Caregiving: The Language of the Heart

(The following article is written by Dan Bonner who a Lifeline Pastoral Care Volunteer for Central Texas)

The frail, wisp of a man barely puckered his cover-sheet; however, you could tell he was a much loved giant in the eyes of the man and woman standing beside his bed. A son on his right side was holding one hand and a daughter on the other side was holding the other one. It was a beautiful sight, made even more wonderful by their warm, welcoming smiles.

After introducing myself, the son told the father in Spanish who I was. With a smile as big as the sun he spoke, immediately taking the conversation in an unusual direction. He wanted to know about me: children, grandchildren, my age. The similarities established a rapport that would last throughout his hospitalization.

As I entered his room for my second visit, Juan threw his arms in the air as though he was welcoming a long lost brother. His ear-to-ear smile was punctuated by sparkling eyes. Through his son we talked of physical health, the importance of family and God’s blessings. Before I left it was important to Juan to demonstrate his improvement, so he walked across the room for me to see.

My next two visits were without the son or daughter there. She works during the day; he works as a janitor at night. Both times, mercifully for me I thought, Juan was asleep. Each time I left a note for his children to read to him.

On my last visit he had been transferred to the Intermediate Care Unit. The son had gone to lunch. What could we do but smile at each other I asked myself. Then putting the palms of my hands together I brought them up to my chin and bowed my head. Juan nodded his head, reached for my hand and closed his eyes. I said, “Our Father in heaven.” “Gracias,” he quietly said. At each comma, each period, each pause in the prayer there was a quietly spoken “Gracias.”

Juan did not understand my words, but trusted me to use them well. It was our prayer. Though neither of us is bilingual, we knew the Father understands the language of our hearts lifted in prayer.

Author: Dan Bonner

New Beginnings

As we enter a new year, I’m involved in several projects that have to do with making a new start. First, I’m involved in my church’s search for a new preaching minister – always a time of renewal for a church. Second, I’m writing letters of recommendations for three former Lifeline interns who are applying to graduate programs – one in medicine and two in ministry. Third, I’m serving on a Board Certification committee for a new chaplain.

I’m excited to be a part of helping to launch these new beginnings in the lives of people I care about. Not only do I find this work personally satisfying, I also find it spiritually uplifting. At the core of my personal theology is the conviction that God’s main line of business – at least as far as human beings are concerned – is redemption, the making of new beginnings. When I serve on a selection committee, when I help a new chaplain or a former intern launch a career or begin a course of formation, I feel that I’m participating in a small way in God’s Kingdom work of making all things new, and that leaves me with a feeling of deep satisfaction.

God’s blessings to you this week.

Author: Paul Riddle

Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference

I offer to the weary soul a poem I found in Phillip Yancey’s book on “Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference.” One can almost see the scenes that the author paints. I hope it refreshes you as it did me.

The Peace of Wild Things
Wendell Berry, Collected Poems

When despair grows in me

and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water,

and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Author: David Martin

My Flowers Needed Watering

Emma’s deep, racking cough shook the room. It had persisted over many days, despite the best efforts of her doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, and other caregivers. Although she had great difficulty talking in between coughing fits, she insisted that I stay. Her family, who were usually present, were not in the room, and she wanted to talk.

“This is not going to go on much longer,” she declared. “Not going to go on much longer?” I asked. “I’m dying,” she said matter-of-factly. Thus began a deep conversation in which she did most of the talking and I did most of the listening.

Emma was very much at peace with her life, at peace with herself, and at peace with God. Looking back over her life, she was able to see many times in which God had been there for her, providing protection, opening doors of opportunity, providing needed resources just when they were needed.

Church had always been a source of replenishment for Emma. Reflecting on the years when she was raising her children, juggling the demands of being a single parent and holding down a full-time job, she said it was always important for her to go to services at church anytime the doors were open – Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday night – even when she was bone weary. “What was it about church that caused you to go even when you didn’t want to?” I asked. “My flowers needed watering,” she said simply.

