It's All About the Number, And I'm Okay With That

   

 I don’t like to focus on numbers, but this time of year it’s inevitable. This may surprise you, but even hospices obsess over numbers. Is the census growing? Can we remain a viable hospice? Most of the time, I do a pretty good job keeping first things first. After all, this number isn’t a dollar amount or quantity sold—It’s a human life. Every time our number goes up, another family is facing a heartbreaking new reality. Still, I have a year-end goal to achieve.

     As I lay in bed this morning, pondering my number—the corporate-set mark, discouragement seeps in and I become disgusted with myself. I don’t want to be this ambitious person fixated on a target. The old saying comes to mind. “You can’t see the forest for the trees.” I understand the proverbial quote is encouraging us not to lose sight of the whole by fixating on the details. But maybe, at least in this situation, it’s backward.  I should focus on the individual, not overall number. I can’t see the trees for the forest! But the tree is what’s important!  Especially when this tree has a name. It’s a person—a person with a story. 

     I smile as my church’s philosophy comes to mind. NewSpring often faces criticism for being a mega church focused on numbers. Addressing the accusation, Pastor P unashamedly says, “Yes, we focus on growth and numbers, because every number has a name. Every name has a story, and every story matters to God.” Oh, how I love these words!

     I close my eyes as I release the pressure and let the words apply to hospice and my goal. I realize it’s not about being successful through achieving a magic number. It’s about being part of someone’s story. 

     So today, I’m okay with being all about the numbers. Because every number has a name. Every name has a story, and every story matters to God. What a privilege for our hospice team to walk alongside people as they write their final chapter. 

     As the year comes to a close, what are you focused on? I pray you find a way to let go of the stress and find rest. The Author of our life story longs to fill us with peace. I pray you experience His love during Christmas--the season where the number One is all that matters. One babe in a manger, One Savior of the world. One who came to earth so our story can be neverending, because just when the world types "The End", He whispers, "This is only the beginning."

A Shattered Spirit is Loved

When I hear of someone ending his own life, my heart breaks. Whether it's a person of worldwide fame whose beloved by millions, or a nobody college kid, the question is the same. Why?

From mansion to dorm room, suicide doesn't discriminate. The act of a coward? Those words make my blood boil. No it's not the act of a coward, it's the final act of a desperate soul. A shattered spirit.

A shattered spirit seeking escape. To disappear. Cease existing. Stop the pain. Silence the fear. So much fear. Fear of never being understood. Of being lonely. Isolated though surrounded by many. Fear of failure. Feeling as though you never measure up, even in the presence of fame and accolades. Fear of never being truly, deeply loved.

Fear that boils so hot, there's no other answer. Alone. Engulfed in darkness. Fear lies. Fear consumes. Fear destroys life.

But what if? What if fear is covered by Peace?

A peace that flows right down to the core of your being, warming your innermost spirit. Quieting your restless mind. What if desperation is blanketed in Love? An agape, no-strings-attached, eternal love. A love that offers security, a place of complete acceptance. And what if once you're consumed by this Love, you feel hope? Hope that life can have meaning. Purpose. A divine destiny. A destiny in which you are loved by your Creator.

If you are struggling today, even if your spirit is shattered, I pray that you will reach out to God. He is there with you. I pray that you will feel his loving presence consume you. But please know, even if you don't hear his voice, if you don't feel his presence, He is still there. He is accepting you. He is hovering over you. He is cradling you in his arms. He is loving you. He is mending your broken spirit. He is loving you. No matter what. Always and Forever-

He is loving you.

                                     

Unshakable Faith

Squeezing my hand, the frail voice whispered, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”  The nurse rolled him further on his side, he groaned, “For you are with me."  His grip tightened around my hand as he gasped, "Your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

I glanced over at the nurse who was packing his wound with gauze. Tears were streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, almost done.” She looked at me, her eyes filled with despair.

It was the worst decubitus ulcer I had ever seen- a gaping, five inches wide, to the bone, bed sore.  Nursing home neglect had taken its toll and now Tom had been moved to our hospice house to die.

As the nurse kept working, Tom’s jaw tightened, his voice strained. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." His voice weakened to a labored whispered, “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

I don’t know if the morphine finally took effect or if he passed out from the pain, but he fell unconscious. I loosened his hand from mine and looked at the frazzled nurse.  I asked, “Have you ever seen such faith?”

She wiped her wet cheeks. “No, it seems impossible. How does he do it?”  

I didn't have the answer then, and I still don’t. His family had abandoned him in a nursing home. He must have felt unwanted. Unloved. Tom never regained consciousness and died a few days later. In spite of his physical pain, emotional suffering and unanswered questions, the last words on his breath,"I shall dwell in the house of my Lord forever."

I wish I knew his life story, how his unshakable faith was forged. How he still felt the love of his Father in spite of pain. Thankfully, I look forward to asking him one day when I see him whole and in perfect health.

As I reflect on the end of his journey, I’m reminded of others who chose praise in their darkest hour. Jonah, Daniel, David, Paul... the list goes on. In fact, I think it's harder to find a Bible hero who didn't praise through his hardship than ones who did. How reassuring to know Tom is now in a circle of these great men of faith.

Makes me think twice next time I grumble about insignificant nuisances and temporal inconveniences. I pray for an unshakable faith so that in spite of circumstances, even during tragedies and crises, I will be able to praise in spite of pain.

Three Words

Three words. Three words to describe myself. Well, what day of the week is it? Am I at my best or worst? Am I refreshed with creative optimism or petering out after a high pressured week?  Am I polished and ready to take center stage or wallowing under the covers, feeding my insecurities while unsuccessfully comparing myself to others?

