  Which that seven year old boy did twice a day until his hand healed up completely.


Those are the two Christmas memories from the last 103 years that came to Emmett's mind during his life review.  My memories from this year are easier.   A fun week with my parents and family.  A lunch party with my coworkers. A festive and Christ filled church service.  My dad, back in the role of Santa, starting Christmas Eve with little bags of our favorite candy and darling animal ornaments for the tree.  My mom's delicious enchiladas on Christmas Eve and Gfree meatballs for Christmas dinner, and the beautiful outfit she picked out for me, that I wore, eating her yummy food. I will never forget Josh's face when he got an Atlanta Hawks jersey from his auntie Jenn, or Jake's face when he opened his 3DS.  I kept cozy in the cold night by holding Steve's hand and singing our last Christmas carols in the car with the boys.  And ending Christmas with my annual viewing of Love Actually, this year with my in laws and kitty, in front of the fire place.


Love Actually opens with these words.  "Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. .. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around."


Merry Christmas!

mobs

I recently noticed that the TV shows I watch are mostly about groups of people - the cul de sac crew, the modern family, the CBI and Hawaii 5.0 teams, etc.  I like how the groups each have a special a spot to meet, like MacLaren's pub or the conference room at Dunder Mifflin or Jule's kitchen.  I like to watch the different personalities annoy and enrich each other.  I enjoy their witty banter and teasing.  And I love how, against drug dealers or petty neighbors, they always end up having each other's backs.  

Eugene Peterson, in Leap Over A Wall writes "Friendship is a much underestimated aspect of spirituality. It's ever bit as significant as prayer and fasting.  Like the sacramental use of water and bread and wine, friendship takes what's common in human experience and turns it into something holy.  Martin Buber said the greatest thing any person can do for another is to confirm the deepest thing in him, in her - to take the time and have the discernment to see what's most deeply there, most fully that person, and then confirm it by recognizing and encouraging it."


This morning my hunt for a certain patient led me to a large hall crowded with women in wheelchairs.  I found my patient, sat beside her and listened to her comment on the other women - "the one who is always with her doll, the one that talks too loud, the one that never eats her soup.."  It was fun hearing about her world.  Then a man wheeled up and parked in front of one of the ladies.  Another lady wheeled in and couldn't get through.  She bumped several wheelchairs as she tried to manuver.  This caused a bit of a cat fight.  I jumped in to rewheel, make a path, and assure the bumpees nothing was done maliciously.  When everything settled back down I again sat with my lady.  She turned to me smiling, "Its kind of fun to be part of a mob once in awhile, isn't it?"


It sure is!  I'm so thankful for all the wonderful people that make up my mobs.  I couldn't do it without you...

praying

One of my goals for this week was to be bolder in the experience I offered my patients.  I want to make sure that it isn't me that is holding them back from going deeper. This is hospice.  There are plenty of deep places to discuss. Sometimes those conversation have an awkward start.  My first two patients today I had had nice conversations with but very surface.  So today I dove in.


I spent an hour at house #1.  We got into a serious conversation about the patient's bucket list and what she hoped to accomplish and forgive before she got too ill to.  One glance at her facesheet reminded me that she had a Methodist background.  So as I was getting ready to leave I asked if she would like me to pray with her.  She began to stammer an excuse while her daughter rolled her eyes.  "We aren't really into that kind of thing." she explained.  I reiterated my role to assist and enrich her spiritual life in what ever way she chose.  At least I had tried.


House #2 found me struggling to make conversation with a sweet, shy widower.  He shared, mostly in yes or no responses, how life had changed in the two years he had been alone.  He didn't elaborate when I asked about his church background, so I was hesitant to offer prayer.  Especially after the last house.  But I was supposed to be bold, so I asked if he would like me to pray with him.  "Oh would you please?  I would love that." He shocked me with the longest sentence of the thirty minutes I had been with him.  I pulled my chair closer to his and he took my hands while we prayed.


House #3 was unplanned.  A nurse on my team called to say she was doing a new admission for an actively dying Africian American woman.  There were many family members present and this would be a good time for the whole team to come by.  I arrived at the same time as our social worker and manager.  We were greeted by seven adult children who immediately began sharing rich stories of their mother's life of service and acts of kindness.  Two sons and the patient's husband were Apostolic ministers.  When they asked me to pray over their mother I felt more than a little intimidated.  "Be bold Erin" I reminded myself, crowded around mother's bed with my team and 15 family members.  As I began to pray, others joined me in praying out loud.  The husband began speaking in tongues over his wife, across the bed from me.  It was hard to know whether I should concentrate on what I was saying, or enjoy the prayers being lifted around me.  


