One of the truths of relationships is that a move toward someone, by risking self-disclosure, trusting them with a part of your life you share with trusted people, usually results in a corresponding move in your direction. I move toward you, you move toward me. If you move toward me, I am inclined to reciprocate. It is the basic stuff of human connectedness.
One November Saturday in 1979, I heard someone singing in the sanctuary of the Riverhills Church of God. At the time, I was teaching at Riverhills Christian School, operated by the church, in Tampa FL. I made a staggering $161.00 a week, if memory serves, and I worked part-time as the church janitor for some extra cash. That's why I was there on that Saturday.
I walked into the sanctuary through the side entrance, near the stage and I saw James Byrd, my pastor, sitting at the sound table in the back of the church. With earphones on, he was practicing his solo for the Christmas cantata, "His Love Reaching." I paused in my duties, unseen by the singer and listened to his clear baritone sing, "Love kept on longing, and Love kept on reaching, right past the shackles of my mind..." Believe me, it sounded wonderful.
I have thought of that moment and that song several times this week as I anticipate Christmas. Christmas is the story of God reaching for us, God coming to us, God with us. Emmanuel. Coming to us not because we were righteous, or good, or deserving, but because were weren't.
I meet people bound with skackles of their own everyday. You do too. It is easy to dismiss them, to catagorize them, to depersonalize them and dehumanize them. We can come up with all kinds of reasons why they may be entitled to healthcare, but not our care. But in my head I hear that song; Love longing...Love reaching. I am called to care, called to love. Christmas reminds me to move toward them, to reach out to them, to care for them and about them. That's what Love did. That's what Love does.
Merry Christmas
Jerald
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
The Gift of Light
In the Pentecostal tradition, and indeed in many other conservative evangelical churches, there is an aversion to formal liturgy. "It has to come from the heart." "We don't need a program, we just let God have his way." But formal programs, liturgy and the experienced, powerful, presense of the Spirit are not mutually exclusive necessarily.
Having been powerfully influenced by spiriual spontaneity in the formation of my faith, I don't usally write out the prayers of invocation that I am often asked to do in my role as a hospital chaplain. Perhaps the only thing more powerful than this influence is my fear of making a fool of myself in front of a few thousand people. The latter won out and as I have for a few other "big" events" I wrote out a prayer of invocation for our hospital's annual Gift of Light celebration. I have not had such a reaction to a public prayer since I used the word "vicissitudes" in an invocation at my former place of employment seven or eight years ago. So, here it is.
Gift of Light 2009
Let us Pray.
Almighty God, who in beginning declared “Let there be light” we come to you.
O God who’s Light pierced the darkness and the darkness comprehended it not, we call out to you.
O Lord of Light, in whose presence no darkness dwells, we turn to you and humbly ask that you hear our prayer.
As in the beginning, Lord, where there is darkness, let there be Light.
In the darkness of hatred, let there be Light.
In the darkness of loneliness, let there be Light.
In the darkness of poverty, let there be Light.
In the darkness of sickness, let there be Light.
In the darkness of grief, let there be Light.
In the darkness of sin, let there be Light.
Indeed, God we pray above all else that in our own hearts, let there be Light. Let your Light shine, surround us with its glow and fill us with its love so that we become lights, dispelling the darkness.
This is our prayer. Amen.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Having been powerfully influenced by spiriual spontaneity in the formation of my faith, I don't usally write out the prayers of invocation that I am often asked to do in my role as a hospital chaplain. Perhaps the only thing more powerful than this influence is my fear of making a fool of myself in front of a few thousand people. The latter won out and as I have for a few other "big" events" I wrote out a prayer of invocation for our hospital's annual Gift of Light celebration. I have not had such a reaction to a public prayer since I used the word "vicissitudes" in an invocation at my former place of employment seven or eight years ago. So, here it is.
Gift of Light 2009
Let us Pray.
Almighty God, who in beginning declared “Let there be light” we come to you.
O God who’s Light pierced the darkness and the darkness comprehended it not, we call out to you.
O Lord of Light, in whose presence no darkness dwells, we turn to you and humbly ask that you hear our prayer.
As in the beginning, Lord, where there is darkness, let there be Light.
In the darkness of hatred, let there be Light.
In the darkness of loneliness, let there be Light.
In the darkness of poverty, let there be Light.
In the darkness of sickness, let there be Light.
In the darkness of grief, let there be Light.
In the darkness of sin, let there be Light.
Indeed, God we pray above all else that in our own hearts, let there be Light. Let your Light shine, surround us with its glow and fill us with its love so that we become lights, dispelling the darkness.
This is our prayer. Amen.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Blessed With Needs
Glimmers
December 4, 2009
“You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” (Rev. 3:17 NIV)
My Pastor, who I assert is wise well beyond his 35 years of age, is currently preaching a sermon series called “Blessed.” One of the points he made in his last sermon was that we have been blessed with needs. Blessed with needs? The very thought flies into the face of reason. Wouldn’t we be better blessed to be free of needs? Wouldn’t it be great to have no worries? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be self-sufficient and need nothing from anyone and to have no one else who needed anything from us? HALLELUJAH! Actually, no it wouldn’t.
If you have seen the movie Castaway starring Tom Hanks, you will remember that he was the only survivor of a plane crash that left him alone on a small, remote island. He had learned how to fish, to provide his own shelter, and he learned how to make a fire to keep himself warm. He even learned how to be his own dentist! But he couldn’t learn how to live alone. His need for an “other” caused him to personify a volleyball and name it Wilson. Ultimately, his need for real companionship drove him to leave the island.
Needs, and our relentless pursuit to meet those gnawing, aching, longings are cleverly disguised blessings. They make us truly human. They drive us to one another, to giving and receiving, to blessing others and being blessed by them. They drive us to acts of compassion for others in need and inspire thanksgiving and gratitude for our own needs that have been met by the actions of others.
Strange as it may seem, having no needs is the greatest poverty of all.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
December 4, 2009
“You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” (Rev. 3:17 NIV)
My Pastor, who I assert is wise well beyond his 35 years of age, is currently preaching a sermon series called “Blessed.” One of the points he made in his last sermon was that we have been blessed with needs. Blessed with needs? The very thought flies into the face of reason. Wouldn’t we be better blessed to be free of needs? Wouldn’t it be great to have no worries? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be self-sufficient and need nothing from anyone and to have no one else who needed anything from us? HALLELUJAH! Actually, no it wouldn’t.
If you have seen the movie Castaway starring Tom Hanks, you will remember that he was the only survivor of a plane crash that left him alone on a small, remote island. He had learned how to fish, to provide his own shelter, and he learned how to make a fire to keep himself warm. He even learned how to be his own dentist! But he couldn’t learn how to live alone. His need for an “other” caused him to personify a volleyball and name it Wilson. Ultimately, his need for real companionship drove him to leave the island.
Needs, and our relentless pursuit to meet those gnawing, aching, longings are cleverly disguised blessings. They make us truly human. They drive us to one another, to giving and receiving, to blessing others and being blessed by them. They drive us to acts of compassion for others in need and inspire thanksgiving and gratitude for our own needs that have been met by the actions of others.
Strange as it may seem, having no needs is the greatest poverty of all.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Thanksgiving Edition
Glimmers
November 20, 2009
"I thank my God every time I remember you..." (Phil. 1:3, NASV)
Last night my wife asked me to get the little pilgrim salt and pepper shakers, napkin holder and spoon rest from the top shelf of the cabinet above the oven. They are from the collection Publix supermarket used to sell, now discontinued, I'm sad to say. Thanksgiving preparations have begun in earnest at the Smith house.
That got me thinking about being thankful. As I began thinking this through on my morning walk, I thought about the farmer who got up at 4 a.m. to milk the cows that produced the milk I put in my morning coffee. Our society is so removed from the production of the things we use everyday, I’ll bet there are people who don’t even know milk comes from cows. Some people are so confused about it they think the chicken in those Chick-fil-A commercials comes from those Holsteins carrying the sign, “Eat mor chikn.” But chicken doesn’t come from cows, beef does. And besides, those are DAIRY cows. Hello!
This ignorance about where things come from is boldly displayed at the fast food restaurants that proclaim their burgers are from “100% Angus beef.”Angus cows are just beef cows with black hair. I suspect the beef from red Santa Gertrudis or gray Brahman or white Charolais cows is just as good, they just need better marketing. But I digress. The point is how many things have you used today that someone else worked very hard to produce? How many others gave their time and expertise in the doing of their jobs so that you could do yours? At the risk of missing some of the hundreds of people involved, allow me to illustrate. I’ll begin with arriving at work this morning, just to keep it simple.
I parked my car and before I could lock the doors, a volunteer driving the shuttle arrived and asked if I needed a ride. I noticed the grounds were neatly trimmed, thanks guys! The South entrance door opened automatically, thank you Business Office for paying FPL. Thank you to HIS for coding the procedures so the Business Office could bill for them to receive payment so we could pay FPL. I saw clean floors because environmental services had worked hard overnight to scrub, polish and vacuum them. I unlocked the door to my office and turned on my computer. Thank you Information Systems! I took the daily census and referrals off the printer to start planning my day. Admitting, nursing, and clinical informatics all had a hand in that. So many people to thank already and I had barely begun the day!
Now think about your job. Who ordered the gloves, prepared the meds, cooked the food, restocked linens, mopped the floors, drew the labs, took the Xrays, did the surgery, filed the reports, input the data, delivered the meals, transported the patient from the OR, and…well I think you get the picture. We all have hundreds of others to thank for their contributions to our being able to do our jobs.
Between now and Thanksgiving Day, how about telling some of them thanks for doing what they do so you have the opportunity to do what you do. And remember, as my minister likes to say, “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
Happy Thanksgiving!
Jerald
November 20, 2009
"I thank my God every time I remember you..." (Phil. 1:3, NASV)
Last night my wife asked me to get the little pilgrim salt and pepper shakers, napkin holder and spoon rest from the top shelf of the cabinet above the oven. They are from the collection Publix supermarket used to sell, now discontinued, I'm sad to say. Thanksgiving preparations have begun in earnest at the Smith house.
That got me thinking about being thankful. As I began thinking this through on my morning walk, I thought about the farmer who got up at 4 a.m. to milk the cows that produced the milk I put in my morning coffee. Our society is so removed from the production of the things we use everyday, I’ll bet there are people who don’t even know milk comes from cows. Some people are so confused about it they think the chicken in those Chick-fil-A commercials comes from those Holsteins carrying the sign, “Eat mor chikn.” But chicken doesn’t come from cows, beef does. And besides, those are DAIRY cows. Hello!
This ignorance about where things come from is boldly displayed at the fast food restaurants that proclaim their burgers are from “100% Angus beef.”Angus cows are just beef cows with black hair. I suspect the beef from red Santa Gertrudis or gray Brahman or white Charolais cows is just as good, they just need better marketing. But I digress. The point is how many things have you used today that someone else worked very hard to produce? How many others gave their time and expertise in the doing of their jobs so that you could do yours? At the risk of missing some of the hundreds of people involved, allow me to illustrate. I’ll begin with arriving at work this morning, just to keep it simple.
