Holy Fibs and Holy Truth

Yesterday I again found myself in the sacred space of sitting with a dying woman. Death and I have sat together alot in the last eight weeks. Each time I am with a saint laboring toward peace there are themes that emerge. Some are looking for resolution, others are longing for reunion. There are often things they say that reveal the core of their being.
Over the last weeks of visiting this particular saint she has been most concerned that she has not been able to be in church to bring her offering envelopes.
She is a person of few means who literally puts a couple quarters in each envelope. She does not drive and had been dependent upon a ride to get to church
but whenever she came, there were enough envelopes for the number of weeks since the last time.
She would toddle in to "her" pew and would be there early. I always knew she was in church because the fluffy white wig that was outsized in proportion to the rest of her was usually the first thing that would catch my eye.
Over my time here as the pastor, I came to know that she had been married and then after her husband died, had found love again, but for an elderly woman on Social Security with no pension and an elderly veteran, marriage was unaffordable. It was hard enough.
I had visited and provided food, and fuel assistance. And communion and anointing.
I was told by many that the old vet was gruff and hard to like.
Little by little I learned that while the old veteran was still a curmudgeonly guy who was never going to come to church, but in his way he did what he could for her and for her faith life.
Even calling a few months ago to tell me she was pretty sick, and on a hot day I made the trek out.
She was in bed with a fan blowing, not dressed like church, but in pajamas and sans wig. But her three wigs were all resting on the dresser on their hairdresser heads. She was very worried about those envelopes of quarters and out of the corner of my eye I saw the old vet shaking his head "no." He did not share and I left wondering. But before I did, we had shared communion. He joined us and owned that it was the first time he had been offered communion in years. It changed things

In these last weeks, after trips back and forth between the hospital and the extended care facility, and the decision to simply provide palliative care, it has become clear. What she had been too proud to share was that she has an inoperable tumor. What is now taking her life is the onset of pneumonia and I watch each day as she becomes more and more a shell of her former physical self. Her jawline and collarbone more pronounced. Now the old vet and I have talked out in the hall about what is to come. Where it is clear that the reason he shakes his head "no" about those quarters is that with the cost of her care, there are no quarters.
And yet this has been her fixation.

As though as she ponders it all she worries that in the absence of being caught up with her offering the holy gates will be locked and she will be lost.
And so we collaborated in a holy fib.

It reminded me of years ago on the medical drama "House" where a woman had been driving her family in a car and made an error in driving that resulted in a terrible accident that took the lives of her husband and family. As she lay dying in a hospital bed a couple years later, still punishing herself for the accident, she was calling for her husband. The normally curmudgeonly doctor who had unearthed both her story and her husband's wedding band, put the ring on and held her hand. She stroked the hand with the wedding band, and a tear rolled down her face.  She believed her husband was there and she could have peace. Though no one would consider a "House" character and holy in the same sentence, it was a holy fib.

So here the old vet and I found ourselves. Confronted with this fixation that left no peace. And in the face of the repeating theme of the offering envelopes we knowingly colluded. As she worried about the envelopes I assured her that he and I had taken care of things and everything was caught up. She looked at him and he nodded his head and assured her that was right. It took two times but she eventually accepted the holy fib and could lay to rest the issue of the envelopes. That was a couple days ago.

Yesterday when I came to sit with her the mere opening of eyes was a struggle as was speaking. I just sat and held her hand and offered a prayer. At the end of the prayer, she became very alert and very concerned.
Will God REALLY take care of me?
I need to confess because I have done things wrong
Will I be in trouble?
She was not able to speak about what the wrong things might be about
But it was kind of like the back story of what the envelopes represented-
what if I am not "caught up" with God?

I spoke God's forgiveness and reminded her of God's promises
for her
God's love
for her
and made the sign of the cross on her forehead to remind her
this is how much God loves you
God is here with you
and will be there to greet you where you are going
Replacing the holy fib with words of holy truth

She looked up at the ceiling and said
God if you love me just take me
take away this pain

My prayer for her is that this indeed what happens for her soon
Rest in God's everlasting arms

I held her hand til she fell asleep and hope perhaps there will soon be a good and peaceful transition to the world where there is no catching up to do.