After the amens, a daughter began singing.  One after another the family joined in. Haunting Negro Spirituals filled the room with melodies and harmonies blending beautifully and crescendoing. Before long there wasn't a dry eye in the room.  It was one of those moments that you can't believe you might have missed.  And the perfect end to the spectrum of prayer attempts that day.


Therefore, since we have such a hope, we are very bold.       2 Corinthians 3:12

christmas cactus

Years ago, someone gave me a Christmas cactus.  There were plenty of green leaves but not a bud in sight.  Christmas' came and went.  Nothing.  I saw other people's plants covered with hundreds of beautiful flowers.  Mine remained bare.  Every once in a while I would water it, or dust it.  I heard it needed cold, so it went to the garage for four months.  Nothing.  It spent some time in the kitchen, then moved to the bedroom.  I read these plants need continuous darkness for at least 12 hours a day  to induce bud formation. Several times I came thisclose to throwing it out.  But I have the least green thumb out there, and this plant was still alive.  


And then last December, buds miraculously appeared.  Fifteen or twenty of them, growing bigger and bigger, and then bursting open in ripe, pink lusciousness.  They made me smile every time I saw them.  They lit up my room.


But I couldn't help but wonder...why now?  Had there just been enough darkness and cold?  Would the blooms keep coming?


These same questions have been asked by me, and many others on a spiritual level.  Brian McLaren adressess them wonderfully in Naked Spirituality.


So again and again we are told in scripture, in dozens of different ways, that the hardships life throws at us are not intended by God to destroy us, but to strengthen us. ..  There are days, of course, when we wish there could be some other system.  We wish there could be a way of developing patience without delay, courage without danger, forgiveness without offense, generosity without need, skill without discipline, endurance without fatigue,  persistence without obstacles, strength without resistance, virtue without temptation and strong love without hard-to-love people.  But it turns out that there is no other way.  The Creator has created the right kind of universe to produce these beautiful qualities in us creatures.


For all its angst, there's beauty in the season of Perplexity.  There's the strength of ruthless honest, the courage of dogged endurance, the companionship of the disillusioned, the determination of the long-distance runner who won't give up even though exhausted.  In that act of not giving up, there is faith too, and hope, perhaps the most vibrant faith and hope of all. 


The blooms are back this year.  Filling my soul with color and promise, and faith and hope too.

thanksgiving

A month ago we were in Myrtle Beach for the half marathon.  I had reserved a highly discounted beach front "suite" which turned out to be the smallest three rooms you can imagine.  A tiny room for the boys, a hallway kitchen/master bedroom, and a bathroom you had to step over the toilet to get into.  I almost changed rooms 5 times.  But the price was right,  we were on the third floor,which we liked, and this picture was our view from the balcony, which we loved. 

Early Monday morning I avoided claustrophobia by wrapping up in a blanket and sitting on our balcony.  I wondered how I could get the same view next year from a bigger room.  I wished I could have cut 5 more minutes off my race time.  I wanted a couple more days off before heading home.


And then I remembered a sermon I had listened to in the car that week.  I had almost skipped it because it was on money....and I don't have enough of that.  But I liked the speaker, and wanted to fill the time.  He talked about how we always compare ourselves to people that have more then us and we feel discontent.  He said when we are using our money in spirit filled ways, we look at all the people that have less than us, we are filled with gratitude for all that we have, and we look for ways that we can bless others.

I interrupted my longings for bigger rooms, faster times, and longer vacations with a realization of how fortunate I was.  I had run 13.1 miles and lived to tell about it. I was cheered across the finish line by my son, husband, brother, sister in law and niece, who had also run.  I was spending my Monday morning at the beach.  And as the sun came up, I was on a balcony, with my favorite book, listening to the waves, while my three men slept peacefully inside.

Meister Eckhart wrote that If the only prayer you ever pray in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.

I think that is because the more I say Thank you, the more I realize I have enough. More than enough.  A lot more than enough.

So again, on Thanksgiving and every single other day....Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

roadside assisstance

I was cruising along on I 40.  All of a sudden the car in front of me slowed and stopped in the left hand lane.  Across the right lane I saw an upside down truck.  The wreck must have just happened.  I was the second one on the scene.

I didn't know what to do.  I thought I should stay out of the way.  But then I saw a man standing at the upside down truck trying to force the door open, and thought maybe I could help.  So I put my flashers on and joined a couple other people making their way to the truck.

