Pandemic Parables: Insight

Pandemic Parables: Insight

Recently I had a moment of real insight in the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

Let me explain.

I had a fascinating conversation with the head of one of the departments of the hospital. I knew he was a kind, gracious, caring man. However I learned more about him when we were having a socially distanced chat and his mask accidentally slipped off.

“Don’t you find it a relief to not have to wear a mask even for just for a short time?” I said. 

“Oh its so much easier without masks! He replied putting his back on. Especially for me as I’m deaf.”

“I had no idea.” I said. 

“Yes” he replied. 

“I’m completely deaf in one ear and with the other I can hear people on the telephone. 

Just. 

So I rely on lip reading, which of course I can’t do when people are wearing masks.” 

“Have you tried those masks where they have a clear panel at the front” I said. 

I had just read a story on line about a woman who had got a grant to make them in bulk. I felt rather pleased to know about this development. 

My smugness rapidly dissolved. 

“It’s no use me wearing one of those.” 

He said with a laugh. 

“For them to work everyone else would have to be wearing one.”

The light went on! 

“Of course!” I said. “So tell me more. How do you manage?”

The department head went on to explain how very difficult it was for the deaf community at the moment. He reminded me that to just communicate ordinarily they use their eyes and hands, and so more of their brain is working than hearing folk. 

In addition not everyone’s signing is as skillful as it could be so they rely heavily on lip reading. 

But now lips aren’t visible. 

He told me about a friend of his who works in a deaf unit within a psychiatric hospital. She and her team are exhausted with the great strain of communicating. This is in addition to the exhaustion we all feel at being plunged into a virus-soaked world. 

This double burden is leading to depression, serious depression in some cases. 

“And,” said my new friend, “that depression is spreading within the deaf community even when they communicate among themselves.”

This surprised me. 

“Why?” I said. “Why is it harder for them to understand each other than normal?

“It’s because of punctuation.” He explained.

“We use our faces to bring sense to our sentences.” 

Continuing to stand at a safe distance, he slid his mask down. 

“Look,” He said. 

Then with nose flares and twitches of his mouth he explained the finer points of deaf speech. The periods, the commas, the exclamation points. 

For some things he used his eyebrows. But mostly he moved areas that are covered by a mask. 

I was fascinated!  I had no idea of the depth of the deaf community’s current challenge. 

“What if everyone wore the masks with the clear inserts, would that help?” I asked eagerly, really wanting to learn. 

“Well my mother thought of that.” He responded. She is an expert seamstress and she produced many of that kind of mask for me. But they were a disaster! The vinyl insert was continually fogging up because of breath, and no trick or solution would stop it. Wearing a face shield without a mask helps because there is more room for the air to circulate. But even they can fog up - and they are often heavy and uncomfortable. Who wants to wear one of those all day?”

Then he added: “There are a lot of older people who don’t like to admit they are hard of hearing. They are only realizing now how much they usually depend on reading lips to get by. They too are struggling and can sink into depression because their life has suddenly got so much more difficult.”

Of course!  It all made so much sense!

I felt like a window had been opened into a new world.  I knew the view it gave me would help me be more understanding with my patients, coworkers, and deaf friends. 

Or at least I hope it will!

It certainly made me wonder what other situations I don’t understand. 

Other areas where I have only seen things from my perspective, through the filter of my own worldview. 

Where I have been oblivious to silent cries of frustration, of heartache, from the depths of people that I interact with daily. 

And so, I consider that conversation with the department head to be a gift. 

A gift of sensitivity. Of awareness. 

May we all be given insight to understand the hidden struggles all around us. 

In the midst of our own challenges may we be aware of the hurdles faced by others. 

And no matter what is thrown at us each day, no matter how we are overwhelmed, oh Lord, help us, help me, to be understanding. 

To be kind. 

Amen.

Pandemic Parables: May the Force...

Pandemic Parables:  May The Force...

Today, on Monday May 4th, I met Darth Vader. 

I had just turned into the Emergency Department to pray at the end of their daily 11 am “huddle” and there he was!  Dressed in his signature swirling black cape and full face mask he was getting ready to convene the meeting. Surrounding him was a forest of Princesses Leia hairstyles on both the men and the women. 

And then I spied the head of the department smiling broadly and handing out hair bands containing the signature swirls. 

Today had been declared Star Wars Day in the ED of the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

They were having a party!

