113 - On blessing what people do

... even if it ends up not being enough.

Welcome back (or welcome)!

What you could.

It happened again recently.

A person came to the Emergency Department after a cardiac arrest. Their heart had stopped at home. A family member started compressions right away and another one called 911. The heart started beating again.

When the family got to the hospital, I took the hands of the person who started compressions.

And she said, “I've never done it before. I heard how on Good Morning America. I just started thinking about that song that they say is the right speed, “Staying Alive”. At first, I didn't want to hurt him. But I did it. Will he be okay.”

I looked into her eyes and said, “You did good. You gave him a chance.”

“Will he be okay?” she said.

I shrugged. “I don’t know that part. But you gave him a chance for our team to do what we can.”

And then I gave her a box of tissues because, for some reason, after I told her she had done well, she started to cry a little.

A couple days later, another person was doing poorly. I was called to pray. I met the family. A couple hours later, the person died. On my way back to the room, I saw family members in the waiting area, including the one who would sign the paperwork for the funeral home. I got down in front of her. We talked. The person had lived with her. She provided all kinds of care. “I did everything I knew how to do.”

I took her hand. I looked into her eyes.

“Thank you. You did do everything you could. We wish we could do more. We say to ourselves, ‘If only I had done that.’ I understand. But you did everything you could. We did everything we could.”

In really hard times, we are really hard on ourselves. We feel like there is more. We feel like we’ve fallen short. We feel like we’re making it up. We feel like it is our fault.

It isn’t.

Sometimes we need someone to look us in the eyes, take our lament and longing seriously, and bless the work that our hands and hearts have done.

If I could see you now, if we were sitting in the same room, you would tell me why you read this newsletter. About the grief, about the friend, about the struggle.

I would take your hand. I would look you in the eyes. I might tear up a bit. And I would tell you that you have done everything you could. And I would bless you.

Like I am right now.

Amen.

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See you next time.

Jon

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Photo: Peter Ringenberg Photography - http://peterringenberg.com/