The driver was a young woman, wrapped around the steering wheel and hanging upside down.  Two men got the truck door pulled off.  A woman and man helped pull the driver out and put a sweatshirt under her head.  Someone found her purse and tucked it under her arm.  I heard someone call 911.  I still didn't know what to do.  Then I realized that while everyone was busy, the woman was laying on the road alone.  Now there is a job for a chaplain.  I knelt next to her, held her hand, and spoke soothingly.  Just another day at work!

While on the road, I watched as people jumped out of their cars and came to help.  A few men cleared the road that was scatted with CD's, clothes and papers that had fallen from the truck.  A woman on the phone directed the emergency vehicles, while a man helped point traffic around the wreck. Numerous people came up to offer their help.  It hit me that this world is full of good people.  It's easy to forget after weeks of watching thugs, trouble makers and selfish people on the news every day. But here were good people streaming over.  Regular, going to work or school, willing to stop everything and help a stranger, full of goodness kind of people.  I was glad to be part of them this morning, and glad to know they are all over my town.

ps: I found out on the news tonight that the woman came through with minor injuries.  So glad.  Her car was not so lucky.

steps

Mickey was hunched over in his recliner, oxygen pumping into his nose.  His heavy New Yorker accent contrasted with the woodsy setting of his trailer.  He muttered responses to my questions, not sure what to do with a chaplain in the house.  And then I asked him how he had moved Asheville...

He started drinking when he was eight.  There were plenty of ways a young, fatherless boy in Brooklyn could get in trouble, and Mickey found all of them.  He dropped out of high school and was in and out of jail.  He fathered three children, but couldn't keep jobs long enough to support them.  He lived on the street.  Desperate for money to get his next drink, he accepted a bet to flash a group of tourists.  His friends thought this was a hoot.  But he got arrested for indecent exposure.  The judge was debating a 5 day jail sentence, but Mickey realized he would still be hung over when he got out.  This downward spiral couldn't last much longer.  "Help me", he said to the judge. His lawyer told him to shut up.  "Do you really want help?" asked the judge.  "Yes." said Mickey.  

"I didn't even realize it but I was making the first step in that courtroom.  I was admitting that I was powerless over alcohol - that my life had become unmanageable.  That kind judge sentenced me to a 40 day treatment facility.  It was there that I learned the next step.  I came to believe that a power greater then me could restore me to sanity.  And halfway through that detox process I made a decision to turn my will and my life over to God as I understood him."

Mickey left the home he had known for 25 years, to reconnect with his children and find steady work. It was incredibly hard to stay sober, to make amends, and to change his life.  His AA meetings twice a week became his church, his community and his life line.

"I've been sober now for 37 years. I am in contact with all my kids.  I'm at peace.  Not a day goes by where I don't think of that judge.  Guess he saw that I was desperate and willing, and he gave me another chance."

And Mickey took that chance, one step at a time, out of the ugliness and pain. One step at a time into the beauty of fresh starts and daily grace. 

extravagant welcome

At a picnic today, I listened to a man share how he and his wife had found their church.  After years at one church, they were looking for something fresh and different.  When a friend kept gushing about her church, they decided to check it out, even though it was an hour and a half from their home.  


Sitting in the new church the next weekend, this man listened to the pastor give a welcome.   "This is a church of extravagant welcome.  Whether you are old or young, conservative or liberal, gay or straight, happy or sad, every single person is welcome here."  The man turned to his wife.  "no way they are TOTALLY welcoming.  Bet you they will be preaching against someone in the next few weeks."  "I will take that bet" said his wife.  So they came back the next week.  And the next.  They have been going for seven months and have yet to find a contradiction in the weekly offer of extravagant welcome.


"It just opened my heart." The man said.  "The music is good, the preaching is interesting, solid and biblical, the people are warm...but it is the idea of extravagant welcome that was irresistible to me."


I totally got what he was saying.  Extravagant Welcome.  It fills me with the wonder of how God can be like that.  It also makes me want to kick open my doors a bit wider.  It reminds me of story after Bible story of Jesus.  It makes me feel loved and wanted and generous. 


In Karen Mains' book Open Heart, Open Home, she writes about the practices of being extravagantly welcoming in your home.  "In the dictionary the definition for hospitable is wedged between the word hospice, which is a shelter, and hospital, which is a place of healing.  Ultimately, this is what we offer when we open our home in the true spirit of hospitality.  We offer shelter; we offer healing."  