I came ready and armed with “Dark Side Pumpkin Bread” that, despite its name, was a Trojan Horse as I had prayed that every bite consumed would bring great peace, healing, love and light. 

Once Darth Vader had finished updating the staff it was my joy to be able to declare that the Force would indeed be with this brave, skillful, medical team. Then I prayed that the power and love of God would blast through them bringing healing, comfort, strength, blessings, and miraculous provision for them and their families. 

Lord let it be so in great measure!

The Force of God’s love did indeed swirl through the hospital today bringing comfort and healing. There were two more Celebration Walks bringing the total number of patients released virus-free to seventy.
Hallelluia!

I was in a patient’s room and so hadn’t heard the overhead announcement to gather for the first Walk. But as I was returning to the Chaplain’s office I saw medical staff heading for the stairs. 

“Are you going?” said one.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world” said the nurse behind her. 

I thought there must be another Star Wars party somewhere until I got to the top of the main foyer’s stairs. 

There below me was an abundance of masked, mainly scrub-wearing well wishers waiting for the departing patient to appear. 

I spied the hospice nurses down below and went to join them. 

“This is wonderful” said one. “We see so much death, so it’s invigorating to celebrate life.”

The patient was wheeled through, oddly without music, and was ushered into the care of his waiting sister. Meanwhile the place had erupted with applause and cheers. 

When it died down the sister addressed the crowd. 

“When my brother was brought in here he was terrified. I’ve never seen him scared before. He didn’t know how he’d be treated. My family gathered every night on Zoom and prayed for him, and we prayed for all of you. And look what has happened. He is healed and you are here. Thank you!”

The place erupted once again and the love that drove out that patient’s fear, was tangible in the foyer. So was the unspoken relief that this dark enemy was being vanquished. 

Light was overcoming darkness. 

The place was abuzz. 

As I walked back to my office amidst a swell of people I saw, off to the side, near the registration desk, an inmate in a bright orange and white prison jumpsuit flanked by two enormous correctional officers. He was in full restraints - handcuffs, waist chain and leg irons. I caught his eyes above his mask and we both nodded and smiled at each other. His eyes laughed. Despite his circumstances he looked as though he could have started dancing. 

Clearly he too had been swept up in the joy and enthusiasm surrounding him. 

Any other inmates I’ve seen being registered have have had slumped shoulders and downcast eyes. 

But I’m believing that force, the force of love, had swirled around him bringing fresh hope and inner freedom.

There are reminders of the power of love everywhere in the hospital. Literally thousands of masks have been made and distributed. Beautiful masks with pretty fabrics and prayer in each stitch. Companies are coming together and blessing the staff with meals, car care, coffee, treats. 

I have a second angel on my desk gifted to be by Connie, the cleaner on the third floor. She is the one with an angel ministry. She collects all kinds of statues, prays over them, and asks the Lord who she should give them to. She gave me a beautiful cherub with a rose some weeks ago that touched me deeply. 

The other day she said to me. 

“Here. This is for you. This is my last day. I’m retiring. But I felt you should have this.”

She pressed into my hand a brightly colored angel that looked as though it had been painted by a child. The face was a blank oval surrounded by long brown hair. 

I treasure that angel. 

To me it symbolizes the many acts of simple, innocent love that Connie poured out over her long years at the hospital. 

Genuine kindness

It represents the nameless, faceless people who have prayed, given, sewn for this hospital. Small acts that together form a tsunami of grace and love that bring hope and healing.

This is a dark and difficult time we are living in. Uncertainty, fear, despair are swirling in the atmosphere. 

But light overcomes darkness. 

May the light of love surround each one of us and show us the way forward. 

May we see miracles in our lives in these days both domestic and dramatic. 

May we be recipients of both small and large gifts of loving kindness, and may we pay that forward with ease and grace. 

May we be transformed in this season to become who we were meant to be all along. 

And on this fourth day of May, and every other day in our lives from now to eternity, may the force of God’s love be with us. 

Amen.

Pandemic Parables: Processions

Pandemic Parables: Processions

I was in tears twice on Thursday April 30th at the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

Grateful tears. 

It was because of two different processions. 

Let me explain.

The number of Covid-19 Positive patients who are discharged virus-free from the hospital grows daily.  By Friday May 1st it was up to sixty two. 

Glory!  Thank you, Lord!