“My flowers needed watering.” That phrase was Emma’s metaphor for what church meant to her. It was where she went for replenishment. It was where her friends were. It was where she encountered God in special ways. It was home.

I must confess that Emma watered my flowers that day. I was moved by her forthrightness in facing her approaching death, and I was uplifted by her simple trust in the God who had been faithful to her in so many ways over the course of her life. I told Emma how much her faith encouraged me, and her face, worn with illness, brightened. By God’s grace, we both received a blessing that day.

Author: Paul Riddle

In the Valley of the Shadow When Grief and Loss Prevail

Death. To speak the work evokes deep sensations. Sometimes fear. Sometimes anger. Sometimes wonderment. Sometimes acceptance.

From the womb, we are created as survivors. The will to live is powerfully tenacious, a motivator stronger than despair. As do the animal and plant kingdoms, we fight death with our inmost being. We liken death to defeat, to being overtaken by an evil enemy.

Such imagery is not unbiblical. Utopian Garden of Eden quaked at the introduction of humans tasting death. Hebrew characters spent incredible amounts of energy defending the lives of thier people and themselves. The apex to the Christian narrative is a 30-plus year old carpenter’s son facing death squarely in the eye, all the while promising onlookers resurrection for himself and for them. The apostle Paul refers to death as the ultimate enemy, an enemy who has been de-fanged.

We spend our lifetimes dancing with death, though not always consciously. We know that nature’s life cycle depends upon the death of current residents. We acknowledge our daily bread comes at the cost of something dying on our behalf. We confront the harsh, ugly reality of death when a loved one dies, leaving us devastated and robbed.

The valley of the shadow of death is a place of loss, of bereavement, of unspeakable pain. But shadows, over time, lessen their impact as small amounts of light bring snippets of renewal.

With honest expressions of grief, with encouragement from fellow “losers,” and with time, God brings us new resevoirs of faith, hope, and love.

Author: Virgil Fry

New Year’s

As the year wound down, I could scarcely believe it.

2010?

The date sounds foreign to my ears and looks strange to my eyes. How could it be that so much time has gone by? How much the world has changed since the day of my birth!

When I was born, there were no computers in homes. In fact, TV’s were considered an oddity, and only the very richest among us had them. A scant five years later, my Dad bought our first television, which speaks to the speed of the contraption’s acceptance into American culture. Little did we know how much our world would change because of the glowing boxes adorning virtually every home.

Time flies by and change swirls around us.

The hospital I was born in is no longer standing. I am still standing, however. (That, too, could change).

But hospitals are still among us. There is a need that has not changed. That being, people get sick. People still grow ill. People still die.
I hear the clock ticking.

Blink and it will be 2011. The changes will come.

The question is, “How will we handle the changes?” What will we rely on when the storms come? Where will we turn for help?
It is a good thing to prepare for the day of Jonah. It is a wise thing to ponder what we will do when circumstances threaten to swallow us.
Psalm 46: 1 tells us, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” He is there in the storm offering safety and strength.
Present…with us, beside us, over us, under us…Immanuel.

In the coming year, my prayer for you (and for me), is that you will feel (and know) that God is present when change and trouble descend.
May we all be comforted and encouraged by His strength.

Author: David Martin

I Saw Love Today

June (not her real name) is an eighty year old mother with heart problems. She was surrounded by four daughters when I went in to see her. She was sitting up in a chair having just had a shower and a fresh shampoo. Though she was not out of the woods health wise, she was in the mood to cut up and joke with those around her. One daughter commented on her hair being “spiked” and mom just left it that way to aggravate them. We joked about how she would fit in with the younger crowd and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she smiled and became more animated as she spoke of her grandchildren. In fact, the four daughters were part of a group of thirteen siblings. Yes, grandma was only fourteen when she married and now had a quiver full of children which included thirty-nine grandchildren, eighty great-grandchildren and nineteen great-great-grandchildren.

