The Road's End is a New Beginning

My Final Week

Field placement at St. Paul's Senior Services ended on a favorite note. My last ministry was Memory Care "Church". I've mentioned this service before, but I'd like to emphasize it again.

Picture this: a roomful of people seated in a large circle. Sound familiar? Of course. It could be any room, any group, any where. But this circle of people is only here, at the Villa, first floor. This circle includes individuals navigating their lives with particular challenges. Their minds challenge them, especially their memories. They mostly still hear and answer and talk as most all of us do. But spend some time with them and you begin to understand why they are in memory care. The challenges they face require care. People to care for them, calm them in distress, and learn to "read" their minds when their minds are confused. I know this is an over simplification, but I want you to see this picture as I've come to see it. These are people, valuable people, people with meaningful histories, people whose lives are not yet completed suggesting they still have importance in and to this world. They have something to give (a beautiful smile), something to say (thank you for coming!), something to do (share their jackets or song books), and lots to teach us about compassion, patience, and Jesus' commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Yesterday, at "church" the folks were gathered in a different place from where we've met in the past. The Villa is undergoing a big redecorating project that has periodically disrupted schedules and locations. I heard that last week was particularly challenging as the noise from workers intruded into "church" causing anxiety and other distress. When Fr. Jason and I arrived the group was also a bit larger than usual--nice. But our books were missing. He and a staff person left to retrieve them from the room formerly used. As they discovered the books had been moved and as they searched for them, I found myself alone with the group. (Note, other caretakers were nearby, just not in the "church" area.) I began to see signs of anxiety. Two ladies were disagreeing about something. Not good. So, I did what any good chaplain would do, I think. I suggested we sing while we waited for our books. I began with a surefire winner, Amazing Grace. We finished all I could recall of it and they still weren't back so I moved on to Jesus Loves Me, also a song in the missing books. Fortunately, they arrived before the end of the first verse. Yay! Everyone was happy to get their books although some had to share. Fr. Jason promised to print up more books very soon. "Church" was happy--lots of smiles, singing along, attentive listening. All's well that ended well.

Earlier this week I returned to PACE Nemeth in El Cajon. First I visited three folks in their residence. Three unique visits with three individuals experiencing three different levels of challenge. Later, Chaplain Louise got several laughs at my descriptions of our conversations. Real life can be very funny even when it is seriously incapacitated. One lady especially enjoyed my reading psalms to her. All of them enjoy the attention of having a visitor. Some of the folks at these facilities actually have no one outside who visits them, ever. As I was saying my last goodbyes to the staff, they commented on that saying they wished for more volunteers to visit, especially those bringing spiritual care. I pass this on to you, dear reader. If you are so inclined...visit the nearest care home to see how you can help.

This field placement has been a source of much learning and stretching of my abilities. This week I also visited a man who told me about starting to smoke at age 6--6! He is 92, he thinks. We had a delightful conversation. At another visit, I just missed the death of a beloved mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. The room was full of her loved ones who had witnessed her final breath. They prepared to wash her body as the hospice nurse completed her notes. We had Eucharist in the Villa chapel again, gratefully, though the redecoration is incomplete. New chairs are coming! And, maybe, new carpet? Such details of my time at St. Paul's mark the moments of my growing awareness. Details make up our lives, color our lives, and pattern our lives in ways that complement the emotions we experience along with them. Our lives are made up of the work we do, the travels in-between, the time spent in conversations of all kinds, the ordinary time at home with family, as well as the orders of our service, our worship, and our ministry.

The end of this experience is more than just checking a box. It is full of gratitude for Fr. Jason who shared so much with me, trusted me, and encouraged me. This road's end marks a new beginning for me. I will take with me to all that is next the memory of the people and the groups and the spaces of St. Paul's Senior Services.

Praise, Peace, Gratitude, and Blessing--Amen.

Loose Ends

It's all coming together. I'm nearly at the end. One more week...

I began this week arriving early for an appointment outside the field placement duties. Then, I tended the necessary office task--prepping bulletins for all the week's services. I enjoy this task. Copying the current week's readings into the template, printing, and copying the anticipated number, knowing all is ready is very satisfying. Often I print more copies than are needed. Seldom do we run out and have to share. I prefer the former. Anticipating, expecting, hoping for a "full" house (even if that is only 10 or 12) is optimistic. I am basically an optimistist. I believe things will turn out okay; everything will work out in the end; all will be well and all manner of thing will be well (to loosely quote Julian of Norwich). Otherwise, despair lurks just outside the door, looking for a way in.