I parked my car and before I could lock the doors, a volunteer driving the shuttle arrived and asked if I needed a ride. I noticed the grounds were neatly trimmed, thanks guys! The South entrance door opened automatically, thank you Business Office for paying FPL. Thank you to HIS for coding the procedures so the Business Office could bill for them to receive payment so we could pay FPL. I saw clean floors because environmental services had worked hard overnight to scrub, polish and vacuum them. I unlocked the door to my office and turned on my computer. Thank you Information Systems! I took the daily census and referrals off the printer to start planning my day. Admitting, nursing, and clinical informatics all had a hand in that. So many people to thank already and I had barely begun the day!
Now think about your job. Who ordered the gloves, prepared the meds, cooked the food, restocked linens, mopped the floors, drew the labs, took the Xrays, did the surgery, filed the reports, input the data, delivered the meals, transported the patient from the OR, and…well I think you get the picture. We all have hundreds of others to thank for their contributions to our being able to do our jobs.
Between now and Thanksgiving Day, how about telling some of them thanks for doing what they do so you have the opportunity to do what you do. And remember, as my minister likes to say, “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
Happy Thanksgiving!
Jerald
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Seeing the invisible
Glimmers
October 22, 2009
“It was by faith that Moses left the land of Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger. He kept right on going because he kept his eyes on the one who is invisible.” Hebrews 11:27 (NLT)
It is funny how one thought leads to another, then another and another. Sometimes I try to stop where I am in the thinking process and retrace the mental steps that led me to the current thought. The caboose on today’s thought train was the George Strait song “I Saw God Today.”
Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I’d been by her side for eighteen hours straight
Saw a flower growin’ in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin’ up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin’ lights, the honkin’ horns
All seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08
I saw God today (Rodney Clawson; Monty Criswell; Wade Kirby)
I got to George Strait’s song from a prior thought I read in Philip Yancey's book, Prayer. Yancey said as he looks for God in the everydayness of life, “aha” moments “catch me by surprise: a surge of gratitude, a pang of compassion. But they catch me, I have learned, only when I am looking for them,” (Prayer, p. 183).
I have come to believe we can indeed see the One “who is invisible.” I know it is subjective and not objective and that my “seeing” is an act of faith, an interpretation of what I see. In this hospital, I get glimpses of God from time to time.Yesterday I saw God in the face mother’s grief, a young woman’s heart for soldiers far from home, a co-worker’s courage in the face of illness, a volunteer’s determination to be God’s loving presence for a difficult patient and a housekeeper who is as gracious as her name.
What do you see?
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
October 22, 2009
“It was by faith that Moses left the land of Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger. He kept right on going because he kept his eyes on the one who is invisible.” Hebrews 11:27 (NLT)
It is funny how one thought leads to another, then another and another. Sometimes I try to stop where I am in the thinking process and retrace the mental steps that led me to the current thought. The caboose on today’s thought train was the George Strait song “I Saw God Today.”
Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I’d been by her side for eighteen hours straight
Saw a flower growin’ in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin’ up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin’ lights, the honkin’ horns
All seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08
I saw God today (Rodney Clawson; Monty Criswell; Wade Kirby)
I got to George Strait’s song from a prior thought I read in Philip Yancey's book, Prayer. Yancey said as he looks for God in the everydayness of life, “aha” moments “catch me by surprise: a surge of gratitude, a pang of compassion. But they catch me, I have learned, only when I am looking for them,” (Prayer, p. 183).
I have come to believe we can indeed see the One “who is invisible.” I know it is subjective and not objective and that my “seeing” is an act of faith, an interpretation of what I see. In this hospital, I get glimpses of God from time to time.Yesterday I saw God in the face mother’s grief, a young woman’s heart for soldiers far from home, a co-worker’s courage in the face of illness, a volunteer’s determination to be God’s loving presence for a difficult patient and a housekeeper who is as gracious as her name.
What do you see?
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, October 9, 2009
Holding on-letting go
Glimmers
October 9, 2009
“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.” Romans 12:9
The car was packed with all my earthly possessions and I was anxious to get on the road to my new life in Tampa, FL. I had spent the summer after college graduation in Atlanta working as a desk clerk for the Holiday Inn on I 20 East. A new job, new apartment, new city and new life were waiting and I could wait no longer. My Mother came out of the house carrying a box. “Here, this belonged to your Daddy.” My Dad had died ten years earlier when I was twelve. Inside the box was a gray Bradford cowboy hat. I took it with me to Tampa and to everywhere else I have lived ever since. I could not think of parting with it, even though I never wear it. Well, I did wear it once, but only for a sermon illustration. I look rather goofy in a cowboy hat. It is one of the few possessions I have that belonged to him and it helps me feel connected to him in a tangible kind of way. I can take it out of the box, look at it, touch it and it helps me to remember.
I also remember a Thanksgiving years ago, how many I am not sure, when my Mom placed the turkey on the table, picked up her J. C. Penney electric knife and said, “How ‘bout you carve the turkey.” To me, it was a passage, an invitation to adulthood. After her death in 2001, it was the only thing that belonged to her that I really wanted. I still have it. It still works perfectly and through it, she is present with us at every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
As with most people, I don’t like all the things my parents gave me. All the memories are not good. My parents were imperfect. I give them credit. They did the best they could. But some of their ways were not emotionally healthy and I struggle to relate to those I love in better ways than those I learned growing up. Struggle is the right word because it is just that. Choosing differently takes some work.
Believe it or not, the holidays are just around the corner. Memories will fill the air along with the aromas of the holiday feast and the carols. Some of your memories may be painful. Some things you may not wish to carry forward with you as you go. Some things you couldn’t possibly part with. We get to choose what we want to keep and what we want to let go. Let go of the hurts and disappointments. Like my parents, your loved ones were human too. Forgive them if you need to. Forgive yourself if you need to. But hold on to the good stuff.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
October 9, 2009
“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.” Romans 12:9
The car was packed with all my earthly possessions and I was anxious to get on the road to my new life in Tampa, FL. I had spent the summer after college graduation in Atlanta working as a desk clerk for the Holiday Inn on I 20 East. A new job, new apartment, new city and new life were waiting and I could wait no longer. My Mother came out of the house carrying a box. “Here, this belonged to your Daddy.” My Dad had died ten years earlier when I was twelve. Inside the box was a gray Bradford cowboy hat. I took it with me to Tampa and to everywhere else I have lived ever since. I could not think of parting with it, even though I never wear it. Well, I did wear it once, but only for a sermon illustration. I look rather goofy in a cowboy hat. It is one of the few possessions I have that belonged to him and it helps me feel connected to him in a tangible kind of way. I can take it out of the box, look at it, touch it and it helps me to remember.
I also remember a Thanksgiving years ago, how many I am not sure, when my Mom placed the turkey on the table, picked up her J. C. Penney electric knife and said, “How ‘bout you carve the turkey.” To me, it was a passage, an invitation to adulthood. After her death in 2001, it was the only thing that belonged to her that I really wanted. I still have it. It still works perfectly and through it, she is present with us at every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
As with most people, I don’t like all the things my parents gave me. All the memories are not good. My parents were imperfect. I give them credit. They did the best they could. But some of their ways were not emotionally healthy and I struggle to relate to those I love in better ways than those I learned growing up. Struggle is the right word because it is just that. Choosing differently takes some work.
Believe it or not, the holidays are just around the corner. Memories will fill the air along with the aromas of the holiday feast and the carols. Some of your memories may be painful. Some things you may not wish to carry forward with you as you go. Some things you couldn’t possibly part with. We get to choose what we want to keep and what we want to let go. Let go of the hurts and disappointments. Like my parents, your loved ones were human too. Forgive them if you need to. Forgive yourself if you need to. But hold on to the good stuff.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Night People
Reply |Smith, Jerald
show details 12:35 PM (6 hours ago)
Glimmers
September 24, 2009
11:01 p.m.
Night people are different. I don’t know if they are different inherently, or psychologically, or if it is the night schedule that makes them seem one-off. They live in an out of synch world. Most people, including those in their own families, are Day People. Normal People. Some Night People work days too and only have to work nights every once in a while. Some of them work nights all the time because they have to for reasons of job availability, or because of sharing child rearing duties with their spouse. Some do it because they want to. For the life of me, I can’t understand the latter group. It’s only 11:00 p.m. and I feel like a zombie.
I grab the bag full of candy bars, gum, M&Ms and lifesavers and become a one-man rounding team. Rounding is a fun way to interact with hospital staff, give them a treat and leave them with a smile. The night people are surprised to see me. “What are you doing here this late?” or some variation thereof. “I came to hang out with my night peeps,” I say. They laugh because it sounds so un-cool when I say it. But they laugh. Laughter seems to come easily to the Night People. There is a sort of camaraderie among them. Kind of like that of frat boys who survived the hazing or soldiers who went through boot camp together. “We’re strong, we’re invincible. We’re the Night People.” “I’m here for the third shift dinner at 2,” I say. “Don’t forget.” The thought of hot food, freshly prepared, brings a smile.
The hospital is a different place at night. Some strange sort of alchemy transforms the daytime hustle and bustle, generalized and sometimes frenetic, to islands of busyness surrounded by an ocean of calm. Our four-story atrium, Grand Central during the day, is an empty cavern. Someone is in radiology. They have to be. But they are out of public view at the moment. There are no patients being transported from hospital rooms to procedures in nuke med, CAT scan or MRI. Most patients are sleeping or watching TV as I glance in the rooms . The pace of testing and procedures has slowed for now. Except for the Emergency Department. It keeps on humming and it keeps the machines humming too.
In a few hours the early morning labs will begin, heralding the coming dawn. Shifts will change and the Day People, in synch with their natural circadian rhythms, will take the helm once more.
So here’s to the Night People. Black out the windows. Pull up the covers. Get some sleep. We’re going to need you again in a few hours. And thanks.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
show details 12:35 PM (6 hours ago)
Glimmers
September 24, 2009
11:01 p.m.
Night people are different. I don’t know if they are different inherently, or psychologically, or if it is the night schedule that makes them seem one-off. They live in an out of synch world. Most people, including those in their own families, are Day People. Normal People. Some Night People work days too and only have to work nights every once in a while. Some of them work nights all the time because they have to for reasons of job availability, or because of sharing child rearing duties with their spouse. Some do it because they want to. For the life of me, I can’t understand the latter group. It’s only 11:00 p.m. and I feel like a zombie.
I grab the bag full of candy bars, gum, M&Ms and lifesavers and become a one-man rounding team. Rounding is a fun way to interact with hospital staff, give them a treat and leave them with a smile. The night people are surprised to see me. “What are you doing here this late?” or some variation thereof. “I came to hang out with my night peeps,” I say. They laugh because it sounds so un-cool when I say it. But they laugh. Laughter seems to come easily to the Night People. There is a sort of camaraderie among them. Kind of like that of frat boys who survived the hazing or soldiers who went through boot camp together. “We’re strong, we’re invincible. We’re the Night People.” “I’m here for the third shift dinner at 2,” I say. “Don’t forget.” The thought of hot food, freshly prepared, brings a smile.
