Old Man River

Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of the homegoing of my father and my aunt.

My father suffered from emphysema, and, after a disastrous mistake in the increase of dosage for his medication, he ended up at the hospital with no way to get better.

On the second day of his short stay my sister and I went to see him in his curtained ICU cubby. He was frail, and disoriented and, we discovered, very afraid. But he would never tell us that! He was from the old school. "Never show your fear!" this WW11 veteran had drummed into his head.


As he lay there, he looked at us and quoted, " I'm tired a' livin' and I'm feared a' dyin'". Hmmm.... that sure sounded familiar, but neither my sister nor I could place where we'd heard it. He was no help! His response was, "I'm not telling you! Go out and find out for yourself!"


When our visit was over and we had left the hospital and each other, I thought about what he had said. But also thought about what he had "said".



As soon as I got home I called my pastor and asked him to visit my father. I felt that his lyrical speech was his way of saying that he truly was afraid. And if he was afraid, then so was I. I took my pastor up to see him and then left them alone. I waited right outside the door to the ICU and prayed and peeped through the window and prayed some more. I never did ask either my father or my pastor just what it was that they talked about.



Two days later, with his family all around, he slipped into the Kingdom God. And I was so glad and so grateful that he had taken the chance to talk to my pastor and I had peace about his passing.



That was on a Thursday. The Saturday following I had to set up and take care of matters for a small concert that was being performed at my church's parish house. My good friend Bruce Davies, Scottish singer of traditional and original songs, was making an American tour.



The concert was a diversion for me, a kind of spate from the deep feelings that the passing of a parent can bring. And it was good to see Bruce! His concert ran about two hours and then he sang his final song...."Old Man River" And there in the middle of the song was the line, "I'm tired of livin' and I'm feared of dyin'"



And for me it was a beautiful confirmation that I had gotten it right. I had done what needed doing for my father and he was, and is, safely living eternally in God's gracious love.



How awesome is that?

The Miracle of Nine

Last summer my Godmother became critically ill and nearly entered Heaven's gates when she was rushed to the hospital with massive internal bleeding. For 11 days her bleeding went uncontrolled. And during that time, she had been told, she received eight units of blood. Eventually the source of the bleeding was found and repaired and she was able to return home. Her convalescence was complicated by chemo therapy, but she did get better and is grateful to God for seeing her through this and showing her with such assurance, that He intends for her to be well and to continue the work He has placed in front of her.

While worshipping in church, several months after her hospital stay, she was filled with gratitude for those anonymous people who had donated their blood, making her recovery possible. And she prayed for them. " Oh Lord", she prayed. "Please send a special blessing to those eight people who donated their blood so that I could live." And in the small still voice that she recognised as God's, she heard, "Nine." Well, she was confused by that, and she said, "But Lord, my husband told me there were eight people who gave their blood." And the Lord spoke back, "Mine!"

And it is so true that God hears everything we say to Him! Whether it's praise or prayer, worship or petition, He hears it and He acts upon it, for our benefit and His glory!

But here's the rest of the story; When she was told that there was a chance she might have cancer cells floating around in her, her doctor ordered a blood test to measure a certain protein, CA125, in her blood, that is an indicator of cancer. The count was 257. The optimal number would be under 50. A few months later it was suggested that she discontinue the chemo, due to certain side effects that occured, and she was glad to agree. The CA125 blood test was run again and the count was............................nine!

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Mother Theresa of her cul-de-sac

Running a home business allows me to spend time volunteering at my local hospital. Every other Thursday I do visitations for the Pastoral Care department. I pass out pamphlets to people who were admitted the night before. I smile a lot and sometimes, if I feel it's appropriate, offer to pray with people who are worried and frightened. We have a very large senior citizen population. Many of the patients come from the nursing homes and they are all alone. It feels good to be able to share a smile and a prayer.

The other part of my job involves counseling with critically ill and/or terminally ill patients and their families. That's the part of my job that is most rewarding for me. I have a chance to make a real difference, to bring some peace and comfort, to someone who is truly in need of a warm hand and a warm smile.