It is possible to hope for the wrong thing, according to T. S. Eliot:

"I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing." 

This is a favorite quote of a former mentor of mine purposed to teach hoping for right things. Often we hope for fleeting things--for some pain to evaporate or for a dreaded task to be done by someone else or for magic to bring good fortune and fame. You, dear reader, know how it is. In the world of ministry, pastoral care, spiritual care, we must place our hope in the right Thing. While doing this field placement, I've also been part of a group being trained in Stephen Ministry. We are taught that as Stephen Ministers we offer care while God provides the cure. We hope in God's cure. 

Here at St. Paul's Senior Services Spiritual Care Department, we place our hope in God's thing rather than our own.

Tuesday the chaplains came together for the monthly meeting and, with the help of our dear Michele, admin assistant, we surprised Fr. Jason with cupcakes for his birthday. The meeting was also my opportunity to thank all the chaplains who have helped me along the way. I summarized the memorial service project interviews I had done into a resource document that Fr. Jason reviewed. One loose end tied up.

Chaplain Louise, at PACE Nemeth, invited me to lead the devotional service earlier that morning while she tended a necessary outside appointment. I was delighted to help in that way. It gave me the opportunity to create a service I thought would meet the needs of the folks at Nemeth and then see how it went in real time. Happily, I think it went alright. I had an interesting time choosing old familiar hymns, finding music downloads to accompany us, and weaving them loosely into a simplified morning prayer. I printed too many copies of the program I typed up based on attendance when I had visited earlier in the summer, but that's okay! Louise mentioned later that a scheduling change had diverted about half of her regulars elsewhere.  

Wednesday I met with Chaplain Bill at PACE Akaloa. I enjoyed a last and inconclusive talk session with a woman I've mentioned before. Dangling ends... Bill and I discussed some of his upcoming plans and shared a prayer for each other. Weaving ends...

Returning to Maple Street, I dropped in on a hospice client I've been visiting all week. I spoke briefly with her hospice nurse. Mostly I just sat with the lady imagining her focused internally on completing her life on this earth. Her breath was uneven, but she was calm and relaxed, unlike on Monday when her agitation kept her searching for a way out of the bed or a more comfortable position or something. I could only pray for God's peace and comfort to accompany her passage. I continue to pray for her wondering if I'll see her again next week.

The week ended on a sad note. Some loose ends just dangle. Fr. Jason and I had planned a final visit with a woman who was moving soon to another facility. I dropped by near the end of my day to confirm we'd see her next week only to discover she had left already! A thread of sadness dangled as I left the building. On one hand I felt I had failed her; on another, I realized that she had been unable to provide full information, unable to update her departure plan. In the complexity of managing one's tasks, sometimes hopes get displaced. She hoped for a closing visit. I hoped to join Fr. Jason for a farewell Eucharist with her. I hoped to send her off with a loving blessing. She hoped being closer to her daughter would improve her quality of life. A dashed hope, a loose end--we must keep hoping, keep waiting with faith and love in the right thing.   

This blog entry ends on a loose note. I can't tie this week altogether into a neat theology. My thoughts defy completion. They dangle and wander. I'll not hope for a thing that might be wrong. I'll let them be as they seek their way home. 

Play Stops

I've created and facilitated two events for the Manor's independent residents: Legacy in Story and  Listening to Soul. This offering contains, for me, much more than just an activities to interest folks. For me the offering is a means of connecting parts of myself into a greater whole. I've been creating and facilitating workshops and retreats throughout much of my professional life. It's been part of my passion and my creativity. I like the entire process of inviting people to consider an opportunity, making that opportunity sound enticing, interesting, worthwhile; creating the opportunity such that those who choose it will experience something new, will be challenged, will take away something unexpected; leading those who come through what I've created, adapting along the way to intuition, circumstances, and challenges; and finally, reflecting on the process so as to grow myself and become more able to do better next time.

As I have ventured along this unexpected path of discernment, ministry, and adventure, I've been sorting through my "belongings", seeing what needs discarding, what needs updating, what needs adding. My wealth of knowledge and experience that I bring to creating learning experiences for individuals and groups is not something to discard. Certainly updating is always appropriate, and adding new elements and content is also desirable. In co-designing this field placement, I readily offered to create a couple of events and my offer was welcomed. So I looked into my tool bag and pulled out a few things I thought might work. Work they did!

