A single story in fractured pieces. We can never know in advance how our divergent paths will converge, even when the paths are all our own.
During my first year of seminary I was given the chance to take a one-week intensive class in pastoral care and chaplaincy at the City of Hope Hospital in Duarte, California. City of Hope is known for its work with with cancer and terminal illness, and the one-week intensive promised many chances to work with patients and their families. When my professor presented the information on the program, I felt God pricking at my heart and I knew that this was something I needed to do. I filled out the application and sent my money to the program director and started looking for someone to help my husband Phil take care of our children while I was out of town for the class.
The date for the class was fast approaching and I called the director of the program at City of Hope to get information about housing and transportation, only to be told that the class had been cancelled due to financial problems. The hospital had been bought by an investor who was less interested in the not-for-profit ethos the hospital had been founded under. They were even less interested in providing training for chaplains that would never work at the City of Hope on a regular basis.** I was deeply disappointed, but what could I do?
I sat in the kitchen and listened to Phil share horrible news: Lee had been diagnosed with Stage 4 Lymphoma. Lee and his wife Tracy both worked at Boeing, and Tracy was on Phil’s team. Phil’s team had lost their boss to cancer only a few years before, and now they were facing losing another coworker. The diagnosis was all the more devastating because Lee and Tracy had three young daugthers. Phil had spent many days taking care of our two girls while I was in California; he knew the burden of being a single parent intimately, even if he only had that responsibility for a few days a week. He deeply sympathized deeply with Tracy and worried for her children. I remember Phil asking me if I would be there for Lee and Tracy “at the end” as if somehow, they would ever ask for me…a coworker’s wife who wasn’t even an ordained minister yet. Shocked, I said I would do anything for them if they wanted my assistance.
Churches who accept student pastors do their best to make sure we get a full platter of pastoral experiences, and so I taught a Disciple Bible Study on Sunday mornings. I had a class of 12 and we had become close as a group, praying for and with each other every week. So when one member’s 18-month old daughter needed a heart valve replaced, the class covenanted to fast and pray on the day of the surgery. I was going to be at the hospital with the parents and promised that I would pass on word to the class so that they could praise the Lord and break their fast when the surgery was successfully completed.
The surgery went on much longer than initially anticipated. I stepped out into the parking lot so I could get a cell signal (ahhhh, 1999 cell phones…remember Nokia?) and called Phil to let him know that I would be home later than we had planned. He was somber. “They are transferring Lee out of the bone marrow transplant unit and into the hospice. There are no more options. He’s dying. Can you go?” Lee was only a few floors up from the surgical waiting room where I had spent the majority of my day. I agreed to go but reminded Phil that Lee and Tracy had never met me and would likely want nothing to do with me at such a critical time in their lives. I hung up the phone and headed back into the hospital to see what I could do.
Certain that I would be turned away, I got into the elevator and headed up to the bone marrow transplant unit, which was on the 12th floor. As I stepped out of the elevator I looked up at entry to the unit and saw these words:
Welcome to the City of Hope!
An extension of the City of Hope in Duarte, California.
It took my breathe away.
I went to the nurse’s station and asked them to speak to Tracy. I told them that I was a minister, that I was Phil’s wife, and that I would go away if Tracy was not interested in seeing me. The nurse went in for a moment and Tracy came out of the room and invited me in.
Thus began several hours of going back and forth between the surgical waiting room where my friend waited for word that her daughter’s surgery had gone well, and the room where Lee was being prepped for transfer to a hospice bed. It seemed that the timing was always perfect as I moved between locations; guided by God’s timing I arrived at each spot just as the doctors came to speak to the family, just as critical decisions were being made. I went back and forth repeatedly, watching the families receive words at opposite ends of the spectrum of emotions from their doctors. Your daughter is doing well and her heart is strong. Your husband’s organs are failing. She’ll be going home soon. He won’t home for Christmas; he won’t live that long. I struggled to contain my emotions as they swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. I called my class members to relay the good news and then to ask them to pray for a family friend who would probably not be alive come morning.
With the surgery over and the family comfortably settled in the room with their daughter, I headed upstairs to the hospice wing. When I got there, Tracy asked if I would be willing to stay for a few hours while she went home to see her children in their Christmas programs at school. She planned to tell them afterwards that their father would not live until Christmas and would never come home again. I agreed to stay and prayed with Tracy before she left for the last fun evening her girls would have for quite a while.
