last day

My last day at hospice was Wednesday.  The Friday before was a wonderful going-away party.  Perfect for many reasons.  It was for both me and our beloved boss Craig so not too much spotlight on me.  We ate Mellow Mushroom pizza and home-made peach blueberry crisp with vanilla ice cream.  There was lots of laughter and fun to off set the sweet words and goodbyes.

I planned to be done with visits by Friday.  To have the last three days of this week for paper work, last minute conversations and turning everything in.  But of course things didn't go as planned.  My last day I had three scheduled visits.

They couldn't have been more different.  A Hungarian couple, he in a nursing home bed sleeping.  She by his side every day, hungry for company.  Their priest had been by that morning to give communion.  But she wanted someone to hold her hand and listen to stories of the war, and how they'd met.  In the last 6 months, I have so enjoyed her stories. 

My second visit was to a tiny Asian Buddhist woman who lives alone in a log cabin in the woods forty-five minutes out of town.  She wanted to talk about how faith carries a person through sickness into death.  And how to know if you picked the right faith when it comes down to the end.  Rich discussions interspersed with "where to get great chinese food" when she wanted a break from the seriousness.  I could have visited her for many months to come and looked forward to each visit.

Last was my favorite.  Larry, a North Carolinian Baptist.  I started visiting him three years ago in his home.  Now he lives in an assisted living center.  Each week we talk about his wife, who passed away five years ago.  We talk about Heaven and what he is longing for there.  We talk about Nascar and Duck Dynasty, hamburgers and the beach. As it was my last Hospice day, I asked Larry's permission to visit occasionally as a friend.  I know, it's my issue.  I want to finish the journey I started with him.  Larry's response was classic Larry.  "You better."

As I drove home, I thought about how much I have loved the last 5 years of chaplaining.  I love my team.  I love a lot of my patients.  I love exploring the county in my little blue car and designing my own schedule.  I love all the prayers and spiritual conversations I get to be a part of.  I felt a wave of fear and regret to be leaving all this.

Then I remembered what my supervisor Robin told us as we left chaplain school.  "Each time you make a change, the adjustment gets easier.  You take with you every single thing you've learned and apply it to the next job, the next team, the next patients."

T.S. Elliot had a different spin on it. “If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” 

So here I come school.  Ready for a new team of teachers, and a case load of vibrant, healthy students.   Willing to embrace all the changes and challenges ahead.  Ready to share all the wisdom I've learned in five years of chaplaining.  And so ready to face all that I don't have a clue about.

runner

This July is full of surprises.  I was offered a new job.  New as in totally unexpected.  Principal to elementary school children instead of chaplain to hospice patients.  This month I will be finishing my old job while I start my new one.  A new identity as well as exciting challenges and timely solutions.  I'm blown away!

But as I'm reeling with the changes, my twelve year old turned thirteen. We picked up five boys, fed them all the pizza and rootbeer floats they could handle and let them play basketball at the gym until they were totally worn out.  Josh was in his glory.

Three day's later it was Steve's birthday. I wanted something a little less little-caesars and a little more grown-up-celebration.  I made my mom's to-die-for eggplant patties with arrabbiata sauce, fresh green beans and corn, salad and bread.  And of course, Steve's must-have Southern Living's Best Carrot Cake Ever.    

An hour before our friends arrived for the birthday dinner, I did finishing touches on the house and set the table.  All week I had planned to use a beautiful woven runner for the table that went with my flowers and plates.  I had planned the decorations around it, but our table is a mess, and no matter what way I turned the runner, I couldn't get it right.  So I found a blue table cloth and a red flowered napkin that did the trick.

The next day I got a call from a patient's wife.  She said Larry was rallying today and was wondering if the baptism we had talked about for so long could actually happen today.  I told her I was on my way over.  I looked around my house for what I could take to make this chair bound, spontaneous baptism feel holy and eternal.  I got my Bible and a little glass pitcher.  And on the way out, I grabbed the folded woven runner.

Larry and Gail are  sweet people with a simple, tenacious faith.  Illness has tested it over and over, but they have kept their warm, grateful spirits.  They inspire me every time I visit.  

Come Thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy praise.

Today we read Matthew 3 together.  How John was a voice calling in the wilderness  "Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him." We talked about how we want to remove any stumbling blocks from our hearts and clear the way for God to have unobstructed access.  We talked about the symbol of baptism and what it means to hear God's voice saying "This is my beloved child."  We prayed together.  Then I wrapped the woven runner around Larry's neck.  With the pitcher of water I baptized him in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for sounds of loudest praise.

As I dried Larry's head with the ends of the runner, I thought about how an ordinary table cloth had become sacramental stole. Ordained fabric.  I thought about how often I make plans.  Even lovely plans.  But sometimes they just aren't high enough.  

Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.