Ice on Snow

Last night the one hour drive back from seeing my love in Fairfax, VA, took two and a half hours. The snow, that had been gently drifting down when I left, quickly turned into a heavy outpouring accompanied by icy rain. 

I was so grateful that I had spent several winters in Canada, and that I drive an all wheel drive Subaru Outback. Even so, great chunks of ice attached themselves to my windscreen wipers causing them to thud, thud, thud, against the windscreen barely removing the sheet of ice that had formed making it incredibly difficult to see. Traffic crawled forwards. I skidded a couple of times. 

It was scary. 

I prayed furiously. 

A few hours after getting home I saw that a sheet of ice had covered my front living room bay window making it impossible to see the driveway that lies right outside. 

I was not looking forward to the shoveling that loomed in my near future. 

Thick ice on top of snow. Nightmare!

This morning I delayed the inevitable. 

So I was overjoyed just now when my doorbell rang. Standing there was a young lad with a woolen hat, shovel, and a mask covering what I knew to be his sweet, cheeky grin. 

Anthony has shoveled my driveway a few times over the last several years. This time he is taller, fourteen, and much better at negotiating. Also there is some expensive, electronic, musical-wizardry he is saving up to buy. 

Despite the sharp rise in the price of hard labor, I am delighted to have made a contribution to the creative aspirations of the upcoming generation. 

And to not have to shovel. 

Thank you, Anthony. 

And thank you Lord!

Beginnings and Endings - Thanksgiving Blessings

As we approach Thanksgiving I am incredibly grateful for many things, including two images that keep replaying in my mind. Both events happened recently in my role as a hospice chaplain. Both were deeply moving blessings at opposite ends of life’s continuum. 

The first took place in a rural, cosy farmhouse deep in Maryland’s arable land. 

My patient was an older man. His wife of fifty years was gently rocking their baby granddaughter in her arms. The child was nestled into her warmth, her safety, her love, and soon relaxed into sleep. 

The couple shared their life, their story. Being together for such a long time is sometimes a matter of courage and rugged endurance rather than hearts and roses. 

And then we all bowed our head to pray.

Suddenly I realized that the child had woken up, silently slid off her grandma’s lap, and was standing in front of me with her arms raised. I looked at her grandmother, who smiled, and so I lifted up the child who then immediately cuddled into me before playing with my glasses. The prayer didn’t stop throughout this. It flowed on. I don’t think my patient realized that there had been a changing of laps until later. 

I have never had a physical child of my own, although I have nephews and a niece whom I love. And I have had many spiritual sons and daughters - including my “big, bad boys” when I was chaplain in a men’s prison. So this child, coming to me in that way, clearly feeling so comfortable in my arms, while we were communing with the Almighty, deeply moved me. A loving blessing. A cuddly, kissable, unexpected package that melted my heart. 

The second image, that took place in a more urban setting, is of an British man in his nineties who had lost his wife a few months before. I knew them before she died. Theirs was a true, loving, adventure-filled union of over 60 years. 

We talked deeply. I played him music, English torch songs like The White Cliffs of Dover. His childhood favorite “The Grand Old Duke of York.” Classic British hymns sung by full-throated choirs such as “And Did Those Feet in Ancient Times Walk upon England’s Pastures Green?” We came to the last piece of music that he requested, Andrea Bocelli singing The Lord's Prayer

“Can  I hold your hand?” he said. 

And together, fingers linked, we listened to that glorious piece as heaven drew close to us and filled that room. I’m sure in his mind he was holding another British woman’s - his wife’s hand - while I was silently praying for peace, grace, and strength for him in the days ahead when he would no doubt be slipping through the veil. From life to real life. 

Both of those physical contacts in the midst of prayer - spoken and sung - were huge, meaningful blessings to me. From a child at the beginning of life, to a fellow countryman at the end of his. The Lord’s presence was rich and thick in both settings. 

It reminds me that the Lord promises us that He will always be with us in our beginnings and our endings - as well as in all our in betweens. He will never let us go, never leave or forsake us. 

No matter what you are feeling as Thanksgiving approaches - joy, trepidation, grief, excitement. Whether you will be surrounded by friends and family; celebrating by yourself, unwillingly or not; or grieving someone who is no longer there, may you feel the Lord’s love in unexpected, meaningful ways. 

May tangible blessings touch you. 

And may you know in deep, soul-warming ways, that you are loved, and never alone.

Good Grief! Pandemic Parables From a Hospice Chaplain. Holy Fools

Good Grief! Pandemic Parables from a Hospice Chaplain 

January 3rd 2021 

Holy Fools 

As many of you already know, I have started a new job as a Hospice Chaplain at a hospital 50 minutes from my home in Frederick, Maryland. It is in a fairly rural area adjacent to the outer fringes of Baltimore.