A Strange New Holy Space

For the last couple months I have been in a kind of writing wilderness. There are many reasons why, starting with the fact that writing about Chick #2 graduating and the nest thinning out being too fresh to process. Or it could be the ridiculous schedule of my own creation that took me many places over the summer that were too close in proximity for me to breathe. Or it could be that this was followed by the sending off both girls to college interspersed with a festival of funerals. And my general uncertainty about who I was blogging for, what was blog-worthy or how to filter what would be shared. I have been grateful for those who have encouraged me to simply write for myself and decide how to do that and in what context. I have also been grateful for those who found my musings helpful, comforting or a-musing. And I am now trying to work toward setting aside time for writing each day, along with that time for praying and exercising and spending time with loved ones, both two and four-legged, and occasionally experimental cooking. I am not really a routine building person so it is hard to say how long this will last. Rather than try to decide if this will be writing about life in ministry, life in the neighborhood, life in general, sermons, reflections or whatever, in this "post-children, still new ministry and new neighborhood" phase, it will be whatever it is. All of that is frankly a lighthearted entry leadup to what led me to start writing again today. Which is one of those moments where my first life and second life have full-on collided in a way that makes me stand back and ponder.

In my pre-seminary life I was a band Mom and  lawyer in addition to spending alot of time in church.
And in the band Mom role I got to knowing some very strong and talented ladies one of whom works as a first responder.
In my seminary life when I worked as a chaplain at the Large Trauma Center in Amish Country, sometimes our paths would cross in the ER as she brought in patients and I was meeting families. And our conversations would perhaps be brief as we both were in the midst of doing what we do, each of us believing the other person had the really hard role. And even when some people were not quite sure about the whole change to seminary thing, she was always a big support. And in her medical role there was no one else I would want to fix my problems. We once even both showed up at an accident scene, me on my way to work at the hospital and her with the ambulance knowing full well we might see each other again later that night.
Since then I have moved on, literally to another county in my first call and once Chick#2 graduated it seemed that our only contact might be virtual, and in a sense it is.
But my friend's Mom is terribly unwell and out of the blue I got a text asking if she could text me because she is in a place she has never been before. That place is not the hospital, but the place where your Mom is dying and you cannot fix it. With all of the knowledge and skill in the world, still powerless.
The journey from a visit to the hospital for an unusual day has careened wildly across the last few weeks to a diagnosis of cancer, to hospice paperwork and in the last couple days, from talking to silence. It is unreal. And in such a place no matter how many people are helping there is a vacuum.
And from two counties away was a request to pray.
But because she did not want to disturb Mom, all of this had been by txt.
And so, believing in the power of God to work in any medium, I texted prayer.
For a person whose whole life as a caregiver was not enough for this sadness.

O Lord we are at the limits of our power to help. We place ________ in your hands.
For what you have helped us to do, we give thanks. Give strength for what must be done by others and shelter us in your peace which surpasses our understanding.
We thank you for the gifts of love and companionship ___ gave which are greater than words can express. With the faithful of every time and place we place ourselves in your hands and put our trust in you
and ask you to meet us in our sorrow.
We have done what we can in hope, in sorrow and in love.
Embrace ______ and each person who loves her. Encompass us with your grace.
We cannot see how we can travel this road, but give us faith to know your hand is leading us
And your love supporting us.
Help us to watch and to wait.
Thank you for allowing us to come in anger and pain, and bitterness,
knowing you love us still and never turn away.
Light our path and may you send your hope and love
in the hands and feet and voices of all who enter here.
Thank you for ____, ___'s daughter, and for her fierce determination and love
She has been a blessing.
Be with her now.
We give this all to you Lord in the name of Jesus Christ our light and hope.
Amen

And even though we are still two counties away and so often we consider our electronic media to be impersonal, the Spirit willed two old buddies the moment that was needed. And while I would not have thought it possible, it really did feel like prayer, not just data- a strange new holy space.