And Paul talks about how extravagant welcome happens in a spiritual sense.   
Instead of continuing with two groups of people separated by centuries of animosity and suspicion, he created a new kind of human being, a fresh start for everybody..... You belong here, with as much right to the name Christian as anyone. God is building a home. He's using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what he is building. He used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now he's using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. We see it taking shape day after day—a holy temple built by God, all of us built into it, a temple in which God is quite at home.  Ephesians 2


It sounds like an adventure.  Who knows what interesting people and paths that might lead too.  I'm in!

shark shirt

Last week our elementary school hosted a Wacky Tacky day.  My boys were enthusiastic about a break from uniforms and a chance to show their creative spirits.  We combed their closets for clothes combinations that were truly disturbing.  They looked supremely tacky! (my camera phone does not adequately convey...)


Josh wore a beloved aqua button down shirt that is covered with navy sharks.  I did not buy this for him, and had successfully hidden it away for several months.  He paired with with a bright orange shark shirt, brown plaid shorts and black shoes. As we were getting ready to head out the door, Josh said "I really don't see what is tacky about this.  I think I look good!"  That is Josh in a nutshell for you.


Since that morning, Josh has worn the aqua shark shirt 6 times.  Today he wore it over a black basketball tshirt and blue basketball shorts.  He loves the way it flows out behind him when he runs.  He loves the sharks on it.  He thinks it looks cool.


Josh has always had a strong sense of personal style.  The problem, as Steve succinctly puts it - "He is stubborn and he is wrong.  A bad combination."  When Josh was three, he went through a year long phase where every outfit was topped with a baseball cap and several strands of colorful mardi gras beads.  We were more than relieved when he outgrew that.  Josh likes bright, casual clothes.  He likes his hair long and plastered straight down on his forehead.  He gets annoyed when his mother says something does not match.  He wants to wear his tennis shoes at all times so he is ready for any chance to play basketball.  


I don't want people to wonder if Josh has a mother.  I want people to see his beautiful eyes and warm smile, not be blinded by his loud color combinations.  But today I caught a glimpse of him checking himself out in the car window.  And smiling.  I love that my boy feels good about the way he looks.   So I let him wear his sharkish outfit today when we went out to eat.  I held his hand, and my head up high.   He will wear it again tonight, probably tomorrow too.


I read this wonderful Steve Jobs quote this week.  "Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life.  Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking.  Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice.  And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.  They somehow already know what you truly want to become.  Everything else is secondary."


Go Josh!  For beating your own drum.  For being your own person.  You inspire me.

our greatest gift

I hadn't seen Bud in 2 weeks when the nurse called.  When I walked in his room, his grieving family was crowded around the bed.  They parted and I saw Bud's shrunken-in, skeletal looking form.  His breath was shallow and irregular. Death.


I wanted to leave.  To walk out of the room.  To remember Bud as the round, joking, slightly confused man I knew.  To find happy people to talk to.


Instead, they made room for me at the head of the bed.  I willed myself to witness the physical changes of the patient and the emotional pain of the family.   I stared at his face until I could see past the horror and find some beauty.  While the room was quiet I just watched him.  And I said to myself  "I'm not going to be scared of you today Death."


Later, the family shared stories from Bud's life.  His childhood love of bikes.  The peanut butter pies he relished each year on his birthday.  How he met his wife.  The jokes he always included in handwritten letters. The room filled with tears, then laughter, then tears again.


At one point, his granddaughter turned to me and asked "How, on earth, do you do this every day?"


Sometimes I have an upbeat answer.  Sometimes I talk about how my job lets me meet wonderful people like their family.  Sometimes I don't know what to say.


Tonight I was looking through a book my mom loaned me when I started this job.  Her underlining and highlighting drew my eye to this passage.  It reminds, redirects and reaffirms this work for me.


To care well for the dying, we must trust deeply that these people are loved as much as we are, and we must make that love visible by our presence; we must trust that their dying and death deepen their solidarity with the human family, and we must guide them in becoming part of the communion of saints; and finally, we must trust that their death, just as ours, will make their lives fruitful for generations to come.  We must encourage them to let go of their fears and to hope beyond the boundaries of death.


Caring well, just as dying well, asks for a choice.  Although we all carry within us the gift to care, this gift can become visible only when we choose it.


We are constantly tempted to think that we have nothing or little to offer to our fellow human beings.  Their despair frightens us.  It often seems better not to come close than to come close without being able to change anything.  This is especially true in the presence of people who face death.  In running away from the dying, however, we bury our precious gift of care.


Whenever we claim our gift of care and choose to embrace not only our own mortality, but also other people's, we can become a true source of healing and hope  When we have the courage to let go of our need to cure, our care can truly heal in ways far beyond our own dreams and expectations.  With our gift of care, we can gently lead our dying brothers and sisters always deeper into the heart of God and God's universe.  


