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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Empathy is two edged sword

My daughter turned 20 today. When she was a wee might I could knit sweaters for her and she wore them and loved them. Then adolescence came along and she told me not to knit for her anymore. Last year she asked me to knit her a sweater she saw in one of my knitting books. I was overjoyed! But after I was finished she never wore it. There it sits up in her closet. Oh well, I think she'll wear the wrist warmers I made her for Christmas.

She's a little slip of a girl, barely 100 pounds and as tough as nails. To look at her you'd think she was a gangbanger. She's "into" black and chains and doc martin high top boots. She wears a black bandana on her head like a gang member. But she's not in a gang. At least not in the usual sense. She calls her friends her "pack". They're all kind of scary looking too.

She goes to college now and her father and I hope she'll find a new catagory of friends. But she still seems pretty stuck on her old crowd.

They are all a needy bunch. Such problems! But that's why she likes them. She can mother them and worry about them to her heart's content. But she doesn't take good care of herself. She worries so! And she tries to fix them. They won't listen to her, so she worries some more.

She doesn't understand that it's possible to love and nurture others while still taking good care of herself. I was much the same when I was her age, although my friends were not as massively needy as hers. My "projects" were fewer in number and spaced apart, not all in one "pack".

We continue to pray for her and her friends. We hope she grows up soon. And maybe I'll live long enough to see it! ( If it doesn't take too long.)

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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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