From the time I was about six years old, my father imbued in me that one day it would be my responsibility to support my family. It was the culture of the 1950s where most husbands worked and wives stayed home. I remember trying to imagine myself at some kind of job (primarily as a cowboy like Hopalong Cassidy, left) bringing home food, fighting bad guys and building shelter for my imaginary family. I took my future responsibility so seriously that I started to have nightmares that I might be injured. If so, then who would support my family? In my mid-fifties, I had a chance to retire. But, the old imperative spoke loudly. I wasn't old enough to retire. And the truth is, I didn't want to. That's still true. I'm very grateful to have reached age sixty-five. It's a gift in so many ways. When I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease in 1963, my doctor told me I might not live past age forty. Every year since then has felt like frosting on the cake. As my daughter has said to me when I've occasionally groaned about a given birthday: "Be grateful for your age, Dad, think about how many people don't live very long." She's right, of course. It's a wonderful blessing to live long if you have a good quality of life. I hope to work many more years. Since I love my work, I never plan to retire and will live my calling one way or another. It's a strange experience to have a birthday on Halloween, especially with all the imagery of ghosts. One of my best friends sent me a card that said that Halloween birthday's come back to haunt you every year. One day, instead of a cowboy, maybe I'll be a ghost and come to haunt you, in a good way, of course, with joyful memories of loving care.
Today's meditation was written by Cathy Self, Senior Vice-President for the Baptist Healing Trust.
We are, in fact, in the midst of crisis in our country and across the globe. Some attribute this crisis as one of faith and confidence. We are surely living in confusing times. In a place I would not normally expect to see, a contibutor for the magazine Institutional Investor writes of faith, failure, and forgiveness. I was taken with the universality of his wisdom, especially in the work of caregiving. He writes eloquently about our loss of faith and trust in those who have power and control in our lives. I have experienced work with leaders who have inflicted harm, some from a place of unconscious behavior, others from places of deep woundedness and brokenness. I have witnessed the broken life of a young adult struggling to let go of the tyranny of betrayal of his own father's lack of approval and support. I have seen the lives of a young wife and her newborn child left in tatters from an abusive husband. As a caregiver I have been caught in the trap of blaming and self-justification when teammates have acted without apparent care or a patient has seemed rude and rejecting of my efforts to give good care. It's a challenge to love when others betray your trust and confidence.
Although speaking directly to the economic challenges we face, author Michael Carroll answers the question on how we may restore faith and confidence in a way I think is universal: "Perhaps," he writes, "we should first acknowledge that we have all had a hand in the madness that led to this crisis. Now, of course, we want to blame anyone but ourselves, our firm, our political party. But if we want to build a system in the future based on openness, we should be honest; if we want accountability, we should accept our own. A friend, who happens to be a Buddhist, says that to truly forgive another is to know and accept that that person will commit the same offense again. It is our nature, after all. We should think of ways to manage our worst impulses in the future, but we should start now with forgiveness - and not just of our debts."
To begin to restore confidence, Whether in our financial system, our political leadership, or in the system of healthcare within which we serve, asks of us a first step - that of looking into the mirror. When I look honestly into that mirror, I see in myself the same potential to betray others' trust and confidence. I see in myself the potential to be blind to the needs of others, to be unable to see other with the eyes of the heart. In my journey of academic scholarship I once proposed a deep need to lead from the intersection if IQ (intelligence quotient), EQ (emotional quotient), and SQ (spiritual quotient). Perhaps what Love asks is that we respond most of all with high HQ - heart quotient. I feel such gratitude that within there also that potential to see with the eyes of Love. I pray your heart today will hear the sweet voice of Love and know that in our brokenness and from our own wounds we can choose to reach out with exquisite tenderness and compassion, and find restored faith and forgiveness.
"I appreciate the variations in today's teachings and comments..." Victoria Facey
I've never met Victoria Facey. But, this woman has been kind enough to share her comments here in the Journal on a regular basis. She is clearly a woman with an open heart and a beautiful and compassionate spirit. When she says she appreciates the teachings of the Journal, it tells me that she has an open and caring heart. It has been my good fortune to encounter many kind and open hearts across thirty-three years in health care. Often, in these columns, I rant about what's wrong with health care. I complain that more of us need to learn how to live Love, not fear. The truth is, so many people in caregiving are sweet, wonderful and strong individuals who commit their lives to serving others in need.
