A small headache
24/10/12 03:53
I have a headache. I don’t get headaches very often. In fact, with the exception of a few dental situations and one time of getting burned, my life has been remarkably free of pain. I am not suffering. I have no disease. In fact, I probably don’t really have a headache at all. It is probably a stiff neck caused by sleeping in a bit of an awkward position. It is just one of those things that occurs from time to time. Don’t worry. This blog is not about my headache. I don’t have a thousand wards about my health. You wouldn’t be interested in reading them anyway.
But this blog is a sort of journal for me. I write it because I need to write as much as I write it for others to read. It is only Wednesday and I’m already worn out.
The few months have been a relatively hard time for our congregation. We’ve lost some of the pioneers and pillars of our congregation. We’ve also taken in a lot of new members, but it is still hard to say good-bye to folks who have given so generously of their time and energy to our congregation. There were days when we couldn’t imagine the church without those folks. Now we need to be a church in a new time – the time following their death. We have been promised that we will have everything we need to be a whole church. It is a gift of God. All it takes to recognize this gift is to stop complaining about what we don’t have and start recognizing the blessings we do have.
Yesterday was quite a day. On the one hand it was normal. I attended a book study, chaired a staff meeting, visited in the hospital and in homes and saw church members at the church. It is what I do. But it seems like it has been a kind of a hard time for our church.
And I have a headache.
Yesterday I sat with a member of our church in the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital. I heard the story of her husband’s surgery and how they discovered the aneurism at the last moment to allow for a successful procedure. An hour later and he would have been dead before they got him to the surgery suite. He is recovering and the prognosis is good, but right now he’s uncomfortable with a tube down his throat and unable to speak. And it was such a close call that it reminded us instantly of how vulnerable this life really is. After decades of marriage a couple comes face to face that they will one day lose each other. This life is not forever. A marriage is not forever. And most marriages end with a period of widowhood for one of the partners.
Time moves slowly in the ICU. The staff usually prefers for the family to leave during shift changes. Being asked to leave is a good sign, really. It means that your loved one is stable enough for you to take a break. Still at the bedside of a loved one is where one wants to be.
So I sat vigil for a while. We talked about a lot of different subjects. We expressed love and support. It is what the church is. We are a community of genuine care and concern. I was glad I was able to do that. But I do have a headache.
Yesterday I spent time with a church member who suddenly and unexpectedly lost a job. It is never easy to face unemployment, but when it comes without warning, it is a shock. To wake up one day thinking everything is normal and then find yourself unemployed, uninsured and uncertain the next requires a new way of looking at the world. After 15 years with the same employer, the swiftness and finality of the process leaves one reeling. Such cruelty is hard to imagine. But it is real. There are a thousand thoughts and worry. How will the bills get paid? What goes in a resume? How do I explain my unemployment? Who should I tell? Who should I avoid telling? What do I do tomorrow? The list of questions goes on and on and on.
I have a headache, but that seems like a trivial bit of information in the face of what happened in our church yesterday.
Yesterday I made a visit in the home of a couple that had just gotten the phone call about the biopsy results. To be fair, they both knew that cancer was the most likely explanation for what was going on. They were not shocked by the confirmation of a diagnosis that they already knew. Still there is something shocking about the diagnosis. And there are plenty of questions. Will the tumor grow? Will it spread? Will there be enough energy for chemotherapy and perhaps radiation treatments? What side effects will happen? Then there are the wider concerns. Should we sell the house and get a smaller place? What happens if the order of death of the marriage partners is different than anticipated? Until recently the primary caretaker was the one who now is a cancer patient. Is there energy to switch roles? Who will take care of whom? And all of those questions come before ones like, “Am I going to die?” or “What does it mean to die?”
As is often the case, the cancer patient expressed a deep spiritual faith and little fear about dying. The uncertainty of the days between now and death, however, seems a bit overwhelming.
And I have a headache.
Three families, three prayer shawls, three unique situations. A typical day in my line of work, I guess.
So I came back to the church in the late afternoon and was greeted by a basket of newly blessed prayer bears. We had the blessing of the bears on Sunday. Our children had taken all of the bears to the outside of the sanctuary. Then we had made a circle around the room and faced out and stretched out our arms as if we could reach beyond the walls of our building to convey the blessing of God that we had experienced to others in the name of Jesus. The bears are symbols of something much bigger.