The hospital is a different place at night. Some strange sort of alchemy transforms the daytime hustle and bustle, generalized and sometimes frenetic, to islands of busyness surrounded by an ocean of calm. Our four-story atrium, Grand Central during the day, is an empty cavern. Someone is in radiology. They have to be. But they are out of public view at the moment. There are no patients being transported from hospital rooms to procedures in nuke med, CAT scan or MRI. Most patients are sleeping or watching TV as I glance in the rooms . The pace of testing and procedures has slowed for now. Except for the Emergency Department. It keeps on humming and it keeps the machines humming too.
In a few hours the early morning labs will begin, heralding the coming dawn. Shifts will change and the Day People, in synch with their natural circadian rhythms, will take the helm once more.
So here’s to the Night People. Black out the windows. Pull up the covers. Get some sleep. We’re going to need you again in a few hours. And thanks.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Thursday, September 10, 2009
That "Newbie" Feeling
Glimmers
September 10, 2009
In his book, "A Complaint-Free World", Will Bowen observes that there is a four-step process to learning any new skill. The first is unconscious incompetence, the second is conscious incompetence, the third is conscious competence and finally, unconscious competence.
It has been a long time since I felt really incompetent. What about you? I got reacquainted with the feeling in June. As I mentioned in the Glimmers dated May 27, I enrolled in an Aikido class. I had seen the Sensei, Allen Drysdale, demonstrate some self-defense techniques to a meeting I attended and it piqued my interest. Over a year later, I acted on it and signed up.
I arrived early for my first Saturday morning class, excited and a bit nervous. I had no idea what awaited me. Other class members arrived, began donning their outfits. Later I learned the outfit is called a “Gi.” Over their gi’s, they put on some black pant-like things with baggy legs that made them look almost like long skirts. I later learned these are called “ hakimas.” I heard lots of other foreign terms that day as the Sensei would name and then demonstrate holds and throws. I figured that sooner or later, by brain and my tongue would figure out how to say the words. What I didn’t figure on was that my body would be such a slow learner!
I learned early that first day that learning how to fall and roll would be very important. There are two different kinds of rolls. The back roll is done by tucking one leg behind the other, sitting on your butt on the same side as the tucked leg, and then rolling backwards over the opposite shoulder. I observed the more-experienced class members do it and then gave it a try. Somehow, what I saw with my eyes and communicated to my body to emulate got horribly scrambled in the process. It was totally embarrassing. OK, I thought, let’s try that other roll. The front shoulder roll is performed by placing one foot forward, bending over, curving your same side arm and shoulder back toward your feet so that your fingers are pointed toward your toes. Then you simply roll forward over the shoulder, the opposite hip, and return to a standing position. Simple, right? Again, my body betrayed me. I rolled sideways, like a log or barrel rolling down a hill. I tried it multiple times with the same result. No amount of instruction produced a proper result. It was ugly.
How, I thought, am I ever going to be able to do Aikido if I can’t do these basic moves, seemingly as simple as a child’s somersault! It did not help that there was this older guy there who appeared so normal, but when he began his Aikido moves he was so smooth, I promise, he floated on air.
In the following weeks, I thought about quitting several times. After my back seized up one week, I entertained the hope that I could blame my quitting on my aching back. “I’m not an awkward, uncoordinated quitter, I just have a bad back.” But it got better.
Sensei and more experienced classmates encouraged me. “The only way you won’t get better at Aikido is to die or stop coming,” he said. I could go along with the bad back idea, but dying? No. So I continued. Now, three months later,the rolls are coming along, the moves are becoming easier to do, and soon I’ll be ready to test for the next level.
Next time I have a new cashier at the grocery store and I start to roll my eyes because it is taking so long, I pray I have the good sense to remember how difficult learning new things can be. “New job?” “Hang in there.” “You’re doing fine.”
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
September 10, 2009
In his book, "A Complaint-Free World", Will Bowen observes that there is a four-step process to learning any new skill. The first is unconscious incompetence, the second is conscious incompetence, the third is conscious competence and finally, unconscious competence.
It has been a long time since I felt really incompetent. What about you? I got reacquainted with the feeling in June. As I mentioned in the Glimmers dated May 27, I enrolled in an Aikido class. I had seen the Sensei, Allen Drysdale, demonstrate some self-defense techniques to a meeting I attended and it piqued my interest. Over a year later, I acted on it and signed up.
I arrived early for my first Saturday morning class, excited and a bit nervous. I had no idea what awaited me. Other class members arrived, began donning their outfits. Later I learned the outfit is called a “Gi.” Over their gi’s, they put on some black pant-like things with baggy legs that made them look almost like long skirts. I later learned these are called “ hakimas.” I heard lots of other foreign terms that day as the Sensei would name and then demonstrate holds and throws. I figured that sooner or later, by brain and my tongue would figure out how to say the words. What I didn’t figure on was that my body would be such a slow learner!
I learned early that first day that learning how to fall and roll would be very important. There are two different kinds of rolls. The back roll is done by tucking one leg behind the other, sitting on your butt on the same side as the tucked leg, and then rolling backwards over the opposite shoulder. I observed the more-experienced class members do it and then gave it a try. Somehow, what I saw with my eyes and communicated to my body to emulate got horribly scrambled in the process. It was totally embarrassing. OK, I thought, let’s try that other roll. The front shoulder roll is performed by placing one foot forward, bending over, curving your same side arm and shoulder back toward your feet so that your fingers are pointed toward your toes. Then you simply roll forward over the shoulder, the opposite hip, and return to a standing position. Simple, right? Again, my body betrayed me. I rolled sideways, like a log or barrel rolling down a hill. I tried it multiple times with the same result. No amount of instruction produced a proper result. It was ugly.
How, I thought, am I ever going to be able to do Aikido if I can’t do these basic moves, seemingly as simple as a child’s somersault! It did not help that there was this older guy there who appeared so normal, but when he began his Aikido moves he was so smooth, I promise, he floated on air.
In the following weeks, I thought about quitting several times. After my back seized up one week, I entertained the hope that I could blame my quitting on my aching back. “I’m not an awkward, uncoordinated quitter, I just have a bad back.” But it got better.
Sensei and more experienced classmates encouraged me. “The only way you won’t get better at Aikido is to die or stop coming,” he said. I could go along with the bad back idea, but dying? No. So I continued. Now, three months later,the rolls are coming along, the moves are becoming easier to do, and soon I’ll be ready to test for the next level.
Next time I have a new cashier at the grocery store and I start to roll my eyes because it is taking so long, I pray I have the good sense to remember how difficult learning new things can be. “New job?” “Hang in there.” “You’re doing fine.”
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, September 4, 2009
Betty's Legacy
Last Tuesday I was supposed to present a talk on Family Systems to our Space Coast Grief Education Alliance. I am the current vice-president of this multi-disciplinary organization. Our mission is providing education and support to those who are grieving.
I was unable to present because of the death of Betty Wilder, my sister’s mother-in-law. I received the news Sunday morning, worked most of Monday and then drove up to Tallahassee for the viewing and service. Had I been able to present my talk, among the things I would have talked about is family legacies.
In Contextual Family Theory, legacies are like strings that connect across generations. The behaviors and beliefs of preceding generations tug on the generation connected at the other end. Legacies can be positive or negative. With my talk preparations in my head, I listened and looked for those connecting strings.
There was a string of faith. Faith in God was central to Betty’s life, as it had been in her parents’ lives. There was another string of family connectedness. Thanksgiving Day gatherings at her mother's, Granny Goins, home could easily bring upwards of 75 family members together for dinner. But the string (legacy) that I heard most about was love.
Her nephew by marriage, Rev. Scott Kilgore, gave the eulogy. He talked about what a good cook Betty was, and she really was a great cook. Once he asked her, “Aunt Betty, why does everything taste better at your house?” She paused for a moment and said, “Because I cook with love.” She wasn’t kidding. He went on to talk about the other ways Betty infused what she did with love. I watched the family as he talked. I saw lots of heads nodding and smiling. It rang true with me, too. I had known Betty Wilder since I was seventeen.
At the conclusion of his message, Rev. Kilgore challenged us. He said, “All of you are here because you have been touched by Betty’s love.” “I challenge you today to pass that on.” “Don’t keep that to yourself, take the love you received from Betty and pass it on.”
Love. It is a good legacy to pass along. Besides, I couldn’t cook like her, even if I tried.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
I was unable to present because of the death of Betty Wilder, my sister’s mother-in-law. I received the news Sunday morning, worked most of Monday and then drove up to Tallahassee for the viewing and service. Had I been able to present my talk, among the things I would have talked about is family legacies.
In Contextual Family Theory, legacies are like strings that connect across generations. The behaviors and beliefs of preceding generations tug on the generation connected at the other end. Legacies can be positive or negative. With my talk preparations in my head, I listened and looked for those connecting strings.
There was a string of faith. Faith in God was central to Betty’s life, as it had been in her parents’ lives. There was another string of family connectedness. Thanksgiving Day gatherings at her mother's, Granny Goins, home could easily bring upwards of 75 family members together for dinner. But the string (legacy) that I heard most about was love.
Her nephew by marriage, Rev. Scott Kilgore, gave the eulogy. He talked about what a good cook Betty was, and she really was a great cook. Once he asked her, “Aunt Betty, why does everything taste better at your house?” She paused for a moment and said, “Because I cook with love.” She wasn’t kidding. He went on to talk about the other ways Betty infused what she did with love. I watched the family as he talked. I saw lots of heads nodding and smiling. It rang true with me, too. I had known Betty Wilder since I was seventeen.
At the conclusion of his message, Rev. Kilgore challenged us. He said, “All of you are here because you have been touched by Betty’s love.” “I challenge you today to pass that on.” “Don’t keep that to yourself, take the love you received from Betty and pass it on.”
Love. It is a good legacy to pass along. Besides, I couldn’t cook like her, even if I tried.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Mortality Bites
How can two people who are in the same circumstances in the same hospital be in such very different places? She is sad, anxious, grieving the loss of independence and staring into her own mortality, frightened. He is calm, serene, at peace and says, “You just have got to expect it.” She has outlived two husbands. He has outlived one wife. Both are over eighty. Both are people of faith. So what’s the difference? He has had more time to process things.
His illness has been a gradual decline toward death lasting several years. Her illness has been more sudden. Up to now, she has enjoyed good health. Illness has been his companion for a while. She has a lot of catching up to do to be where he is. He has a head start. I don’t expect her to be at the same place. She’ll get there. I know it. And so does she.
Sometimes being a chaplain just isn’t much fun. It is hard to walk with others who are being pressed in by the narrowing of life, facing their own mortality, without facing my own. Though I am well past the middle point of my life, I still want to believe I’m never going to die. Or at least not think about it today.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
His illness has been a gradual decline toward death lasting several years. Her illness has been more sudden. Up to now, she has enjoyed good health. Illness has been his companion for a while. She has a lot of catching up to do to be where he is. He has a head start. I don’t expect her to be at the same place. She’ll get there. I know it. And so does she.