Henri Nouwen Our Greatest Gift

clarity

One of my favorite patients is  Mr. Keller.  Months ago he told me stories about his work travels all over the world, and the beautiful wife he couldn't wait to come home to. Now I'm lucky to get a sentence or two from him, prompted by the pictures or treasures he has collected.  As his confusion worsens, he can't remember his wife's name, the date or where he lives.

Often the sentences I do hear from him are about guests coming over.  I get the idea that Mr. Keller was quite the host.

Today all Mr. Keller would say to me was "We need to get out the wine glasses."  I asked him how he was feeling, what he'd had for breakfast, if he had talked to his son.  But he was focused and determined.  "We need to get out the wine glasses before they come."

His caregiver and I looked at each other.  "No one is coming, he is just confused."  She whispered.  We assured him no one was coming.  We tried to redirect the conversation.  We told him the cafeteria had nice glasses.  But neither of us were going to get anywhere till he was satisfied. We looked around the little room.  At the sink were two, blue plastic cups.  She brought them to him.

Mr. Keller looked horrified.  "Oh no. We can't possibly serve fine wine in these."

We gave up.

fruit

All summer I have been reading a book. I'm reading it slowly because it is so rich.  It is both challenging and comforting.  It is practical and ethereal at the same time. I highlight and reread over and over as I move through the book. The author states that he wrote this book because it is the kind of book he wished someone had given him at several points during his own spiritual journey, during periods of doubt and struggle.  Now I have it for my journey.  Here's the premise.


You need a life centered on simple, doable, durable practices that will help you begin and sustain a naked encounter with the holy mystery and pure loving presence that people commonly call God....  By centering around these twelve words our spiritual life becomes our way of remaining awake to God and aliveness, our way of being at home in the universe.  Naked Spirituality, Brian McLaren


Each time I read I feel a deeper love for God, and am more inspired to live a grounded, generous life.


This week at a friend's house, I picked up a book on their coffee table.  It was obviously a religious book.  One minute of skimming and I found that the author was ranting about a dangerous threat to Christians. "What's this book about?" I asked.  "It's about centering prayers." my friend replied.  "How they mix Buddhism into Christianity and lead Christians off track.


Really?  That's the most dangerous threat you can imagine facing Christians?  Not apathy or loneliness or hypocrisy....but centering prayers?   Some of the same ideas that have revived me this summer?  Huummm.  I took six very Buddhist deep breaths and stepped away from the book.


Last night I watched the movie American President again. Love it! But Michael Douglas' rousing presidential speech at the end took on a new meaning.


We have serious problems to solve, and we need serious people to solve them. And whatever your particular problem is, I promise you, Bob Rumson is not the least bit interested in solving it. He is interested in two things and two things only: making you afraid of it and telling you who's to blame for it. 


As Christians we have serious problems to solve, ...and some people are only  interested in two things: making you afraid of it and telling you who's to blame for it. 


Jesus had an even more simple guide.  By their fruits you will know them.  Matthew 7:20

core

I ended last spring with a 13.1 mile run in Lincoln, Nebraska.  Finishing that run was rewarding and enjoyable enough to immediately sign up for another half in October.  But I knew that my summer training would have to be more well rounded.  My legs were the only parts getting a workout, and they were getting tired of dragging the rest of jello me around.


So I committed to a hellacious 13 week program of core training.  Six days a week, 60-90 minutes a day.  Yoga, plyometrics, kickboxing, weightlifting, crunches, etc.  "Each and every exercise in the Core Synergistics workout recruits multiple muscle groups to build and support the core (lumbar spine and trunk muscles)".   I have been sore all summer long.  I wish I could say that now I am in perfect shape.  But that will take more than a mere summer.   I can tell I am getting stronger.  My posture is better.  I can do exercises that I couldn't do at the beginning of the summer.  My endurance has improved.  And last night, during my return to running, my sister in law told me that my gait was better.  There is hope.


My life was also in need of some core synergistics.  This summer I faced the truth that I am a complete and utter morning person.  I am literally useless after about 6 pm - just tired and discouraged and dragging around.  So I reoriented my schedule.  I started getting up at 4:45 or 5, working out, straightening the house, making lunches, reading to the boys, before we all headed off for the day.  Then I let myself zombie around in the evening and am strict about my 10 pm bedtime.


I wanted to read more this summer.  Interestingly, the random books I have read all somehow fit the core theme.  The Dirty Life, a memoir of farming, food and love and The Wilder Life, my adventures in the lost world of Little House on the Prairie, both were enthralling as they talked about simpler times and practices.   What Alice Forgot unfolded the story of a woman realizing what was really important in her life.


