There Are Still Good People

 

The summer didn’t turn out as planned.

 

For two years, JG and I had planned a three week trip to the United Kingdom and Norway. 

We had chosen our excursions and begun looking for tickets to see a show on West End, 

But JG just wasn’t feeling strong enough to go. 

She hasn’t been feeling well for quite some time. 

Together, we cancelled that trip and individually grieved. 

 

Then we decided that we would do a road trip to VA. 

We’d see some covered bridges and visit the Shenandoah National Park. 

A road trip done in short spurts should be doable, we thought. 

So we talked itineraries and made tentative plans. 

JG’s National Parks pass is even jn my car. 

 

After her three week vacation north, JG was going to go home to her various appointments

And my mom, dad, and I were going to go to the lake for a week. 

Anyone who wanted to and was able was welcome to visit. 

Early into JG’s sickness, I cancelled that reservation. 

 

When I wrote the VRBO owner to tell her why we had cancelled the reservation, 

I explained that my aunt had had a medical emergency that was going to require on-going care.

She wrote me back with her condolences and said family first. 

 

That was a month ago. 

 

This past Saturday, completely out of the blue, 

The host that never got the chance to host us sent me the following message: 

 

Thought about you and your family this past week. Praying your aunt is doing better and you are holding strong as you care for her. I know it can be a blessing but can be draining on you physically. Just wanted to let you know you and your aunt were in our thoughts and prayers. May you be blessed!!

 

I almost cried. 

 

The summer didn’t turn out as planned. 

 

But there are still good people.

And there are still good moments.

And there is still hope of one day getting to go to the lake house owned by the stranger who thought to pray for me and JG and to let me know. 

 

There is still hope for strength. 

 

And I guess, for now, that’s enough. 

 

Amen. 

Grief

 

I was scrolling FB the other day when I came to a post that stopped me. 

Singer/Songwriter Sara Bareilles is coming out with a new album called, “Good Grief.”

As the title indicates, 

The album explores grief. 

Believing that, “Healing often begins when we share our experiences of loss, and that grief will not overcome us if we have a community that's willing to listen,”

Sara gave a phone number to call to leave a story of grief. 

I called. 

I left a story. 

And then I received a text that shared some behind the scenes commentary on the album and a space to share another story. 

So I did. 

I shared four stories, 

The most poignant of which was inspired by observing a friend’s grief. 

 

“I have a friend who grieves powdered donuts.

 

I suppose it’s not the donuts themselves that she grieves

But what the donuts represent.

 

They represent loss and heartache and what could have been if sickness and disease had not sent in. 

 

My friend married for a second time midlife. She had hopes and dreams of retiring with her new husband.  

Of traveling.

Of having a companion to do life with.

Shortly after they married, he began having health problems. 

The problems have only grown and he is now losing capacity to make decisions for himself.

 

My friend works in the helping professions full-time. 

She is also a full-time caretaker for her husband.

She does her best to provide what he needs,

Including good, healthy meals.

Yet he very often refuses the food she cooks,

Only to eat powdered donuts.

 

This is grief. 

This is heartbreak.

This is watching dreams die and doing the hard work of living. 

And it’s difficult. 

And it’s not so sweet 

Like powdered donuts.”

 

I’m not Sara Bareilles.

I don’t have a national platform on which to share stories of community.

But I do have this little space,

And as hard as it is, I offer it to you,

To share your story of grief,

To have your voice be heard,

And now you’re not alone.

 

Grief goes beyond losing a loved one.

Grief happens with every loss  or disappointment, however small it may seem.

Sometimes we deal with the grief without having to name it.

But sometimes we must pause to recognize and mourn what has been lost. 

 

You are invited to pause to name and mourn now. 

 

Amen. 

Sacred Moments

 

I had the opportunity to fill in for Pastor Ann yesterday. 

Not only did I get to lead worship,

But I also got to lead Bible Study, 

Which is something I haven’t done in quite some time. 

 

The Bible study outline was very sparse. 

It was on the second of the listed fruits of the Spirit:

Joy. 

 

The outline listed one or two verses of scripture and then asked four questions on those verses. 

It gave three sections like this.

And that’s it.

The rest was up to me.

 

And so I talked the fruit of the spirit song

Because how can you not teach the fruit of the spirit song when doing a study on the fruit of the spirit?! :-)

And then I asked a very simple question:

What is the difference between joy and happiness?

And that was the springboard for our conversation.

 

We studied Philippians 4 and John 15, 

Both passages of which I have the majority underlined. 

We talked about the real life application of those passages

And how it’s not always easy to rejoice.

We talked about complicated things like war and grief and death and heartache and rugged individualism and narcissism and divorce and caretaking 

And how sometimes God doesn’t seem to answer our prayers

Yet how there is almost always something good and right and noble to find,

Especially in friends.

And Jesus has called us friend.

 

We talked about how sometimes we feel happiness and joy, but sometimes we don’t.

