Little Things

Glimmers                                                               March 25, 2020

 The Wuhan Covid-19 Corona virus is microscopic, invisible to the naked eye, but what a huge impact it has had. Little things can create big problems. Whole nations have come to a literal standstill because of this littlest of little things.

This is not new for little things. Little things have always been capable of huge, catastrophic damage. In Poor Richard’s Almanac, Ben Franklin wrote;

“For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,

For the want of the shoe the horse was lost,

For the want of the horse, the rider was lost,

For the want of the rider the battle was lost,

For the want of the battle the kingdom was lost,

And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.”

Little things. Huge damage.

The epistle of James also warns us about little things. A small spark can cause a huge,

uncontrollable, blaze. And watch out for the tongue, he says, because though it too is a little thing, it can set the whole world on fire. James 3.

Little things. Huge damage.

But just as little things can create huge problems, little things can also do great good. For example, offering to pick up things from the grocery store for an older, at-risk person so they can stay at home is a little thing. I’ve seen that posted multiple times on Facebook. A little thing can be a huge blessing. I’m sure you’ve seen other examples.

On Monday, I will confess to being weighed down with personal stuff that would take more

space to share than Glimmers will allow. I arrived at work to be greeted by a new procedure to

enter the hospital. I was screened by co-workers taking my temperature, asking screening

questions like “have you traveled out of the country recently?,” “have you been in contact with

anyone who has tested positive for Covid-19?,” “have you been eating your vegetables like your

mother taught you?” The last one was not a real question. I made that up. The whole process, in a hermetically sealed structure, performed by people in gowns, gloves and masks inevitably

raised anxiety, realized or not. But on the upside, our frozen yogurt machine in the cafeteria,

broken and out of commission for weeks, was replaced with a new, sleek, much improved

model and we were all given a little card to get a free one. A little thing, but it had a big,

smile-inducing “we understand this is hard and here is a small token of our appreciation for your rolling with it” impact.

And then, somewhere between the entrance and my office, I lost mine. A little thing with a straw that broke the camel’s back feeling. Later in the day, I voiced my dismay to one of my friends at work. He took his card out of his pocket and said, “Here, take mine. I’m not going to use it anyway.” A little thing. But it turned my whole day around.

“If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves.” Emily Dickenson

Let’s do the little things well.

Social Distancing Blessings,

Jerald

(The views shared here are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Parrish Healthcare)

Covid-19

March 17, 2020

It has been a long time since the last Glimmers was written. Thank you to all who have said you have missed them and have encouraged me to get back to writing them.

On the occasion of the Covid-19 Pandemic, some thoughts about this current crisis.

My daily Scripture readings on Monday, March 16, included passages from Proverbs 3 and John 6. I later read an article by James Daly on, of all places, the Fox Business website titled, “In coronavirus crisis, prayer is also a good investment.” In the article he speaks of the fear that seems to be spreading more rapidly than the virus and how prayer can be just the thing we need to tamp it down. It sounded good to me! It underscored the message from the Scripture passages I had just read.

Proverbs 3:5-6 are much loved verses that counsel us to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart

and do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all your ways and he will show

you which path to take.” NLT

John 6 includes the account of Jesus feeding the multitude. You probably have heard about it, but if you haven’t, here is a brief summary. A crowd followed Jesus out of town to hear him speak. After a long day, he tells his disciples to give them something to eat. Since no Publix was available, and they were likely out of chicken and hamburger meat anyway, he told his disciples to give them something to eat. Dumbfounded, they said they had only a little bit of food. “How is that supposed to feed all of these people?”  “What do you have?” Jesus asked. “Just five loaves of bread and a couple of fish.” Jesus instructed them to have the crowd, numbering in the thousands, to sit down. He then blessed the bread and fish and began to divide it up and gave some to each of them to distribute. When the twelve of them passed it out, it somehow was enough to feed everybody.

Miracle enough that was, but Jesus was not done with the lesson. When Jesus asked how much was left over, they said more than twelve baskets. So they gave and gave and gave out of their baskets and still there was enough for them when it was all said and done. The lesson?

When we share out of our basket, the basket won’t run out.

Now back to that article on prayer. James Daly recalls that crisis moment when Jesus and his twelve disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee and a sudden storm threatened to capsize the boat and sink them all. The sea was raging, the disciples were afraid and they called out to

Jesus. Jesus was worried, too. Just kidding! Jesus was asleep. Their calls awakened him and

he calmed the sea and they were amazed.

When Rembrandt, the famous Dutch artist, painted his vision of the event, strangely, he got the numbers wrong. Instead of thirteen- Jesus and the twelve disciples- there are fourteen. But it was not a mistake. Rembrant had painted himself into the story.

So my closing thoughts on this first Glimmers in great while; Let’s choose trust and not fear.

Let’s share out of our basket with those who have material needs or are in need of moral support and encouragement. I believe we’ll find, as they did, that our own baskets keep getting filled up.  Remember, we are all in this boat together. And we are not alone.

Blessings!