My first day was Monday December 28th, the Feast of the Holy Innocents. That is when, in Christian tradition, King Herod sent soldiers to kill all the male babies under two years of age in Bethlehem in an attempt to exterminate the Messiah, who wasn’t there. Thanks to an angel warning his adoptive dad, the Light of the World was a helpless new refugee fleeing in the care of His parents towards the relative safety of Egypt.

In Spain, where my parents moved when I was eleven, December 28th is known as the Feast of the Holy Fools, the equivalent of our April 1st All Fools Day. Like here tricks are played on the unwary.

I thought it was a fitting day to start my new assignment. (And I’m glad to report no tricks were played on me my first day!)

I’m happy to be a somewhat holy fool, starting to climb a steep learning curve into an area of chaplaincy that is new to me, including visiting patients in their homes, in a time when the pandemic is still ranging. My much loved sister-in-law Nancy, has always said (as she has watched me lurch from one adventure to the next in various parts of the world including working in a Canadian Christian retreat center and a Maryland and New Zealand men’s prison,) that I go where angels fear to tread. I’m hoping that is only partly true as I’d like some angels to accompany me on this stage of the journey.

During my fifteen months training for chaplaincy I worked as a Hospital Chaplain - the past year of that as a full time Resident - in my local hospital. I am now on the “Home Team” based in a Hospice House and will be visiting with people in their homes, who are, for the most part, within six months of dying, as well as deeply listening to their family and caregivers. I consider it a great honor to be allowed into people’s lives at such an intensely private, emotion-filled time.

This particular Hospice program is excellent in many ways. For a start they recognize that people are made up of body, soul, and spirit, and they have teams of people meld their specialties to ensure that overlapping care is given to all parts of the patient. So I will be working with nurses, social workers, a doctor, and others, to ensure each patient and their family get the maximum possible, all-encompassing care. Everyone I have met so far on the Hospice staff have been deep, loving, caring, highly competent people. It will be a joy to get to know them better, and to work with them.

Before starting at the hospice I had only visited the attached hospital once. All the interviews were done from my favorite living room chair either by phone or a Zoom equivalent. I was beginning to wonder if the hospital building really existed. I discovered it did when I had to go in for a pre-employment physical. That included being fitted for a mask. I already knew that N95s don’t fit me well, but the hospital also uses N100s, which look like they could be a gas mask. (Which I suppose, in a way they are.)

I distinguished myself at that physical. Unfortunately not because of my sleek, healthy physique (ha!) No! I was told that I was the only person in the whole hospital who failed the test for fitting an N100! Apparently the men of the hospital have all been shaving off their facial hair to ensure a close fit. It worked for them. I wax and I failed.

The injustice of it all!

The first few days of my employment were official orientation for all new staff to the hospital/hospice. Some of this was virtual. Then for the first month I will shadow the other Hospice Chaplains to see how they do things before being launched with my own roster of patients. I’m glad of the thorough initiation as there is so much to learn!

Unlike the Hospice that is part of the hospital where I trained, chaplains are still going into homes and nursing homes to see patients. (At my former facility Hospice visits are only done by phone.) That means we have to have twice weekly COVID tests - one is the quick test, and the other is the one that goes to a lab for analysis. In addition, I will get the vaccine as soon as possible- many staff have already had their first dose. That is one injection that will be a delight to have administered!

On Wednesday and Thursday I went with another chaplain to see my first patients. In preparation, on Tuesday night I was ushered into the store room and issued a large assortment of PPE to be kept in my car. If the patient does not have Covid we have to wear masks, face shields, and gloves. If they have Covid, plastic gowns, a second pair of gloves, and disposable booties are added to the mix.

Chaplains, of course, have to travel to the same destination in separate cars because of distancing. Which means missing out on a lot of bonding and information swapping. But needs must.

I felt like a swaddled alien seeing my first, non-Covid patient wearing protective gear. Going from the bitterly cold outside to cozy homes, not only did my glasses fog up, my shield did also. And it seemed to stay that way for much of the time before we left. It wasn’t any easier by the third visit. But I’m sure I’ll get into the swing of the extra safety layers soon. What incredibly odd times we live in!

Already I’ve learned such a lot - especially in the three visits. Such different circumstances with deep love, filial devotion, and understandable frustration and burnout clearly demonstrated in each separate place - and all three intermingling in less obvious, more subtle ways in every household. Love, bravery, fear, anger, faith, and anxiety all jostling for attention as families take their last journeys together.

It was good to have three days off for the New Year weekend to take in and absorb all that had happened in the four days since I started the job – as well as looking back on the extraordinary past twelve months.

