about the presents..

I keep hearing how this time of year is not about the presents.  I hear it from weary parents, worried teachers, wistful leaders.  That even though we are frantically shopping and ordering, planning and hunting, wrapping and mailing, we cannot lose focus of the reason for the season.  That before UPS and Fed Ex, crowded malls and Santa Claus, God became Emmanuel.


God with us -around the tree on Christmas morning.  Where I  get a glimpse of the thoughtful, generous, joyful, abundant nature of the God-head, through the presents being exchanged.


I watched my boys bursting with anticipation and excitement.  They had presents they couldn't wait to open (it's the size of a video game!) and presents they couldn't wait to give. (ebelskievers!)


Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.  James 1:17


I memorized the looks of surprise and fulfillment on their faces with presents they had hoped for, (the reptile book!) and presents they had never thought of. (nerf shooters!)


“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.” 1 Corinthians 2:9



Over the tearing of paper, I heard Christmas songs mixed with laughter and delight.


You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy;  In Your right hand there are pleasures forever. Psalms 16:11


And afterwards we sat together.  In a pile of wrapping paper and boxes. Counting our blessings.


Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!  2 Corinthians 9:15


Because, in so many ways, it's all about the presents....

a hard battle

Plato once said  "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."


I've been repeating that to myself.  When someone cuts me off in traffic, or snaps at me from behind a desk, or walks ahead of me with slumped shoulders.


"Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."  The older I get, the more I believe it.  Working with hospice opens my eyes to the reality that people die all the time.  Age and sickness take their tolls.  Every day families are gearing up to say their last goodbyes, or unexpectedly saying goodbye, or reeling from saying goodbye.


Out of hospice life is hard too.  You just don't have a trained team anticipating your potential needs.  No nurse IVing your pain away. No social worker arranging for resources.  No chaplain checking your spiritual reservoirs.  Just the words "one day at a time" or "one foot in front of the other" as you trudge through.


I think of the hard battles my loved ones are fighting quietly.  Waiting for a diagnosis.  Hoping for a job.  Struggling with a marriage.  Trying to move on.  Be kind to them please, even if you have no idea why their eyes are sad.  Hopefully, a little kindness will help in some victory.


Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.  Ephesians 4:32

circles of life

There is a lot of talk in hospice of the circle of life.  You are born.  You live.  You die.  This circle reminds us that we aren't the first or the last to go through what we are presently experiencing.

There are smaller circles of life too.  Lighter ones.  I thought about this a few days ago when my son asked me to help him get a gag christmas present for a girl in his class.  It was a hesitant request. This is a very sensitive age relationally.  One wrong move on my part - teasing, probing, assuming, labeling, etc.  and the request would have been withdrawn and I would be blocked out of the loop.  But I played it cool.  I asked just enough to get the idea he was looking for.  I said no more. And then I hunted from store to store to make his idea become reality.  I finally found a darling little $5.00 (right price) teddy bear with a justin bieber (the gag) tee-shirt on that I thought might fit the bill.  My boy's relief and delight was total reward for my searching.

Twenty-four years ago tonight was my first big date with Steve.  It was a Christmas banquet and we were to bring a gift for each other.  This gift had to be PERFECT.  It couldn't cost too much, since I had no money, but it had to be cool and meaningful and express my deep devotion, but with subtlety in case the intensity of feelings were not mutual.  It had to be something he would love, and couldn't live without and..... I had no idea what to get and I had only a few hours left to get it.  As I headed to school I begged my mom to find the impossible gift, whatever it might be, and not embarrass me and wrap it and bring it to me, please, please, please.

Of course she did.  She found a great ski hat and a ski calendar.  Both were super cool and reminiscent of our recent ski trip and hinted to more trips in our future...  I took the calendar and wrote in all of Steve's basketball games, home leaves and friends birthdays.  I gave it to Steve that night.  He loved it!  (So much that he married me 7 years later. :))  Mom - You rock!  I hope my teenage self was grateful and appreciative for your genius and hard work.

And someday my son might find himself searching for the perfect gift for one of his children to give.  It's just one of the circles of life.

Remember His promise forever—from generation to generation.  1 Chronicles 16:15 

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

rustling

On my dining room table is a beautiful, red poinsettia plant nestled in a white bowl.  It is the very essence of Christmas.  But this morning I noticed one of it's leaves was wilted and  falling off.  The intense autumn colors have turned to crackling ground cover.  And last night's dusting of snow is now mud.  You don't have to work at hospice to be reminded that beauty is fleeting.


As I sit in patient's rooms I see pictures on their walls and tables of what they used to look like.  Miss Apple Festival whose toothless grin and scraggily hair bare no resemblance to her worn newspaper clippings.  A war hero sailor who now needs assistance to turn over.  A basketball coach who is no longer coordinated enough to feed himself.  The happy young couple who are now confined to separate halls. The attorney whose speech is now gibberish and the scientist who can no longer remember his own name.  Strong, beautiful, intelligent, driven people that age and disease have faded into shadows of themselves.


It makes me value my current mobility and independence.  And wonder what young picture of me will be chosen for my wall someday.  What future chaplain will be straining to make the connection.  And it makes me feel very sad.


And then I remember that with the fall comes the promise of spring.   My favorite C.S. Lewis quote reminds me of this.


At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of the morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.     The Weight of Glory