But we agreed that, in Christ, there is a peace that passes understanding—

There is a joy that runs deeper than happiness—

And there is something that we just can’t explain,

Even in the midst of hardship. 

 

There were a couple of moments that I felt like I was in a grief support group

Or an AA meeting

More than a Bible study.

We didn’t go into the historical relevance of Philippians or John.

We didn’t get into the original language of the text or talk about the context to which each passage was written.

We simply opened God’s word,

Read it aloud,

Created the space for the spirit to bring up what she would, 

And then we held space for one another to share and to be heard. 

 

Friends,

Life is hard.

We cannot pretend that it is anything different.

Yeah, we get to walk this journey together

And we get to live it with glimpses of happiness 

And joy that cannot be described

And peace that carries us through at all.

I don’t begin to know how it works.

I don’t begin to try to explain prayer and God’s intervention in this world.

I just know that there’s something there

And that in holy, sacred moments like yesterday,

We get to share it together. 

 

And for that,

I am grateful.

 

Amen. 

Rehab Lamp

 

JG’s room at rehab is at least twice the size of the hospital room where she spent eight days; 

However, the lighting is such that it can’t be turned on or off by the one confined to bed. 

(We’re working on that confinement. 

Physical therapy will come five times a week to get JG back on her feet.)

 

When I arrived on Saturday night, JG was sitting in the dark, 

Her only light that of her phone. 

I quickly plugged in a mystery lamp that I had found in our attic, 

But the light wasn’t pleasant. 

It was bright, fluorescent, and not homey at all. 

 

Knowing that my sister, who travels with her own twinkly lights just in case she needs them, would be appalled at the ambiance of the room, 

I went to Dollar Gentrald last night to look for a bedside lamp. 

I found one. 

It was cute. 

I actually liked it and wasn’t just settling for it. 

So I bought it. 

 

I promptly took it to JG’s room, 

Where she was sitting in the dark again,

But this time with the off-putting light from the mystery lamp. 

 

I quickly unpacked the lamp,

Screwed in the light bulb,

And tried to uncurl the cord. 

It wouldn’t uncurl. 

It was zip tied to the shade. 

 

Being in rehab for less than three days, 

We hadn’t yet moved in the scissors, 

So I tried to find some scissors at the facility but had no luck. 

 

So I walked to my car, 

In the rain,

Carrying the deconstructed lamp, 

Only to realize I didn’t have my keys. 

 

So I walked back inside to get my keys

Returned to my car again, 

In the rain, 

And opened the pocket knife that I got for super cheap at an auction many years ago. 

 

Very carefully, I cut the zip tie off the Dollar Gentrald lamp, 

Walked back to JG’s room, 

Plugged it in,

Screwed in the light bulb and had light. 

 

But. 

I hadn’t put the shade on. 

 

So unscrewed the bulb, 

Put on the shade, 

Screwed back in the bulb, 

And finally, we had soft, welcoming light!

 

Friends:

Sometimes things are a lot harder than they should be! 

But through creativity, breath, patience however thin, perseverance, and determination,

Most things can be done,

Most trials can be overcome, 

And most lights can be shown. 

 

May you have that creativity, breath, patience, perseverance, and determination today. 

And may your light shine bright, 

Albeit a soft white brightness that creates proper ambiance, 

Because we don’t want fluorescent lights in our home. 

 

Amen. 

Caretaking

 

I was on a call a couple of weeks ago when the presider asked a very complex question:

What are some areas where the church falls short? 

I don’t remember what the other call participants said, 

But I remember my answer: 

In taking care of caretakers. 

 

I have five friends (that I know of) who are full-time caregivers. 

One cares for her mom with MS in addition to working. 

One cares for her husband with declining health in addition to working. 

One cares for her mom with declining health in addition to working. 

One cares for her demented husband. 

One cares for her special needs grandson. 

All are very weary. 

All are very tired.

And there is no end in sight. 

 

We all know that our healthcare system is messed up. 

We all know that insurance is very difficult to work with. 

Long term or home health care is so expensive that many can’t afford it. 

And even if they can afford it, 

There is no guarantee that the care will be good 

Because workers are stretched so thin 

And experience such difficult things each day. 

 

After awhile, cleaning someone’s shit gets to you. 

 

Caretakers need more resources. 

Professional caretakers need more pay. 

All caretakers need more support:

more support groups,

counseling services,

outlets of creative expression, 

time off, 

encouragement, 

gratitude, and 

help cleaning shit. 

 

So yes. 

The church falls short in taking care of caretakers. 

The church, 

Society, 

The system,

All of it…

Falls short. 

 

We can do better. 

 

If you are a caretaker, 

You are doing a good job. 

Keep going.

You are not alone. 

 

And if you know of someone who is a caretaker,

Then check on them today. 

You may feel nervous. 

Or helpless. 

Or overwhelmed. 

Or under qualified. 

But all of us are. 

Just thrown into this. 

And figuring out how to build the plane as we’re flying it. 

 

Amen.