The hospital leadership wanted to acknowledge this continually-increasing achievement; mark a milestone in the patient’s life; and recognize the skill, love, and care of the medical staff that were an integral part of their recovery. 

So they instituted the “Celebration Walk.”

We got an email outlining their plan. 

They told us that if they chose to participate, a recovered Covid patient would pick either the theme song from “Rocky,” which is “Gonna Fly Now” by Bill Conti, or the Beatle’s “Here Comes the Sun.” Their choice would be played on the overhead speakers after they were discharged and being wheeled out of the hospital. 

Any staff member who wanted to participate were to line the route from the ICU to the front lobby. 

A mask and physical distancing would both be required.

And then this Thursday, it happened. 

On the overhead speakers we heard

“A Celebration Walk will take place in five minutes. If you would like to take part please gather along the route...”

I headed for the front of the building not sure what to expect. I had participated in a deeply moving Honor Walk in the hospital months before. A patient about to be taken off life support was going on their final journey from the ICU to the operating room to donate their organs so that others might live. Their gurney was followed by grieving relatives. Hospital staff lined up throughout the long corridors in somber, respectful silence, paying tribute to the sacrifice and generosity that was being played out before them. 

This was different. As the staff gathered there was excitement. This increased as the “Rocky” theme song started. Then, when the patient appeared clutching flowers and being pushed by a nurse, the crowd erupted in cheers, clapping, hoots and shouts of joy. We started to follow the wheelchair into the foyer where a socially distanced crowd of nurses in scrubs were also raucously rejoicing. 

It was joyful. 

And surprisingly emotional. 

This has been a hard, tense season in the hospital with constant change and rapid adjustments. As the patient left the building it seemed that the virus was being swept out also.  This was a visual first fruits of certain, if distant victory. 

An assurance that the end will come, one patient at a time. 

“There’s more!” someone said. “Another patient.“

We took our places again. This time we heard “Here comes the Sun” and an elderly gentleman was wheeled out to the same excited exultation. 

I was hit with deep emotion. A few tears of gratitude and relief trickled down my cheeks. 

As I looked around I spotted several co-workers, some familiar, others unknown. 

Above their masks I saw their faces were also wet with tears. 

We nodded at each other. 

For a moment there was mutual, silent understanding. 

We recognized in the other the same joy, relief, tension, and tiredness. 

Then we breathed in deeply and went back to work. 

The next procession happened that afternoon at four o clock on the dot. To show support for the hospital workers around fifteen police vehicles, with their lights flashing and horns blaring, slowly drove through the hospital property. They went past the emergency department, main entrance, and parking lots, back out into the Main Street and away. It was raining but the staff still poured out of the building in a sea of scrubs waving, clapping, grateful. 

I was laughing, cheering, and capturing the scene with my phone one moment, and weeping gently the next. It had been a real honoring. From one set of front line workers to the next. 

And that is when it really sunk in. 

I am a Storyteller who will return to Storytelling. 

But in this hospital, at that moment,  I belonged.

And in some as yet unseen shape and form I want to work in hospitals. 

I want that to be part of my Storytelling future. 

The next day, on Friday evening not long after I got home, my cell phone rang. 

“Are you in the hospital? Did you see it? Were you there?”

One of my Hospice nurse friends was calling. 

She told me that just after I left work, half an hour apart, there were two Walks. One was an Honor, and the other a Celebration. 

A young non-Covid patient hadn’t made it. 

An older virus patient had. 

My friend had lined up twice with her colleagues within a short space of time. Grief and gratefulness were followed minutes later by rejoicing.

And that seems to sum up all of our lives at the moment. In rapid succession we have lost so much, and yet gained abundantly.  

Our familiar routines have been turned upside down. We chafe under the restrictions. We grieve our losses both small and deeply wounding. 

And yet there is bonding, comradeship, kindness, mutual understanding that couldn’t have happened any other way. 

It is a season of hyssop and honey. 

Bitterness and sweetness. 

In all of our lives going forward may the good outweigh the bad. May the joy be greater than the sadness. 

And at the end of this virus procession may we all find ourselves, often to our amazement, at a different destination than we envisioned. 

But exactly where we are meant to be. 

May that be a safe place where physically, emotionally, and financially we are provided for. 

Where we are appreciated. 

A place where we belong.

Home. 