I may have a headache, but I have my health and the health of my partner. I have a job and am fairly compensated for meaningful work. I have a reasonable expectation of a normal span of life.
And, when I open the door to the church this morning, there will be a basket of bears to greet me. Just knowing that makes me feel better already.
But this blog is a sort of journal for me. I write it because I need to write as much as I write it for others to read. It is only Wednesday and I’m already worn out.
The few months have been a relatively hard time for our congregation. We’ve lost some of the pioneers and pillars of our congregation. We’ve also taken in a lot of new members, but it is still hard to say good-bye to folks who have given so generously of their time and energy to our congregation. There were days when we couldn’t imagine the church without those folks. Now we need to be a church in a new time – the time following their death. We have been promised that we will have everything we need to be a whole church. It is a gift of God. All it takes to recognize this gift is to stop complaining about what we don’t have and start recognizing the blessings we do have.
Yesterday was quite a day. On the one hand it was normal. I attended a book study, chaired a staff meeting, visited in the hospital and in homes and saw church members at the church. It is what I do. But it seems like it has been a kind of a hard time for our church.
And I have a headache.
Yesterday I sat with a member of our church in the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital. I heard the story of her husband’s surgery and how they discovered the aneurism at the last moment to allow for a successful procedure. An hour later and he would have been dead before they got him to the surgery suite. He is recovering and the prognosis is good, but right now he’s uncomfortable with a tube down his throat and unable to speak. And it was such a close call that it reminded us instantly of how vulnerable this life really is. After decades of marriage a couple comes face to face that they will one day lose each other. This life is not forever. A marriage is not forever. And most marriages end with a period of widowhood for one of the partners.
Time moves slowly in the ICU. The staff usually prefers for the family to leave during shift changes. Being asked to leave is a good sign, really. It means that your loved one is stable enough for you to take a break. Still at the bedside of a loved one is where one wants to be.
So I sat vigil for a while. We talked about a lot of different subjects. We expressed love and support. It is what the church is. We are a community of genuine care and concern. I was glad I was able to do that. But I do have a headache.
Yesterday I spent time with a church member who suddenly and unexpectedly lost a job. It is never easy to face unemployment, but when it comes without warning, it is a shock. To wake up one day thinking everything is normal and then find yourself unemployed, uninsured and uncertain the next requires a new way of looking at the world. After 15 years with the same employer, the swiftness and finality of the process leaves one reeling. Such cruelty is hard to imagine. But it is real. There are a thousand thoughts and worry. How will the bills get paid? What goes in a resume? How do I explain my unemployment? Who should I tell? Who should I avoid telling? What do I do tomorrow? The list of questions goes on and on and on.
I have a headache, but that seems like a trivial bit of information in the face of what happened in our church yesterday.
Yesterday I made a visit in the home of a couple that had just gotten the phone call about the biopsy results. To be fair, they both knew that cancer was the most likely explanation for what was going on. They were not shocked by the confirmation of a diagnosis that they already knew. Still there is something shocking about the diagnosis. And there are plenty of questions. Will the tumor grow? Will it spread? Will there be enough energy for chemotherapy and perhaps radiation treatments? What side effects will happen? Then there are the wider concerns. Should we sell the house and get a smaller place? What happens if the order of death of the marriage partners is different than anticipated? Until recently the primary caretaker was the one who now is a cancer patient. Is there energy to switch roles? Who will take care of whom? And all of those questions come before ones like, “Am I going to die?” or “What does it mean to die?”
As is often the case, the cancer patient expressed a deep spiritual faith and little fear about dying. The uncertainty of the days between now and death, however, seems a bit overwhelming.
And I have a headache.
Three families, three prayer shawls, three unique situations. A typical day in my line of work, I guess.
So I came back to the church in the late afternoon and was greeted by a basket of newly blessed prayer bears. We had the blessing of the bears on Sunday. Our children had taken all of the bears to the outside of the sanctuary. Then we had made a circle around the room and faced out and stretched out our arms as if we could reach beyond the walls of our building to convey the blessing of God that we had experienced to others in the name of Jesus. The bears are symbols of something much bigger.
I may have a headache, but I have my health and the health of my partner. I have a job and am fairly compensated for meaningful work. I have a reasonable expectation of a normal span of life.
And, when I open the door to the church this morning, there will be a basket of bears to greet me. Just knowing that makes me feel better already.