A Day of Battle

Whew. I'm spent. I feel like I've battled all day. I have, actually. More on that in a bit.

A lot going on in my head and heart today.

Today is the celebration of All Saints' Day in the Catholic Church: http://www.wf-f.org/AllSaints.html. So in my devotion time this morning, I ran across this statement......"The saints are true realists; they take seriously the hopelessness of man as it is and do not seek a refuge from the present in the future. They get on with the job in spite of everything and hope against hope."

What does the author mean by "a refuge from the present in the future?" When I think of the future as a refuge, I think of the hope of heaven. But the way this author is using it, he seems to be saying that it is not a good thing to take refuge in the future....so he can't be talking about heaven. Any ideas? I guess the gist of what he is trying to say is that the saints were present with people in their difficulties, in the moment of their difficulties.

That "in the moment" theme again. My theme for 2007. And and probably for 2008.

Now for the battle. I've struggled with self all day today. But it didn't feel like the usual struggles. It felt like a continuous unrelenting onslaught all day long, where I needed to consciously throughout the day forcefully change the direction and content of my thoughts. They came unsolicited, and I fought them off, some more quickly than others. Arrrggh.

Are there ever days where you feel you are a focused target of the enemy? Where it feels like his mission for that day is to throw so many things your way that at times it almost seems easier to give in than to keep fighting? That was my day. And of course when that happens, you hear his voice saying things like, "See? You are sinful. Why even bother trying?" and "Just give up. You know I'm going to win in the end."

So then you add in the fight against the deceitful messages on top of the rest of the battle and sometimes it makes one just want to retreat.

With that in the background, I made a hospice visit at the end of the day. This particular woman is declining. I would be surprised if she was still living in a couple of weeks. And she is a dear. I feel like I've made a friend in the few short weeks I've been visiting her. Today she slept through most of my visit so I talked with her family.

I grabbed her hand to wake her to tell her I was leaving. Her eyes flew wide open, she grabbed my hand in a death grip and said, "You can't leave me." Now she has been feisty and known to have a sense of humor, so to lighten what I saw in her face to be a very serious statement, I asked with a smile, "You want me to stay with you ALL of the time?" And still very serious, she responded, "yes, I do."

Well I told her I couldn't do that.....not that I didn't WANT to (genuinely). I said even though I couldn't stay with her physically through the weekend, I told her I would be with her constantly through my prayers. I asked her what she wanted me to pray for. "That it be over soon."

With assurances looking intently into her brown eyes that I would be back on Monday, I pryed her hands from mine finally and walked out the door.

And I cried. Sad to be losing a new friend so soon. Sad for her struggles and uncertainties. Sad that I couldn't just move in with her for the weekend.

I found a quiet spot to park and pray for her. And I was infuriated that the enemy had not called a cease-fire and continued to assault me--during my prayers! And then the messages came like "You can't even focus to pray for this dying woman." I finished my prayers, albeit exhausted.

Hopefully tomorrow I will be stronger in battle.

A Puzzler

I get paid to do this?

I visit a certain elderly woman on our hospice services weekly. She is frail elderly and lives alone. Her mind is never at rest. She worries about lots of things, and worries about worrying.

A visitor brought her a puzzle and challenged her to finish it in a week, "and I don't want to hear that you had help!" She said the visitor thinks it will keep her mind off of her illness and prevent her from becoming depressed.

She balked. I encouraged. She made excuses. I said I'd just get the 500 puzzle pieces out of the box for her and laid on the table face up. She consented to that.

And she wobbled over and stood a few seconds watching me. And then she sat and watched me for a few minutes. Soon we were both picking at pieces trying to find matches with her muttering all the while, "I never had the patience for these things" and "this is making my hands cramp up."

It led into a wonderful conversation about her life and the hard worker she has always been and how she can't remember if she ever did anything to relax. Her mind never rests.

But it did for those 15 or so minutes while we chatted and worked on the puzzle.

As did mine.