A couple days ago my wife of forty-two years delivered an advance birthday gift of priceless value. It is a one hour DVD that features people I have worked with starting in 1968. Caregiver after caregiver appears on the screen talking about the best memories they have of the time we served together. People like former Chief Nursing Officer Marian Hamm, who I began working with in 1975, come on the screen to talk of fond memories of working in two different hospitals together. Steve Garlock (above left) president of Grady Memorial Hospital, talks about leadership lessons gleaned over a quarter century of partnership. It is a rich tapestry prompted by a simple request to recall favorite recollections of shared time. The most affirming quality of the film is the degree to which these people seem grateful to me for affirming something in them some wonderful quality they had not seen in themselves. Of course, all I did was to mirror back to them something about them that seemed bright and beautiful. It seems very likely that if a similar video were produced for YOU there would be similar comments. Ask a fellow worker from years ago their best memory of you and I'll bet they would say something that would surprise you - some small incident that affirmed to them your own beautiful humanity. When we recognize and celebrate the divine in someone else, it raises the light in us as well. You have created rich memories for so many people with your own heart. Because of my wife's thoughtfulness, I just happened to be lucky enough to see some of those memories played back. Give yourself this gift by playing back the things you remember best about someone you worked with. And then play back, all by yourself, the nicest things you think they would say about you.
He was hungry so he came to the food pantry at a local charity. He was also drunk, so drunk that he collapsed to the ground several feet from the door. He was also dirty, so dirty you could smell him many feet before you got to him. To top it off, the food pantry had closed. But the folks at the Martha O'Bryan Center are accustomed to such sights. Martha OBryan (left) didn't start this charity in 1894 to serve the rich, the clean and the perfumed. The charity is planted as an oasis in the middle of one of Nashville's poorest neighborhoods. Still, caregiving asks so much that some caregivers can "go numb" in the presence of need. After all, the food pantry is closed, the man is drunk, dirty, poor and late. If you work at the center, why not just climb into your car and go home?
While Marsha Edwards, the Center's director, went to get food, a fellow caregiver, Sharon Brown, went out to greet the hungry man who lay semi-conscious on the grass. "When I came out of the pantry," Marsha told me, "there was Sharon with the hungry man. Sharon wasn't just standing there, she was down on the ground cradling the man in her arms. She was stroking his face and his dirty hair and she was telling him we loved him." Food came. But, more important, love arrived. In a very different place and time, I remember another kind of love offered by my mother-in-law to an old friend. A stroke had transformed this old friend from a nice person into a mean-acting witch who growled at everyone who approached her. "What are you doing here?" the woman would snarl at my mother-in-law every time she approached with flowers, food and good will. "I'll bet you're the one who stole my purse," she would accuse. But, my mother-in-law continued to visit, choosing to see the divine beyond the "unlovable" exterior this woman showed to the world. Other than a paid caregiver, my mother-in-law became this woman's only visitor. Who else among the once large group of friends would want to put up with the verbal abuse this women rained down on anyone that came within her distorted view? It's one of the greatest challenges of caregiving. It is also the thing that distinguishes great caregivers, great teams, and great organizations from everyone else. It is the ability of loving caregivers to look past the gnarly surface of some of those in need to focus on the divine within. Paid caregivers and volunteers alike face these challenges everyday. We all know what Good Samaritan care is about. Everyone is lovable, but many may have moments when they seem unlikable. Transactional caregivers often discriminate against the unlikable, ignoring their call lights in favor of visiting the "nice" patients. How can we develop cultures of caring that transcend "likability" so that every patient in need receives loving care?
