by Sally Ann McLean

When I was working at Fort Lewis, there always seemed to be a large plate of glass on my desk, underneath of which I would place reminders of one sort or another.

The assortment changed over the years. Among the varied items would be a chart of often used computer input codes, a business card for a licensed muscle therapist, a telephone roster, a list of the birthdays of my fellow office workers, a few prayers clipped from devotional booklets, and some favorite cartoons.

All these things were useful as reminders: that’s why I had placed them there. But they were only useful as I remembered to look at them.

One of those favorite cartoons showed two gentlemen mingling at a cocktail party. One man, holding a martini glass, was expounding his philosophy to the other: “My feeling is that while we should have the deepest respect for reality, we should not let it control our lives.”

On hectic days, if I would remember to glance at this cartoon and if I had a bit of a sense of humor left about me, I could chuckle as I acknowledged the truth of the caption.

Yes, the office might have seemed like a zoo with everyone making their own noises, pushing their own agendas. Yes, my desk looked like a three-ring circus with several projects in various stages of completion. Yes, yes, the reality of such moments evidenced chaos and confusion. The devil was sitting there by the telephone, hoping I would bark at the next person who dared to interrupt me and delay my agenda. But, I would remind myself that I didn’t have to give in to all that distraction. I didn’t have to let reality control my life.

One day, I was rearranging those reminders underneath the glass, I came across one nearly hidden by the adding machine. It was a quote attributed to Archbishop Desmond Tutu: “When you consider the state the world is in, you say, ‘Thank God I am not God.’ But when you discover the church and are drawn into it, you say, ‘Thank you, God, that you are God.’”

What a calming thought! The one who can bring His order to my chaos is in charge. That was a reality that I hoped would control my life.

I needed to remember, then as now, to look at the reminders God has placed all around me. He is in control. He is omnipresent. He is omniscient. He is omnipotent. I had learned those words in confirmation class so many years ago. Had I forgotten them? Or had I just forgotten to remember, forgotten to let myself be reminded?

Read more of Sally Anne McLean’s work in her book,  At Faith Value: Seeing His Hand at Work in the Ordinary. It’s available on Amazon… go through the link on our Just Shopping page and a piece of your purchase will go to St. Marks! With any method of purchase (online or through special order in your favorite bookstore), Sally Ann has graciously decided to donate any royalties from the sale of this book to St. Mark’s.

by Paula Friedmann

As a nurse who works primarily with people whose brain function has been compromised by birth defects or injury, I have learned much from my patients about what makes us human and what defines us as spiritual beings. Many of my patients have had very limited cognitive abilities, far less than it would take to grasp the concept of God or understand the particulars of any religion. Yet I have come to see them as richly spiritual.

In thinking about what makes them so I see some common threads. One is the ability to find humor. Another is their deep appreciation of music. These characteristics are not necessarily supported by neurological science, at least to the extent of my knowledge. What I say here is based on my observations alone. As I approach my retirement for nursing in a few months, I welcome the opportunity to explore some of the rewards of my career.

AN ACUTE SENSE OF MISCHIEF

One of my first patients was a young man in his thirties who was badly brain damaged in a motor vehicle accident. He was unable to speak and totally dependent for his physical needs. He was only able to move his left leg. His ability to think in the way we understand thought was severely limited. But his most consistent form of interaction was to wait until I was busy at his bedside and then reach across with his left leg and kick me lightly on the behind. Then he would grin.

What is so spiritual about this, you might ask. I think an essential feature of our God-given humanity is our ability to laugh at ourselves. In it we acknowledge our limitations and rest in the awareness that we need not take ourselves too seriously. In surrendering our need to be all and know all we make room for One who IS All. You might say my patient was laughing at my expense. But, whether he knew it or not, he was reminding me to laugh at myself.

THE LANGUAGE OF THE SOUL

One of the unfortunate results of brain injury is that frequently language is lost, or in the case of young children, may never develop. This aphasia may be expressive or receptive, or both.

Another of my patients is a seven-year-old whom I have cared for since she was one year old. While she has developed physically, her mental development and vocalizations are those of an infant. But she is acutely sensitive to the language of music. Hearing just the first few notes of a song she especially likes makes her giddy with excitement. Often she will look at me as if to say, “this is our common ground… I know you love this,too.”

Music is often described as the universal language. If we see language as a cognitive function, then I believe music transcends language. It is a perfect form of spiritual expression for those who have limited cognitive function. And seeing this reminds us “normal” people not to value thinking too highly.

My brain-injured patients have taught my not to over-think my spirituality. Humor and music delight us all, whatever our abilities. For me that delight is a gift from God. I am grateful for the teaching of my patients and hope that I can carry it forward in whatever I do.