The best thing I did for my life core was to buy Naked Spirituality, a life with God in 12 simple words.  It was just the foundational nourishment my parched, little soul needed.  Those words stay with me in my visits, my driving alone, and my full family time.  The ideas I am learning are inspiring and refreshing.


This summer I was more intentional about taking initiative for the relationships I needed to nurture.  I was more protective of my time and energy.  I tried harder to be present with my boys who are growing like summer weeds.  And though it was far from a perfect attempt, I can see glimpse of strength and depth that weren't there before.  There is hope.


My summer ends next weekend with our annual Labor day trip to the beach.  Can't wait for the break and the ocean.  And then another season begins, exercising, worshipping and living from a core that's a little bit stronger....

crying

A recent discussion at our team meeting and Nathan's thoughtful blog inspired this post.


"I'm sorry I am so emotional."  "I don't mean to be crying right now."  "I don't know what is wrong with me."  I hear these sentences so often during a visit.   And the truth is - if our team is at your house or your bedside, you probably have some really good reasons to cry.


But it's messy, and embarrassing, and revealing, and sad, and private, and.....  I spend a lot of time giving people permission to cry.  Of course,  it's so easy to say.  I have to remind myself that too.


Mr. Rogers tells this story.
I remember after my grandfather's death, seeing Dad in the hall with tears streaming down his face.  I don't think I had ever seen him cry before.  I'm glad I did see him.  It helped me know that it was okay for men to cry.  Many years later, when my father himself died, I cried: and way down deep I knew he would have said it was all right.


Sniff, sniff.  Hand me the kleenex. We can cry together.

long term

One of my favorite questions to ask my patients is "how did you two meet?"  Mix a little curiosity with a little romantic spirit with a little time to kill and you have the makings of a great story.


Will was joy riding with 3 other guys in his friend's new car.  The flat, straight roads of Florida were tempting them and they pushed way passed the speed limit.  Though none of them remember exactly what happened, the car ended up upside down.  One guy was thrown from the car, the other three had to cut out of the twisted steel.  Will was rushed to the nearest hospital with a collapsed lung, broken leg, broken arm and broken ribs.  He was stitched up and patched up and put in a hospital room.  Ten minutes later a new, pretty young nurse was assigned to him.  He said the minute she walked into his room he knew every broken bone was worth it.  It was love at first sight.  Sixty one years later I watched her smile as he told their story.


Don was not as poetic.  He shared the bare facts.  After high school he got a job as a dishwasher as Pisgah View Ranch.  It was a dude ranch where doctors and lawyers came to play.  Vera was a waitress.  They became friends.  He was drafted and spent three years in the army.  When he got out, he moved back to Asheville and looked Vera up.  They got married.  That was fifty two years ago.


Jane talked about riding the bus home from nursing training.  One day a handsome, older man got on and sat near her.  She saw him on the bus every day for two weeks before he asked her out.  It was after they were married that she found out he had only ridden the bus to get to know her.  He had a car that worked perfectly.  They have been riding in cars for the last forty six years.


Each one of these couple have one partner that is dying.  I am always inspired by them.  Not just by their romantic, old fashioned love stories.  I am moved by their commitments to be together til the end.  I am touched by the looks and touches of love between them that seem to supersede wrinkles and oxygen, walkers and bed pans.


Today is my anniversary.  A mere eighteen years by my patients' standards.  But it feels solid and substantial to me.  Maybe someday I will be telling a young chaplain about the big basketball player who sat directly in front of me in high school assembly.  How I looked at his blue eyes and blond curls and knew that I wanted to have his babies.  And maybe our long term love story will inspire her........

culture

I spent a day visiting several homes in the rural areas north of Asheville. It was a day for sitting on porches or around kitchen tables, learning about greasy beans and half runners, and what life was like before the "big road" (interstate 26) chopped up their farms and mountains.  I was soaking up the country history and personalities.  But I had one more visit to make.  A new patient, farther out then any of the rest.  After a half a mile up a gravel road I had no idea what to expect.  A walk through a garden, and up a porch led me into a big airy room where I noticed a wall of plates with a very Israeli look.

After introducing myself and asking about the patient, I asked if the plates were from Jerusalem.  From around the corner popped a 70 year old man, the patient's son-in-law.  "The plates come from all over Palestine. How did you know?" His heavy middle eastern accent was a striking change from the sounds I'd been listening to all day.

I shared that I had been to Israel many years ago and had bought a similar plate as a souvenir.  "And where in Palestine are you from?"  I asked.

"Haifa."  he answered.  "Have you heard of it?"