It reminded me of a conversation I had earlier in the day with another woman about Psalm 46:10.....Be still and know that I am God.

Many years ago another woman I met through hospice made a cross stitch for me that still sits on my windowsill in my living room. It is a meditation of Psalm 46:10. Here is what it says:

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

I was "being" with the woman and her puzzle today. And it felt right. There was no where else that I should have been at that moment.

To be or not to be. Is that the question? No. It is the choice.

I Finally Have Some Thoughts That You May Find Interesting....I Think.

If you're reading this, I'm amazed! I've been a delinquent blogger of late, mainly because I haven't felt inspired, or I've been busy, or everything I have to say I think is only interesting to me.

My job as a hospice worker always manages to teach me something. Everyday I work. I see so many examples of self-sacrificing love that I feel put to shame. It's like someone takes my face between their hands and wrenches it from my inward stare to force me to look around me. And consider.

Like what would it be like to be fairly sure your husband will be gone in less than 6 months and to be planning a trip across the country because he wants to go.....setting aside all of your fears of being away from other family members or of what might happen on the road that you won't have the tools to deal with. Yet you go forward with your plans anyway because the person you love more than anyone else in the world wants to go with you one last time before you die.

And what kind of intimate memories you are creating with the aunt you are caring for who is widowed and has no children while your sister is 1500 miles away caring for your own mother who has significant disabilities. And your aunt has always been fiesty and independent and now you share much more than your humor and affection. She needs you to help with her very basic personal cares. Your relationship has changed forever.

And what kinds of things family members do to each other that cause so much hurt and pain that 20 years later it is impacting the family's ability to provide calm, organized cares. I cannot imagine.

Everyday I am reminded of my mortality. And most days I choose to live in denial of it.

But I live in enough of the reality that I feel guilt when I don't do and say things I should do or say if this were my last day on earth.

Like thank-you. I love you. I forgive you.

Lord, I'm Not Worthy

I experienced God in many ways today:

Through the forgiveness of a 7-year-old when I asked his apology for hollering at him this morning;

In the observing of love of a niece who came over 2000 miles to stay for three weeks to care for her dying aunt;

Listening to the passion spill out of a friend's heart regarding her vocation;

In the quiet coolness and sweet smells of a twilight bike ride alongside a 9-year-old.

Thanks, Father Joel!

I listened to a homily today of a friend of ours. He was ordained to the priesthood in July. At his inaugural mass, he spoke about God's call on our lives (the theme of the scripture readings for that day....which, for you non-catholics.....run on a 3-year cycle in the liturgy. So they are "pre-set", so-to-speak. Coincidence? I think not!).

Anyway, he said he realized in seminary that he was waiting for this big moment where he would choose to be a priest in answer to God. In reality, he found that he answered this call daily. Every morning when his alarm went off at 5:15 for morning prayer and mass, he had the choice to get out of bed or to sleep in. He chose to get up. When he met someone who was suffering, he had the choice to listen to them or not. He chose to listen.

So he was answering God's call to him, but sometimes moments at a time, day to day. And it got me to thinking that often I strive and pray to grow spiritually to a certain image I have in my mind of how I should be. Or I think about what God will call me to in the future. And I forget the here and now. And that God calls me daily....even several times a day.

Do I choose to clean the house for my family, or piddle away time on the computer? Do I choose to sit and listen to my boys, or multi-task and offer an occasional, "really?" "oh, wow!" Do I choose to start my morning with prayer, or get right into my long list of stuff to get done? Do I choose to participate in gossip, or walk away from the conversation?

Hmmpf. There is that "live in the moment" theme that has been so prevalent lately on my mind.

The other thing Fr. Joel's homily reminded me of is that God's call to us is never convenient. And it always requires sacrifice.

But God only calls us to what he first lived himself.

Help me choose you, Lord. Every moment.

