When moving to a new house it takes me longer to unpack than many folks as I find boxes of treasures that I need/want to sort through to see what still speaks to my heart and is a “keeper.” That is why it took so long to settle into my house in Sherman back in 2019 & is slowing the process here now.
I’ve been going through office file folders, which I hadn’t done before, and can proudly say I’ve recycled more paper than I’ve kept. When I’m finished with this blog post, I’ll recycle the hard copy of the following, which was originally written in roughly 1995 when I was working in a hospital in Omaha, NE, after doing my four units of Pastoral Care Education at that same facility.
Enjoy….
Early in my first unit of clinical pastoral education, my supervisor expressed great concern over my penchant for doing ‘nice’ things for patients, such as getting them a cold drink from the galley. He stressed the fact that anybody on the floor could do that while the role of the chaplain is much different. I understood his point, and his motives. It was his responsibility to help me move from my previous role as a volunteer hospital minister from my church to the professional role of chaplain, and I appreciated his efforts and counsel. Yet, a part of me always felt like we shouldn’t discount those ‘nice’ things out of hand. My belief was, and still is, that those little acts of kindness are often the keys to opening a door that needs to be opened.
This became abundantly clear in a recent experience.
A patient in intensive care was distressed at being hospitalized on his wife’s birthday with no way of even getting her a card. “Steve” who suffers from congestive heart failure had been hospitalized on many important occasions in the past five years, and his inability to respond the way he would like to was a source of great emotional pain. He shared with his nurse that he hated not being able to surprise his wife with a special gift to show his love, as well as his appreciation for her loyalty to him.
The nurse recognized the depth of his anguish and came to the pastoral services office at the end of her shift to ask if I would pick up a present and a card when the gift shop opened in the morning. She had already been there and picked out a specific present she thought Steve’s wife would like, and after giving me the money to pay for the items, she asked if I could get the surprise upstairs before noon the next day. (Steve’s wife came to visit every day on her lunch hour.)
When the nurse told me the patient’s name and room number, I had a vague recollection of calling on him several days previously. He’d been courteous, but the tone of his voice and his body language made it clear he wasn’t interested in a pastoral visit. Even though he didn’t throw me out, his polite dismissal had carried an undercurrent of, “I don’t really want you here.”
The next morning, I gathered the present and card and went up to the Intensive Care unit. Steve’s door was open, so I knocked lightly and asked if I could come in. He looked at me and nodded.
Steve was sitting up in bed, and it was obvious he wasn’t having a good morning His breath was labored, and I could see the pain and fear in his eyes. I reintroduced myself and told him that I was here to deliver something special from his nurse. He watched me a bit wearily as I set the bag on his bedside table and took the card out.
As I told him what this was about, his eyes welled with tears and his whole expression softened. He didn’t say anything, and I asked if he was physically in trouble.
“No,” he said. “I’m just overwhelmed. Nobody has ever done anything this nice for me in my whole life.”
I helped him sign the card and get everything arranged in the gift bag. He continued to thank me and repeated how nice this was. I told him it was my pleasure, and his look of total amazement made the effort worthwhile.
Then he said that he really felt blessed by the kindness and compassion of the nurse.
Using my best chaplain response, I repeated, “You really feel blessed?”
He nodded, then began to share his pain of heart and spirit because of the debilitating effects of his illness. He’d been feeling worthless, used up, and not of much importance to anybody.
When I got ready to leave, I could tell by his smile that for that moment, that day, he felt like he was worth caring for, and maybe his life wasn’t totally used up yet.
We ended up having several more visits over a period of a couple of months as Steve was in and out of the hospital. He was open to talking to me about things that he didn’t want to share with any one else. We talked about end-of-life issues, what this illness meant to him at this time in his life, and the grace that can come from it.
While not particularly religious, Steve had a very strong spirituality, and this whole experience prompted him to evaluate his life and make some tough decisions regarding how he was going to spend the short time he might have left.
This was good pastoral care work that probably wouldn’t have happened had I not done something ‘nice’ first. My ego would like to say that it was all part of my doing, but I know this was truly a Spirit-guided event.
And sometimes the Spirit just wants us to be “nice”
All the time the Spirit want us to be NICE.
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If you’d like to read more stories of my experiences as a chaplain, you can find them in my memoir: The Many Faces of Grief: Stories of Love, Loss, and Hope From a Hospital Chaplain
Small Stories With Big Hearts
Pulling from her 30+ years of hospital ministry, Maryann Miller brings readers a book that celebrates the patients who blessed her life so abundantly by allowing her to share in their grief journeys.
Filled with anecdotes and testimonials about illness and death and dying, as well as joys and living, it is also very much a memoir of her personal growth through ministry and how that growth impacted her own path through grief.
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