"I had my very first falafel in Haifa!"  I said excitedly.

And with that we were friends....

His vivid descriptions of  his homeland whetted my travel and adventure hunger.  And I think it had been awhile since someone had shown interest rather then distrust about his country.  He wanted to hear about all the places I had been to in his area.  And I wanted to hear all the great sites I had missed.

That first visit I was given a cold glass of water scented with orange blossoms to drink on the way home.  The next time we talked palestinian food non stop, and I left with a can of eggplant and specific directions on how to make my own baba ganoush.  After my next visit I got a fascinating lesson on the history of bediounins and a packet of za'atar to flavor tomatoes and cucumbers with.  Each time I spent quality time with his mother in law, and then hunted him down for more middle east discussion before I headed home.

Last night, while driving home, I pondered the mysteries of friendship.  Two people, different cultures, different generations, different religions, different countries and cultures, different everything - and yet so much to talk about.

I thought about C.S. Lewis' quote on friendship. "Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one." 

And it was all hiding there at the end of a gravel road.

satisfaction

My conversation with a 70 year man took an interesting turn.   In the middle of a ramble about favorite foods he said "I'm going to tell you about the two times I made women's eyes roll."  


Wow.  Chaplain's don't usually get told these kinds of stories.  I must have smiled.  Because he realized what he'd said and backtracked saying "No, no.  These are just food stories."


The first tale was about taking his wife to his hometown and introducing her to his favorite breakfast joint.  Grits, eggs, potatoes and bacon, coffee and biscuits.  Oh the biscuits.  With melted butter and blackberry jam.  That's when his wife really fell in love with him.  Mid biscuit, her eyes were rolling in rapture.  Heck.  My eyes were rolling just listening.


The second tale involved his expertise in choosing perfect figs.  "They must be just ripe, with stripes down each side.  You have a very small window of time to pick them before they go begin to rot."  So he found the perfect fig and offered it to a friend.  She declined saying she didn't like figs, or any other dried fruit.  He told her she had never really had a fig.  One bite in and her eyes were rolling in joy.


"Do you know how satisfying it is to give another person a great experience?"  He asked.  I tried not to smile again.  And thought about how many times patient's families thank us for being with them through their hard time. They talk about how the gentleness of the nurses, the time the doctor's took with them, how great their loved one felt after a CNA's visit, how caring the social worker was and on and on.... Their gratitude follows us out the door.


Wendie Malick says it this way.  "I think there is something for all of us where you find a balance in your life, where you feel that everything you do isn't about your own creature comforts or satisfying your own appetites. Some of it has to be directed outward and there is a huge satisfaction in that."


So whether it is a hot biscuit, a fresh fig or a being part of a talented team of hospice coworkers, give a little of yourself.  And eyes will roll.

small

It is a ritual.  Every weekday morning at 7 I tune into the Today show.  In the first five minutes I can hear the headlines, gaze at Matt Lauer and get caught up on the world's events before I start my day.  I've gotten familiar with Matt, Meredith, Ann and Al, -their voices, their humor, their strengths.  They are my crew.   I like being with them in the morning.


And now Meredith is gone.  Not sure exactly what it was 
about her that spoke to me.  Maybe that her inner beauty radiated out onto her face. Maybe her unique combination of goofiness and sincerity.  Maybe that she seemed so real as she laughed, cried, reported and teased.  


It's not the same now.  I still look and listen for her as I get used to the new configuration.  I loved what Matt said about her on her last day.  Something like this -


We have all talked about your talent, your warmth, your generosity,  and your humor.  Bottom line is this.  We've marveled over the fact that with someone who's got talent as large as yours, how small your ego is.  You've taught us how to be a great team mates.


What a beautiful complement!  I think of all the ways I want to be "just like Meredith when I grow up" those words are at the top of the list.

doc baker

Me and Doc Baker.  That's what I think while I'm making house calls all over Buncombe County.  I grew up watching Little House on the Prairie.  And loved the idea of a doctor actually coming to your house when you were sick.  I still love it.  Our patients don't have to sit in a waiting room to see a nurse or doctor, drive to a government building to find their social worker, or walk into a church to visit with their chaplain.  We come to them.


Doing that takes me crisscrossing all over this part of the state.  Up mountain roads, down gravel roads, over the river and through the woods..... to trailers, apartments, big homes and little homes.  I can't believe that almost every day I get to drive segments of the Blue Ridge Parkway, cross sections of the French Broad River and often get a glimpse of our claim to fame - the Biltmore House.  I get a front row seat on seasons changing.  And finding more and more to love in this place I get to call home.