It's often safer to be in chains than to be free. - Franz Kafka
Perhaps the greatest chapter of The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky's immortal masterpiece, explores an ancient question: If Jesus returned, how would he be greeted? The chapter is entitled The Grand Inquisitor. In it, a parable describes Jesus' return to earth at the time of the Spanish Inquisition. Jesus performs miracles and the townspeople are amazed, affirming Jesus as the Christ. But, the local leader of the Inquisition has Jesus arrested as a fake and sentenced to death. On the eve of his execution, the Inquisitor comes to Jesus and says, loosely summarized: I know that you are actually Jesus and we don't want you here. We are in charge now. The truth is, people don't really want freedom. They prefer the relative comfort, predictability and safety of chains. "Anyone who can appease a man's conscience," the Inquisitor says, "can take his freedom away from him." At first glance, the idea that people might prefer chains over freedom seems appalling. But a careful look at most of life experience says that is the choice many of us often make.
We all say we want freedom. When it's offered to us, how are we inclined to respond? We are free to act from the freedom of Love, not from the chains of fear. How many of us stand up for Love when our job is threatened? How many of us live Love when it means we may face personal pain?
Comfort is a powerful seductress. She often wins over conscience. Jesus represents conscience. The world offers many comforts. It requires a passionate commitment to high purpose to resist temptation. Indeed, the Grand Inquisitor criticizes Jesus for resisting each of the three temptations. For example, the Inquisitor ridicules Jesus for saying, "Man does not live by bread alone." Instead, he says, "Feed men and then ask them virtue."
So many of us seem to have one set of values when we're well-fed and another set when we're hungry. Loving caregivers know that living love calls us to demonstrate strength and courage in the presence of others who may be afraid. Powerful leaders often prefer using their power to intimidate fearful caregivers.
How can we nurture our strength so that we can live the Love that honors sick patients in the face of supervisor threats that may emphasize financial margin over caregiver mission? What would Jesus think about the culture of care where you work?
Today's meditation was written by Cathy Self, Senior Vice President for the Baptist Healing Trust.
This week's conversations on justice and right choices bring to mind the idea of reverence as a means to making right choices and creating justice in our world. A retreat leader once suggested that reverence rests in the quiet places - in fingering a newborn's tiny toes or holding the hand of a grandfather. Reverence, it seems, is found in the sense of awe and ritual and gazing on a deeply crimsoned leaf or the deeply lined face of the one looking to us for relief. The reason for reverence resides in becoming open to what is transcendent. Some have suggested reverence is beyond human control or power, and certainly beyond manipulation. Yet its presence and gift are undeniable.
Look at the picture of Rembrandt's "Return of the Prodigal Son" (above) and see if you find reverence there. In reverence we encounter the other in awe and mystery and Love. In the quiet of a retreat space I was invited into reverence with these words: "The face of reverence is our own self-portrait. We look at ourselves and know the tender place within where Love dwells. The key is to feel the reverence go deep and to give it away at the same time." To be able to see other beyond the things that differ and divide is to hold the other in reverence. Surely we have that very opportunity each and every time we encounter others with the promise of healing! I wonder how you have experienced reverence of those for whom you care. What is your sense of awe and mystery in the giving of health care in your work?
When we unite with Love, we engage all the energy and strength we could ever need. When we are living in Love, our ego needs fall away. Since God is Love, we can, in the 21st century, do like Douglass did in the 19th - engage "a majority" every time we enter God's light.
As a black leader and abolitionist in the 19th century, Douglass so often stood alone that his statement takes on special meaning. In particular, Douglass campaigned against laws created out of bigotry. His opposition puts before caregivers important moral questions. What do we do when policies conflict with ethics? For example, common hospital policies dictate that visitors leave at a certain hour. There are good reasons for these policies. But, what if the patient is terminal and a family member or friend, visiting from out of town, wants just a little more time?
What do we do when a policy says that wheel chairs are not to be taken outside the building but there is a person in need of a wheel chair just outside the door? What do we do at 6:45 p.m. if a chart has to be completed by 7 p.m. but a patient needs our presence right now?
Polices and laws are designed, among other things, to establish a certain orderliness in complex settings. But, the very complexity of caregiving settings requires that caregivers live by principles and values rather than just rules.
In times of trial, Love can bring us the "majority" we need to make the right choices, regardless of their popularity. In caregiving, this means striving to meet the needs of those who are suffering in the best way we can. We have this chance today, tonight and tomorrow. How will we meet this challenge?