Sometimes being a chaplain just isn’t much fun. It is hard to walk with others who are being pressed in by the narrowing of life, facing their own mortality, without facing my own. Though I am well past the middle point of my life, I still want to believe I’m never going to die. Or at least not think about it today.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, August 21, 2009
Miracle Tuesday
Glimmers
August 21, 2009
As often happens, one scene evoked the memory of another. On Facebook this past Tuesday, I wrote the following; “I walked past room 307 and smiled. The man’s chances of ever leaving the hospital were slim. His son kept saying, ‘every day is a miracle.’ Today was no exception.”
The family in question hails from a Southern state and they are only here part of the year. While here, he had fallen gravely ill and recovery was very doubtful. When I first met them in the ICU, one of his sons and a brother-in-law were keeping vigil by his side. “It’s miracle Monday,” the son said with that Southern drawl. “The doctor said if he made it 24 hours, he might have a chance.” “We’re past that.” “Every day is a miracle.” The certainty of his faith lifted mine. It was not the first time that had happened.
As a chaplain resident at the University of Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville, I was responsible for covering the Emergency Department when on-call. On one such night, the trauma pager went off and I reported to the ED to find out what was happening. I read the board and learned a man had been buried as a ditch had caved in and he was being flown in from Sevier County.
The flight team was administering chest compressions and bagging (breathing for) the patient as they wheeled him into the trauma room. He was not responding. They opened his chest, fluid gushed out and I watched as the physician wrapped his hand around the man’s heart and began squeezing it. To my amazement, it responded.
Shortly thereafter, I met some family and the man’s construction supervisor in a room next the to main ED waiting room. The physician who had accompanied me to report on the man’s progress said, “This is the chaplain.” “He’ll pray with you.” Before I could even take offense at his clumsy and simplistic description of my role, the construction supervisor took over. Covered with dirt from digging his friend and co-worker out of the ditch, his tall frame collapsed to the floor as he began to pray. It was simple, child-like and deeply moving. “I can’t add anything to that except Amen,” I said. A few days later, his once-dead friend was released from the hospital. It was the first time I had witnessed anything close to a miracle. The last one was miracle Tuesday.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
August 21, 2009
As often happens, one scene evoked the memory of another. On Facebook this past Tuesday, I wrote the following; “I walked past room 307 and smiled. The man’s chances of ever leaving the hospital were slim. His son kept saying, ‘every day is a miracle.’ Today was no exception.”
The family in question hails from a Southern state and they are only here part of the year. While here, he had fallen gravely ill and recovery was very doubtful. When I first met them in the ICU, one of his sons and a brother-in-law were keeping vigil by his side. “It’s miracle Monday,” the son said with that Southern drawl. “The doctor said if he made it 24 hours, he might have a chance.” “We’re past that.” “Every day is a miracle.” The certainty of his faith lifted mine. It was not the first time that had happened.
As a chaplain resident at the University of Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville, I was responsible for covering the Emergency Department when on-call. On one such night, the trauma pager went off and I reported to the ED to find out what was happening. I read the board and learned a man had been buried as a ditch had caved in and he was being flown in from Sevier County.
The flight team was administering chest compressions and bagging (breathing for) the patient as they wheeled him into the trauma room. He was not responding. They opened his chest, fluid gushed out and I watched as the physician wrapped his hand around the man’s heart and began squeezing it. To my amazement, it responded.
Shortly thereafter, I met some family and the man’s construction supervisor in a room next the to main ED waiting room. The physician who had accompanied me to report on the man’s progress said, “This is the chaplain.” “He’ll pray with you.” Before I could even take offense at his clumsy and simplistic description of my role, the construction supervisor took over. Covered with dirt from digging his friend and co-worker out of the ditch, his tall frame collapsed to the floor as he began to pray. It was simple, child-like and deeply moving. “I can’t add anything to that except Amen,” I said. A few days later, his once-dead friend was released from the hospital. It was the first time I had witnessed anything close to a miracle. The last one was miracle Tuesday.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Be Good To Yourself!
Reverend David Gant, my pastor’s grandfather, is in his mid 80’s. He is one of those persons about whom the more you know, the more you want to know. He has a beaming smile, a gentle disposition and is always ready with an encouraging word. What he hasn’t had is an easy life.
His wife, who died last year, spent the last few years of her life suffering from Alzheimer’s syndrome. Rev. Gant was faithful to the end. He would go to the nursing home to see her three times a day to feed her breakfast, lunch and dinner. I have a vivid memory of talking with Rev. Gant after morning worship about five years ago. “How are you?” I asked. “I’m great this morning,” he replied. “I went to see my wife this morning to feed her breakfast and she remembered who I was.”
This past Sunday, he greeted everyone coming in for worship and gave us that great smile, a handshake and a blue slip of paper. I have read it a dozen or more times since. I have no idea of the original source, so I can’t give due credit, but it is worth sharing.
BE GOOD TO YOURSELF
Be Yourself…Truthfully
Accept Yourself…Gratefully
Value Yourself…Joyfully
Forgive Yourself…Completely
Treat Yourself…Generously
Balance Yourself…Harmoniously
Bless Yourself…Abundantly
Trust Yourself…Confidently
Love Yourself…Wholeheartedly
Empower Yourself…Prayerfully
Give Yourself…Enthusiastically
Express Yourself…Radiantly
Our work in healthcare is always demanding and sometimes draining. Self-care is not an option. It is a requirement. Be good to yourself. You have my permission.
Blessings to you all,
His wife, who died last year, spent the last few years of her life suffering from Alzheimer’s syndrome. Rev. Gant was faithful to the end. He would go to the nursing home to see her three times a day to feed her breakfast, lunch and dinner. I have a vivid memory of talking with Rev. Gant after morning worship about five years ago. “How are you?” I asked. “I’m great this morning,” he replied. “I went to see my wife this morning to feed her breakfast and she remembered who I was.”
This past Sunday, he greeted everyone coming in for worship and gave us that great smile, a handshake and a blue slip of paper. I have read it a dozen or more times since. I have no idea of the original source, so I can’t give due credit, but it is worth sharing.
BE GOOD TO YOURSELF
Be Yourself…Truthfully
Accept Yourself…Gratefully
Value Yourself…Joyfully
Forgive Yourself…Completely
Treat Yourself…Generously
Balance Yourself…Harmoniously
Bless Yourself…Abundantly
Trust Yourself…Confidently
Love Yourself…Wholeheartedly
Empower Yourself…Prayerfully
Give Yourself…Enthusiastically
Express Yourself…Radiantly
Our work in healthcare is always demanding and sometimes draining. Self-care is not an option. It is a requirement. Be good to yourself. You have my permission.
Blessings to you all,
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Confession of a Worrier
Glimmers
July 31, 2009
“I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.”( Joshua 1:5, Hebrews 13:5)
I am a worrier. There, I said it. I have heard all the reasons why a person of faith shouldn’t worry. I even have a little poem I memorized from a sermon I preached twenty years ago about worry; “Worry never climbed a hill, worry never paid a bill, worry never led a horse to water, worry never did a thing you’d think it oughta.” And still I worry.
I used to worry if I’d get a job when I finished college. Then I worried about finding someone to share my life with me. I worried about our children (well, I still worry about them-the hazards of being a parent) and I have worried over my career. Now, I worry about retirement a lot. Will I be healthy enough to enjoy it? Will I have enough money?
I remember a corny joke, the kind that’s safe for preachers to tell from the pulpit, about worry. As the plane ascended the airline hostess noticed the man gripping the armrests of his seat so tightly that his knuckles were white. And so was his collar. “Reverend, why are you so afraid?” she asked. “ Doesn’t the Bible say ‘I am with you always?’” Tightening his grip, he looked up at her and said, “NO!” “It says ‘LO I am with you always!’”
In the last Glimmers, I talked about The Shack, written by Wm. Paul Young and how the statement “if anything matters, everything matters” had been such an encouragement to me. Another passage in the book caused me to smile and repent in quick succession. Jesus is talking to Mack and says, “Mack, do you realize that your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictures me with you”(p. 144).
Ouch.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
July 31, 2009
“I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.”( Joshua 1:5, Hebrews 13:5)
I am a worrier. There, I said it. I have heard all the reasons why a person of faith shouldn’t worry. I even have a little poem I memorized from a sermon I preached twenty years ago about worry; “Worry never climbed a hill, worry never paid a bill, worry never led a horse to water, worry never did a thing you’d think it oughta.” And still I worry.
I used to worry if I’d get a job when I finished college. Then I worried about finding someone to share my life with me. I worried about our children (well, I still worry about them-the hazards of being a parent) and I have worried over my career. Now, I worry about retirement a lot. Will I be healthy enough to enjoy it? Will I have enough money?
I remember a corny joke, the kind that’s safe for preachers to tell from the pulpit, about worry. As the plane ascended the airline hostess noticed the man gripping the armrests of his seat so tightly that his knuckles were white. And so was his collar. “Reverend, why are you so afraid?” she asked. “ Doesn’t the Bible say ‘I am with you always?’” Tightening his grip, he looked up at her and said, “NO!” “It says ‘LO I am with you always!’”
In the last Glimmers, I talked about The Shack, written by Wm. Paul Young and how the statement “if anything matters, everything matters” had been such an encouragement to me. Another passage in the book caused me to smile and repent in quick succession. Jesus is talking to Mack and says, “Mack, do you realize that your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictures me with you”(p. 144).
Ouch.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Thursday, July 23, 2009
It all matters
Glimmers
July 23, 2009
Vacations are prime reading times for me. I usually pick up a book or two and knock them out in pretty short order. I read “Stone Cold” by David Baldacci. It is a political thriller set in Washington and, as usual, Baldacci was highly entertaining. Then I did something I don’t recall doing with any other book. I read The Shack by Wm Paul Young for the third time. Once I have read a book, I rarely have the urge to read it again. But I like so many things about this book; how it depicts the relationality of God, how it handles questions of meaning like, “If God loves me so much, why is my life such a mess?” or “If God has any power at all, how could he have allowed this to happen?” or “Does anything I do really matter?”
When I was a local church pastor, I sometimes thought about how great it would be to be a carpenter, or brick mason, or a mechanic. So much of what I did produced no immediately obvious results. How nice it would be to able to see the walls I had built go up or hear the engine I had tuned purring perfectly. “Does what I do matter,” I wondered. I suspect you have wondered that too at times, maybe even today. But then someone would wait for me at the church door and say, “Thank you, Pastor.” “That was just what I needed.”
In The Shack, Mack, the lead character asks that same cosmic question. “Is what I do back home important?” “Does it matter?” I love the reply. “If anything matters, everything matters.” “Because you are important, everything you do is important.” “Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again,”( p. 237).