We have all changed such a lot in the virus-soaked last year. We had to! The fabric of our lives was dramatically transformed. Together with so many others I was glad to see the end of 2020. Indeed for the first time since being an adult I didn’t celebrate at midnight. My Fitbit assures me I was asleep ten minutes before the countdown ended. My psyche had clearly given up on the old and was wanting to begin the new as quickly as possible. And well rested at that!

But I know that in this next year, as I have the privilege of being part of a loving professional team that enters people’s homes and cares for those close to death and their loved ones, I shall be changed. In deep ways I will grasp hold of the true essentials of life, learn profound lessons, and come away with transformative stories.

And as for being a Holy Fool...

Holy - I don’t know about that.

A fool - certainly. But a grateful one - thankful that my odd life has taken this unlikely twist. Looking forward to seeing how this latest adventure unfolds.

In some ways we are all in the same position. Perched on the edge of the unknown. Holding our breaths. Hoping that the vaccine works. Praying the Pandemic’s roiling waters are calmed and stilled. Wondering what life will be like after this great virus storm is over.

At this year’s ending may we look back on 2021 and see that in our lives incredible miracles, both domestic and dramatic, have taken place. That there was protection, provision, relief at endings, and joy at beginnings. In new ways may we remember who we were created to be and be brave enough to take steps to let that true self emerge. May the good outweigh the bad, the joy outweigh the sorrow. And as the chimes ring in 2022 may we truly be able to say that in the past year we have learned, deepened, and that it was good.

May that be true for all of us.

Dear Lord, let it be so. Amen.

Election Eve Thoughts

Forty years ago (minus two days - it was November 4th) when I was a mere child and employed by the BBC in London, England, as a temporary relief floor assistant, the lowest form of life on the studio floor, I was called in to work on the live coverage of the US election. I knew nothing about American politics. I didn’t really understand what was going on, but as the hours went by I was caught up in the huge emotions of the night. 

As the results came in slowly by slowly, State by State, it was evident that Ronald Reagan was beating Jimmy Carter in a landslide victory.  I knew something huge had happened. 

In a minuscule way I had been part of history. 

I’d love to say that experience propelled me into being an avid political supporter. 

It didn’t. 

Even though a year later I had moved to Austin, Texas, and was renting the guest house of the amazing Liz Carpenter - press secretary to Lady Bird Johnson in the White House, and dynamic, lovable wit. 

Instantly I was unwittingly plunged into a fascinating hot bed of Democratic politics that centered on Liz’s home. For example Ann Richards, future Governor of Texas was nurtured by Liz and was often among the guests at her house during my time there. 

Liz was infuriated that she could not make me into a political animal. The gene that was necessary was clearly missing from my psyche. However Liz, gone for ten years now, would be pleased that I have firm opinions on many of the issues at stake in this election, although we might not agree on all of them. 

I have already voted, standing in line for two and a half hours to do so, grateful to be able to exercise the right bestowed upon me when I became a naturalized citizen almost thirteen years ago. I have a strong preference of who I would like to win this election. 

But more and more I am hoping that whichever side wins we have a return to forty years ago and it is done in a landslide. So that it is quite clear, with no shadow of doubt who has prevailed. 

I remind myself that whoever wins, the Lord is still on the throne. He loves all of us - on both sides of the political divide - with an everlasting love - and that His ways, as the Good Book says, are not our ways. He already knows the outcome. It will not be a surprise to Him. 

I pray that whoever He has chosen wins, and that if it is not whom I wholeheartedly prefer, that I have the grace to accept the outcome with equanimity. 

I am praying for peace at the polling stations and in the streets. Praying hard. 

Forty is a very biblical number. For a start the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness for forty years. The rains that floated Noah’s ark fell for forty days and nights. Jesus fasted for forty days and nights in the wilderness before starting his public ministry. 

Forty years after I was first introduced to American politics I am praying that, no matter my personal preference, that the Lord’s will is done, that there be a landslide victory, and that miraculous goodwill prevails. 

Lord let it be. 

And God bless America. 

All of us. 

Amen.

Pandemic Parables: Epilogue

Pandemic Parables: Epilogue 

Sunday August 30th 2020

Let me tell you a story about the flowers I received before leaving the hospital. The glorious, vibrant bouquet that I mentioned in my last parable, Finished!

As many of you who have been reading my Pandemic Parables know, I just finished a year’s intense course as a Resident Chaplain at my local hospital in Frederick, Maryland. What only a few close friends know is that it was an excruciatingly difficult time, not just because of the pandemic, but because of other circumstances that would have made even a normal, always challenging, residency hard to endure. 