"I would unite with anybody to do right and nobody to do wrong." - Frederick Douglass (left)
America is on the verge of doing something it has never done. If you believe the polls, there is a rising likelihood that this country will elect a President self-identified as African-American. If it happens, it will have taken 232 years for a person "of color" to accomplish such a feat. The very possibility of Barack Obama's election shines a spotlight on America's long history of discrimination. Discrimination of any kind interferes with good caregiving. The same spotlight that illuminates Obama's potential triumph also reminds us of the way in which our health care system has, in the past, discriminated against minorities in medical treatment. Most of us know the sad, early history of the treatment of the mentally ill, the disabled, and racial and national minorities not to mention the marginalization of the poor, of rape victims, and of women. How can a country grounded in principles of equality have such a history of bias? In one word, the answer is fear. Ignorance no doubt fed this fear. In an effort to accomplish dominance, European-American males have traditionally found "reasons" to achieve control of this country by demeaning others they feared might take control away from them.
Why else would women be denied the vote until 1920? Why else would white-run American medical schools refuse to grant admission to James McCune Smith,(left) a brilliant caregiver of the 19th century, driving Smith to a Scottish Medical School. There, Smith received his medical degree and did an internship in Paris before returning to the United States to become America's first black M.D. (in 1837.)
It took twelve more years for Elizabeth Blackwell (left) to become America's first female M.D. (in 1849 )Imagine the number of women and other minorities, before and since, who never considered a career as a physician because they feared discrimination! This essay is not about the politics of this presidential election. It is about the need for justice in the administration of American healthcare. Prior discrimination in America's professional schools blocked capable people from careers in healthcare. Prior discrimination against patients has caused untold suffering. Sadly, discrimination continues to this very day. When anyone of us is weakened by illness or injury we become vulnerable to marginalization by those who are strong. The moment we are reclassified as someone with cancer or AIDS, we are at risk for being condescended to as objects of pity and disdain. How often have you heard some voice in your head telling you that you are "better" than someone who is an alcoholic or who suffers from schizophrenia? Why does this matter? Because our attitudes so often affect our behavior. Frederick Douglass offered to "unite with anybody to do right." But, only a small percentage of Americans in Douglass' time could see past his skin color to recognize his genius. What remarkable Presidents Frederick Douglass or Susan B. Anthony would have made. Imagine the medical breakthroughs that might have occurred if the doors of medicine had been opened immediately to all based on ability, not on color or gender or nationality or any other such foolishness. Caregiving needs justice. Only Love can guide us to give the same quality of care to a homeless alcoholic that we would want for our mothers. Only Love can provide us with the patience to deal with patients so addled by Alzheimer's that they are unable to remember us from one moment to the next. Only Love can enable us to live as true healers. That is why we must always seek to live Love, not fear.
How do you deal with discrimination and injustice when you see it? How do you encounter the voices within you that may incite you to bias?
Apologies to readers for posting the Open Forum late. There was a temporary difficulty accessing our system. Thank you for your patience and dedication to the Journal. -erie
"The biggest disease today is the feeling of being unwanted" - Mother Teresa.
One of the most compelling scenes (among many) in the classic play Fiddler on the Roof is the exchange between Tevia and his wife Golde when he asks repeatedly, "but do you love me?" His marriage was an arranged marriage, yet he watched his daughters one by one choose love over tradition. The exchange between Tevia and Golde goes something like this:
Tevia: “Do you love me?”
Golde: “Do I what?”
Tevia: “Do you love me?”
Golde: “For twenty-five years I’ve washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house, given you children, milked the cow. After twenty-five years why talk about love now?”
Tevia: “But do you love me?”
Golde then speaks to herself, saying: “For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him, fought with him, starved with him. For twenty-five years my bed is his; if that’s not love, what is?”
For twenty five years Golde had done what was expected. She did her housework and took care of her family. She wonders outloud if Tevia lost his mind, responds with indignant responses of “I’m your wife!” and even wondersif his question is born of indigestion. But, still Tevia persists. Just doing what is expected does not necessarily mean that those we care for are assured of our love. Perhaps Tevia's real question is do you want me?
