pain. hope. joy.

An ancient song fills my head in this moment.

Be not far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help. Psalm 22:11.

My roommate found out yesterday that his older brother had died unexpectedly. Earlier that morning he found out that his girlfriend's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. My heart aches in this moment. It aches for Adam and the families affected by these difficult life moments.

In a more recent song; one that draws from the ancestry of the Psalms, titled "Pain," Aaron Strumpel sings what I am feeling: "I grow nearly faint when I see all the pain...There's AIDS in the world, and cancer in my friends, and I'm sick now 'cause I'm scared."

I cling to hope. I deeply desire that others might cling to this living hope. I hope in the eventual triumph of wholeness over disease, in the swallowing up of death by a life that cannot be denied.

I am affirmed by the twenty third Psalm.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

Psalm 23:1-4

No, I will not be in want. You are with me; I will not fear. You comfort me; I will not fear. Fear has no place, not even a foothold, even in the face of terrifying things such as disease and sorrow. In the end, joy has the last word, offering a blessing.

Last weekend marked the first funeral I've attended for a patient that I've worked with at the hospital. It was for a man that many at the hospital felt a close connection to. He was one of the jolliest people I have ever met. We shared jokes back and forth each weekend, and if time allowed, we would talk about more than just the quick, "How are you feeling?" questions, and had several conversations that encompassed faith, marriage, children, and legacy. Over the weeks that I was able to care for him, I looked forward to our talks, but I wanted to see him get better and move on to the next step in his rehabilitation. One night I came in and struck up a quick conversation expecting our usual banter, but the mood was different. The air was thick with despair and depression. After weeks of working with him, this was the first time that I had seen him feeling this way and it upset me. I devised a plan to try to help bring him some joy. After my shift was over, with the help of a few other staff, we were able to transfer him to a wheelchair. He thought he was just going to sit up for breakfast, but I wrapped him in blankets and we rolled out of the room and navigated our way through the maze of the hospital until we reached the lower lobby. The mechanized doors parted and the sunrise shown brightly in front of us. I figured go big or go home applied here, so we took several laps around the parking lot, up hills and dodging cars. We were outside for nearly twenty minutes, but to the person occupying the chair, it could have been weeks.

A small idea planted in my mind by divine hands, was acted upon, and grew into something that would bring back the jolly spirit of a man that had been in a hospital room too long. His spirits revived, but his body unexpectedly did not. I imagined that the walk would be a turnaround point for his recovery, and it was partially accurate. His body began to deteriorate, but his renewed spirit allowed him to make peace with dying, and with God.

A small idea planted in the mind by divine hands, when acted upon, can grow something with an impact as great as feeling the cool breeze and warmth of the sun for seemingly weeks, though it be a literal last experience.

Listen intently and look with sharp eyes for the opportunities around you, Eric.

An excerpt from E. B. Browning's "Aurora Leigh" speaks truths I am ready to believe.

"Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,

The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries,

And daub their natural faces unaware..."

No, I will not be in want. You are with me; I will not fear. You comfort me; I will not fear.

Joy has the last word, offering a blessing.