Nature is never spent.
Nine years into my work as a Hospice and Palliative Care chaplain, I am finally taking some intentional time to reflect and write on my experiences. On the work, the people, the stories; on the blessings, joys, challenges, moments of grace and light.
I write for:
Ms. R, who said "God is in my heart...and doubt is in my garage."
Mr. G, who instructed me that when driving in a roundabout in a foreign country,
I should "simply peal with laughter."
Ms. Y, who waits and waits for her son to visit her in her nursing facility, and is re-learning what it means to be "home."
Mrs. M, who has dementia and said, "Sometimes I wonder whether I will be."
Ms. S, who looked me in the eye and said she was ready to meet Jesus, and that she was not scared.
Mrs. I, who taught me about complicated and surprisingly honest grief, as she sat sadly at her husband's grave and said, "He was a miserable bastard. But at least he was my miserable bastard."
Ms. F, who told me that if she told her dying husband that it was "okay to go," that he would die. And how she bravely did, and then he did.
Mr. A, who offered to write a letter to my future husband, to remind him to make every day special and to make sure that he's "courting [me], like we did in the good old days."
And for all the people I've met, who have allowed me to hold their hands and hear their stories.
I thank you.
The Avowal
As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
free fall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.
Denise Levertov