A young woman I know recently visited her mother who now lives in an assisted living environment and shared with me the power of feeling wanted. Having worried for months about her mother's well-being and safety, this caring individual spent many hours traveling to visit with her mother who no longer recognizes her own daughter. She watched in amazement, however, as her mother responded with great joy to the caregiver who entered her room a number of different times during the visit. As she prepared to leave, assured that her mother was physically safe, the caregiver in charge of her mother stopped the young woman to say "Thank you for sharing your Mom with us!" What powerful words of healing! It was clear that her mother was 'wanted' and cherished in that place. And despite the growing dementia, her mother clearly had a sense of well-being and safety.
I wonder how those we serve perceive us as walk into their presence. Do they see in our faces delight and love or distraction, duty, or impatience? What a wondrous gift to sense from my caregiver that "of all the patients I could serve tonight, I am so glad I get to be with you." None of us, I imagine, ever truly wants to be dependent on another. What healing, however, when we sense that even though I may need your physical intervention, what I want most is the healing that only your love can bring when I am cherished, wanted, even loved.
As a follow-up to our discussion of Eve Henry's "Healing Response" (also know as the Placebo Effect,) Ms. Henry, a precocious 3rd year medical student at Vanderbilt University, has summarized her advice to physicians on how to engage the Healing Response. Her advice is equally effective for all caregivers:
1) Be mindful of your own thoughts and expectations. Patients in a state of hyper-alertness, will search for and register cues from their physicians. (Ong, 1995)
2) Be friendly. A solicitous, confident attitude has been shown to be superior to one which is detached, uncertain and observing (DiBlasi, et al, 2001; Uhlenhuth, 1966)
3) Explore the patient's expectations, past experiences and personal meanings. At least one study suggests that patients who have their illnesses discussed fully have better outcomes. (Stewart, 1995)
4) Raise expectations honestly. Within ethical limits, those physicians who added positive verbal suggestion to a medication ["I believe this treatment will work well for you."] had better patient outcomes. (Gryll and Katahn, 1978)
Consider the power of these commonsensical but often unused approaches. Which of these do you find the most effective in your work?
"...it is possible to identify physicians who are more likely to elicit a healing response from their patients because their communication and relational skills reliably produce better outcomes." (emphasis added) - Eve Henry (3rd year medical student, Vanderbilt University.)
Eve Henry (above, far right) a soon-to-be M.D., has recently served as key writer and researcher for a powerful study that proves what most of us have suspected for decades: a caregiver's demeanor has a physiological effect on a patient's recovery. Unfortunately, this effect has too often been dismissed with the word placebo. Medical terminology has consistently demeaned the healing power of this phenomenon.
Now, a Vanderbilt University team, headed by Drs. Roy Elam, Larry Churchill and Ms. Henry, is campaigning to help change all of this. As Ms. Henry writes: "There is mounting scientific evidence that the doctor-patient relationship is an important factor in why patients get better." As this truth becomes more and more clear, these leaders want medical schools and residency programs to incorporate into their core curriculathe teaching of compassionate communication. They believe this work should be as central to medical education as are chemistry and anatomy. Consider just one example. In 2004, a group of post operative patients were given pain relieving treatments in two different ways. Group one was given the pain medication through a computer-controlled infusion pump without being told the purpose of the medication. Group two was given the identical medication by a clinician who carefully described the treatment as pain-relieving. The difference in patient response was striking, both as to depth of reaction and as to speed of response. Group one needed substantially more pain medication to achieve the same pain reduction. Group one was also slower to experience relief than was group two. (Colloca & Beneditti 2004) Since you are reading all of this in The Journal of Sacred Work, it is likely that you are among the caregivers who already engage compassionate communication as an integral aspect of your work. Congratulations. You may now know that there is a growing body of scientific evidence to support the fact that your behavior with patients is having a positive physiological impact! How can we spread the word? How can we ensure increased credibility for the power of compassion in promoting healing?
[The following post was written by Liz Wessel, R. N. a Mission Director at Saint Joseph Health System based in Orange, California]
Recently, I spent three weeks living as an uninvited guest at Mount Sinai Hospital. My mission was to be a caregiver
for my brother John who has a cancerous tumor that tragically and painfully, is
ravaging his body. The hospital is located on Fifth Ave in Manhattan and is directly across the street from Central Park.
Sometimes, when family members visited, I would go for a walk there. As I began to explore Central Park, I admired her earthen loveliness that is home to ancient shade
trees, playgrounds, baseball fields, ponds and so much history.
