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
Saturday, August 29, 2009
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
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