Amen

Pandemic Parables: Here Comes The Sun

Pandemic Parables: Here Comes The Sun

The Beatle’s song “Here Comes The Sun” was sung as a message to his staff by the CEO of the wonderful hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I work as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

“You’ve got to listen to this. Just sit there and listen” said my fellow chaplain when I came in from doing my rounds at the end of last week. “I was so moved when I heard it. I was in tears.”

She clicked on the link that had been sent to all the staff. Our CEO’s distinctive voice sang, and sang well those lyrics that were so apt for this season:

“Little darling, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.  Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here...”

And for a while it felt like the sun had indeed peeked out, albeit through dark clouds. 

It is true that the number of virus patients that had previously taken a dip have increased. But not by an overwhelming amount. As of yesterday (Wednesday April 29th) the number of deaths in the hospital remained the same at twenty two, but there are now thirty seven patients with the virus and three under investigation who are also isolated. 

One of the sunbeams through the dark clouds, though, is that fifty two Covid-19 patients have now been sprung from the hospital virus free.  Nine of those were previously on respirators.  This is an answer to fervent prayer, thank you Lord! 

It also reflects the dedicated care they get at our hospital. Hallelluia!

My biggest Hallelluia is that my friend, the compassionate, huge-hearted Hospice nurse practitioner who was felled by the Coronavirus, and was hospitalized for five days, was one of those released. She is now at home recovering. She is young and healthy but was run over by this Covid monster with all the force of a runaway eighteen wheeler truck. She says do not take this pandemic lightly. This was no heavy cold or intense flu that she had. 

It was more of a roaring flame throwing dragon than an annoying gecko. 

However she is getting stronger by the day and is looking forward to being back with her team, once again caring for those who are dying and for their grieving relatives. 

More rays of light are the way that volunteers have come forward and have created Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) for the hospital personnel. The supply of the normal disposable gowns is very low. However a senior nurse who used to be a master seamstress created a pattern for the gowns and distributed it to an abundance of willing hands. Many additional gowns have now been made that can be laundered. Masks and face shields have also been churned out in great numbers. 

God bless every one of those willing, talented, determined, much-appreciated volunteers!

When fluid resistant gowns are needed another solution has been sourced. Short sleeved waterproof capes - the kind that some hairdressers wear. Worn with veterinary gloves that go up to the elbow - presumably used for extracting stuck calves from cows. Added disposable gloves give an extra layer of protection. 

The Emergency Department Manager modeled them during a huddle the other morning taking a Superman stance with the cape furling behind her, which brought smiles to the faces of the weary workers. 

As she said: “These are clothes for heroes. There will be no black garbage sacks used here!”

The medical staff at the hospital truly are incredible. They have adapted to the constantly changing protocol with grace and courage. They are called, dedicated, and selfless. 

I admire them more each day. 

In the CEOs latest message he said that we were on week six on what he had always thought would be a ten week journey. He talked about how proud he was of the resilience and fortitude of all the staff, defining fortitude as “courage in the face of adversity.”

I see that definition in action daily in the hospital as nurses wear capes to work. 

We still have a long way to go in this virus marathon. Maryland’s Governor Hogan said today that the curve hasn’t peaked in the State. Soon, he believed, but not yet. 

Today, up on the isolation  wing of the third floor that I visit daily, there was sadness. Three patients were approaching their final days. 

Down on the first floor, however right next to the chaplain’s temporary office, is the birthing center. It is overflowing with new life. The opening notes of the lullaby that is played over the loudspeakers at each new arrival is heard frequently. 

Twins came yesterday, triplets the day before. 

Each baby is a ray of light, a promise that there is a future after this pandemic. 

Each day as I walk through the hospital. I get a visual reminder of hope’s light piercing despair’s darkness.

Right next to where staff clock in and out on the second floor is a very large photograph called Mr Wade’s Morning Sunshine.  It is by my photographer friend, Bruce Saunders and shows sunbeams piercing through stormy clouds. 

To me it encapsulates where we are in this extraordinary season. We have come through dark storms that have rocked our worlds and changed life as we know it. The tough times are not ended. But everywhere God’s grace can be seen giving hope. 

Kindness, generosity, bravery, and courage have been shown by those inside the hospital.  As they have also been shown by those outside, those who are staying at home, who are sewing, praying, cooking, caring. 

Together we are creating shafts of light in the darkness of these times. 