If you haven’t guessed, I’m struggling with this whole time-to-promote-your-book thing. One of the author spotlights asked me to describe myself in three words. Three words! I admit, I can be overly analytical, (oh, that should probably be one of my words) but this is a daunting task. Should I be transparent and admit that at my worst, I am impatient, cynical and smart-alecky? No, that won’t work. I’m supposed to be likeable. Transparency has its limits.

How about my best day self? I can honestly answer with empathetic, capable and creative. No, now I sound like I think I’m all that. When clearly, I'm not. Humble? No, people who claim to be humble, usually aren’t. Perhaps I should go with my ideal self, the woman I aspire to be. Genuine, compassionate, accomplished. No, that's my dream self. If anything, I need to be honest. Integrity? Should that make my list of three?

What about you? What three words would you choose to describe yourself? If you rattled them off in less than five seconds, I’m jealous. Maybe I should add envious to my list.

Okay, it only makes sense to go with an average day. I am warm, caring and sarcastic - not biting sarcasm, the fun, bantering- I like you so I’m going to say the opposite of what I mean- kind. Oops, I broke the rule, I can’t elaborate on my words. Conundrum.

Time to wrap this up. Three words! Just three words! Pressure is building. . .THREE WORDS. . . The Jeopardy tune is playing as I peck out words on my keyboard only to watch them disappear as I hit delete.

Sigh. Pause. Throw my head back. Eureka!

Grateful! Yes, grateful. That should be number one, top of my list. I am grateful that I don’t have to fret over being defined by three words or a whole long list of words for that matter.  Why? Because I just realized my three words: Forgiven, Free, Redeemed. Oh, I have three more. Covered by Grace.  Oodles of Grace to be exact.

Broken

     Without warning, the unexpected came. Grief wounds once healed were ripped open. The pain seeped into every crevice. Well-meaning friends offered words meant to comfort and encourage, but they fell on her ears as trite and judgmental.     

     In her pain, she grabbed a beautiful vase and slung it against the wall, shattering it. She screamed as she picked up a blue glass and dropped it on the floor. She continued to weep as she chose a yellow glass bowl and bashed it against the other wall. The confusion, the anger, the hurt lay among the broken pieces of glass. She fell to the ground and released hot angry tears. Her body heaved as suffocating loss imploded.
     Finally emptied of all feeling, she collapsed in silence. The sun set. Darkness came. She remained still. Numb. Spent. Exhausted. 

   Just when she thought the blackness would have her, the sun rose. Love breathed warmth on her cheek. Gentleness caressed her shoulder. She knew the touch. It was her Creator’s. The all-knowing, forever-loving One. She sighed as He tenderly stroked her hair. Resting her head against his chest, she gazed at the broken glass that was wet with her tears.

     Her Father hugged her and then gently moved her away. She watched in awe as He began sifting through the shards of glass, discarding some while rescuing others. He worked meticulously, ever so patient. He glanced over at her, and without a word, he nodded reassurance.

      Transfixed by Compassion, her pain-etched forehead softened. Her lips slowly formed a hint of a smile. The Comforter continued to work, arranging her brokenness. Piece by broken piece. When He was done, he winked at her and miraculously all the pieces fused to create a beautiful kaleidoscope. He raised the stained-glass to the window and commanded the sun to shine through it. The beams poured through the masterpiece. Her Father invited her to dance- a dance of new beginnings. 
     

     Whatever you’re facing today, please know a loving God sees you. He hears your cries. He is here to hold you as He creates something beautiful from your grief and brokenness. 

“He hath made everything beautiful in his time.”  Ecc. 3:11

     

I Feel So Used!

           I’m embarrassed to say that at times I can be a bit of a whiner. One day, in my not too distant past, I was wallowing in self-pity.  “I feel so used! God, why do you keep putting me in situations where people are using me?” It was a pretty pathetic display, but thankfully, I was the only one invited to the pity party. As I sat at my kitchen table, tissue in hand to sop up the free flowing tears, I remembered a sermon my pastor preached a few years back and I had to laugh at my stupidity.

It was during a winter season of my life. You know the times when God is silent. Well, there I sat, arms crossed, feeling dejected, not expecting to hear from God. My ear perked up when I heard the pastor describe me in perfect detail. “Many of you, from an early age, have prayed ‘God use me, no matter the cost, I simply want to be used by you.’ You cried, your mascara ran, and you meant it, and God heard you. Now you same people sit here, years later. You’re whining, ‘I feel so used. . . Why is everyone always using me?’ People aren’t using you!  God has simply answered your prayer. You are being used!”       Ouch, the truth hurts. My pastor went on to question me, “Do you now have a right to say, ‘This is too painful. You know I really don’t want to be used after all. What I meant to say was, please use me only if it’s fun, or if it’s rewarding or if it offers some recognition.’  No, you prayed the prayer and God has answered.”        I went home with a different perspective.       Now obviously I don’t believe in being a door-mat. I’m a big advocate of personal boundaries, self-care and all that other stuff we social workers teach. But unlike a lot of my counseling peers, I don’t think I should put me first. In fact, I’m pretty sure Jesus teaches us to put ourselves last. Dead last.  A big fat zero.      I’m learning to extend my prayer a little. It’s no longer a simple “God use me.” Instead, I pray, “God use me to show others YOUR grace and compassion. Give me a pure heart that desires, above all else, to be a servant as you were. Crush all selfishness. Use me . . .  use me up until there is nothing left but your love shining through me.”     So the next time I say, "I feel so used," it won't be a complaint but an answer to prayer.