(Found this quote by Rich Mullins on another blog, and thought it fit great here):

"Never forget what Jesus did for you. Never take lightly what it cost Him. And never assume that if it cost Him His very life, that it won't also cost you yours."
Lufkin, Texas (July 19, 1997)

Be

A dear friend sent me the lyrics to this song as part of our ongoing discussion of being "in the moment". I put the name of the artist at the end. I'll turn off my song for today.

Not knowing the melody, I have found the words very poetic. My favorite part is where it says we dance to a whispered voice overheard by the soul. If we still ourselves enough, if we enter into the quiet that is so often elusive in our hectic days unless we fight for it, carve it out, we will hear the Voice that calls to us--calls us to enter into communion with Him.

Still yourselves. Listen for His voice. Be as a page that aches for a Word.

BE

Lost
On a painted sky
Where the clouds are hung
For the poet's eye
You may find Him
If you may find Him

There
On a distant shore
By the wings of dreams
Through an open door
You may know Him
If you may

Be
As a page that aches for a Word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
While the Sun God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your way

And we dance
To a whispered voice
Overheard by the soul
Undertook by the heart
And you may know it
If you may know it

While the sand
Would become the stone
Which begat the spark
Turned to living bone
Holy, holy
Sanctus, sanctus

Be
As a page that aches for a Word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
While the Sun God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your way

--Neil Diamond

I Have a Friend

....who really only seems to pursue me when something is needed from me: a listening ear, a favor, an idea, an affirmation, etc. I love to help but sometimes wonder.....am I likable just for who I am? Does this person care to know about my day, or why I may be sad, or what the desires of my heart are? Should I even desire that they know me....or is this selfish?

I find that so many people today are so absorbed with themselves or their crazy schedules that they don't take the time to stop, look around, and connect. Or if there is the pretension of care, it is in order to receive something in return. They miss out on a lot of the richness around them.

This is one of the reasons I love my job with hospice. I occasionally (more often than in the "well" world) get to meet people on their deathbed where all pretension is stripped away. Their words mean what they say. There are no underlying or hidden meanings, no reading between the lines. No crap.

Do I do this, Lord? Help me to pursue others because they have a soul, and not for what they can do for me.

I Wish My Name was Yoder

"What!?"......yep. Yoder. Amish people are named Yoder--some of them, anyway.

I was talking with a friend the other day about how we are both trying to be more "in the moment". And I was pondering that conversation tonight driving home from a meeting. And then I heard this goofy commercial on the radio about a "Yoder auction" service. And I thought to myself......"Yoder......hmmm...amish....the amish seem to know how to live in the moment!" (just to give you a glimpse into the inner workings of my mind) And if the Amish people named Yoder know how to live in the moment, then I want to be a Yoder (just to close the circle on my thinking in case you weren't quite sure...).

So as a Yoder, I'm good at being in the moment during moments I want to be in. Like laying next to my boys tonight snuggling them before bed--in the dark, listening to their breathing, feeling the rise and fall of their chests under my arm draped over them, pondering how big their bodies are getting and how small they used to be, wondering when the last time ever will be that they say, "Mama, will you snuggle me?"

I can handle being in the moment during times like that.

Sometimes I think when we think about being "in the moment," we think only of the good moments--using the saying as a reminder to slow down, take it all in, not to miss anything.

But what about the moments we don't want to be in? Would we say to someone else in moments like those "Just be in the moment"??? We know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. But none of us want those we love to have to be in the moment of suffering--emotional or otherwise. Neither do I want to be in those moments.

Do I? Should I try to be a Yoder in those times, too? Because when I think about the times that I'm not good in the moment, the times that I'm waiting to get onto the next "good" time, all I'm really doing is wanting to get out of the moment. To avoid an uncomfortable confrontation. To stop squirming with awkwardness and helplessness at the expression of someone's grief--a suffering I cannot remove. To make some excitement for an otherwise mundane and ordinary day. To pass a time of loneliness in expectation of that next intimate connection with someone.

Now that I type about it, I think maybe I am a Yoder in those moments, too. I mean, if I wasn't, would I even be aware that I was wanting out? Probably not.