Jerald

P.S. I see that in Canada the phrase “Caremongering” is going viral. Let’s help it spread here, too!

(The views shared here are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Parrish Healthcare)

The Importunate Ixora

 

One day Jesus told his disciples a story to show that they should always pray and never give up. Luke 18:1 NLT

It finally got to me. The little miniature ixora had been tossed aside with no regard as to whether it would live or die. I didn’t care if it died. Five years ago it had been planted with much care in the center planter on the far side of the pool. It was the choice spot. It was the spot that drew the eye as one looked out from the kitchen window to gaze into the back yard, a semi-circular planter in the center on the far side of the screened enclosure. There are two other planters, one in each corner of the far side, but the center spot is the prime location. The ixora, along with three others, accented the hibiscus that grew larger and taller in the middle, two of them on each side of it.  

Each year I looked forward to some growth and to the tiny, yellow flowers they produced. Each year was a disappointment. They did not grow and produced few flowers.  I gave up on them. I replaced them with some deep blue phlox that, I must say, looked absolutely stunning from the kitchen window in the light of the morning sun.

With nary a thought, the ixoras were shoved into a used pot, thrown aside and left for dead by the fence. All of them died, but one. It wouldn’t. Shaded by the oaks overhanging the fence from the neighbor’s yard and clinging to the bit of soil that had not been shaken off when all four of them were uprooted, it refused to die. Every now and then, as I regularly mowed the grass, I would notice it, mildly surprised at its tenacity. Months went by. It lived. Through the spring and the last gasp of summer, it lived.

Finally, two weeks ago, I took pity on it and replanted it in the front yard in the bed that is in front of my office window. I have not watered it. With the constant rains of the last month, I have not needed to. There it has thrived. Last Sunday afternoon, I took notice of the new, green leaves that have begun to sprout and smiled.

Blessings to you all,

Jerald

(All thoughts and opinions expressed herein are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Parrish Medical Center.)

 

 

 

 

A Dark and Stormy Night

 “It was a dark and stormy night” is the introductory line from a novel written by Victorian author Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton.  It is now widely regarded as the epitome of the worst way to begin a novel or short story. But it really was a dark and stormy night before my first day at Parrish Medical Center.

I had finished my five and a half year tenure at Cape Canaveral Hospital on Thursday, September 2nd as the hospital evacuated in advance of Frances, the second hurricane of the season. At Parrish Medical Center, the hospital was preparing as well and the staff hunkered down to ride out the storm, locked in for the duration. Frances would prove to be a slow mover and the lockdown a long one.

September 6, 2004, my wife and I were shopping for a few things at CVS on the corner Wickham Road and Parkway in Melbourne, FL. Hurricane Frances, had just passed, leaving most of the area without power and some of the area devastated by the damage. A tornado, spawned by the storm, had swept through Wickham Park, destroying a quarter of a large apartment complex next to our neighborhood. We were spared any significant damage, but like most everyone else, we had no power. CVS had power and AC! We were taking our time looking around, cooling off, getting a few things we needed, and again my phone rang.

“Hi, Jerald. This is Roberta Chaildin from Parrish. Listen, we have been on lockdown because of the hurricane for 92 hours and the strain is showing. I know you’re not supposed to start until tomorrow, but could you come in today?”

I arrived early afternoon, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt that had the Association of Professional Chaplains logo on it. I chose it because the word “Chaplains”was easily readable on it, and since most everyone I would meet that day would have no idea who I was.

There wasn’t a whole lot I could do, other than “Presence Ministry.” There was no way to fix the stress felt by 90+ hours of lockdown or the stress of not knowing the condition of their homes or the stress of a second blow on top of the one two-weeks prior that had already left the area covered in blue tarps.

Ten years have passed and I’m still convinced that presence, “being consciously and compassionately in the present moment,” (Miller, The Art of Being a Healing Presence, p 12) is one of the most powerful things we can bring to our work with patients, their families and just as importantly, to each other.

Jerald

 

All opinions expressed herein are strictly my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Parrish Medical Center.

Time Flies

Sept. 15, 2014

Ten years is a long time. And yet what happened ten years ago can seem like it happened yesterday. Having just celebrated ten years here at Parrish Medical Center, I have been remembering and reflecting on how it began and what has happened since.

It all started with a phone call. I was sitting in my office in a portable building on the backside of Cape Canaveral Hospital one sunny afternoon in June of 2004. On the phone was the familiar voice of a friend, who was also my former boss, Laurie Smirl. The conversation quickly shifted from pleasantries to serious business. “Parrish Medical Center is looking for a chaplain and I told them they needed to talk to you. Would you be interested?” I thought briefly about a line from the book I had just read “Rich Dad, Poor Dad” about how I was in business whether I knew it or not and that my business was me. The point being that I needed to “mind my business” in such a way that the investment of “me” was also good for me. Those of you who know me know that I tend to play it kind of safe and since I had a very good position already at Cape Canaveral Hospital, that quote was just the push I needed to consider another opportunity.

