http://allnurses.com/hospice-nursing/accusing-hospice-980160.html
A Question of Faith
A Question of Faith
The journey of faith is no easy path; the journey of no faith is harder still.
As I read the Old Testament, I am besieged by stories of fire coming from heaven, of plagues brought on by the people’s whining for meat and of the crushing weight of the people’s perceived expectations of God. Who is this God that I see there?
The people blamed a fire in the camp on him; they blamed a contagion that spread on him; they saw God as a finger-pointing, lighting-flashing disciplinarian, always ready to wipe the slate clean of them and their kind, never satisfied, always looking to find in them some deficiency.
I cringe to read about this God. He is unfamiliar to me. He is not the loving Father that occupies the whole of my heart. As my God, personified in Jesus, takes my hand and guides me gently, I cannot recognize this other God told about through Moses. Where is He? “I AM” seems foreign, unknown.
But do I deceive myself? Do I concentrate only on the aspects of God that don’t offend me? Do I emasculate a God who is beyond comprehension and size him down to something that fits my mindset?
We self-righteously look at the Israelites with pity as they struggle to understand this Holy God. They see him through the limited understanding of a people who have lived under rule for several generations, brought up by rigid task masters to follow rules, to obey, or to face harsh consequences in disobedience. A God of love and compassion is as foreign to them as this harsh slave-driver version is to me.
So how do we pull the scriptures together, when the Old and New are so far apart? Enter, the presence of the Holy Spirit, a whisper that speaks loudly across the span of centuries of revelation. A Presence that makes all things new, that does more than we can ask or imagine.
I stand empty at the crossroads of Old and New. I ask the Holy One to fill me up with his truth. I focus on the parts that I understand with a glimmer of hope: God came down, he died for me because His great desire is to always draw us to himself, not in a master/slave relationship but in a Father/child love bond.
And so I journey on. The faith I continue to explore is hard to find, but a mustard seed in size, growing imperceptibly larger day by day. I look beside me to the scoffers, to those who chose unbelief and who say, “You cannot reconcile these two gods. The Old and the New. Renounce your faith and die. (Job 2:9)” To them I say, my way is hard, but your way is harder. For every day, to maintain an absence of faith, you must wake up to a world without Hope and anesthetize the part of you that longs for the Truth. Your work, in quenching the Spirit, is harder than mine in feeding it. So I pray, for my faith to grow and for yours to find a way to take root. I pray with love for the believer and the unbeliever, because I know that the journey is hard.
“Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful. Kindle in us the fire of your love.”
Walking in the Snow
Walking in the Snow
Fat flakes floating
Giant biscuits of beauty
Feeding my spirit
As they land
gently.
Self-immolating
on my outstretched tongue.
An offering
of refreshment,
renewal.
Powerless individual flakes
Mount together
And become
An equalizing force,
Leveling high and low,
Softening sharp edges
Muting clanging symbols,
Making all things new.
Sins and blessings
Covered
Under a blanket of
Purity and
Whiteness
That reaches to the sky.
2/20/15
The Hug Heard Around the World
A new article in AllNurses.com…
Live Oak
Live Oak
Sultry sway in the summer breeze
Just fine.
Swags of moss,
Hanging tendrils adorn.
Beauty shines as
Sun caresses
Leaves a-shimmer
With a lick of morning dew.
She stands
Erect
Guardian of the river
She waves at passersby
And holds out hands—
Safe harbor
for bird ornaments
Perched to watch
from her view
Ages of water
Gone by.
Benevolent gaze
In still summer
Turns angry as agitated winds
Pull her locks
Straining to dislodge
Earth
That live oak grips in
rooted fists
Protective
of the
Bank
That she clasps to her bosom.
Storm moves on
Giving her one last shake
On her backside.
Freshly cleaned limbs
Dance in the residual breeze
Chuckling
An inside joke with the river
Ages of water
Going by.
6/20/14
Joy Eastridge
The Final Word
Here is a link to an article that I published on all nurses.com.
http://allnurses.com/hospice-nursing/end-of-life-969849.html
Words matter all the time. It’s just that at the end of life, there are so few of them left, that we must count carefully to make sure there is no waste. That awareness keeps us from using them foolishly. As we leave the bedside of the dying, may we carry with us the desire to use our words carefully, every day, not just on the final ones.
