I recently helped a friend decide it was ok to enter hospice care. My parents both died in hospice care---one of them in my living room. I have had a great deal to do with hospice care over the years and very much appreciate the tenderness and grace extended to the dying person and the family. Indeed, it is a graceful way to die. I am sure it will be the same thing for my friend. The process always takes time---sometimes a little time and sometimes more time than we thought it would.
But hospice is not really about death. That is a given. Hospice does not try to duck death; it embraces it as our ultimate outcome. Hospice is about getting to death as painlessly and graciously as possible. And hospice helps us see death finally as a friend. We embrace this friend and acknowledge our desire and willingness to move on. To die is to be fully human. It is spiritual at its core.
As I was talking with my friend, I thought about the recent work of Parker Palmer, a fellow Quaker. I have known Parker for a long time. We both have aged. He is a little older than I am, but we have thought about similar things. He has been at work on a new book, which he is calling On the Brink of Everything. I like his subtitle, Grace, Gravity and Getting Old. The book grew through some interviews and blogs Parker shared from Krista Tippett’s program, On Being. I would like to share some of his thoughts from a blog, much of which finds its way into the book.
Palmer says, “Every day, I get closer to the brink of everything.” Of course, we all do. When we are younger, we don’t think about it. We aim for many different things, but we are not worried about the brink of everything. And that’s probably the way it should be. When I see my young grandchildren, I don’t want them worrying about death. I say this knowing sometimes that is exactly what some kids have to worry about. And that makes me profoundly sad.
I have always appreciated Palmer’s keen awareness and, then, his capacity to articulate what he sees and learns. Some of it is obvious, but we don’t always see it. For example, he says, “Age brings diminishments, but more than a few come with benefits.” Any of us past the mid-point of life knows the truth of this. Age has certainly brought diminishment to me. I resonate with the plural of diminishment---“s.” Even if we are relatively healthy, we can begin a litany of things we can’t do---or can’t do as fast, well, etc.
Too often, all we do is lament this diminishment. Lament sometimes turns into grumpiness and we make those around us miserable. Some of us are so sick, we want others to suffer if we suffer. I pray that I spare those around me. I like that fact that lament is a spiritual option, as the Psalms teaches so well. If we are going to lament, at least let’s do it spiritually! I appreciate that Parker Palmer can point to the benefits of diminishments. There is a sweet irony there.
Palmer talks about the benefits in specific ways. He notes, “I’ve lost the capacity for multitasking, but I’ve rediscovered the joy of doing one thing at a time.” I know multitasking is not good for me. And scientifically, I even know we can actually multitask. Instead, we multi-switch and simply call that multitasking. In fact, Palmer’s observation leads us into the heart of what it means to live mindfully or contemplatively. We rediscover the joy of doing one thing at a time. Most of us know this is better and more fulfilling anyway.
If I am talking to you, put down the phone. If we are praying, quit daydreaming. And so the benefits and joys come out way. Palmer points to this when he tells us, “My thinking has slowed a bit, but experience has made it deeper and richer.” If I am honest, my thinking has slowed, too. I am not sure I was ever a fast thinker! Again what he helps me see is not all experience is the same. If we slow down, we have a better chance at a richer, deeper experience. I am getting to the place where I will take “the better” over “the more” every time.
Finally, Palmer announces, “I’m done with big and complex projects, but more aware of the loveliness of simple things: a talk with a friend, a walk in the woods, sunsets and sunrises, a night of good sleep.” I take this to be the mark of a spiritual person. He certainly has had his share of big projects. He has become fairly famous in his life. And now he is ready for simpler things. And so am I.
I actually think younger folks would be well served to have some of these simple things in their lives, too. A talk with a friend is a gift. A walk in the woods. Probably the busier you are, the more you need this walk. Sunsets and sunrises are natures lavish gifts for which you pay nothing. Only your attention is required. And yet so many of us operate with a kind of attention deficit disorder, we never accept the daily gifts.
