Last week I approached a room with some legal information to share
with the patient and gingerly knocked on the door, not really wanting to bother
the family members during their visit. Yes, this
is an area I want to work on this summer- the idea that disrupting might
actually be a delightful distraction or calming presence. Anyway, my light
knock not only made my presence known, but is also made a little girl turn in her chair
and with new energy and play and smile at me. J happened to be the great granddaughter of the patient, but
to me as I walked in, she was my angel, unaware.
My cohorts and I are studying some literature that discusses the
term “intimate stranger.”[1]
This phrase captures the closeness chaplains gain with patients and family and
yet the perfect anonymity in order to release words and emotions with some amount of
comfort. In the Bible, the Hebrew
word ger or gerim usually translates into the English word “stranger” and is used
alongside the command of caring for the orphan, widow, and poor. In my context,
“intimate stranger” helps protect people and also allows them the support they
didn’t know they needed or couldn't ask for. The hospitality I provide the patient/stranger is space and
listening.
Yet, when I entered the room to J, her sick grandpa, mom,
and siblings, that 8 year-old girl was anything but a stranger.
“Hey, you’re not in school anymore! What do you like to do
in the summer?”
“Swim!”
“Oh yeah. Where do you swim?”
“At my grandpa’s house.”
“It sounds like he’s a good one to keep.”
We became the quickest of friends. Honestly, I felt at ease
to talk to her all afternoon, but the booklet in my hand and the other eyes
gazing at us turned my attention away. The next day I saw J in the hall looking
for our comfort cart with its hot chocolate.
“How’s your grandpa?”
“Not very good.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Sad. And my mom is sad which makes me sad, too.”
“Here’s a mandala to color. You can pray for your grandpa as
you color.”
“And I can give this to him?”
“Absolutely. That would put a smile on his face.”
Maybe in another place and time, J and I would never connect
and forever be strangers. But
today I can imagine getting an invitation to her birthday party in the mail to
come swim at her grandpa’s pool once he’s better. I know I’m partly seeing this serious situation the way that
softens my heart rather than leaves it heavy with grief. But walking through
the door, offering a welcome and connection to what matters to those present,
and remembering a face, a friend can be the balm necessary to endure. I pray for the health of J’s grandpa
for his sake and the continued connection he has with his family. I also pray that one of my quickest
friends ever will be no stranger to wholeness and comfort in her life despite
the suffering she might encounter along the way.
[1] Dykstra,
Robert C., “Intimate Strangers: The Role of the Hospital Chaplain in Situations
of Sudden Traumatic Loss,” in The Journal
of Pastor Care, Summer 1900, Vo. XLIV, No.2.
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