Sunday worship, western rim of the known world

Two conversations an hour apart. One at a jail, the other at a nursing home. One with a man, the other with a woman. One is dying. One is locked up. Both were in tears.

"I miss my kids. I finally understand how much I hurt them"

"I miss my wife, I wish I could see her one more time to tell her that I love her".

Small things

I volunteer at times with hospice patients. At the end of life, and at the beginning, it is the small things that we often take for granted that can mean so much. Being warm. Being able to sleep throughout the night without discomfort. Having a loved one nearby.

Today I was with a man who wanted just one thing, relief from an itch. He got it.

Those tiny things we don't think about. When was the last time you gave thanks for being able to quench your thirst without assistance? Or walk to the mailbox under your own power? There is so much we don't think about. St. Paul said in 1 Thessalonians to give thanks in all things. For all things and in all things. I don't do it like I should, but my friend today gave me a wonderful reminder.

Deep Winter

I love winter. We say that a lot in Minnesota. Perhaps we do. Perhaps not.

We are reaching the point of the really hard days of the season we love. Highs around zero. Lows somewhere down on the minus scale. It is mid-February and the sun is much higher in the sky than at Christmas, though that fact has not yet made a difference in our temperatures. That will come.

This is the waiting time.

This period of winter is like many times of our lives. Waiting for something. For first grade. For a new bike. For a drivers license. For marriage. For a new job. Waiting for a sign. Some signal that what you wish for will come to be.

I am a hospice volunteer and just spent 15 months visiting a patient with a terminal illness, who became a friend. Waiting to die. I stopped by twice a week to chat, about his family, sports, occasionally his faith. He had the type of illness that shows no real symptoms to others until the very end. As predicted, that was how it played out. On Monday he was happy and alert. On Thursday he was much weaker and knew his last few days were upon him. On Saturday his body was dead.

I have tried to put myself in his place and imagine this period of waiting. For some it is a period of fear and dread. For my friend it was a time to enjoy with family and friends, to ponder his life in its triumphs and regrets, to read, to sleep, to meet a new nurse, to welcome a priest bearing the blessed eucharist. One day folded into the next, one season to the next. Now he is where there are no seasons, and no waiting, only joy and love in its purest of pure forms.

I look around my house for a sign of spring. The snow is piling up. The ice on the lake is thicker than last week. No birds in the air or squirrels in the trees. But the sun is higher in the sky today than yesterday. For a while that will suffice.