Personal crisis brings out the troops, especially for the lucky few in our world. As someone who’s faced crisis—and is pretty sensitive—I’ve noticed a pecking order of aid. Continue reading
Ask yourself this question: “If I was hospitalized next month and told I only had 6 months or less to live, how would I react?” This is not a query about the immediate reaction—shock, extreme grief, fear, etc. I’m referring to life within the dying process. Continue reading
Some nights after hospice ministry I feel covered in death. I don’t know if it’s an actual odor or a heaviness that clings to me after close intimate contact with those laboring toward death. Either way, a hot shower, a snuggly red pup, and a good night sleep provide a temporary fix. Continue reading
Last night I spent a few hours with Miriam, a razor sharp ninety-one year old Brit with perfect hearing. Her hospice chart didn’t offer much information. She lived with her son, but this week she was moving into assisted living. Her body was giving way to age and a two recent falls had rendered her virtually bed bound.
So the deal is this: I’m getting old. I can tell because my friends’ kids, babies I once held, are now in high school and college. Continue reading
An essay published in the Washington Post in the wake of Fred Phelps’ death.
Climbing back on board the ship of faith doesn’t happen overnight.
My church helps a lot. I’m part of a conservative congregation in the Springs. This presents a few barriers, mostly boiling down to me, other pew sitters, and me. I definitely hold a different worldview than most. And I’m a girl who likes an occasional scotch and cigar, not exactly the stuff of ladies teas and ladies Bible studies. Comments from time to time take my breath away and there’s not much “seeking of the Lord” before I respond. Continue reading