On my penultimate day at the hospital, right after I had finished the last group seminar, and was so effectively finished except for packing up and saying goodbyes, I found the flowers on my desk. There was a note from our staff chaplain saying that the security guard at the front entrance had phoned to say they were there waiting for me. The chaplain picked them up because I was in class. By the time I was out, the wonderful security guard, who has become my friend, had left for the day. 

On Friday, my last day, there she was at the front desk as I came in to the hospital at the crack of dawn. 

“You wonderful, wonderful, woman!” I said, wishing I could hug her.

“It wasn’t me - it was a God thing, she said. And then went on to tell me the story. 

The flowers had come in late the previous evening. The evening shift had, apparently, not looked up the patient, and my friend, the guard, discovered that they had been discharged already. 

“I spent all morning trying to track the patient down,” she said. “But I couldn’t find them. So I phoned the florist, which was in Virginia, about an hour away. They said they had already sent a replacement bouquet to the patient, whose family were good customers, and to give those flowers to anyone I chose. You had commented on how beautiful they were when you passed by in the morning, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were yours!”

I was beyond thrilled! I knew they were a present from the Almighty, a congratulations on finishing the course. And my generous friend knew that also. 

I was aglow with gratitude!

It reminded me of another time when I finished an incredibly difficult year, and the Lord gave me presents straight from His hand. 

It was June 2004, sixteen years ago. I had driven home from Canada after working for a year at retreat center in Orangeville, Ontario. The place was hour outside Toronto set in fifty acres of bucolic beauty that had been soaked in prayer for decades. Like with the hospital, I had done an intense course at the center before working there. The two month residential course focused on training people who wanted to help heal the broken hearted. But we are all broken hearted in one way or another and so I did the course to bring about my own healing, before working as their Director of Creativity on a one year visa. 

I arrived home, that June in the early hours of the morning, wondering if I would be uprooted again soon. I had bought my home two months before leaving for the course in Canada, renting out part of it to enable me to do so. My renters left days before my return. 

I unpacked my car and dumped everything in the entrance way, except an overnight bag, a couple of packets of sunflower seeds that I was determined to plant the next day, and a beautiful bird feeder in the shape of a cottage. You lifted its red sloping roof to pour the seed inside. 

I live in a townhouse where the kitchen and main living room is on the second floor 

There is a deck outside the kitchen and I hung that bird feeder on a wooden stand that was there when I bought the place, telling myself I would buy bird seed the next day.  And I would plant the sunflowers. 

It felt as though by doing so I was declaring - “I am finally home!” 

But still, I wondered how long it would before I had to leave again. I had no job lined up. I was trusting, once again, that the Lord would show me the way and provide. 

I remembered something I had asked the senior pastor at the Bible School I attended in London back in 1989.  After a particularly anointed lecture in faith, I had said, with the deepest sincerity, “Does the walk of faith get any easier?”

The senior pastor, an ex-ballet dancer who understood my creative spirit, really thought about the answer. Then he replied: “No Geraldine, it doesn’t. But it does become more familiar.” 

Simple words of incredible wisdom that I have recalled frequently over the intervening years. 

I hauled my case up to my third floor bedroom and crashed into bed in what was then the not so wee hours, way too soon before dawn. 

It was about ten o clock before I finally stirred. I threw up the blind and looked down on the kitchen deck one floor below. To my utter amazement I saw a tiny bird flying busily in and out of the bird feeder below. In those few hours of sleep a minuscule mother was building a nest!

I felt the Lord saying. “You will be staying for a long while. It is safe to nest.”

And it has been. 

I never did plant those sunflower seeds. I am not a gardener. But I had great joy in watching that nest. I would peek in whenever the mother left and marvel at the eggs. I saw those babies being launched. Then the nest was abandoned. I cleaned it out, filled the wooden house with seed, and had a lovely summer watching birds feed. 

I truly felt I was home. 

Later in the summer I came in the front door. Something bright caught my eye outside the back door on the ground floor deck. I went out there, and to my absolute amazement there was the biggest sunflower stalk I had ever seen. Branching off it were at least ten enormous sunflowers! I felt like I was seeing the equivalent of Jack’s beanstalk that had grown up overnight. But with sunflowers. 

Perhaps the birds had dropped seeds between the cracks of the deck above. 

All I know is that it wasn’t there, and then, miraculously it was. And before or since I have never seen anything like that type of giant sunflower. 

But I knew what it was. It was the Lord saying, “you wanted sunflowers. Here are sunflowers. A glorious bouquet of them. And darling, welcome home!”

And so now I am soaking in the wonder and beauty of this latest, dramatic, God-bouquet. Knowing it acknowledges the end of an intense, difficult, unforgettable season. 

Once again I have no idea what is in store. But I have been on this faith journey before. My senior pastor was right. It has become familiar. 

And so I know that the way will open. 

And it will be good.