It is the purest of logic. It is the simplest of statements. It is the deepest of truths. If anything matters, you matter.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
July 23, 2009
Vacations are prime reading times for me. I usually pick up a book or two and knock them out in pretty short order. I read “Stone Cold” by David Baldacci. It is a political thriller set in Washington and, as usual, Baldacci was highly entertaining. Then I did something I don’t recall doing with any other book. I read The Shack by Wm Paul Young for the third time. Once I have read a book, I rarely have the urge to read it again. But I like so many things about this book; how it depicts the relationality of God, how it handles questions of meaning like, “If God loves me so much, why is my life such a mess?” or “If God has any power at all, how could he have allowed this to happen?” or “Does anything I do really matter?”
When I was a local church pastor, I sometimes thought about how great it would be to be a carpenter, or brick mason, or a mechanic. So much of what I did produced no immediately obvious results. How nice it would be to able to see the walls I had built go up or hear the engine I had tuned purring perfectly. “Does what I do matter,” I wondered. I suspect you have wondered that too at times, maybe even today. But then someone would wait for me at the church door and say, “Thank you, Pastor.” “That was just what I needed.”
In The Shack, Mack, the lead character asks that same cosmic question. “Is what I do back home important?” “Does it matter?” I love the reply. “If anything matters, everything matters.” “Because you are important, everything you do is important.” “Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again,”( p. 237).
It is the purest of logic. It is the simplest of statements. It is the deepest of truths. If anything matters, you matter.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thoughts of Yolanda
Thoughts of Yolanda
(A week ago today, Yolanda Garvin Williams was killed in the parking lot of Parrish Medical Center, the hospital where I work. She was gunned down by her husband, whom she'd left a month earlier after years of abuse.)
I asked the man in the bass boat if the island before me in the St. Johns River was Hontoon Island. “No,” he said. “It’s about three miles downstream.” “You’ll see a pier in the water.” I paddled on.
I had loaded my kayak on top of my Escape at 6 am. I swung through MacDonalds for a sausage and egg biscuit on my way out of town. I washed it down with coffee from my orange and black mug emblazoned with the big orange T as I headed for Orange City. I remembered that my sister, Jackie, had said that the stretch of river between Blue Spring and Hontoon Island was pretty and I was looking forward to quiet morning of introspection and renewal.
When I arrived at Orange City, I turned left on French Avenue and proceeded past the entrance to Blue Spring, toward the river. The road turned to dirt, took a sharp dog-leg to the left and then opened up to a boat ramp and parking area. There were only two other vehicles there and they appeared to belong to a couple of guys fishing from the bank. After launching out into the River, I spotted the man in the bass boat.
Heading downstream toward Hontoon Island, the air was heavy and the temperature was already above 80 and it wasn’t even 8 am. The sunlight filtered through the cypress trees along the river to my right and lit up the opposite bank. In short order, I spotted an osprey in the top of a tall cypress, a great blue heron on a fallen tree trunk, and a good sized alligator lazily swimming across the river in front of me from left to right. As I got a little closer, the gator sank beneath the dark water, leaving nary a ripple.
I reached Hontoon Island about 9:30. I beached the kayak and stretched my legs a bit, taking the opportunity to munch on some peanut butter crackers and down a cold bottle of water. I explored a large lagoon to the South of the island before heading back upstream. I wanted to be out of the water about noon, before the temperature hit the 90’s and before any storms developed.
As I rounded the turn back into the main channel, I got a chuckle from a small gator that started to surface near my boat. The quiet shadow of my boat must have startled it as it swam below. It turned about quickly with a loud splash and surfaced again about twenty feet in front of my boat, swimming for all it was worth.
Heading back upstream, I hugged the left bank trying to catch some shade from the trees. The air was filled with croaking frogs, grunting gators and singing birds, as it had been since I set out three hours earlier. Then, behind me, off to the left, far out into the swamp beyond the river, came the deep call of an owl. I coasted noiselessly for a bit till the oncoming current almost brought me to a full stop. The picture of Yolanda flashing that million-dollar smile suddenly filled the screen in my head as it had the screen in the church last Saturday.
Peace. Like a river. At last. Amen.
Jerald
(A week ago today, Yolanda Garvin Williams was killed in the parking lot of Parrish Medical Center, the hospital where I work. She was gunned down by her husband, whom she'd left a month earlier after years of abuse.)
I asked the man in the bass boat if the island before me in the St. Johns River was Hontoon Island. “No,” he said. “It’s about three miles downstream.” “You’ll see a pier in the water.” I paddled on.
I had loaded my kayak on top of my Escape at 6 am. I swung through MacDonalds for a sausage and egg biscuit on my way out of town. I washed it down with coffee from my orange and black mug emblazoned with the big orange T as I headed for Orange City. I remembered that my sister, Jackie, had said that the stretch of river between Blue Spring and Hontoon Island was pretty and I was looking forward to quiet morning of introspection and renewal.
When I arrived at Orange City, I turned left on French Avenue and proceeded past the entrance to Blue Spring, toward the river. The road turned to dirt, took a sharp dog-leg to the left and then opened up to a boat ramp and parking area. There were only two other vehicles there and they appeared to belong to a couple of guys fishing from the bank. After launching out into the River, I spotted the man in the bass boat.
Heading downstream toward Hontoon Island, the air was heavy and the temperature was already above 80 and it wasn’t even 8 am. The sunlight filtered through the cypress trees along the river to my right and lit up the opposite bank. In short order, I spotted an osprey in the top of a tall cypress, a great blue heron on a fallen tree trunk, and a good sized alligator lazily swimming across the river in front of me from left to right. As I got a little closer, the gator sank beneath the dark water, leaving nary a ripple.
I reached Hontoon Island about 9:30. I beached the kayak and stretched my legs a bit, taking the opportunity to munch on some peanut butter crackers and down a cold bottle of water. I explored a large lagoon to the South of the island before heading back upstream. I wanted to be out of the water about noon, before the temperature hit the 90’s and before any storms developed.
As I rounded the turn back into the main channel, I got a chuckle from a small gator that started to surface near my boat. The quiet shadow of my boat must have startled it as it swam below. It turned about quickly with a loud splash and surfaced again about twenty feet in front of my boat, swimming for all it was worth.
Heading back upstream, I hugged the left bank trying to catch some shade from the trees. The air was filled with croaking frogs, grunting gators and singing birds, as it had been since I set out three hours earlier. Then, behind me, off to the left, far out into the swamp beyond the river, came the deep call of an owl. I coasted noiselessly for a bit till the oncoming current almost brought me to a full stop. The picture of Yolanda flashing that million-dollar smile suddenly filled the screen in my head as it had the screen in the church last Saturday.
Peace. Like a river. At last. Amen.
Jerald
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Glimmers
June 3, 2009
Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. (I John 4: 7-8, NIV)
My grandson, Evan Joshua Conti, laughs in his sleep. I mentioned this to Eileen, our lactation consultant here at Parrish Medical Center and she said, “He must be a happy baby.” That he is. At a little over one month old, he has had the blessed good fortune of being born to two loving parents and is reaping a legacy of love from their two extended families.
Huey Lewis and the News recorded a song, “The Power of Love,” that begins like this;
The power of love is a curious thing,
Make a one man weep, make another man sing.
Change a heart to a little white dove,
More than a feeling, that’s the power of love
Evan already responds to love. Because of love, his brain is making all kinds of connections that will enable him to love and be loved. But even more fundamental than that, these connections will enable him to be fully human.
Yesterday, I heard a counselor talk about the research being done on attachment disorders. Attachment disorders occur when babies don’t experience love consistently during their first three years of life. It doesn’t just affect their ability to love. It can affect the ability to process information, the ability to understand language, the ability to comfort and soothe one’s self, the ability to control impulses and the ability to make appropriate connections with others. Love really is powerful stuff.
Don’t need money, don’t take fame
Don’t need no credit card to ride this train
It’s strong and its sudden and it’s cruel sometimes
But it might just save your life
That’s the power of love.
It can even make you laugh in your sleep.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
June 3, 2009
Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. (I John 4: 7-8, NIV)
My grandson, Evan Joshua Conti, laughs in his sleep. I mentioned this to Eileen, our lactation consultant here at Parrish Medical Center and she said, “He must be a happy baby.” That he is. At a little over one month old, he has had the blessed good fortune of being born to two loving parents and is reaping a legacy of love from their two extended families.
Huey Lewis and the News recorded a song, “The Power of Love,” that begins like this;
The power of love is a curious thing,
Make a one man weep, make another man sing.
Change a heart to a little white dove,
More than a feeling, that’s the power of love
Evan already responds to love. Because of love, his brain is making all kinds of connections that will enable him to love and be loved. But even more fundamental than that, these connections will enable him to be fully human.
Yesterday, I heard a counselor talk about the research being done on attachment disorders. Attachment disorders occur when babies don’t experience love consistently during their first three years of life. It doesn’t just affect their ability to love. It can affect the ability to process information, the ability to understand language, the ability to comfort and soothe one’s self, the ability to control impulses and the ability to make appropriate connections with others. Love really is powerful stuff.
Don’t need money, don’t take fame
Don’t need no credit card to ride this train
It’s strong and its sudden and it’s cruel sometimes
But it might just save your life
That’s the power of love.
It can even make you laugh in your sleep.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Get out of that rut!
Glimmers
May 27, 2009
“Through some moment of beauty or pain, some sudden turning of our lives, we catch glimmers of at least what the saints are blinded by…” (Frederick Buechner, Listening To Your Life, p. 169)
Rut n. 1. A sunken track or groove made by the passage of vehicles. 2. A habitual, or unvaried way of living or acting.
I am a creature of habit. You probably are as well. My morning routines are, well, routine. I awake to either the coffee pot at 5:27 or the alarm at 5:30. I feed the cats, get coffee for my wife and myself. I do some reading, take a walk, exercise a bit and get ready for work. I drive to work and park in the same parking space almost every day. When I do park in a different spot I will most likely walk past my car in the afternoon, headed for where it usually is parked. Lately, as I alluded to in my last Glimmers, I’ve been in a rut.
Even the most exciting things can become routine as you repeat them over and over in the same way. They can become unconscious activities performed with all the animation of a creature from Night of the Living Dead. Ruts are comfortable. And that’s the problem. It has been said that a rut is just a grave with both ends knocked out. Ruts rob life of excitement. To maintain our sanity and joy, I think we need to be challenged and stretched every now and then. So if you’re tired of the “same old, same old,” break out! Take a class in dancing, photography, ancient history, or Aikido (like me). Visit a state park you’ve never seen. Or, horror of horrors, sit in a different seat at worship! Doing something new, or doing something you do often in a different way, can change your perspective and restore some lost joy to your life.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
May 27, 2009
“Through some moment of beauty or pain, some sudden turning of our lives, we catch glimmers of at least what the saints are blinded by…” (Frederick Buechner, Listening To Your Life, p. 169)
Rut n. 1. A sunken track or groove made by the passage of vehicles. 2. A habitual, or unvaried way of living or acting.