David, the shepherd boy, singer of Psalms, and warrior king created a principle that I believe applies to us now. (You can read about it in 1 Samuel 30.)

In a nutshell - while David and his mighty men were away, an enemy army raided their camp. Their women, children, and possessions were captured, including David’s two wives. 

David and his men were devastated. 

David asked the Lord if he should pursue and was given the green light. Some of his men were exhausted, however, and when they came to a perilous ravine opted to stay behind to look after and protect the camp. The others went on and routed the enemy, freeing all their beloved family members. 

Some rabble rousers wanted to keep the main part of the plunder for those who had fought in the front lines. 

David was not having that. 

He was adamant! 

He instituted a rule that would last “from that day to this” saying that whoever stayed behind to look after the camp would share the plunder equally with those that fought in the front lines. 

Staying at home, and caring from afar is as powerful in this season as wearing a cape and gloves. 

Thank you for allowing your world to become so dramatically constricted. 

Thank you for all your domestic sacrifices. 

Let us all hang on - even at times if it is by our last nerve. The thaw is coming. 

As the Beatles wrote and our CEO sang 

“Little darling, I feel the ice is slowly melting

Little darling it seems like years since it’s been clear.”

Here comes the sun...

Through dark clouds, yes. And perhaps with many more dark clouds ahead. But the rays of light, the birth of babies, and the resilience of the human spirit let us know that we will get through this together. 

Yes indeed. 

Eventually the dark clouds will roll away. 

May it be soon. Oh dear Lord, may it be soon. 

“Sun sun sun. Let it shine...”

Pandemic Parables: Fortune Cookies

Pandemic Parables: Fortune Cookies

Kindness always moves me deeply. 

In a previous Parable, “Frustration,” I mentioned a box that was delivered to me on St. George’s Day, April 23rd. It was sent by an integral member of the Storytelling community and was was filled with goodness. 

And kindness. 

Four hard to find rolls of toilet paper lay within; a cairn - a three stone rock marker used on trek trails to show you are on the right path; a bag of home made fortune cookies; and an affirming, encouraging, grace-filled note. 

Part of this missive said: “I ... thought of you and your brothers and sisters on the front line, so I made homemade fortune cookies and put special fortunes in them. Please feel free to share with whomever you feel needs one.”

I sampled one. It was delicious, light, meltingly more-ish, with an aftertaste of something unusual. Almond essence probably, and maybe vanilla. The hand written fortune  said “you will make a difference today.”  

I couldn’t resist. I had a second one. It said: “you will make someone happy today.” 

I hoped that both of those had been accomplished. 

These fortune cookies were both scrumptious and uplifting.  I popped each one into a perfectly sized ziplock snack bag in preparation for taking them in the next day to the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August.

Then I prayed over them that each would go to the right person and be a blessing to them, adding to the prayers of the friend who had sent them. 

They were a hit! 

I gave one to my fellow chaplain, the only one who works with me during the day on a Friday. 

“A present? For me!” She said, thrilled as a child. “I’m saving it for later.”

And when she did eat it she declared it to be a heavenly morsel and heaped praise on the one who made it. 

I left three others on the desks of the Chaplains who had staggered shifts over the coming weekend (we provide 24/7 coverage) then headed out the door on the way to my morning rounds. 

I stopped to give one to the security officer at the front entrance who is particularly kind and compassionate to all who enter.

Two went to a couple of wonderful Hospice nurses who daily pour out love and compassion to the dying and their families. 

One went to the cleaner on the third floor who has an angel ministry. She gathers statues of angels and gives them to patients and others that she thinks would benefit from such a touch. I have been a recipient of her largesse and knew it was a gift of love from the Lord. 

She was thrilled by the fortune cookie. 

So was the Jamaican janitor with the compassionate heart and kind eyes who works in the closed off isolation wing on the third floor that holds the virus patients. 

I gave several to the nurses who work that isolation wing, including the nurse manager who oozes compassion and caring from every pore. Then I left a couple with a note for my friend, the Hospice nurse practitioner who has the virus and who is now being looked after by her fellow comrades. 

There was one patient I knew had to have one. I left the isolation wing and headed to his room. I checked with the nurse for any allergies and then went in with my friend’s  blessing-filled gift. 

This patient had been married for a month shy of sixty years and was desperately missing his wife who had warned him to hurry back home to her soon. 