I commented with “what a blessing it must be to have such a large family.” That’s when she sat up, looked me right in the eye and said plainly, “Well, it was no walk in the park! We’ve had our share of problems, but God has seen us through it all.” Then, someone shared the painful story of how one of the eight daughters had suffered a heart attack and died at the early age of thirty-four. There was talk of troubled teens and other difficult times, but what was clear were the visible signs of love and support these women had for one another and the high esteem they held for their mother. During the conversation, the youngest daughter brought in a “Princess Barbie” doll that had special significance between the two of them. That brought smiles and laughter to everyone.

I reflected on the fact that there are times when I visit a patient who have no family at their bedside. They suffer alone and in silence with their illness. They, too, need special attention, care and a listening ear. But, what a delight to see love demonstrated by a family who genuinely cares for one another. We joined hands in prayer and I thanked God for relationships, care for the present and hope for the future.

As I rose to leave, June smiled and thanked me for coming and for the encouragement given. I thanked her as well, for her humor, her hopefulness and for giving me a blessing today. As I walked down the hall, I recalled a statement of a chaplain colleague, who often says, “I have the best job in the world.”

A couple of weeks went by, then June was back in the hospital for the last time. When I saw her on this occasion, she was in a coma and in her final hours. Surrounding her bed were many of the family, some I hadn’t met before. But there were her daughters again, holding on to their beloved mother, one stroking her hair, another whispering in her ear words of caring and tenderness during those waning moments. Then, someone began the soft melody of an old familiar hymn and one by one others blended their voices to the refrain until she breathed her last.

Again, I thanked God for allowing me the privilege of being witness to the love of this family; a love that began long ago through simple acts of a mother caring for her children and came full circle as she became the recipient of that same love.

Her children rise up and call her blessed…Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. -Proverbs 31:28-30

Author: Tom Nuckels

A Modern Christmas Story

Jill and Matthew Garza were married in 1995. It was their desire to start a family immediately. After several miscarriages, and some efforts with fertility drugs, the doctor admitted to the Garzas that adoption was their best course of action. “There is a one in a thousand chance you will ever have a child through natural means,” he said. Jill grieved her loss, often sobbing to herself after going to bed at night. Matthew would wake to her cries, and try his best to comfort her. His words gave little solace, and he admitted ignorance about how it felt for a woman to give up on such a dream of carrying the gift of life. Never to experience the joy of childbirth, Jill went through long bouts of depression. Matthew took to cradling Jill in his lap and even rocked her to sleep. Thus they went through years of infertility.

Once, as they planned a vacation, Jill complained of feeling sick. This nausea continued unabated till the day they planned to leave, so they dropped in on their doctor, who insisted on a pregnancy test. This didn’t set well with Jill; as such procedures only brought back memories of one disappointment followed by another. When the nurse called the couple in to tell them Jill’s test showed positive, the couple laughed cynically, citing the numerous false positives they had received before. “This is a new test,” the nurse proclaimed with smile, “but if you would prefer, I will have the doctor come talk to you personally.”

“Please do!!”

The good doctor repeated the nurse’s statements and congratulated the couple. “You should thank God,” he said, “for this is truly a miracle.” Jill and Matthew walked to the elevator dazed, tearful, happy…and quite anxious. Would this baby make it to term?
Nine months later, on December 25th, a baby girl was born. She needed no prompting to cry, and her lungs proclaimed the day of her arrival.

It is no small thing to believe what cannot be seen, has now become reality, and that God can create from nothing that which is living, moving, giggling, and now going crazy for boys. There she is just the same.

Jill and Matthew will celebrate Christmas with their daughter again this year, a joyous time for many reasons, and for them, the greatest of all gifts.

If you are somewhere between grief and re-birth during this Christmas season, may God give you the strength to persevere. Not everyone gets a story like Jill and Matthew, but there are promises of new life in the Christmas story.

Perhaps it is just around the corner.

