Knowledge isn’t Supposed to be Lost

I’ve written this column for the Daily Times since 2001, so it’s about time I shed some light on its conception and evolution, and to give credit where credit is due. I earned my Bachelor of Arts degree with a major in Social Work from Ohio University in 1976 and my Master’s in Social Work from the University of Kentucky in 1990. I’ve practiced medical social work since 1976 and I’ve been a hospice social worker since May of 1993.

During my career I’ve been privileged to be invited into the homes, lives and hearts of hundreds of hospice patients and families. As a result I’ve come to understand and agree with wise King Solomon’s conclusion: “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men; and the living will take it to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for by a sad countenance the heart is made better.” (Ecclesiastes 7:2-3)

There’s nothing like receiving a terminal diagnosis to cause a person to cut to the chase, to drop their defenses and pretenses, and get real with themselves, with others and with their maker. It compels a person to ponder what’s really important and what they really believe. In his song, “Live Like You Were Dying”, Tim McGraw describes it this way: “I was in my early forties with a lot of time before me, and a moment came that stopped me on a dime…I loved deeper, I talked sweeter, I gave forgiveness I’d been denying…Some day I hope you get the chance to live like you are dying.”

You see, by living in the light of eternity the heart can be “made better”. The terminally ill frequently gain valuable, life changing insights and knowledge that can be passed on, if, “the living will take it to heart”. Therefore, let me introduce you to a former hospice patient, friend and fellow pilgrim.

Loyal was admitted to hospice with lung cancer about fourteen years ago. He was in his late 70’s, thin with silver gray hair combed straight back. His typical dress was khaki pants, a dress shirt and suspenders. He sat with perfect posture, reflective of a man of discipline. Loyal reflected, “I’ve found that life isn’t very interesting without a challenge” Loyal had owned his own trucking company, and in his prime, he’d been a professional boxer in St. Louis, Missouri. Loyal proudly claimed, “I fought back when you fought every Saturday night for $10 a fight.” Loyal added, “I’ve been knocked down but I’ve never been knocked out.”

Pride gave way to despair as Loyal admitted that his misplaced pursuit of adventure had cost him his first wife, children and family. He continued, “I wasn’t saved until I was seventy. All my life I looked for challenge in all the wrong places. But I’ve found that there’s nothing like trying to understand the heart, mind and will of God. I get a kick out of it! I only wish I’d known sooner. I’ve learned so much since then but now there’s no one who wants to listen. And I don’t blame them. But knowledge isn’t supposed to be lost; it’s supposed to be passed on.” It was a moment of truth, a moment of decision for me, and I told Loyal, “I’m here and I’ll listen. And I promise to pass on whatever I learn.”

Since that day I’ve tried to pass on what I’ve learned, not only from Loyal, but from other hospice patients and families as well. And it’s not something I make happen; it’s something that happens to me. I don’t find the stories they find me. And when they do, I know that it’s too important, too good, not to pass it on. My heart and conscience tell me that to fail to do so would be a type of spiritual abortion. Because, “knowledge isn’t supposed to be lost; it’s supposed to be passed on.”

I thank the hospice patients and families who have courageously and generously shared their hearts and wisdom with me. I thank The Portsmouth Daily Times for publishing the stories for the past seven years. But most of all I thank God who is the one who is working in all of us to will and to do of his good pleasure (Philippians 2:13). He is the one who gives us the desires (passions/interests/affections) of our hearts (Psalms 37:4).

I encourage you to tune in next week for part two of this two part series titled, “The One Who Opens Doors”.

Our Year of First

I received this unexpected e-mail from Dru this week. Julie, Dru and Gene’s daughter, was my fellow social worker at SOMC. Many of you may remember the seven part series Julie wrote about her battle with cancer. You may also remember the five part series that Dru and Gene shared last October-November about surviving the death of a child. I’ll let Dru take it from here:

“Hi Loren, I have been thinking about this for some time. We have a friend who recently lost their son and I think about the family often during this holiday season. I wrote this…I hope that it will be of use to anyone who has lost a child either this year or in the recent past…

I don’t know how to really start this, so I guess I will just jump in with both feet. It is a time of the year when most of us pause to remember Christmas past. I do the same, but something I also do is to think about those parents who have lost a child and will be spending the first Holiday Season without them. Really, I think about them living through what I call their year of first; all those special anniversaries we all celebrate as a family. Our year of first hit fast. Our daughter Julie died in February (2006). April was her birthday followed by Mother’s Day in May and Father’s Day in June. And then days just morphed one into the other, until the Thanksgiving and Christmas Holidays. Each special day held its own type of pain.