I am a creature of habit. You probably are as well. My morning routines are, well, routine. I awake to either the coffee pot at 5:27 or the alarm at 5:30. I feed the cats, get coffee for my wife and myself. I do some reading, take a walk, exercise a bit and get ready for work. I drive to work and park in the same parking space almost every day. When I do park in a different spot I will most likely walk past my car in the afternoon, headed for where it usually is parked. Lately, as I alluded to in my last Glimmers, I’ve been in a rut.
Even the most exciting things can become routine as you repeat them over and over in the same way. They can become unconscious activities performed with all the animation of a creature from Night of the Living Dead. Ruts are comfortable. And that’s the problem. It has been said that a rut is just a grave with both ends knocked out. Ruts rob life of excitement. To maintain our sanity and joy, I think we need to be challenged and stretched every now and then. So if you’re tired of the “same old, same old,” break out! Take a class in dancing, photography, ancient history, or Aikido (like me). Visit a state park you’ve never seen. Or, horror of horrors, sit in a different seat at worship! Doing something new, or doing something you do often in a different way, can change your perspective and restore some lost joy to your life.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Because I have to!
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men,since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward."
(Paul, Colossians 3:23-24)
People say they enjoy Glimmers and I say that I enjoy writing them. At least half of that statement has not been true lately. The last half. The frequency of my Glimmers posts have declined markedly. In reflecting on the "why," I came across this passage in Colossians. It is all about the motivation, the "heart" reasons for our actions.
My motivation for Glimmers has gotten skewed. It has become a task on my calendar. My calendar alarm pops up and says "Glimmers" and I resent it. It has fallen into the "your term paper is due on Wednesday" trap. I have been reduced from doing it because I want to, to doing it because I have to and because other people expect me to. How sad! No wonder I can't find any inspiration.
Why do we do what we do? Why do we work? Because we want to, or because we have to? Why do we give healing and compassionate care to our patients? Because we want to, or because we have to? Or do we do it as Erie Chapman suggests, because that's our "Mother" in that bed?
So I'm taking Glimmers of my "to do" list. My calendar won't bug me to get it done. We'll see what happens. If I were a betting man, I'm not, but if I were, I'd bet that I'm about to make a scientific discovery about the brain. I strongly suspect that the distance in my mind between "have to" and "want to" is one synapse.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
(Paul, Colossians 3:23-24)
People say they enjoy Glimmers and I say that I enjoy writing them. At least half of that statement has not been true lately. The last half. The frequency of my Glimmers posts have declined markedly. In reflecting on the "why," I came across this passage in Colossians. It is all about the motivation, the "heart" reasons for our actions.
My motivation for Glimmers has gotten skewed. It has become a task on my calendar. My calendar alarm pops up and says "Glimmers" and I resent it. It has fallen into the "your term paper is due on Wednesday" trap. I have been reduced from doing it because I want to, to doing it because I have to and because other people expect me to. How sad! No wonder I can't find any inspiration.
Why do we do what we do? Why do we work? Because we want to, or because we have to? Why do we give healing and compassionate care to our patients? Because we want to, or because we have to? Or do we do it as Erie Chapman suggests, because that's our "Mother" in that bed?
So I'm taking Glimmers of my "to do" list. My calendar won't bug me to get it done. We'll see what happens. If I were a betting man, I'm not, but if I were, I'd bet that I'm about to make a scientific discovery about the brain. I strongly suspect that the distance in my mind between "have to" and "want to" is one synapse.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, May 1, 2009
Welcome to my country!
This past Tuesday I attended the 16th Annual Hospice Foundation of America Teleconference. The topic this year was “Diversity and End of Life Care.” It was well done, informative and helpful. It emphasized the importance of respect for cultures other than our own and encouraged curiosity. It recommended inviting others to be our teachers about how they understand the world, their illness, and how they make meaning of it all. It was good advice.
As I often do with such things, I went off on a couple of tangents from the original intent of the teleconference. First I reflected on my own family system. All three of my daughters have now married. Accepting and welcoming new members to the family is an intentional exercise in cross-cultural communication.
My sons-in -law all come from differing family cultures and regional cultures and it has sometimes seemed as if they are aliens from a foreign country. Jessie’s husband, Josh, is a prime example. Every now and then he comes out with something that causes me to shake me head and go “What?”
Josh is as good-hearted a person as you’ll ever meet. He is American, Caucasian, Christian, and English speaking so you’d think understanding him should be easy for me. It is, most of the time. But every now and then, I just don’t get him. The same is true of the other sons-in-law to varying degrees.
The teleconference gave me an idea. What if I thought of Josh as someone from a foreign country? Then I wouldn’t be surprised when I didn’t get something he said or did that seemed foreign to me, but was in alignment with his regional and family culture. He is, after all, from New Hampshire. It’s like a foreign country. I told him when he did or said something that seemed odd to me, I’d say, “He’s frum the Noth, he cain’t hep it!” We all laughed. But he got it. Later in the conversation, he said “Well, in my country…” and the laughter started again.
Reflecting further, I think there are striking similarities to adding new family members and adding new members to our Parrish Medical Center team. We too have a distinct culture that may be foreign to some. Helping them understand it and become acclimated to it is an exercise in cultural competence. It requires respect and curiosity from us all. Accepting new family members as family is a sign of good family health, at home, and at work. So the next time you have the opportunity to welcome someone to your family, or to your work team, you could say, “Welcome to my country!”
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
As I often do with such things, I went off on a couple of tangents from the original intent of the teleconference. First I reflected on my own family system. All three of my daughters have now married. Accepting and welcoming new members to the family is an intentional exercise in cross-cultural communication.
My sons-in -law all come from differing family cultures and regional cultures and it has sometimes seemed as if they are aliens from a foreign country. Jessie’s husband, Josh, is a prime example. Every now and then he comes out with something that causes me to shake me head and go “What?”
Josh is as good-hearted a person as you’ll ever meet. He is American, Caucasian, Christian, and English speaking so you’d think understanding him should be easy for me. It is, most of the time. But every now and then, I just don’t get him. The same is true of the other sons-in-law to varying degrees.
The teleconference gave me an idea. What if I thought of Josh as someone from a foreign country? Then I wouldn’t be surprised when I didn’t get something he said or did that seemed foreign to me, but was in alignment with his regional and family culture. He is, after all, from New Hampshire. It’s like a foreign country. I told him when he did or said something that seemed odd to me, I’d say, “He’s frum the Noth, he cain’t hep it!” We all laughed. But he got it. Later in the conversation, he said “Well, in my country…” and the laughter started again.
Reflecting further, I think there are striking similarities to adding new family members and adding new members to our Parrish Medical Center team. We too have a distinct culture that may be foreign to some. Helping them understand it and become acclimated to it is an exercise in cultural competence. It requires respect and curiosity from us all. Accepting new family members as family is a sign of good family health, at home, and at work. So the next time you have the opportunity to welcome someone to your family, or to your work team, you could say, “Welcome to my country!”
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, April 10, 2009
Icebergs
Larry Kelly is an Air Force veteran. For twenty years he taught small arms tactics to Air Force recruits. In retirement, he continues to serve the Air Force as a civilian counselor. I heard him speak last Tuesday about the kinds of issues facing those he works with at Patrick Air Force Base. He talked about the stresses of deployment, divorce, risk-taking and thrill-seeking behaviors, and the high rate of suicide. He is evidence that the military takes these things very seriously and is seriously trying to address them.
Larry gave us a handout with a picture of an iceberg on it. He said, “Before we started surveying the base population, we thought we knew what kinds of problems we were dealing with, but after the survey, we realized we didn’t know the half of it.” He said it is like the iceberg in the picture. You only see the one-third that is above the surface. It is the weight and mass below the surface, out of sight, that is so dangerous.
The people that I work with, the people in our hospital, the people in my own family…and yes, even I, have so much stuff below the surface that remains invisible to most who see us. We’re all icebergs. But we better let somebody see it. We’d better process it somewhere with someone we trust. If not, even the Titanic is not safe.
Easter Blessings,
Jerald
Larry gave us a handout with a picture of an iceberg on it. He said, “Before we started surveying the base population, we thought we knew what kinds of problems we were dealing with, but after the survey, we realized we didn’t know the half of it.” He said it is like the iceberg in the picture. You only see the one-third that is above the surface. It is the weight and mass below the surface, out of sight, that is so dangerous.
The people that I work with, the people in our hospital, the people in my own family…and yes, even I, have so much stuff below the surface that remains invisible to most who see us. We’re all icebergs. But we better let somebody see it. We’d better process it somewhere with someone we trust. If not, even the Titanic is not safe.
Easter Blessings,
Jerald
Thursday, March 26, 2009
My Daughter's Wedding
Glimmers
March 26, 2009
“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22,23 NRSV)
I have no idea how many wedding ceremonies I have done. All have been a privilege for me. Ministry has its perks. The best perk of all is that I have been the minister for my own daughters’ weddings. The last of the three, my youngest, is to be married this weekend.
I have often been asked as a minister/father how I could do both. “How does it feel to give your daughter away?” “How can you do the ceremony without losing it?” I can tell you that I wondered myself.
Candace, the middle one, was the test case. Any doubts I had about relinquishing her to the love of another disappeared as I stood at the end of the aisle. At her wedding, at the wedding of her sister, Jessie, and now with Amanda, it was all about the person at the other end of the aisle. I wondered, “Does he love her as much as I do?” “Can he be trusted to care for her, to defend her, to protect her and to put up with the peculiar quirks that so endeared her to me?” In each case I have been able to say yes to those questions and have thus far found my trust well placed.
Their lives, and my own, will take many twists and turns in the years ahead. Who can predict what will come? Death and taxes may be certain in life. Few other things are.
Thomas Obediah Chisholm, the one who wrote the lyrics for the classic hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” battled the ups and downs of uncertain health most of his life. The only thing constant about his health was that it was constantly changing. That uncertainty drew him to Lamentations 3:22-23, and that inspired the lyrics to the now famous hymn. There he found “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”
So as we round the turn and come to the end of the aisle, I’ll let go. He’ll take her hand. We’ll recite ancient and holy words and send them off into uncertainty. I can do so with confidence because of some other ancient words that once inspired a man named Thomas Chisholm. I trust those most of all.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
March 26, 2009
“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22,23 NRSV)
I have no idea how many wedding ceremonies I have done. All have been a privilege for me. Ministry has its perks. The best perk of all is that I have been the minister for my own daughters’ weddings. The last of the three, my youngest, is to be married this weekend.
I have often been asked as a minister/father how I could do both. “How does it feel to give your daughter away?” “How can you do the ceremony without losing it?” I can tell you that I wondered myself.
Candace, the middle one, was the test case. Any doubts I had about relinquishing her to the love of another disappeared as I stood at the end of the aisle. At her wedding, at the wedding of her sister, Jessie, and now with Amanda, it was all about the person at the other end of the aisle. I wondered, “Does he love her as much as I do?” “Can he be trusted to care for her, to defend her, to protect her and to put up with the peculiar quirks that so endeared her to me?” In each case I have been able to say yes to those questions and have thus far found my trust well placed.