A good night’s sleep is for some people a miracle. A good night’s sleep is a kind of prelude to a good life’s death. I thought about this as I talked to my friend. She is on the brink of everything…as we all are…and will be.
But hospice is not really about death. That is a given. Hospice does not try to duck death; it embraces it as our ultimate outcome. Hospice is about getting to death as painlessly and graciously as possible. And hospice helps us see death finally as a friend. We embrace this friend and acknowledge our desire and willingness to move on. To die is to be fully human. It is spiritual at its core.
As I was talking with my friend, I thought about the recent work of Parker Palmer, a fellow Quaker. I have known Parker for a long time. We both have aged. He is a little older than I am, but we have thought about similar things. He has been at work on a new book, which he is calling On the Brink of Everything. I like his subtitle, Grace, Gravity and Getting Old. The book grew through some interviews and blogs Parker shared from Krista Tippett’s program, On Being. I would like to share some of his thoughts from a blog, much of which finds its way into the book.
Palmer says, “Every day, I get closer to the brink of everything.” Of course, we all do. When we are younger, we don’t think about it. We aim for many different things, but we are not worried about the brink of everything. And that’s probably the way it should be. When I see my young grandchildren, I don’t want them worrying about death. I say this knowing sometimes that is exactly what some kids have to worry about. And that makes me profoundly sad.
I have always appreciated Palmer’s keen awareness and, then, his capacity to articulate what he sees and learns. Some of it is obvious, but we don’t always see it. For example, he says, “Age brings diminishments, but more than a few come with benefits.” Any of us past the mid-point of life knows the truth of this. Age has certainly brought diminishment to me. I resonate with the plural of diminishment---“s.” Even if we are relatively healthy, we can begin a litany of things we can’t do---or can’t do as fast, well, etc.
Too often, all we do is lament this diminishment. Lament sometimes turns into grumpiness and we make those around us miserable. Some of us are so sick, we want others to suffer if we suffer. I pray that I spare those around me. I like that fact that lament is a spiritual option, as the Psalms teaches so well. If we are going to lament, at least let’s do it spiritually! I appreciate that Parker Palmer can point to the benefits of diminishments. There is a sweet irony there.
Palmer talks about the benefits in specific ways. He notes, “I’ve lost the capacity for multitasking, but I’ve rediscovered the joy of doing one thing at a time.” I know multitasking is not good for me. And scientifically, I even know we can actually multitask. Instead, we multi-switch and simply call that multitasking. In fact, Palmer’s observation leads us into the heart of what it means to live mindfully or contemplatively. We rediscover the joy of doing one thing at a time. Most of us know this is better and more fulfilling anyway.
If I am talking to you, put down the phone. If we are praying, quit daydreaming. And so the benefits and joys come out way. Palmer points to this when he tells us, “My thinking has slowed a bit, but experience has made it deeper and richer.” If I am honest, my thinking has slowed, too. I am not sure I was ever a fast thinker! Again what he helps me see is not all experience is the same. If we slow down, we have a better chance at a richer, deeper experience. I am getting to the place where I will take “the better” over “the more” every time.
Finally, Palmer announces, “I’m done with big and complex projects, but more aware of the loveliness of simple things: a talk with a friend, a walk in the woods, sunsets and sunrises, a night of good sleep.” I take this to be the mark of a spiritual person. He certainly has had his share of big projects. He has become fairly famous in his life. And now he is ready for simpler things. And so am I.
I actually think younger folks would be well served to have some of these simple things in their lives, too. A talk with a friend is a gift. A walk in the woods. Probably the busier you are, the more you need this walk. Sunsets and sunrises are natures lavish gifts for which you pay nothing. Only your attention is required. And yet so many of us operate with a kind of attention deficit disorder, we never accept the daily gifts.
A good night’s sleep is for some people a miracle. A good night’s sleep is a kind of prelude to a good life’s death. I thought about this as I talked to my friend. She is on the brink of everything…as we all are…and will be.
Comments
Post a Comment