“If anyone is never at fault in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to keep his whole body in check.” James 3:2
I reach down to touch Anne’s* hand, my own fingers still chilled by the outside morning air. Her eyelids flutter, letting me know she was aware of my presence. I speak gently, trying to not disturb the threads of silence that hang heavily in the room.
“How are you doing?”
She does not voice a response, but the furrowed brow tells me that she is thinking of how to answer my question.
As a hospice nurse, I come on the stage of life when others have played their parts and now stand silently in the wings, witnesses to life and death. The chemo team is gone, the transfusions are mostly over; the doctors with their serious pronouncements have faded into the background. Standing beside the bed are the one best friend, two of the six children, and a few others that come and go to leave their gifts of steaming soup or fragrant flowers, attempts to brighten the long journey home.
Anne’s eyes open and she looks at me, focusing through the curtain of pain and the blessed numbness of opiates.
“I’m ok,” slides out in a whisper.
I stand by, struggling to find the best words, the question that might help her along the way, the voice that will not hurt, but instead help. At times like these, everything matters and the burden of that knowledge, keeps my mouth still, waiting for the Holy One to fill it with direction.
The others leave the room. I hold her fingers in mine, while palpating her pulse, assessing her color, monitoring her respirations, checking her skin for signs of breaks. As I wait, the question spills out, “What is the one thing that bothers you the most about all this?”
A single tear, creeps down her tissue dry cheek and she answers, “I’m afraid of leaving the children. I’m afraid that they will grow apart after I am gone. I won’t be here for them to come home to.” She speaks with some effort, but as the words well up, expressed from her spirit, they also relieve some of the pain, pent up in her aching heart.
I have no response. None is needed. Saying the words and shedding the tear, seem to ease the crack in her heart. Her respirations even out, her eyes close, apparently more focused on the beyond.
Words matter all the time. It’s just that at the end of life, there are so few of them left, that we must count carefully to make sure there is no waste. That awareness keeps us from using them foolishly. As we leave the bedside of the dying, may we carry with us the desire to use our words carefully, every day, not just on the final ones.
Dear God, Grant me your words today. Let me be silent or let me speak only at your prompting. Give me a renewed awareness that words matter. Amen.
*Name changed to protect privacy.
Prayer is Hard
Discouragement in Prayer
As I prayed with my friend, I thought to myself, “I am praying into a black hole.” The words bounced back, as if encased in a box, tightly sealed with duck tape, each corner carefully tucked so that the air itself could not escape. Struggling to feel a connection with the Spirit of Jesus, my words kept coming, faith pushing them out, squeezing them from the tube of words coiled up inside me. The words lay there, freshly spoken, apparently as yet unheard, waiting for Jesus . Even as the doubts bullied me, I continued on the path of letting the words spill forward, a path well worn and familiar. The sweet, gentle touch of Jesus came then, and he told me, “Don’t worry, I’ll take it from here.”
He walked beside me in my prayer, picking up the pieces, words torn like so much confetti and tucked them gently into the folds of his robe, treasured, held close, each one answered carefully in his time.
Amen. So be it.
Hunting
Hunting
“Whatcha hunting for?” my kindly husband asked as I stuck my head further into the darkened recesses of a lower cabinet. “Oh, I’m hunting for the lid to this tupperware,” I replied, delving even further into rarely probed corners.
I don’t know about other places where they speak the English language but around these parts we “hunt for stuff.” In fact, here at my house we spend lots of time hunting and not just for tupperware lids. We also seek out keys, wallets, lonely socks, misplaced credit cards and all-important passwords. Sometimes our hunts are active and involve going up and down stairs, looking under beds and shuffling through jackets. But other times the hunts are all performed from the relative ease of a chair, thinking, thinking. “Where, or where did I last see that _______?”
Fortunately, our hunts are usually rewarded with eventual success and we rejoice with a loud, “Aha! There it is!” Finding the lost item often brings a sense of triumph and relief as we hold up and proudly display the treasure.