We did manage to put up a Christmas tree and decorate for the holiday season. I think it was made easier because Julie loved the holidays. She wasn’t a fan of the shopping but she did love to decorate the house and wrap the gifts. So I felt like I was decorating for her. Like anyone who has lost a loved one in Hospice care we attended the Hospice ceremony that presented family members with an ornament in memory of their loved one. I didn’t want to attend. I just wanted to stay home and lick my wounds; but we all got dressed and attended the ceremony. When Julie’s name was called I asked her sister to go forward to receive the ornament; because my legs just wouldn’t carry me up to the front. Chris brought the ornament back to our seat and opened the box. It was an ornament that I would normally have loved; just my style. A little hand carved wooden angel with blond hair wearing a blue gown. I hated that angel. All it did was remind me of Julie’s death. I didn’t need another reminder of what we had lost. I lived with her loss daily.

The day we were decorating the tree my husband handed me the Hospice ornament. I didn’t want to put it on the tree; but I didn’t want to upset my husband by refusing to hang it. However, I did take that darn thing and tried to wrestle it as far back in the tree as I could; anywhere, so that it would be out of my site. I must have worked five minutes burying the ornament in the depths of the tree. I thought I had accomplished my task until I stretched out on the sofa later that night. I was feeling rather blue and glanced up at the tree. There it was. That angel was perfectly lit by one of the lights on the tree looking down on me plain as it could be! I stared at it for a minute, first wondering how in the world I could still see it when I had worked so hard to conceal it. After a minute or so I really looked at the angel. I looked at the shoulder length blond hair and the facial features and realized how much it reminded me of Julie. Her blond hair and that ever present smile of hers. That ornament that I hated and tried to bury out of site suddenly gave me a sense of warmth and comfort. I have placed the ornament on the tree ever since. Try as I may, I have never been able to hang it the way I did the first year of her death. I can never get the tree lights to shine on it the same as it did that first night.

All I want to say to those parents who have lost a child this year is this. Celebrate your year of first the way that is comforting to you. As someone who has lost a child, I can tell you that the pain of the first year will get better. The wounds of our loss will never completely heal but they will get better. My Christmas wish for you is that you will be able to do as I do now when I look at our Christmas Angel. When I look at the Hospice Angel now instead of thinking of all that I lost—I am reminded of all that I was given.”

It’s All Different Now!

Jerry was 55 years old when admitted to Hospice for lung cancer. He worked in heating and air conditioning most of his life. He stated, “I was a picture of health until now. A month ago I was driving.” But now Jerry is as weak as a kitten. He’s oxygen dependent, and homebound. But Jerry seems to have come to grips with his condition. He was offered chemotherapy and radiation but declined, “They told me it would only give me a couple more months. So why be sicker?” He also decided to be a “no code”. He wants no resuscitation of any kind. He stated, “I’m ready either way.” Jerry’s final goals are to share his testimony at church, to be baptized and to make sure his wife will be alright financially, after his death.

Jerry appeared sensitive, emotional as well as very social. His eyes filled with tears several times during my first visit. That’s why I was surprised by his wife’s statement, “He’s not the man he was only a few months ago. He wouldn’t have given you the time of day. He didn’t like visitors and didn’t talk with anybody. He was a loner.” Jerry shook his head in confirmation and then shared the reason for his remarkable transformation, his reformation.

Jerry began, “I was sitting in the chair one day and something just came to me and asked, ‘Well Jerry, do you want to go to Heaven or to hell? Jerry, what are you going to do?’ I struggled with it for over a month. You know, it’s not as easy as just kneeling down and asking to be saved. My wife would be asleep on the couch and I would sneak out to the back bedroom to pray so she wouldn’t see me. But I could tell that it wasn’t working. Then a neighbor, who is a preacher, stopped to visit. He didn’t know if I was going to kick him out of the house or talk with him. Then I called my brother-in-law who is a preacher and he came over and prayed with me. I could feel something in my heart. He knew it too. When it gets a hold of me I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I can’t keep from crying now. I used to leave when the family came to visit, to be by myself. But it’s all different now! Before, I wouldn’t have given you 5 minutes of my time, but now I’m happy when anybody visits. I’ll serve Him regardless; if He keeps me here or takes me home. I’m ready either way. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Jerry’s situation didn’t change, he did. God doesn’t promise to change our circumstances, but to give us His spirit, His grace, which is sufficient. (2 Corinthians 12:7-10) Jerry’s life is a testimony to God’s promise and faithfulness “Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things have past away; behold all things have become new.” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Or in Jerry’s words, “It’s all different now.”