Maybe I'm more in the moment than I think, and it's just that I don't necessarily like every moment that comes my way.

Thanks for being a Yoder--for being in my moment here.

A Glimpse at Why I Love My Job

A room in the back corner of a basement of a physicians clinic. Computers on tables with lots of wires lining the four walls of the room. Four long banquet tables pushed together 2x2 to make a rectangle in the center of the room. Sixteen clinicians sitting around the table, each with a laptop in front of them. Wires connecting the laptops to the wall--to electricity and to networks. Papers scattered on the table. The click click click of keyboard keys, various musical rings of cellphones, and an occasional overhead page. The confused delay in the conversation over the speakerphone connecting clinicians 40 miles away.

The report of how recently bereaved families are doing. The silent recitation of recent deaths. Discussion case-by-case of the 33 hospice patients the team I'm part of--Team 3--is responsible for. Concern about cares, or lack thereof, being delivered by caregivers. Problem-solving about something new ("anyone have any ideas?") that may take care of nausea not touched by any other med thus far. Other options for treating anxiety since the patient is allergic to the usual first line of treatment. Sharing of information learned at a recent conference about a new way to address a dry tickle cough in chronic COPD patients. Concern about a family's coping and the constant tears they shed. Rejoicing over a recent reconciliation of a patient to an estranged family member. Brainstorming about a patient and family not wanting to engage in any conversation about disease process or decline, despite the decline occurring. Pointing out a patient's estrangement from their faith background to keep an ear out lest there is increased anxiety/fear nearer to death. This person needs a volunteer to assist with attending a last-time fishing trip. That person needs a CNA to assist with her laundry.

We have to record this, sign that, document, document, document. But we play "the game" because it allows us to be present with families as their loved ones die. To make them more comfortable. So they don't feel alone. To answer their questions and teach them what to do.

To be present in the sacredness of the grieving of others heretofore strangers, but strangers no more.

Resolutions I relate to

I've said I'm reading a book called "The Secret Diary of Elisabeth Leseur". Her heart so resonates with mine, and I thought today's post would be the section from her diary I read this morning. This is a bit long, so I apologize, as I've been trying to keep my posts short and sweet. This is more for my benefit, as much of it about loving others hit home to me today.

My resolutions: to love despite the disappointment, rejection, and misunderstandings. To keep my heart soft.

Here's her entry from October 7, 1905:

"Firmer resolution to have deep inner stability, and to accept as a trial that does not touch the depths this assault of troubles, agitations, and confusions that, to be sure, have their cause in my health, and also the painful disappointments caused by certain persons. To love those who have betrayed my confidence and made me suffer, or at least to pardon them fully. Not to assign to others my own faults, but to accept the humiliation of having given my confidence too quickly and of having committed these faults. For the future, without discouragement or bitterness, to practice great prudence in regard to work and new connections, and in all things to observe the greatest moderation. To give myself to everyone in charity, but not to let everyone enter into my heart, which I must not open too lightly. To welcome an affection only when I have solidly proved its value, and yet to have kindness for all. Never to compromise with ideas and principles, and yet to be full of indulgence for those who differ most widely from me in their point of view. To maintain, by prayer and daily effort, integrity of will and moral energy in spite of the oppression and failure caused by ill-health. It was, I think, Bichat who said, 'The soul makes its body.' And when God dwells in the soul, how shall it not be stronger than the very evil that acts upon its body and sometimes overwhelms it?"

Not wise or exciting

I almost didn't post today. I'm not feeling particularly wise. Well, I really never feel wise. Maybe what I mean to say is I don't feel I have anything particularly interesting to post. I didn't encounter any interesting strangers, or have any huge epiphanies.

I guess today is what you'd call a mundane day. I don't mean boring--I mean mundane. I know there is a difference because I looked it up in the dictionary! mun.dane adj. Typical of or concerned with the ordinary.