Their lives, and my own, will take many twists and turns in the years ahead. Who can predict what will come? Death and taxes may be certain in life. Few other things are.
Thomas Obediah Chisholm, the one who wrote the lyrics for the classic hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” battled the ups and downs of uncertain health most of his life. The only thing constant about his health was that it was constantly changing. That uncertainty drew him to Lamentations 3:22-23, and that inspired the lyrics to the now famous hymn. There he found “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”
So as we round the turn and come to the end of the aisle, I’ll let go. He’ll take her hand. We’ll recite ancient and holy words and send them off into uncertainty. I can do so with confidence because of some other ancient words that once inspired a man named Thomas Chisholm. I trust those most of all.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Monday, March 16, 2009
Make a bid!
My first experience at an auction was as a boy at the Bradford County fair in Starke, Florida. The auctioneer was selling steers that had been raised by kids in the Future Farmers of America (FFA). I remember thinking how foreign the language sounded and wondering how anyone could spit words out so quickly. He called for bids, acknowledged bids and challenged the bidders to ante up higher and higher until he said “Sold!”
In their book, The Relationship Cure , authors John Gottman and Joan DeClaire talk about relational bids. These are efforts to connect with others. We all make them, these bids, with a look, a smile, a greeting or a comment that invites others to connect with us. Dr. Gottman speaks about three possible responses to bids and the differences those responses can make in a relationship. Take the simple question, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” Turning toward looks like this. “I’d love to, thanks.” Or, “That’s a nice invitation, but I can’t. I have to get home to my boyfriend.” Turning away is illustrated by, “No. Sorry, I’m busy.” And turning against by, “No, I’m cleaning the lint out of my dryer tonight" (p. 55).
The different responses show varying levels of regard toward the other. Turning toward shows a highly positive regard. Turning away is less positive and bordering on indifference. Turning against is negative and moving toward hostility.
Dr. Gottman’s research with hundreds of married couples revealed that in couples headed for divorce, men turned away or against their spouse’s bids 82% of the time and women did so 50% of the time. In happily married couples the numbers were 19% of the time for men and 14% of the time for women (p. 4). Dr. Gottman observed that when people received consistently negative responses to their bids, they quickly gave up trying and the relationship deteriorated rapidly.
This bidding process doesn’t just happen between couples. We make bids and receive bids from co-workers too. Patients bid for caregivers’ attention with call lights, questions and facial expressions.
Right now, somewhere, someone is making a bid to you, bidding for your attention or care. Which response will you choose?
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
In their book, The Relationship Cure , authors John Gottman and Joan DeClaire talk about relational bids. These are efforts to connect with others. We all make them, these bids, with a look, a smile, a greeting or a comment that invites others to connect with us. Dr. Gottman speaks about three possible responses to bids and the differences those responses can make in a relationship. Take the simple question, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” Turning toward looks like this. “I’d love to, thanks.” Or, “That’s a nice invitation, but I can’t. I have to get home to my boyfriend.” Turning away is illustrated by, “No. Sorry, I’m busy.” And turning against by, “No, I’m cleaning the lint out of my dryer tonight" (p. 55).
The different responses show varying levels of regard toward the other. Turning toward shows a highly positive regard. Turning away is less positive and bordering on indifference. Turning against is negative and moving toward hostility.
Dr. Gottman’s research with hundreds of married couples revealed that in couples headed for divorce, men turned away or against their spouse’s bids 82% of the time and women did so 50% of the time. In happily married couples the numbers were 19% of the time for men and 14% of the time for women (p. 4). Dr. Gottman observed that when people received consistently negative responses to their bids, they quickly gave up trying and the relationship deteriorated rapidly.
This bidding process doesn’t just happen between couples. We make bids and receive bids from co-workers too. Patients bid for caregivers’ attention with call lights, questions and facial expressions.
Right now, somewhere, someone is making a bid to you, bidding for your attention or care. Which response will you choose?
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Don't forget the love
Glimmers,
March 5, 2009
My Uncle, Ike Smith of Chattanooga, TN, is in his mid 80s now. From the time my father died in 1968 till now, he has been my link to my father. I learned what I know of my father’s early life from him. I would never have known about my father’s crazy motorcycle wreck on that dark, South Georgia dirt road were it not for him, or how crazy in love my parents were in the early days of their marriage.
Uncle Ike is a retired elementary school principal. His wife, Alice, died almost two years ago. Uncle Ike has been in church his whole life. He has held just about every position one could hold in a local church, except Pastor. I spoke to him by phone yesterday. He asked about the family, “How are those girls?” “And your son-in-law, is he in Iraq or is he home?” I assured him all is well, that Chris is back home and I updated him about the upcoming wedding of my youngest and the baby on the way for my oldest.
He talked about his health. He said he is doing well, getting out some, to the doctors and church mostly. The last time I saw him, he shuffled as he walked in a way that reminds me of the Tim Conway character I used to love to see on the Carol Burnett show. He said that he couldn’t keep up with things around the house like he used to, so he has just had to accept it and let some things go. For someone whose house always looked like a page out of Southern Living, it is no small feat.
But as he usually does, he left me with something thought provoking. He said someone asked him why he went to the City Church and not some other. He said, “I told them I don’t go because of the minister and I don’t go because of the music.” “I don’t go to hear him, necessarily, or to hear the choir.” “I go because they love me.” He continued to explain. “When I get there, they tell me how glad they are to see me. Those big ol’ men hug me and they help me to my seat.” “When they wrap me up in those arms, I feel just like a little child that is loved.” “I go there because they love me.”
I suspect that is why most people go where they do. When they come here, let’s not forget the love.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
March 5, 2009
My Uncle, Ike Smith of Chattanooga, TN, is in his mid 80s now. From the time my father died in 1968 till now, he has been my link to my father. I learned what I know of my father’s early life from him. I would never have known about my father’s crazy motorcycle wreck on that dark, South Georgia dirt road were it not for him, or how crazy in love my parents were in the early days of their marriage.
Uncle Ike is a retired elementary school principal. His wife, Alice, died almost two years ago. Uncle Ike has been in church his whole life. He has held just about every position one could hold in a local church, except Pastor. I spoke to him by phone yesterday. He asked about the family, “How are those girls?” “And your son-in-law, is he in Iraq or is he home?” I assured him all is well, that Chris is back home and I updated him about the upcoming wedding of my youngest and the baby on the way for my oldest.
He talked about his health. He said he is doing well, getting out some, to the doctors and church mostly. The last time I saw him, he shuffled as he walked in a way that reminds me of the Tim Conway character I used to love to see on the Carol Burnett show. He said that he couldn’t keep up with things around the house like he used to, so he has just had to accept it and let some things go. For someone whose house always looked like a page out of Southern Living, it is no small feat.
But as he usually does, he left me with something thought provoking. He said someone asked him why he went to the City Church and not some other. He said, “I told them I don’t go because of the minister and I don’t go because of the music.” “I don’t go to hear him, necessarily, or to hear the choir.” “I go because they love me.” He continued to explain. “When I get there, they tell me how glad they are to see me. Those big ol’ men hug me and they help me to my seat.” “When they wrap me up in those arms, I feel just like a little child that is loved.” “I go there because they love me.”
I suspect that is why most people go where they do. When they come here, let’s not forget the love.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Past is Prologue
Past is prologue, so they say. I got in touch with some of my past this week. I joined the Facebook world. One of my "friends" on Facebook warned me by writing on my wall, "be careful, this stuff is addictive." I understand already.
Facebook begins with a profile that you create and then, based on that profile, magically begins connecting you with others whom you may choose to add as friends. I am now connected with Bob in Bountiful, UT, who I always knew as Bobby from Lee University. He now has a beautiful family in Bountiful. I am also connected with Pam in Memphis. I used to be her Pastor at the Piney Grove Church of God in Selmer, Tennessee when she was but a teen and I still remember the day she drove her first car to church.
As I see their faces, my past comes rushing back to the present. Good times, and some not so good, but the not so good ones are harder to remember. A trick, or perhaps a defense mechanism of our psyche. But what I do know is that they are a part of me. These friends with whom Facebook restores connection helped to shape me into who I am, the good times and the not so good. In all of it, and through all of them, God was and is at work to give shape to my life. Thanks, Friends.
Blessings to you all,
Glimmerman
Facebook begins with a profile that you create and then, based on that profile, magically begins connecting you with others whom you may choose to add as friends. I am now connected with Bob in Bountiful, UT, who I always knew as Bobby from Lee University. He now has a beautiful family in Bountiful. I am also connected with Pam in Memphis. I used to be her Pastor at the Piney Grove Church of God in Selmer, Tennessee when she was but a teen and I still remember the day she drove her first car to church.
As I see their faces, my past comes rushing back to the present. Good times, and some not so good, but the not so good ones are harder to remember. A trick, or perhaps a defense mechanism of our psyche. But what I do know is that they are a part of me. These friends with whom Facebook restores connection helped to shape me into who I am, the good times and the not so good. In all of it, and through all of them, God was and is at work to give shape to my life. Thanks, Friends.
Blessings to you all,
Glimmerman
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Callouses
Two voices have spoken to my life this week. Rather, I should say one Voice has spoken to me this week through two instruments. One is an elder statesman, the other a minister in the dawn of his ministerial journey. Both delivered the same message. A message I needed to hear; that we all need to hear.
Dr. Robert Crick began his journey as a chaplain in the 1960’s. He was an airborne chaplain in the Army. A role that combined sacraments, marriage counseling, preaching, and jumping out of perfectly good airplanes in some of the hottest hot zones of the Vietnam War. He became the first Pentecostal Clinical Pastoral Supervisor in the Association for Clinical Pastoral Education in a day when many considered Pentecostals as victims of some kind of pathology. Since the end of his military career, he has been the Director of the Church of God Chaplains Commission, my endorsing agency in the field of chaplaincy.
He met with a few of us this past week at the Spiritual Care Collaborative Conference (a joint meeting of Assoc. of Professional Chaplains, Assoc. for Clinical Pastoral Education, National Assoc. of Catholic Chaplains, National Assoc. of Jewish Chaplains, Assoc. for Pastoral Care and Counseling and Canadian Assoc. for Pastoral Practice and Education). I was struck again by his passion for the work we are called to do and his compassion for those of us who do it. The years of jumping out of planes have long passed, but he is still as passionate and tenderhearted a person as you’ll ever meet.
Robert Ward is just beginning his career in ministry as a Lay Minister in the Presbyterian Church. As part of his training, he shadowed me here for several days this past summer. Months ago, he sent me a copy of his first sermon. I put it in my cd player, got called away for something I can’t even remember now, and found it today when I went to insert another presentation to review. It was a message I needed to hear today. In it I heard a fresh voice speak of what happens here in my hospital as seen through fresh eyes. It was a beautiful message, beautifully done.
What I heard as the Voice spoke through these two instruments was that I can become accustomed to what I see, hear, and encounter in this work. But I need not, must not become calloused by it. Have you heard that Voice too?