Eight-hundred
and forty-three acres of grand Mother Earth nestled between the concrete and
steel of New York City's big pulsing heart. Her welcoming arms draw close a diverse population into a community. For me, she provided brief periods of respite from the heartbreak of witnessing my brother suffer.
As I traversed her winding paths, I delighted in all the people I passed and the animated sounds of life. People jogging, bike riding, roller skating, live music, lovers strolling, people fishing, and families out to watch their kids play sports.
However, it was children’s laughter that I found particularly hopeful. A professional dog walker held reins on 16 dogs of every
imaginable size and shape. These tailwaggers were conspicuously well
behaved. I observed that people did not necessarily say hello, only occasionally
smiled if eyes met. Yet, they were quick to converse with one another when
petting a dog, exchanging nanny stories, or the likes. I do not believe New
Yorkers are unfriendly as their stereotype often depicts. It is more that they do
not really notice you. Maybe this is intentional in such a crowded town, where
people respect the need for space and do not impose themselves or crowd you.
While I walked along, I noticed a beautiful spontaneity in peoples’ faces. They
were not self-conscious or even aware of passersby but were naturally engaged
in their own world. As I continued, I had an unusual experience, or shall I say, a DNA remembering. On a cellular level, there seemed to
be a familiar recognition that I was in the home of my birthplace and a comfortable
feeling flowed through me.
During my last week at Mount Sinai, I had the good
fortune of discovering Central Park’s Conservatory,located just three blocks from the hospital at 105th Street. At the entrance to the garden is a wonderfully large antique wrought iron gate made in France by the American architect
George B. Post. As I stepped from drab concrete world into another land I beheld a magnificent view of a spacious Italian-style
garden with manicured hedges as margins. An elegant geyser fountain, perched at the
center, offered a refreshing cool mist that quelled summer’s heat.
At the far
end of the green was a series of tiered hedges. Stone steps led up to
a curved, wrought-iron, wisteria-laden pergola, a sacred space holding untold memories.
On the pergola walkway were medallions inscribed with the
names of the original thirteen states. I could not help but imagine all the
people who had come before me as lovers, families and friends, all participants
in life’s celebration and of life’s longings. I listened closely. Stories revealed themselves in whispers on the summer breeze.
On both sides of the green was a graceful alleé lined with
apple trees. Their branches formed a heavenly canopy of shade mingled with
filtered sunlight. Benches invited leisure and pause for reflection. In the
moment’s calm, I sat motionless and watchful. Soon birds felt safe to
descend and peck at fallen apples, the size of cherries. Robins, sparrows, a woodpecker and some jays reveled in
nature’s utopia. The famed German artist Walter Schott sculpted this fountain
in 1910, and the Untemyer family donated it to the Conservatory in 1947. A mixture of
flowerbeds surrounded the area creating a vibrant tapestry.
I was eager to bring my
sister Pat and my brother Tom to share in the healing experience of the garden.
On both of their tours, I saved the best for last, an English garden that
displayed a whimsical sculpture of a boy and girl. These bronze figurines represent characters from
my favorite childhood book called, “The Secret Garden,” by Frances Hodgson
Burnett. Artist Bessie Potter Vonnoh designed the fairy-like fountain in 1936. It sits within a reflecting pond mirroring delicate water lilies
and goldfish that swim serenely. Beyond this secluded area (known to
some as the Butterfly Garden) was an array of
living art and flowering plants resplendent in a variety of textures that blended
into a masterpiece. Butterflies and hummingbirds fluttered and darted.
I knew
that in a building not far away, many lay suffering. I would return to that place soon. Meanwhile, I was thankful that, at
least in this park, beauty blooms.
Today's meditation was written by Cathy Self, Senior Vice President for the Baptist Healing Trust.
"Love never fails..." 1 Corinthians 13:8a
Today's market has people like even me looking at return on investments (ROI). What have I gained from the investments I have made? Sadly, in recent days, my return has quickly been diminished. Our world suggests that only when our ROI is positive should we continue to make investments. The harder truth is that we seem to have let that principle guide us even in those aspects of our lives that cannot be so easily measured.