Legacy in Story gave participants an opportunity to playfully reflect on their life histories through "windows" of time perspective. Listening to Soul gave others space and time and inspiration to playfully reflect an inner picture of self. Both these workshops or "playshops" gave me an opportunity to connect my past with my present and imagine my future. "Soul" work has long been my passion. Play is the soul's delight. Ministry can be, I believe, nurturing in many ways including playful ways--and not just with children and youth. I've long worked with adults challenging them to reconnect with their playful selves for healing, growth, and transformation. Play sometimes sets us free when nothing else has--free to complete processes of grief, of forgiveness, of resolution and reconciliation.

In Sandplay Therapy, a fundamental key is providing a "free and protected space" for the soul to play, the mind to work, the hands to express, the heart to mend. I will bring this key into my ministry whatever I may do come tomorrow.

These workshops gave me an opportunity to reweave some dangling fragments into my own soul's home. All that I am and all that I do and all that may come are part of God's plan, God's purpose, God's loving gift.

The soul passes through the body like sap in a tree; we are watered by a Divine Breath, we blossom, grow strong. The soul sustains the body and the body sustains the soul. Hildegard of Bingen

A Favorite Stop

One of my favorite stops each week is the Memory Care Devotional Service. It's the last thing on Thursday, so it often ends my week on a high note. It follows The Assisted Living Eucharist Service in the chapel downstairs. That has been meeting in the dining room the past two weeks during redecoration of the Villa. People walk by, talking as they go, ignoring we who are engaged in the ancient tradition of remembrance. After saying goodbye to the regulars and any others, I head upstairs.

When I arrive, the residents of Memory Care are already gathered in a large rectangular room with a ring of chairs around the wall on three sides. The short window side is open for me to drag my chair over. That also means I get to control the window which sometimes needs closing due to noisy garbage trucks that arrive at what seems to me an odd time. But, I guess, they have to be somewhere at 2:30 on Thursday afternoon. Don't we all!

Jennifer, the staff person normally with the people announces "Church". They've just finished another activity--sometimes a music time; sometimes a movement activity. We immediately go into "church" mode.

The past two weeks I've led this service alone as Fr. Jason has been unexpectedly called elsewhere. I like leading this service, as I said. A small booklet has been prepared that alternates easy songs with familiar psalms, a scripture, and the Lord's Prayer. It's the same every week. It's passed out and everyone is ready. One lady takes the lead in getting us started. She is always ready. She also makes comments along the way sometimes--simple observations about the selections. She often "leads" us with symbolic arm gestures. Another lady usually naps through most of the service. Some carefully read along without making any sound. Some skip around, sing bits they catch on to, and otherwise, participate to their own drums. I love that.

Another lady appears perfectly oriented. She sings all the songs, speaks appropriately, is appreciative. I could be flummoxed if I didn't realize why she is there. They are gentle souls, for the most part. There is the occasional objection, misunderstanding, or unexpected behavior. It mirrors what might be seen anywhere with any group of worshipers.

What is clear, these folks are present to the moment. Nothing else really matters. They aren't planning what they are going to say when asked to speak. They aren't making their shopping list or worrying over the laundry that isn't getting done. They are there for church, or not. I wonder about their histories. Has she been a church-goer all her life? Did she hate church and never go when she wasn't scheduled into it? Was she raised Jewish? Would she be horrified to be at a Christian service if she had a choice? Is all this a mystery to her? I wonder...

After the Lord's Prayer I invite the participants to offer gratitudes--things they are thankful for. This is not an easy task, apparently. A few offerings are made--for the beautiful day, for example. Most just stare at me. I make some suggestions--for the loving care they receive; for having a nice place to live; for family and friends. I offer my own thanksgiving for three wonderful granddaughters. They smile.

I think about family culture in Jesus' day. Elders with family would be living with family, cared for by family, embedded in the routines of family life. Those without family--widows, they are often called--might be beggars, destitute and vulnerable. Life would not linger without the safety and care of an extended family. People likely died young and painfully and without mercy. Jesus came to change all that, reminding us to care for others as though we were caring for him. It's the least we ought to do, he implied. Things were difficult in his time.

