One of my chaplain colleagues arrived at work yesterday with
her right middle finger in a splint. The slight pull of her dog’s leash, the
cause of the injury, made the situation even more infuriating. Worse yet, the
digit might require surgery. Thankfully she is left-handed.
My colleague is also a pianist and plays to help her process
the time she spends with patients and families. I’ve been thinking about how
she has been enduring similar frustrations and limitations as the people we see
each day. Her predicament also got me thinking of a wonderful concerto by Ravel
for the left-hand that had been commissioned for a musician who had lost his
right hand in World War I.
Oliver Sacks, who is a brilliant mind, doctor and author,
crushed his leg in a mountaineering accident and barely recognized his limb
following his hospitalization. Interestingly enough he learned to claim his leg
as part of his identity and walk again through the music of Mendelssohn.
A patient I saw today has endured 6 months of pain, weight
loss, and unanswered questions when a routine gall bladder surgery went array.
A simple knick in the bile duct and his insides soon became his outsides. Now he’s holding on to prayers and
wanting rest, strength and answers, all which have eluded him for too long.
During devotions this morning with the group I shared some
of my photography as we engaged in visio divina, a meditation practice to see
at a contemplative pace and see deeply. I chose an image I’ve looked at so many
times and yet I somehow the ordinary road in the left corner or red flower in
front of the dark trees caught my eye.
Today’s reflection is that of the ordinary changing our
lives. The gems in our individual circumstances offer beauty. The inner
resources we carry, even of hope, possibility, pleasure in lovely things and
creativity, allow life to exist, strive, and even thrive. My colleague is bound to recover, and
perhaps this concerto will be an outlet for a while. Sacks connected the
unfamiliar with the familiar in music. My patient may learn a strength in
suffering or gain a hope to share with his wife. I realized the message of
being present in a photograph.
These ideas come from the ordinary, the very
essence of God’s daily bread and abundant love.
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