Knock Knock Knockin' On Friday's Door
It's been one of those weeks that feels like a year. The inauguration, MLK Day, the sermon, work, lots of sick people this week, lots of bitchy people this week, Vivian goes into the hospital next week, Annie is drowning in life and I can't save her...get the picture?
My last thing of the day today (it's Thursday which is my Friday) I went to visit a little old lady in hospice. I don't know her, don't know her family, haven't got any of her stories in my mind...it's a little awkward.
I really don't want to go but I dig deep and grab the God-stuff that gives me the edge and even though it takes me 45 minutes to find her house because it's on an odd street and the GPS isn't working, I get there.
Her son-in-law has a bad cold and won't shake my hand because he doesn't want to infect me (great, now I'm going to get his freakin' virus). He shows me to her room and leaves us. I sit down and try to make small talk. I notice there's a baby monitor by the bed and realize someone's probably listening to whatever stumbling/mumbling I'm uttering and giving me an "F" in pastoral care.
And then I look out the window and see the trees and the mountains and the sky and I tell her it is beautiful out there and she sort of "tunes in" and begins to tell it all.
She zeroes in on me with these piercing blue eyes that shine like those of a 16 year-old and she speaks in a language I do not comprehend. She is too old and too worn out and too close to heaven and I can not tell what the words are but I can feel the spirit of them and I know that she is going home and telling me about the journey.
All I do is sit and listen and smile and nod and say "uh-huh" now and then. She carries the conversation until she is spent. Instinctively I pull out my vial of sweet oil and make the sign of the cross on her silky white, rice-paper thin brow and I pray that she has an easy transition to the next place. And she smiles. And the darkness departs. And all is well and I am so glad I am right there. And I think she is glad, too.
On the way out her son-in-law asks me to come again soon. She has been more responsive to me than to anyone in weeks. I tell him to up his vitamin C, rest, and get well. And I wonder if she'll be alive tomorrow.
In my car I breathe a prayer....thank God it's Friday...uhhh Thursday, whatever.
My last thing of the day today (it's Thursday which is my Friday) I went to visit a little old lady in hospice. I don't know her, don't know her family, haven't got any of her stories in my mind...it's a little awkward.
I really don't want to go but I dig deep and grab the God-stuff that gives me the edge and even though it takes me 45 minutes to find her house because it's on an odd street and the GPS isn't working, I get there.
Her son-in-law has a bad cold and won't shake my hand because he doesn't want to infect me (great, now I'm going to get his freakin' virus). He shows me to her room and leaves us. I sit down and try to make small talk. I notice there's a baby monitor by the bed and realize someone's probably listening to whatever stumbling/mumbling I'm uttering and giving me an "F" in pastoral care.
And then I look out the window and see the trees and the mountains and the sky and I tell her it is beautiful out there and she sort of "tunes in" and begins to tell it all.
She zeroes in on me with these piercing blue eyes that shine like those of a 16 year-old and she speaks in a language I do not comprehend. She is too old and too worn out and too close to heaven and I can not tell what the words are but I can feel the spirit of them and I know that she is going home and telling me about the journey.
All I do is sit and listen and smile and nod and say "uh-huh" now and then. She carries the conversation until she is spent. Instinctively I pull out my vial of sweet oil and make the sign of the cross on her silky white, rice-paper thin brow and I pray that she has an easy transition to the next place. And she smiles. And the darkness departs. And all is well and I am so glad I am right there. And I think she is glad, too.
On the way out her son-in-law asks me to come again soon. She has been more responsive to me than to anyone in weeks. I tell him to up his vitamin C, rest, and get well. And I wonder if she'll be alive tomorrow.
In my car I breathe a prayer....thank God it's Friday...uhhh Thursday, whatever.
4 Comments:
Even though I am with Judy all the time, I still find myself a 'stranger in a strange land' in dealing with death. I see this as a journey on which we are never fully prepared, we learn as we move along and seek God's grace and will in the end. Peace!
You're closer to "getting it" than most of us will ever be. Wisdom is a by-product of the exchange.
Wisdom, perhaps. Understanding - not so much.
Ahhh....grasshopper, now we see in part - as in a glass, darkly. Then we shall see in full. Understanding is not ours to have just yet.
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