This week I met Sadie. She's an elderly lady whose been taking care of everyone in her area of the over 50 housing development. She makes sure that those who get Meals on Wheels, get more than just one hot meal a day. If someone needs a ride to the doctor, she's there. She took care of her dying husband, mother, cousin. Now she was sitting in an infectious disease controlled room with her good friend, Frank, who was dying from an infectious disease he picked up during his last stay in the hospital. He was in and out of conscienceness.

When I walked into the room, she was near hysteria, waiting for the doctor to come and tell her how this was going to get better. I asked her if Frank had a spiritual base. She cried out, " No, he doesn't! But I do, and I'm really upset with God right now! Why does he allow such bad things to happen to such good people! My mother, my husband, my cousin, and now Frank! Why didn't he make them better?" And she burst into sobs.

Frank was raised in a home that did not believe in the existence of God. But he knew the bible better than Sadie did. She told me that she got embarrassed that he knew more than she did.
"Well, that doesn't amount to a hill of beans!" I told her. "Knowing the bible is not what counts."

She was angry and confused and furious! But I really think that she was more upset with herself. She is a fixer. That is the world she has built for herself. It's what gives her life purpose. And now she was sitting there, again, helpless, and blaming the only one who could have made the difference.

I knelt next to her and rubbed her back. I told her that God handles situations the way he sees as best, not necessarily the way we see them. And that God knew exactly what the right thing was for Frank. But I didn't leave her empty handed.

I told her, " This is what you can do, When Frank is asleep, or unconscious, you can lay your hands on him and speak words of truth over him. You can speak God's love over him. And that is the very best thing you can do for him."

Will Frank be admitted into heaven? I don't know! But I know that God Loves Frank so much! More than anyone else could. And I know that the fervent prayers of a righteous person avails much! I would not be surprised if, while walking on that cloudy path from here to there, God does meet him and, at last, Frank will understand the sacrifice that was made for him, and the love, so great, that has been poured out over his entire life. And arm in arm, they'll enter heaven together!

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The Unbelievable Blessing;Painting for Cancer Patients

Three years ago I was recovering from a serious illness. I suffered from chronic fatigue and intractable pain. But I had been making progress in my recovery and I had reached a point when I wondered if I could push myself to do more and not make myself sicker.

I decided to volunteer at my local hospital. During an orientation program I heard the Oncology Clinical Social Worker talk about an art program that she needed artists for. I am so grateful I decided to check it out.

Now when I go to the hospital I carry a tote bag with my paints, brushes, and volunteer name tag. I ride the elevator up to the fourth floor and head to Tracie’s office. She is the oncology ward social worker. She has a small list for me of patients who may enjoy having a painting done. I get the “art cart” which holds the rest of the supplies I need and head to a patient’s room.

That patient decides what kind of painting they would like. Usually it will be a painting of a favorite place, either a childhood memory or a well remembered vacation spot. I set up my equipment and start to ask questions. What kind of flowers are in the garden you remember? What color was the sand on the beach! Were the mountains snow capped? I try to get my patient to be as specific as possible. And while they are answering my questions, they remember all kinds of things they may have forgotten.

And we talk. And I ask more questions, and before we know it, they are smiling and talking in an animated way. They are happy recalling the events that took place and the people they love and, for a little while, the chemo therapy drip fades away. Their mind’s eye no longer sees the bed with the sterile white covers and maybe they forget that they’re old and bald and sick.

After an hour or so, they seem more relaxed and so glad that we had our talk. And I present their painting to them and they are so happy! I tape it to the wall and they have something to bring home that is a happy memory.

I pack up my kit, and stow it on the art cart. I go back into the room and shake their hand, and smile, and tell them I will be praying for them. And sometimes I’ll give them a wee kiss.

I don’t think I could feel better than I do as walk out of that room, knowing that I have made a difference in that person’s life.

I am blessed because they are blessed.

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Dog Walk for Cancer

Yesterday I participated in a charity function; The Annual Dog Walk for Cancer. I and most of the other voluteer artists from the hospital got together to do face painting and try to drum up more volunteers. We did pretty well.
We made over $90.00 and got three signatures of folks who want to join the pet therapy program.

It was a beautiful day, bright sonshine, good breezes fair temps, until around 2:00, when the wind droppped and it got really humid. I cam home with a fine sunburn and absolutely exhausted. Today I recover!