A healer working with patients living with chronic pain once suggested that Love asks us to invest even when a positive ROI seems unlikely. In response to a patient's desperate desire for peace of mind, this healer said "you will find peace of mind when you are able to love with all the love you have to give, without judgment or evaluation and without expecting anything in return" (Jampolsky: Teach only Love). Her words still startle me, especially as I reflect on relationships in my life. How many times have I extended words of appreciation, hoping secretly to hear them returned to me as affirmations of my own worth or goodness? When the carefully chosen and beautifully wrapped gift is finally unveiled, does my heart burst with Love or does it crave recognition and admiration for my efforts? If I am honest, the answer is that sometimes that is true in me.
But sometimes, Love emerges pure and clean, no strings attached. The moment I held my grandson only minutes after he arrived into our world was a moment bathed in pure and deep Love. That same Love found its way into being through my hands time and time again at the bedside, especially with those who could not respond and had nothing to give in return. The darkest corners of my memories, however, are those moments when I gave less than my all, whether from fatigue or distraction or judgment. To give less than our all is depleting, but to give all is to receive all.
The gift of Love that is ours to give rests in the quiet content of our mind and heart. The dissatisfaction or discontent we may experience in giving come when we hold back part of our love or acceptance at the moment of our giving. The real treasure is the truth that unfolds in the giving - the more we give, the more we have to give. Love asks not for partial commitment but for total commitment, no holding back, without expectation of reward, response, or return. The moment I attach any of that to my gift of Love, the gift is diminished and in the end so am I.
Love never fails when it is freely and fully given. It restores, replenishes, renews, and invites to give again and again. That seems like a pretty good ROI to me.
The fear of the Lord is pure, enduring forever; Psalm 19:9 - New Revised Standard Version The spirit of Love is wondrous, enduring forever; Psalm 19:9 - A Baptist Church version
If you want a provocative experience, attend your synagogue, temple or church and then go see the movie Religulous, currently in wide release. That's what my wife and I did on Sunday. We left the theater fascinated by the way this film attacks every faith tradition. The question in our minds was not whether Bill Maher, the film's producer and star, is right, but whether his comic attacks are worthy of serious consideration. Like Michael Moore, Maher is a classic iconoclast. People whose faith is fragile will be both shaken and appalled by this mockumentary. People whose faith runs deeper may still find the movie stimulating. The most effective aspects of the film attack pretense. For example, Why do the Catholic hierarchy wear rich robes when Jesus wore rags? Why do Televangelists act so holy when many are engaged in rich lifestyles? Why do Jews and Christians cling to the story of Adam and Eve? Why do Muslims (and Christians, for that matter) preach peace and commit acts of violence? The truly faithful may see in Religulous an opportunity to clarify some of their thinking about some of the surface expressions of denominational expression. Maher is a classic agnostic. Agnostics and atheists find it easy to poke fun at the foundations stories upon which all major religions rest. After all, they lack faith. But, in the course of scoring some points in attacking hypocrisy, Maher also seems to overlook the main point. He attacks religion, but he never lays a glove on love-based spirituality. If anything, Maher's film can help all of us, as caregivers, to peel away the falsity and pretense that surround so much of religion. As we do, we work our way back to the core truth...
The following entry was written by Karen York, Executive Vice President, Alive Hospice.
“The sky is falling”, they say. “The
world as we know it is coming to an end.” Look at the economic bail-outs, government rescues, bi-partisan blaming and presidential
posturing. Markets roller coaster day-to-day. Most of us watch in confusion and
fear as no one provides an explanation or a remedy that we like or fully understand.
Fearful of our future, we watch the news, hug our families, go to sleep each
night and rise again tomorrow.
Meanwhile,
people are confined to their beds in hospice care; the world’s activities a
distant worry. Right now, in this moment, they seek the immeasurable wealth of
a caregiver with warm eyes and an open heart. I have noticed that the squirrel
outside my window is still gathering food and the red oak down the way is
preparing for her tribute to fall. I share this poem from Wendell Berry as
solace for all caregivers to make space for peace in the midst of this storm.
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the
presence of still water.
and I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Erie Chapman, Editor, Liz Wessel, R.N., M.S. Associate Editor