Studying God’s Word can be a hunt, too. Just as we are not likely to find a sought for item with a cursory look, so it is with a serious student of the Bible. Finding deeper truths and meanings takes concerted effort.
First, we must open our eyes to look for new truths. It is easy for the busyness of our days to pull a veil of dullness over our spirits. If we desire to receive new revelations, our initial commitment in the search is to open the eyes of the heart.
Secondly, we must prepare ourselves to take action on the truth that is revealed to us. Just as a hunter assiduously pursues his prey, he must also prepare to capture it once it is found. But how do we “capture” new truths? In the spiritual realm, it may mean not just hearing it, but putting it into practice. James 1:22 says, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.”
Teachers know that when students hear the lecture, that is only the first step in actually assimilating the lesson. Learning goes a step further when the pupil is able to interact with the material in some way on their own—re-writing, re-phrasing, re-telling the concept. With scripture, we find the same process works: we hear the lesson but unless we write it down or meditate on it or find a way to carry it from words to deeds, then we don’t truly accept and believe it.
In Matthew 7:7,8 we read, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.” As we seek out wisdom and discernment and greater knowledge of God’s Word, we have a promise that we will be rewarded. So let us ask God for more knowledge, seek out the truth, and go through the door when it opens—all in order to be able to take what we find and share it with others.
Now, where did I put those keys?? 1/15
One Person, Big Difference
One Person, Big Difference
There are only a handful of people who have received the Nobel Peace Prize, the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the Congressional Gold Medal: Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, Elie Wiesel…Norman Borlaug. Norman, who? Most of us haven’t heard of Dr. Borlaug, a scientist who is credited with the Green Revolution, a series of plant developments that radically changed farming and grain production all around the world. Borlaug’s dogged pursuit of advances in seeds and planting, led to a planet that knows much less hunger and privation. Dr. Borlaug was a humble man who eschewed publicity; nevertheless, he was acknowledged for his world-altering contributions many times before his death in 2009. Some say that Borlaug saved “a billion lives.”
I especially like to read stories about individuals, like Borlaug, who make a significant difference in the world. It is a source of encouragement when we daily face evil, poverty, and violence. In our discouragement, we find ourselves wanting to throw our hands up in despair. Instead, as I look around to my own family, my friends, my church, and my community, I see that there are many individuals working tirelessly to make the world a better place, unrecognized by the Nobel Peace Prize Committee, but just as deserving, quietly moving mountains one rock at a time.
While we may never be recognized by the world at large, let us persevere in doing what God has called us to as we hear him tell us, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9). We know we are not able to change the world, to address the overwhelming problems that face us from the world inside our own heads to the world as seen from space, but let us continue to be faithful to do our small part every day to save the environment, to make peace in our families, to be good stewards, to reach out to those in need. God, in turn, is ever faithful to take what we give and multiply it hundredfold.
Making a Call
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Rom. 12:21
April 16, 2007 was the day of the tragic shooting at Virginia Tech, a day that lives on in infamy and is forever emblazoned in the minds of those of us who were personally affected. Our oldest son was a freshman student there at that time and when the news came, we were among the thousands of parents who waited anxiously for word that he was okay.
Our anxiety was short lived as he was quickly able to get word out that he was ok and had been in his dorm at the time, but that was not the case for the parents of the thirty two students who lost their lives in that senseless act of violence.
During the days following, our phone continued to ring with family, friends and acquaintances from near and far calling to check in to see if our son was ok. As each call came in, I wrote the name of the caller on our kitchen white board. Slowly, it began to fill up with names until there was no space left to fit even one more caller—and the calls still came. We answered all the calls that we could and were so grateful for the outpouring of love and compassion. Most people didn’t know what to say or how to ask if everything was ok, so they would say things like, “We are praying for you.” We felt enveloped in love and sustained by those prayers.
Our experience made me even more determined to call when tragedy strikes—even if I don’t know what to say. The simple act of calling or sending a note or messaging someone in their time of difficulty, can be the difference between crumpling under the pressure and finding the strength to carry on.
In a world that seems to be suffocating in evil, let us fearlessly continue to be Christ to one another by simply making the contact that spreads a blanket of love and compassion over tragedy.
Dear God, Help me to have the courage to make the call when I need to. Amen.
joyeastridge 