Blessings to you all,
Dr. Robert Crick began his journey as a chaplain in the 1960’s. He was an airborne chaplain in the Army. A role that combined sacraments, marriage counseling, preaching, and jumping out of perfectly good airplanes in some of the hottest hot zones of the Vietnam War. He became the first Pentecostal Clinical Pastoral Supervisor in the Association for Clinical Pastoral Education in a day when many considered Pentecostals as victims of some kind of pathology. Since the end of his military career, he has been the Director of the Church of God Chaplains Commission, my endorsing agency in the field of chaplaincy.
He met with a few of us this past week at the Spiritual Care Collaborative Conference (a joint meeting of Assoc. of Professional Chaplains, Assoc. for Clinical Pastoral Education, National Assoc. of Catholic Chaplains, National Assoc. of Jewish Chaplains, Assoc. for Pastoral Care and Counseling and Canadian Assoc. for Pastoral Practice and Education). I was struck again by his passion for the work we are called to do and his compassion for those of us who do it. The years of jumping out of planes have long passed, but he is still as passionate and tenderhearted a person as you’ll ever meet.
Robert Ward is just beginning his career in ministry as a Lay Minister in the Presbyterian Church. As part of his training, he shadowed me here for several days this past summer. Months ago, he sent me a copy of his first sermon. I put it in my cd player, got called away for something I can’t even remember now, and found it today when I went to insert another presentation to review. It was a message I needed to hear today. In it I heard a fresh voice speak of what happens here in my hospital as seen through fresh eyes. It was a beautiful message, beautifully done.
What I heard as the Voice spoke through these two instruments was that I can become accustomed to what I see, hear, and encounter in this work. But I need not, must not become calloused by it. Have you heard that Voice too?
Blessings to you all,
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Dead Seas and Dry Lakes
“You gave abundant showers, O God; you refreshed your weary inheritance.” Ps. 68:9
The Dead Sea isn’t actually dead. Some things live in it, just not many things. The extremely high salt content of its waters will not support many forms of life, with the exception of some bacteria and fungi. The primary reason for this high salinity is that the Dead Sea has no outlet. Water from the Jordan River and a few other streams flow in. Nothing flows out. Ministers, myself included, have sometimes used this fact to underscore the importance of serving others. As we receive, we should also give in order to avoid the spiritual equivalent of becoming a Dead Sea ourselves.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the deadness that follows giving and giving without receiving any refreshing inflow. In either case, the outcome is the same; the absence of the ability to support life.
This has been an incredibly busy week at our hospital. The volume of patients that have come through our doors and the acute nature of many of their health problems have challenged and stretched our Care Givers. Yesterday, one family member of one such patient noted with no small amazement how their nurse was crying with them as they wept over their loved one’s waning moments of life. She was not unique. That caring spirit pervades every department of our hospital. I am so grateful to work with so many caring hearts who make the choice not only to be excellent at their task, but to be exceptionally caring too.
To continue in this ability to be touched by the pain of others, to be able to connect emotionally and spiritually, caregivers must also care for themselves. Taking the time to exercise, relax, do something fun, and feed your spirit keeps the inflow coming so that your outflow does not result in emotional and spiritual exhaustion. Around here we don’t have “Dead Seas.” Let’s care for ourselves, and each other, so that we don’t have any dry lakes either.
Blessings to you all,
The Dead Sea isn’t actually dead. Some things live in it, just not many things. The extremely high salt content of its waters will not support many forms of life, with the exception of some bacteria and fungi. The primary reason for this high salinity is that the Dead Sea has no outlet. Water from the Jordan River and a few other streams flow in. Nothing flows out. Ministers, myself included, have sometimes used this fact to underscore the importance of serving others. As we receive, we should also give in order to avoid the spiritual equivalent of becoming a Dead Sea ourselves.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the deadness that follows giving and giving without receiving any refreshing inflow. In either case, the outcome is the same; the absence of the ability to support life.
This has been an incredibly busy week at our hospital. The volume of patients that have come through our doors and the acute nature of many of their health problems have challenged and stretched our Care Givers. Yesterday, one family member of one such patient noted with no small amazement how their nurse was crying with them as they wept over their loved one’s waning moments of life. She was not unique. That caring spirit pervades every department of our hospital. I am so grateful to work with so many caring hearts who make the choice not only to be excellent at their task, but to be exceptionally caring too.
To continue in this ability to be touched by the pain of others, to be able to connect emotionally and spiritually, caregivers must also care for themselves. Taking the time to exercise, relax, do something fun, and feed your spirit keeps the inflow coming so that your outflow does not result in emotional and spiritual exhaustion. Around here we don’t have “Dead Seas.” Let’s care for ourselves, and each other, so that we don’t have any dry lakes either.
Blessings to you all,
Friday, January 23, 2009
Glimmers
January 23, 2009
“If something cannot go on forever, it will eventually stop.” Nathan S. Kaufman
Recently, Nathan S. Kaufman spoke to the leadership of our hospital about healthcare in the United States. He focused on the overall picture of the healthcare system, government policies, insurance, and hospital-physician partnerships. It was at times a sobering, humorous, and in the end, hopeful presentation about how healthcare systems can survive and thrive in this difficult environment.
These are indeed challenging times for healthcare with rising costs, declining reimbursements, physician shortages. But it got me to thinking about how the quote applies to so many other things. How many people are saving for retirement? I wish I had started earlier! Got a living will? We often act as if things will never change and just go on forever as they are.
But they won’t. The question is have we made any plans?
Blessings to you all,
Glimmer Man
January 23, 2009
“If something cannot go on forever, it will eventually stop.” Nathan S. Kaufman
Recently, Nathan S. Kaufman spoke to the leadership of our hospital about healthcare in the United States. He focused on the overall picture of the healthcare system, government policies, insurance, and hospital-physician partnerships. It was at times a sobering, humorous, and in the end, hopeful presentation about how healthcare systems can survive and thrive in this difficult environment.
These are indeed challenging times for healthcare with rising costs, declining reimbursements, physician shortages. But it got me to thinking about how the quote applies to so many other things. How many people are saving for retirement? I wish I had started earlier! Got a living will? We often act as if things will never change and just go on forever as they are.
But they won’t. The question is have we made any plans?
Blessings to you all,
Glimmer Man
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Power of Encouragement
Glimmers
January 15, 2009
“Therefore encourage one another and build each other up…”(1Thessalonians 5:11 NIV)
It struck me this morning as I tried a new exercise on my Wii Fit that there is powerful psychology at work in that little machine. The exercise was jogging in place. The screen showed a beautiful park with mountains, waterfalls and lush foliage. My task was to “run” at a pace sufficient to keep up with the Mii in front of me (Miis are computer-generated characters in the program) but not to pass him. Every couple of minutes or so, he looked behind to see how I was doing and gave me a wave as if to say, “keep it up, you’re doing great.” Along the course, other Miis appeared. Some were running in the same direction, some coming toward me. Sometimes they jumped up and down with delight, hands raised like a football official signaling a touchdown. All of it helped me want to keep going to reach the finish line.
People need encouragement. We need it, our spouses need it, our children need it, and so do the people who come to our hospital for care. How can we offer encouragement? I think an insight from Larry Crabb is helpful here.
In his book, Connecting, he talks of God’s delighting in us even in the messes we have sometimes made of our lives. “Rather than entering the dark places of our souls with a flashlight and a scalpel, intent on repairing what is wrong, he enters with a flashlight and a smile, eager to let us see how he feels about us even when we stand exposed in his presence. He looks at us with eyes of delight that see a goodness beneath the mess, with a heart that beats wildly with excitement over who we are and who we will become” (p. 10).
How can we do that? It is not exactly what Crabb says word for word, but a strategy I have adopted, even when the person has done terrible and self-destructive things, is try to find somewhere in the conversation to say, “I like it that you_________.” And fill in the blank. It never ceases to amaze me how that little phrase draws people out and helps me connect with them. People respond to encouragement, they really do.
Blessings to you all,
Glimmer Man
January 15, 2009
“Therefore encourage one another and build each other up…”(1Thessalonians 5:11 NIV)
It struck me this morning as I tried a new exercise on my Wii Fit that there is powerful psychology at work in that little machine. The exercise was jogging in place. The screen showed a beautiful park with mountains, waterfalls and lush foliage. My task was to “run” at a pace sufficient to keep up with the Mii in front of me (Miis are computer-generated characters in the program) but not to pass him. Every couple of minutes or so, he looked behind to see how I was doing and gave me a wave as if to say, “keep it up, you’re doing great.” Along the course, other Miis appeared. Some were running in the same direction, some coming toward me. Sometimes they jumped up and down with delight, hands raised like a football official signaling a touchdown. All of it helped me want to keep going to reach the finish line.
People need encouragement. We need it, our spouses need it, our children need it, and so do the people who come to our hospital for care. How can we offer encouragement? I think an insight from Larry Crabb is helpful here.
In his book, Connecting, he talks of God’s delighting in us even in the messes we have sometimes made of our lives. “Rather than entering the dark places of our souls with a flashlight and a scalpel, intent on repairing what is wrong, he enters with a flashlight and a smile, eager to let us see how he feels about us even when we stand exposed in his presence. He looks at us with eyes of delight that see a goodness beneath the mess, with a heart that beats wildly with excitement over who we are and who we will become” (p. 10).
How can we do that? It is not exactly what Crabb says word for word, but a strategy I have adopted, even when the person has done terrible and self-destructive things, is try to find somewhere in the conversation to say, “I like it that you_________.” And fill in the blank. It never ceases to amaze me how that little phrase draws people out and helps me connect with them. People respond to encouragement, they really do.
Blessings to you all,
Glimmer Man
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Sympathy
I really should be more sympathetic. I know, "you're a chaplain, that is your job." Well, yes, but nothing reminds one of how bad feeling sick feels like being sick. I don't get sick often. And I hardly ever get so sick I just want to go to bed. But that is what happened over Christmas vacation. Not the whole vacation, thankfully. But a few days of it I felt miserable.
Compared to the people I see in the course of my job, what I suffered was really minor league stuff. However, I am so used to feeling good that I found it hard to remember what feeling sick felt like. Not now.
I know that not everything that happens to me has some deep, spiritual meaning. But I can certainly reflect on what happens to me and be open to the possibility that God can use it in some way. I know that since my little taste of illness, I am feeling the sicknesses of others a little more personally. So, today I give thanks for whatever viral bug infested my being for the past 2 plus weeks. I don't want to go through it again anytime soon. But I don't want to forget it either.
Compared to the people I see in the course of my job, what I suffered was really minor league stuff. However, I am so used to feeling good that I found it hard to remember what feeling sick felt like. Not now.
I know that not everything that happens to me has some deep, spiritual meaning. But I can certainly reflect on what happens to me and be open to the possibility that God can use it in some way. I know that since my little taste of illness, I am feeling the sicknesses of others a little more personally. So, today I give thanks for whatever viral bug infested my being for the past 2 plus weeks. I don't want to go through it again anytime soon. But I don't want to forget it either.
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