Shortly thereafter, I had a day filled with interviews at PMC that left me mentally exhausted, and hopeful. I had been quite impressed with the people I had met, the beautiful facility, the vision of the organization and how they thought my role could complement their mission of “healing experiences for everyone, all the time.” Leaving a safe, good position felt risky to me, and it was in many respects, but I have never regretted it. What is the quote? “No risk, no reward.” Indeed.

I will have some additional reflections on these ten years in future Glimmers.

Blessing to you all!

Jerald

All opinions expressed herein are strictly my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Parrish Medical Center.

The Things We Forget

I remember the first time I saw a naso-gastric tube. A friend from the church I used to attend when I lived in Tallahassee, FL was hospitalized in Atlanta. I walked in and greeted him and was happy to see that he was smiling and in good spirits. We talked for a while and caught up on the events  in our respective lives, but the whole time, I kept looking at the tube coming from his nose. To be honest, I had no idea what it was for, but looking at the tube and the greenish-brown liquid flowing through it made my stomach a bit queasy.

I no longer get queasy about much of anything I see in hospitals. Years of working in healthcare will do that for you. But I was reminded of that long-forgotten feeling this week by a couple of events. One was personal. The other was the lived experience of a patient I met.

My story, as previously shared on Facebook, went like this:

I was doing my manly duty, mowing the yard and suddenly it was as if a BLOW TORCH was lighting up the inside of my right leg, about six inches above my ankle. I proceeded to hop and holler and flail at whatever beast had attached itself to my flesh. What was it? A one inch-long, yellow and black DEMON STRAIGHT FROM THE PIT OF HELL monster of a YELLOW JACKET, pumping its VILE POISON into my burning appendage.

It has been 40 or more years since I have been stung by one and now, an hour and a half and a shower later, it still feels like a HOT POKER is being stuck to my leg! SO, to all my friends whose job it is to stick sharp objects into human flesh, when next my time comes and you say, "Ok, a little bee sting," I WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!

Our patient's story went like this; He was brought into the hospital for one ailment and the physician's examination revealed something more serious yet that earned him a hospital stay and more diagnostic tests. Soon, he was surrounded by a group of strangers doing whatever it is that that do. Having never been in the hospital in his 60+ years from birth until that day, he was not at all sure what they did. As he told the story of being gifted with a urinary catheter, his eyes grew wide and his voice became more passionate. They tried to reassure him that he shouldn't be embarrassed; after all, they had done this hundreds of times before. To which he said, "Well, I have never had this done before and I have never had 9 people looking at me naked before because I HAD NEVER BEEN IN A HOSPITAL BEFORE!

In every line of work, we become accustomed to the language and activities of our craft. That is normal. In the hospital, we get used to blood, needles, IV poles, dialysis machines, heart monitors and naso-gastric tubes. It is easy to forget what bee stings are really like and easy to forget that our patients may not share our level of comfort with our environment. It took a yellow jacket to remind me of that. It is not a memory aide that I would recommend!

Happy Hospital Week!

Jerald

A Lenten Apology

Glimmers

April 11, 2014

“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) 

In younger days, I often made fun of Lent. “Lent? You mean that fuzz that gets trapped in your belly button?” All in good fun and all from the vantage point of an outsider.

Lent- the season that spans the Christian calendar from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday, is not observed in many evangelical churches, including the one to which I belong. There are several reasons for this, historical and theological, that I won’t go into here. All that is to say, that Lent has always been strange to me- strange in the sense of eating mussels, raw oysters or bungie jumping. I just didn’t get it. I had never tried them either and was pretty sure I wouldn’t like them if I did.

 Ash Wednesday begins with the imposition of ashes-burned remains of the prior year’s palm fronds from Palm Sunday. “Remember O man that dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return,” is recited as the ashes are spread on the forehead in a cross-shaped marking. Churches remove bright decorations for the season and hymn selections reflect a somber, sober  tone. “What a downer!” I used to think.

Over the years, I have gained many friends and colleagues from these more liturgical groups and, gradually, my understanding of Lent has deepened. I have come to appreciate the emotional movement of somber reflection of these forty-plus days that contemplates the suffering and passion of Jesus and explodes with joy on Easter Sunday. And I have also come to appreciate the practice of “giving something up for Lent.” I did it for the first time this year.

Giving up something for Lent is a way of participating in Christ’s suffering. I used to ridicule the practice, scoffing, “how can giving up chocolate for a few weeks possibly imitate the brutality of that?” Well, it can’t, and it isn’t meant to. It is meant to stir reflection.

So this year, I decided to give it a try. Now, I’m not going to tell you what I offered up, but suffice it to say it was no big thing. It was simply something I enjoy, nothing immoral or even fattening for that matter, just enjoyable to me. I can’t tell you how many times I have been tempted to enjoy what I had given up and how badly I have wanted it. I want it so badly because it is off-limits! Delayed, deferred until Easter! But I want it NOW! This “no big thing” became a big thing by my telling myself I couldn’t have it. And it has been much more difficult than I ever expected.

So, to all my friends observing Lent in the true spirit of the season, you have my new-found respect and humble apology.

Jerald