Heaven

One of my hospice patients, C.,a 44-year-old, never-married cancer patient told me how difficult it was to be the recipient of so much assistance and care. His assigned nursing assistant today was a lovely young woman who happens to be visibly pregnant.

"She shouldn't be waiting on me. I should be the one doing for her." C. adjusted the orange stocking cap he wears over his chemo-bald head. "All my life, I've worked. What I wish more than anything is that I could go back to my job." He studied his hands. "I know that's not going to happen. When I leave this place, it won't be to go back to work."

I sat down beside him on the edge of his bed. "There's something I've wondered about. I'd like to hear what you think. When we get to heaven, you believe we'll have jobs to do?"

"I don't know."

"Me either." I reached up and adjusted C.'s nasal canula. Most of the time he's got it on sideways, blowing more O2 into his ears than his lungs. "But just say we do. What job would you pick? Would you want to polish the pearly gates? Sweep up those golden streets? Maybe play the harp?"

"Naw. Not play the harp. That would drive me crazy."

We both laughed. Then C. started to cough.

I poured a glass of water and held the straw steady to his lips. C. took a long draw, then I set the glass down.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

Finally C. raised his head. "You know, I'll tell you what job I'd take if they offered it to me," His eyes twinkled.

"What's that?"

"Sounds kind of silly but when I get to heaven, I'd like to be Santa Claus. Hand out candy canes and presents. BB guns for the boys and Easy Bake ovens for the girls. Yep, that's the job I'll take. If they offer it to me, that is."

"That would be a great job," I agreed. "And don't you worry. They'll offer it to you. I'm sure of it."

"There's lots of kids up there. I figure they need somebody to be Santa Claus."

"I can't think of anybody better fit for the job. You'll be perfect."

"You think so?"

"I do."

I stood to go. "As for me. I want to play the harp."

"That figures."

"When we get there, let's look each other up."

"Okay. You won't be hard to find."

"Neither will you."

C.'s head relaxed against his pillow. "Later."

"Yeah. Later, C." I patted his hand. "You need anything else?"

His eyes drooped. "Nah. I'm fine."

Me too.

Lifetime Supply

Yesterday I was blessed to care for a elderly woman whose daughter was keeping a bedside vigil. "My sister would be here too" she told me, "but she's with her daughter on a Make-A-Wish trip."

"Oh my. Is her little girl ill?"

Okay. That was a dumb question. But the woman was gracious. She told me that her sister worked at a facility for severely handicapped children. It was at work where she fell in love with her future adopted daughter, the one who was now declining and enjoying a longed-for Florida vacation.

"What a giving person your sister is," I said.

The woman nodded, then told me more about her extended family. Her nephew, who is also employed at the children's home, is the father to two children adopted from there. Not only that, several other close family members cared for adopted children. Others who are not employed routinely volunteer their time.

"Wow," I said. Then I looked over at her mom, asleep in the bed. "Your mother really instilled love and compassion in her family. She did an amazing job."

She teared up, then spoke. "My mother had a very hard life. Her marriage was extremely difficult. We children gave her way too much trouble. But through it all, she remained upbeat and positive. Always. Once I asked her how she kept it up, how she managed to never let her circumstances get her down."

"What was her answer?"

"She told me her parents loved her so very much that it was enough love to last a life time."

My eyes misted. They mist again as I compose this post. I can't get her words out of my mind. To be loved like that.

More, to be a person who loves like that.

Living With Intention

Randy and I married young. We were barely into our twenties when we tied the knot. Our son was born 20 months into our union, our daughter four years after that. It's all good. Yet when I think of our early years together, I see the two of us mostly careening from one impulsive, reactive decision to the next. We bought houses. Sold houses. Took jobs. Quit jobs. Moved here. Moved there. Bought stuff. Sold stuff. Bought more stuff.

Looking back, I'm stunned at our impulsiveness.

This year, as we near the third decade of our life together, there's a change in the air. Randy and I have begun to arrange our lives with a greater sense of intention and purpose. Together, we've looked at what we want our lives to look like, to feel like, to be like. We've talked about what's most important to us, about what we want to keep and what needs to go.

We've made some decisions.

And so yes, we're moving. Again.
To a town that's an hour south.
We're selling a house and buying another one.
Randy's starting a new job.
I'm devoting more hours to an old one.

But this time, for probably the first time, we know why we're doing what we're doing. We want to deepen existing friendships and forge new ones. We want to serve our church instead of simply warming a pew. We desire greater community. More hours together.

Most of these changes will take place within the next two weeks.

And we can hardly wait.