I am grateful for homes like those affiliated with St. Paul's. I am grateful for the spiritual care that is at the heart of their mission. I am grateful to be with these lovely people a half-hour on some Thursdays to sing "Jesus Loves me", ""How Great Thou Art", and other old familiar hymns and songs. And I am sad for those without such homes and supports--those who are refugees, those who are too poor, those who have no one to help them access the services and care that would be available if they could. Seldom does anyone just go out on the street and bring people in to safety and a warm meal. We presume individual initiative trumps our taking over. We presume choice. We presume...

One lady I spoke with recently fears having to move to a higher level of care. She says it will cost $6000 a month. I fear that too! Who can afford that? Something is deeply wrong in our society that a frail elderly lady must worry over such as that. Despite our complex and highly organized systems of care, something is missing. True compassion? Peace of mind? Generosity? Equal allocation of resources? You should hear some of the stories from a friend of mine who volunteers at a day center for homeless elders. They are sometimes almost beyond comprehension. How did we get here? Where are we going from here? What plate do we as Christians need to step up to?

Brief Stops

Field Placement Week of July 30th

This was in part a week of brief stops--unexpected short visits, quick observations, temporary accommodations--and a few jumps to the next thing. Birthdays were celebrated. Meetings held. It was a mixed bag of a week.

I visited Akaloa on Wednesday and met again with the youngest woman in St. Paul's, perhaps. She is a woman with life-long disability, a determined woman, yet a hopeful woman--one who imagines a future possibility for herself if she can just get her ducks in a row. This is a woman who has dealt with disabilities beyond the actual birth condition that befell her. She has struggled with the disabilities of schools unable to see her potential, of relatives unable to recognize her need for independence, and today, of policies and programs and funding unable to accommodate her dreams. I know something of her struggles through my experience with my disabled daughter. We can meet on some common ground. Our encounters--brief in the larger scheme of things--are brief stops in her life. I can't do much for her beyond a suggestion here or there, brief mention of possibilities she might have missed or might be overlooking these days. My visit is but a blip on her screen.

Similarly, brief stops to others I try to catch weekly constitute minimal exposure--me to them; them to me. How long will we remember each other? Not long, I imagine. In four more weeks, how much can I do?

I am reminded of Jesus' travels around Galilee and to Jerusalem and back and into the hills and back. Some were able to drop everything and follow him. Others, undoubtedly were constrained by such demands no one could ignore. Yet, in those days, the extended family had a different structure and context than we have today. Some were able to say, "I'm following him!" while babies and the sick and the disabled were tended by others. Gardens and fields and flocks were tended. Water was carried. Clothes were cleaned and mended and lengthened for growing boys and girls. Food was prepared and served. Somethings have not changed. Some had to stay home to keep the life of the family living.

Some of Jesus' stops were brief. I think of the woman at the well. I recall his pause for the woman with the hemorrhages. And there was the moment with his mother at the wedding in Cana. Brief stops with potent impacts.

My field placement is a brief stop at St. Paul's. I see a future developing as days pass--a future I will not be part of. It is part of my journey following Jesus. It has both Mary and Martha parts. Sometimes I tend the ailing; sometimes I listen and learn. Brief stops along the way. Blips? Or potent impacts? As we are taught in Stephen Ministry, we are simply caregivers; God is the curegiver.

Moving Toward

Field Placement Week 7

I've been visiting a woman weekly who I first met at a worship service. Later, her name was given to me as someone who might want a visit. She did accept my visit that day, and I've visited her every week since. We've talked about a lot of things, mostly past and present. Future ideas remain largely unspoken. I sense she is moving toward the end of life. I can't say for sure. I'm not making a prediction. I sense something, and I think it is something like disappointment. Her comments have alluded to frustration with waning abilities, regret for things left undone, and a lingering sense of how her family needs her--needs she can no longer fulfill. In past weeks she has bounced between such comments and statements of faith and acknowledgment of things done. This week she seemed particularly bereft as though a large store of energy had been depleted and she had no means of replenishing it. After just a short time, she said she didn't feel up to a visit. I asked if we could pray before I left. She agreed.

In contrast, another woman I have visited is a woman who was introduced to me as someone "probably not long for this world". My exchange with her has been minimal, but over the past few weeks, I've witnessed evidence of feistiness that I interpret as very much alive in her world. From the first visit, she has managed brief but distinct awareness. I haven't had sufficient conversation to ascertain any reflection regarding moving toward her death. What I wonder about is whether she does in fact see herself that way. What is her perception of how close she is to death?