Death can be a painful thing even with medications, and I watched Lee move in and out of pain as I sat at his bedside. I wanted to be useful and comforting, so I tried reading the Psalms out loud, very quietly. I prayed between each Psalm. As a sat there watching Lee suffer, I realized a horrible truth: every person faces their death alone. There are plenty of pain medications, but not one thing that can be done to ease the pain of leaving behind everyone you love, knowing that they still need you. And it disturbed me to know that there was nothing that I could do to take that pain away from Lee. Essentially, he was all alone in this journey and I could do nothing but sit and watch.
So I sat and watched and wondered why I didn’t know what to do. I was a pastor, I was trained…isn’t there something I’m supposed to be doing? Isn’t there some relief that I’m supposed to bring? Certainly I provided assistance to Tracy, but what could I offer Lee? He was dying! Reading scripture wasn’t going to help him much, and even if it could help, most of the time he wasn’t conscious to hear it. I prayed but he didn’t hear that either and what was I supposed to pray for…a quicker death? I sat there for several hours feeling futile and useless and stupid. The critical moment of pastoring had come and I had nothing to offer. I felt like a failure.
I finally made it home later that night. Phil and I went into the bedroom, sat at the edge of the bed and cried bitter tears. He felt Tracy’s pain and loss acutely, and I deeply identified with Lee who was leaving his children behind much like I left mine behind week after week to attend seminary. We sat and cried and tried to comfort each other. It was all we could do.
Even student pastors go home now and then, and so I would occasionally cut out of services at my student pastorate and attend church with my family. St. Matthew UMC was the church that confirmed my call into the ministry and sent me off to seminary; attending worship there felt like coming home. It was springtime and we were all gathered on the patio after worship for coffee and doughnuts. That was when Dan approached me.
“Thank you for being there for Lee at the end. We really appreciated it.” I was stunned! How did Dan know Lee, and how did he know that I was there at the hospital for Lee and Tracy? I discovered that Dan was Lee’s boss at Boeing, and that he and his team had been devastated when they found out that Lee was going into hospice. They hadn’t known what to do. Should they call? Should they send someone to the hospital?
“That’s when word came from Tracy’s team that Phil’s wife, the minister, was there at the hospital to take care of Lee and Tracy. I knew you and I told the team about you…and we were okay after that, because if felt like one of us was there, because Phil is one of us, and you’re his wife, and I knew you…you know what I mean?”
I did know what he meant, but what Dan said had revealed something much larger to me. Suddenly, I understood what my purpose had been when I sat at Lee’s bedside. I was a placeholder. I sat there at Lee’s bedside as a placeholder for a number of people. I sat there in Tracy’s stead until she could return so that Lee wouldn’t be alone. I sat there in the place of each member of Lee’s team at Boeing, because they couldn’t be there and weren’t sure what to do. I was there in place of each member of Tracy’s team who wanted to support her and be there for her in a terrible moment of need. And I sat there with Lee to represent God, and God’s presence with Lee even in his final moments. While there was nothing I personally could offer to comfort Lee as he faced death, I could hold the place of every person who wanted to be there. I could be a placeholder for them so that Lee would know that he would be missed, that he was loved, that his life had value, and that God was present even as He eagerly waited for Lee to come home.
When I returned to school after Christmas, months before Dan revealed my purpose to me, I told my Field Education professor the entire story. I was still distraught and feeling worthless. Strangely, several of my classmates had experiences similar trials in ministry and were feeling particularly broken as well. The professor reminded us that God was not wrong when He called us to dedicate ourselves completely and entirely to the Kingdom. She said that we can never know just who we are in the Kingdom or what good we have done, because none of it will be clear until all is revealed to us in Heaven. Until then, she said, all we can do is trust that God knows what He’s doing. Then she read us this Psalm. To this day, whenever I hear it, I think of Lee and Tracy and the revelation that all things, even me, have a purpose greater than what we realize at the moment.
Psalm 19:7-11, 14
The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul;
the decrees of the LORD are sure, making wise the simple;
the precepts of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart;
the commandment of the LORD is clear, enlightening the eyes;
the fear of the LORD is pure, enduring forever;
the ordinances of the LORD are true and righteous altogether.
More to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold;
sweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycomb.
Moreover by them is your servant warned; in keeping them there is great reward.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you,
O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.
** This was back in 1997, so please do not levy judgment on the current leadership of the hospital.