It seemed as though the years melted from his face as he realized he was getting the very last cookie and it had been prayed over by the one who made it. For an instant I could see the man, the boy, that he had been. 

He read the fortune, holding it in his wizened, shaking hands. 

“You will be showered with blessings” it said. Followed by a small heart that all these handwritten messages had on them. 

“I like that.” “He said. “The shower has already started. 

I think I’ll phone my wife and tell her what just happened.”

As I left he was already dialing with a beatific smile on his face. 

His wasn’t the only “fortune” that was incredibly apt. 

A few people opened their cookies in front of me.  

Their blessings said: 

“Be kind to yourself.”

“Today you will give someone hope and comfort.”

“You will experience great joy today”. 

Each recipient smiled deeply, and paused for a moment before saying they had been given the perfect message. 

A message they needed to hear. 

And for a moment you could see the kindness and love that had been baked into those treats wash over their tired faces and alleviate the stress that everyone in the hospital is feeling. 

Buoyed by the joy of handing out those treats, the rest of my day was inspiring at times, emotionally difficult at others. 

I was thrilled to have been invited for the first time to the Emergency Department “huddle” - a fifteen minute meeting where essential information is passed to the assembled staff. The Department Manager recognized what stress her team was under and wanted to help them in any way she could. I was tasked to pray at the end of the gathering, giving anyone who would prefer not to participate an opportunity to step away. 

When the time came I told the large assembled team that I would not be at all offended if anyone didn’t want to stay. 

Not one person moved. 

It was my privilege and honor to pray for this exhausted group who are giving of their very essence to care for and try to revive the sick and the dying under very difficult virus-causing constraints. 

I prayed and believed with all my heart that our gracious loving Lord will strengthen, guide, and guard them and their families. 

That He will sustain them, and work through them, and make a way for them in their lives where there seems to be no way. 

That he would provide for them and their families in abundant, unexpected ways. 

And that they would feel His peace, grace, and love in the depths of their weary souls and be revived. 

The ED manager asked me to come back and pray with them all daily, and I am deeply grateful that the 11.00am huddle will now be part of my daily schedule. 

Then I had some difficult visits. Among them was a patient who had had an accident that caused him to lose his livelihood. Another who felt abandoned by the recent deaths of both father and spouse. 

Then I met with two family members. They were grieving the loss of an elderly patient who had died minutes before, not long after the ambulance screeched to halt at the hospital. Their beloved relative had slipped away despite the best efforts of a highly trained team to save them. 

Their grief was deep and real. 

Getting ready to conduct a small, impromptu service to commit this patient’s spirit to the Almighty, I felt the love that had been baked into those fortune cookies wash over and sustain me. 

God’s love. 

I thought about the act of kindness that had gone into the planning, writing out the blessings, and making the cookies. The love and prayer that they had been bathed in. 

And I was grateful. 

It had been a tough week. I crawled home already anticipating the long lie in I could have the next day, Saturday morning. 

There was another package outside my front door. A large one. 

I do not want to cause jealousy but it was a pack of six extra sized rolls of Charmin toilet paper. It had been sent by a fellow storyteller who had heard about my lack of loo rolls. 

A kind, big-hearted, generous fellow story teller. 

God bless him big time Lord!

Such kindness! Where there was once a dearth, now there is abundance. So I gifted four I had bought at the hospital to my new neighbor who has hardly emerged during this pandemic and has been nowhere near a shop since self isolation began. 

I thought once again about those fortune cookies. 

Each cookie was like a stone that had been thrown in the water and the ripples were strong and endless. 

The ripples continue to flow outward. 

I love kindness. I love being inspired by kindness to be kind to others.

 

This pandemic season is a terrible time, but one that is also suffused with grace, generosity and love. 

The best of times, the worst of times, as Dickens says. 

We are all being tested. True character is on display. But we shall all get through with kindness made flesh, in whatever form is in our power to give. 

That might be blessing-filled fortune cookies; the gift of a cairn; toilet paper; a phone call; a kind note; a drive by birthday celebration for a child.  

We all have something we can do, give, say, that will create ripple-forming acts of kindness that soften the heart of the giver and enables the one gifted to know deep within themselves that God sees, knows, and loves them. 

And in this way, together, we will emerge stronger, more compassionate - whole in soul, spirit, as well as body on the other side of this Coronavirus dark valley. 

Lord, let it be so. 

Amen!