Another contrast is with a woman in the Memory Care section that, though appearing strong and healthy in body, indicates serious loss of cognition. What is her sense of moving forward? What is she moving toward? This woman seems to recognize me, greeting me with a big smile and holding lengthy eye contact, but I know it isn't me she is remembering. In fact, her response is likely to me as something new in her world that day. She is receptive and, in turn, responsive.

I move toward each of these woman, and others, each week in faith that what is happening that day for them is meaningful, is part of their personal story, is relevant in the larger view of things. I listen because I want to know. I respond because I value them as humans with whom I share earthly space. We breathe the same air. We are made of the same substance. We are moving toward the same ending. It may not appear on the outside as a "happy ending" or it might. It isn't happy I am after even though culture and society often demand such endings, ultimately, even if superficially. We only accept dystopia as a way of contrasting our own less-than-happiness. In this broad contrast, the Good News of Christ can be overshadowed by the here and now. Lady 1 above seems very much aware of the contrasts she bemoans. Lady 2 may bring her feistiness to bear in her effort to stave off the contrasts. Lady 3 perhaps has moved forward to a place where everything is here and now in the briefest form of that cliche, without contrast. Who among us--them and me--moves toward our ending with the greatest ease? With the greatest trust in the promise of life everlasting? With the greatest peace, despite the trials of our humanity?

Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to the span of your life? Where did we get the idea that more is better? What are we moving toward?

Moving Deeper

Field Placement Blog 
Week 5

Four participants attended the workshop, Legacy in Story, held Monday afternoon at the Manor. An overarching goal was to broaden the impact of the Spiritual Care Department beyond the "regulars" who attend its weekly events. To this end, I planned a topic that might have broad appeal to those not readily responsive to spiritual topics, but which would also connect to spiritual interests. I used the image of the hero's journey, adapted to reveal the "heroic" journey of everyone's life. The purpose was to encourage participants to take a fresh look at their own life experience through a familiar lens and/or to take a new look using an unfamiliar lens so as to tell their story/stories to friends and family reimagined in transformative ways. As Carol Pearson in The Hero Within writes, "Heroism for this age requires us to take our journeys, to find the treasure of our true selves, and to share that treasure with the community as a whole—through doing and being fully who we are. To the degree that we do so, our kingdoms are transformed."

This latter approach particularly invites looking at the less desirable corners of life, e.g., areas of disappointment, perceived failure, loss, and the unreconciled. To encourage this, I tried to offer a safe space that would not demand emotional disclosure or factual self-report. Yet, I included examples of these in my overview and explanations. As Jesus modeled inclusivity through his everyday life socializing with and responding to outcasts of many stripes, we too can model acceptance by leading the way in disclosure or self-report. I assure you no "outcasts" attended this workshop, but when I offered an illustration of one of my personal "failures," one participant in particular laughingly identified, saying she too had "failed" in the same way. We then laughed together recalling our youthful folly. Through such acceptance, the most reticent member of the group gradually relaxed into its receptive atmosphere. 

I thought this week about Bette Davis' saying that "Old age ain't for sissies". As I visited different facilities and a number of elders in each, I recognized heroes all around. One woman with smooth, pure white hair has an elegant face carved with beautiful evidence of a richly expressive life. A group of PACE participants cheerfully painted flowers with full respect for lines and details. A sweet lady cuddled her familiar, an infant-sized babydoll, as she wandered a bit among the crowd. I listened to descriptions of home and history and everyday experiences taking the bus as well as worries over housing, loss of precious ability, and neglectful children. And one woman spoke with deep gratitude for her PACE, highlighting all the reasons she is pleased to be there--the people, the good food, the clinics. 

I encouraged the participants on Monday and an ailing woman alone in her room on Tuesday and a disabled woman hoping for a second career on Wednesday to be their own heroes. I recall a quote from the Tom Hanks character, Joe, in the film, Joe Vs. the Volcano, who, after waiting in vain for a rescue, realized, "I am my only hope for a hero". Joe, like Jesus, recognized that we each must live our own lives. We each must take responsibility for its heroic journey. We each must carry our own crosses, face our own destinies, and, ultimately, tell our own stories in the best way we can. And, like Jesus, in the most painful and frightful moments of our lives, we can call upon our God for help beyond imagining.