And Jerry’s right, “It’s not as easy as just kneeling down and asking to be saved.” I wish it were as easy as just telling someone, “Repeat after me”. But it isn’t because there must be an accompanying hunger and thirst, a sincere recognition and admission of our sinfulness, our need and our inadequacy. Sometimes we have to struggle with it for a while until our hearts assume the right position. When our minds are persuaded before our hearts are won, the result is mere mental ascent, not a true spiritual and attitudinal change. True spirituality isn’t psychological, intellectual or even behavioral; it’s attitudinal and positional. We must go to God spiritually on our knees, in brokenness, surrender and submission. We have to really mean it; “You will search for me and find me when you search for me with a whole heart.” We must cry out to God as King David did in Psalms 61:2; “…when my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.”

Is your heart overwhelmed right now? If so, I encourage you to look for the Rock that is higher than you. I encourage you to seek Him with your whole heart, for when you find Him, everything will become different on the inside.

It’s How You Make Them Feel That Counts

This is the last of a five part series on my friends, Tom and Faye (read part 1, 2, 3, 4). If you haven’t been following, let me update you. Tom is enrolled in our hospice program with advanced Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS). He is a retired minister and he and his wife, Faye, were partners in ministry in Wisconsin. After retiring to Scioto County, they dreamed about converting their home into a bed and breakfast, but illness has a way of foiling our best laid plans. Tom is literally imprisoned in his body now. His mind is sharp but he can barely move a finger. Tom admitted, “I have so much to say but so little time to say it.” His time has been shorter than even he expected. Verbal communication is extremely difficult now, nearing impossible.

I consider Tom one of my mentors. He’s taught me about humility; that, “In order to be humble we have to see who God is and who we are.” He’s taught me about patience, that it’s not something we have, but something we allow. Its perseverance under trials; believing in and caring enough about something to wait for it; “even an eternity for some things”. He’s taught me about integrity; the courage to lean into the wind; about being a song bird, not a parrot on its perch, dutifully repeating what it’s been told. I’m persuaded that when Tom sees God face-to-face, God will say to him, “Well done good and faithful servant”; not because he’s perfect but because his heart continues leaning towards God.

Faye made a statement last week that grabbed and shook me. I instantly knew I had to pass it on. My visit with Tom and Faye was my last stop for the day. My day started out on a sad and disturbing note. I’d spent some time with a married couple in crisis. On the outside the house appeared perfect. The yard was well trimmed, the house beautifully landscaped, the interior exquisitely decorated; a place for everything and everything in its place; a reflection of responsibility and discipline. But a cold mist had settled on their marriage. Warmth, intimacy, and affection were nowhere to be found. The wife confessed that she had never felt truly accepted and understood by her husband. She felt dominated and controlled. They’d lived their entire marriage together all alone. Instead of understanding, her husband fiercely defended himself, “But haven’t I done _________ for you?”

As I pulled up to Tom and Faye’s home I thought about how their marriage compared with the couple’s at the beginning of my day. Tom and Faye’s home was in need of repair and Faye had declared on numerous occasions, “Our house was never like this. One of these days I’m going to get this house organized.” But she puts first things first, Tom being the first. I reflected on the times Faye stood by Tom’s bed, holding his hand, talking about what a wonderful life they’ve had together, an adventure, a partnership.

Being careful to protect the first couple’s anonymity, I shared the tragic state of their marriage. I shared how the husband fiercely defended himself by telling his wife all the things he had done for her. Then Faye confidently commented, “That’s where he went wrong. It’s not what you do for somebody that counts, but how you make them feel.”

I asked Faye how Tom made her feel and she replied, “Like there was no one else in the world he would rather be with. Even if he was going to the hardware store he would ask me to go with him. I would drop whatever I was doing and go…We didn’t always like the same thing. He loved sports, but I didn’t. But I didn’t say, ‘Why are you watching another ballgame?’ I would sit in the room with him, doing something else, while he watched the ballgame."

Now I understand what Jesus was getting at when he said: “Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name? And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me…” (Matthew 7:22) It’s possible to live with someone, to do a thousand things for them, in their “name”, but never really know them. Does this unsettle you as much as it does me? I’m afraid I have some rethinking to do.