I had prayertime. I emptied and reloaded the dishwasher. I did 4 loads of laundry. I scrubbed my mudroom. I poked on the computer. I cared for 3 children besides my own. I went to the library and the post office. I made pork chops for dinner. I cleaned up the kitchen. I told my dog to "shut up" when she wouldn't stop barking. I exercised tonight.

It was a typical day, and I was concerned with all of my duties, so it fits the definition!

But I feel good about my day. I feel like I served God even in my mundaneness (which it seems 80% of life really is), and fulfilled my duties without grumbling (except when I hollered at my dog).

I'm reading a book called The Secret Diary of Elisabeth Leseur. I don't feel like describing it now--suffice it to say she is an inspiration to me by her faith. Anyhow, in the introduction to the book there is a quote that describes her:

".....who feels she never did more for God than on the day when to ignorant eyes she did nothing."

I want that to be me all of the time. But I'll settle for today for starters.

My 93-Year-Old Teacher

Things I was reminded of today:

You can still see without your eyesight. You just see different things.

A half hour of focused attention and listening reduces the lonliness in a human heart.

Our God-given desires to love and be loved do not diminish even in older age.

We are not our bodies solely. But they are our vessels on this earth, and we are subject to their limitations. And we don't have to like it.

Everyday we have opportunity to submit to God's will. 93-year-olds get more practice at this. And it may still be a struggle.

Our quest to determine the meaning and purpose and impact of our lives does not fade with age.

I feel an envy for a 93-year-old with a terminal illness because as far as I know, she gets to see Jesus face to face before I do.

Stranger Encounters

2 strangers today.

The first one I thought of off and on all day. I prayed for his day. I prayed for his family. I wondered about who he is and where he lives and what is his story. I slowed down in town today to go around a utility truck. And as I passed, he shot me a glance and a smile through the windshield--not a glance that made me uncomfortable. More a glance like, "Well good morning, ma'am. Have a nice day." So what in tarnation is so exceptional about that, you ask? I'm right there with you. I'm not really sure why he lifted my mood. Maybe because in our culture of cubicles and 15-minute time slots and cell phones and e-mails (and blogs!) and running hither tither far and yon, we've forgotten the common courtesy and personal touch of eye contact with strangers--other human beings going about their day as we do ours.

The second one made me stand straighter. I went shopping for new running shoes. I sorta mumbled with some embarrassment to the owner of the store about my running injury when he asked about my running particularities. Ten minutes later a lithe, blonde woman older than me marched in standing tall and anounced loudly that she needed new running shoes because she's training for a marathon and "I have injuries here and here" (pointing to her arch and her hamstrings.) She wore her injuries with pride. Like they were her battle wounds. Like they were part of her. Part of her story.

I limped out standing taller.

Ok. I guess I'm a bit syrupy today.

"Intentional Presence"

At mass tonight, Fr. Dave was talking about how God is an intentional presence in our lives. And it got me to thinking about all of the other "intentional presences" in my life. And am I an intentional presence in others' lives??

I confided in a chaplain coworker of mine 14 years ago as a new hospice social worker that I didn't feel like I was making a difference in any of the lives of the patients I had seen. I felt awkward at times, didn't know what to do, or what to say to make it better. Not only did he remind me that we cannot take others' pain from them, he said, "never underestimate the power of your presence." Hmmm. I often return to that advice when I cannot see the impact of my life on others' lives.

Be an intentional presence.

I DID IT!!!!

I've entered the blogging world. This template makes it easy, but it took me three days and the assistance of my b-i-l Dave (thanks, Dave!) to figure out how to embed music. I love this song. Read about why I chose it on the left.

I've been thinking a lot today about how God leads us through life. I have a friend whose life has changed course today, and you can see God's hand all over her exciting new adventure!

But it's that way for all of us though, isn't it? At times I feel insignificant. I mean, there are billions of people in this world, who knows how many in heaven, and yet I'm to believe the God of the universe is the lover of my soul and cares about me? It's mind boggling. I can't grasp it. Yet I know, should I die someday unknown and forgotten, or leaving a lasting legacy, I will have been in the spot He made for me to be in.