The people I get to visit with are just as interesting.  Last week I sat on a wide front porch with an elderly man.  We watched two squirrels try to climb into a bird feeder while he told me about driving an ambulance in Hollywood in the 50's.
"Did you ever pick up anyone famous?"  I had to ask.
"Oh, yes.  Regularly." He answered.
"Who?!!!!"
"I can barely remember my own name, much less some actor."  He said.  "Besides, I'm not into that whole "movie star" scene."
"Yeah." I tried to agree.  Hoping he wouldn't see the People magazine in the front seat of my car.


The next day I was sitting in a garden bursting with bright red azaleas learning about how why old Cadillacs are the best.  A 40 minute drive north and I was perched at a kitchen table learning how to properly can pickles.  And later I sat bedside in South Asheville hearing about what it was like to be a stewardess after the war, flying to Japan to pick up wounded soldiers.  Yep.  I get paid for this!


Because of my house calls, I am getting very familiar with Fairview, Black Mountain, Swannanoa, Canton, Weaverville, Cane Creek, and everything in between.  So I was surprised to be stumped when I asked a man in Woodfin where he met his wife.
"Seedy." He responded.
"Is that around here?" I asked.  He looked agast.
"Just down the road a mite."
 "I guess I haven't been there yet." I admitted.
"You lived here 20 years and never made it to Seedy?"
He clearly thought I was yahoo.  That's when I realized that Seedy was City as in downtown.  But my credibility was already shot with him.


Sometimes I soak up the silence in between visits.  Sometimes my car is filled with the Irish voices of Maeve Binchey's villagers, or the Sierra Madre's Tarahumara from Born to Run.  Sometimes it's the familiar voices of John Ortberg or Rob Bell bringing Bible passages to life.  Often it's phone calls to hear what my mom and dad are up to in California. These stories mix with the stories of my patients and their families.  I am wrapped in a big patchwork quilt of other people and places and times.  Their stories are becoming part of my story.  Adding, stretching, shaping and coloring the person I am becoming.


I guess that's just what happens when you make house calls.

love wins

While touring Antietam I heard a story that was new to me and captured my attention -

On August 22, 1838, Samuel Mumma Jr. was born in a little white brick farmhouse near Sharpsburg, Maryland.  Samuel was one of thirteen children.  He grew up playing on green rolling hills, working in the fields and was baptized in Antietam Creek.  Samuel's parents were devout Dunkers (German Baptists).  They believed in equality, pacifism, and service

Their peace and tranquility ended on September 17, 1862.  Confederate and Union armies swarmed the countryside in the Battle of Antietam.   The Mumma family fled to their church north of the battle grounds.  That day, Robert E. Lee ordered Confederate soldiers to burn the Mumma farmhouse to the ground so that Union snipers could not use it as a home base.

A few days later the Mumma family returned home to total devastation.  Crops were trampled, livestock killed, a pile of ashes where their house had been.  As the armies were burying soldiers on both sides of their land, the Mummas began to rebuild the farm.  They had to start from scratch.  It took eighteen back breaking months.  

Fast forward to 1890.   Samuel Mumma Jr. still lived in Sharpsburg.  He and his wife had two grown sons and seven daughters. At almost 70 years of age, Samuel took the job of town postmaster.

One day a letter arrived at the post office.  It was from James Clark of New Burn, North Carolina. James said that he was the officer who reluctantly followed orders to burn the Mumma farm.  James and several other soldiers tossed a piece of burning campfire wood through an open window where it landed on a straw mattress, soon engulfing the house in flames.  James had felt terrible about this for years and now had written this letter of apology.  Would the postmaster please forward this letter to the family who had lived in that home?

As Samuel read James' letter, memories of his childhood home came back to him.  He remembered the helplessness of losing everything, the anger from needless destruction, the toll on his parents.  And then he remembered the principles of his faith - peace, love, forgiveness.  Samuel sent a letter back to James.  He assured James that he understood the young soldier was only acting under orders and that the Mumma family held no grudge and offered their  full forgiveness.  He sent James some postcards with scenes of Antietam as a good will gift.  For Samuel and James, once again, the war was over.

There is a plaque outside the Dunker church of Antietam pictured above.

The Battle of Antietam was one of the bloodiest battles in the history of this nation. Yet, one of the most noted landmarks on this great field of combat is a house of worship associated with peace and love. Indeed, the Dunker Church ranks as perhaps one of the most famous churches in American military history. This historic structure began as a humble country house of worship constructed by local Dunker farmers in 1852. It was Mr. Samuel Mumma, owner of the nearby farm that donated the land the church is on.

Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance.  Jude 1:2