A Reminder
My mentor, Sister Angela, had said during our initial training time, "When you, the chaplain, walk into that room you are a reminder that God is present. He has called you to be His presence in this place." All we had to do was show up and let God take it from there.
I knew better than to question Sister Angela.
I loved being a chaplain in a hospital. I was privileged to sit with those who were actively dying, to hold their hands at the end. I listened a lot. I hugged a lot. I prayed with patients and families at their request. I gave blessings (this was one of my favorite things). My presence reminded people that God was present.
Or so Angela had said. Or so I believed. But belief isn't knowing. I guess that's where faith comes in.
Three weeks and one day ago, I underwent a knee replacement at the hospital where I had worked. It was determined by the powers that be that I should stay over for one night before going home. In my hospital room, I was in pain, pain much worse than I could have imagined. My left leg had somehow turned into a demonic, unrecognizable alien. I was kind of alternately hot and cold, and I'd thrown up the dinner I'd been given. Joe had gone home after his long day. I felt so alone and was wondering why I had ever signed on for this. I closed my eyes and tried to relax.
A small sound, some footsteps. I opened my eyes to see my pastor moving into the chair at the side of my bed. The loveliest surprise. We chatted for a few minutes, he made me laugh, and then took my hand and said a prayer. I tell you, I could almost see the Light.
A short, brief visit and he was on his way. But I rested more easily then. Angela had been right.
Comments
When I worked in surgery for several decades, I always held my patient's hand as he or she went to sleep with the IV medication that turns the lights off. In my position at the side of the OR table, I was also available to help the anesthesiologist if needed. One day, a neurosurgeon stopped me to ask if I'd held his patient's hand as he went to sleep. When I said, 'yes' he told me that had meant so very much to the patient as he had felt so very alone because he had no family in the world and my hand in his told him he was not alone. That was the only feedback I ever got, but it told me all I needed to know. It was a tiny ministry, but it helped.
I'm glad your surgery is visible in the rear view mirror of life and I wish you a full and uneventful recovery.
Hugs!
Ceci
Sometimes we only fully appreciate what our offerings may have meant to others when those same offerings are given in our behalf in our dark times.