Author: David Martin

VOLUNTEERS “COME ALONGSIDE” THOSE WHO ARE HURTING

All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.

2 Corinthians 1:3 (The Message)

Earlier in my career, I served almost a decade as a chaplain in the United States Navy. During those years, I spent a lot of time aboard warships at sea, supporting the sailors and Marines who form the backbone of our sea services.

One of the indelible images that remains with me from my years at sea is that of an operation known as underway replenishment (or, in Navy jargon, UNREP). When a Navy ship needs more fuel, food or other supplies, it doesn’t always have the luxury of pulling into the nearest port like you or I would pull our cars into the nearest gas station or convenience store. It has to be able to get what it needs through underway replenishment. During an UNREP, the ship comes alongside a support ship, hoses and lines are strung between the two ships (which, by the way are moving), and the support ship provides whatever is needed. It’s thrilling, and a little scary, being aboard a ship during an UNREP. The ships are close together, and the operation tests the nerve and shiphandling skills of both crews, but the result is worth the effort.

“Coming alongside” is an apt image for the spiritual care Lifeline’s volunteers provide to the patients and families we serve. In underway replenishment, each ship is fully seaworthy and has its own captain and crew. The supply ship doesn’t take over the mission of the other ship. It simply comes alongside and provides the support that is needed. Similarly, in pastoral encounters with patients and family members, our volunteers come alongside, not to fix or to take over, but to listen, to pray, and to engage in caring conversation. By doing these things – and even more importantly by simply being there – our volunteers offer reassurance of God’s steadfast love and abiding presence. This is the unique contribution spiritual care makes to patients’ healing and wholeness.

This contribution is reflected in the following lines from a patient, recently discharged from Methodist Hospital, who wrote to express her thanks to Lifeline’s volunteers who came alongside her and her family during a long illness:

Thank you all for such a wonderful ministry. I appreciate all the visits, prayers, communion, and support for my family during my lengthy 2-month stay at Methodist Hospital in Houston. It was so nice being so far away from our own congregation, but having brothers and sisters in Christ to visit. Special thanks to [several named volunteers] and all the others that continued to pray for us. In Christian love…

Author: Paul Riddle

The Answer Is No, Followed by a Yes

Many patients want to know, “Have I done enough?” Another way I hear this is “I hope I have done enough.” No, we haven’t done enough, and no we could never do enough to justify our own salvation. That is what Jesus did. The work of justification is complete. Now the work of sanctification…that is a different matter. God continues to work on us till the day we die. If we live long enough, we are going to experience health problems. This is not God’s way of punishing us, but rather a way of helping sort through our humanity, and find peace as we slowly let go of this life.

Now I often wonder, “Why do we have to die?” However, as Christians, we do not really die, but are transformed. I don’t offer that so much in a dying person’s room, unless the patient voices that belief first. I encourage that person to lay hold of their faith. I want them to articulate their own hope for the next life. Framing this hope for the patient has the effect of denying their pain. When people tell us of their fears regarding illness, they invite us to join in their pain. If we lecture them (think Job’s friends), then we often send the message that we are uncomfortable with their pain, and would prefer to rush to resolution, rather than sitting patiently until they come to hope on their own.

The question, “Have I done enough,” is a way of saying, “I have some spiritual work to do. Would you sit with me for a while I wade through this?” The job of the visitor is to listen patiently, probe gingerly, and wave a light from time to time as the patient works their way through the darkness. While we do not want to rescue people, we cannot sit silently without offering a ray of light from time to time. The trick is knowing when to remain silent, and when to speak.

You will not always get it right, but I have noticed people are pretty forgiving, if you show some genuine interest and compassion.

Have you done enough? No. But we have someone who has said, “Yes” on our behalf, and that is sufficient for all our needs. Finding that truth, in the midst of suffering, is a job each one of us will have to work through. Maybe you will be the person who journeys with me as I stumble through the wilderness.

Author: David Martin