I want to introduce you to my dear friend Jack, who will be your guest columnist today.  Jack, like me, undertook chaplaincy later in life, though “later” is relative—he just turned 56.  😊

Our Quaker seminary, the Earlham School of Religion, assigned me to be Jack’s “buddy” to show him the ropes as an entering remote study student.  We bonded quickly over many shared passions, notably baseball and the novella “A River Runs Through It.”  Inspired by the latter, Jack has spent much of his adult life in Missoula, Montana, where he continues to reside.  We had the joy of sharing our capstone classes, which integrate and apply all of our seminary coursework, and we graduated together in 2020.

Jack has always displayed wondrous wisdom and a delightful spirit.  Over the past year life has dealt him a difficult hand, which he has responded to in a way I know you will find inspiring.  He has written movingly about his journey and, with his consent and encouragement, I have excerpted three passages for you today.  For me, Jack is courage and grace incarnate.

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March

This past summer I began to notice changes in my legs and core strength.  I attributed it to poor cardio conditioning.  Through the fall my symptoms progressed and in mid-November I expedited my annual medical exam.  After delays in Missoula I decided to forego my local options and I connected with the Mayo Clinic in Arizona. I spent 17 days in Scottsdale, staying at my sister’s house while engaging a very helpful, professional, efficient, and kind crew of practitioners and staff at the Mayo.

I now know the source of my struggles.  I have ALS.  Based upon my symptoms and their spread, an ALS specialist I saw presented a prognosis of likely 2.5 to 4 years.

Right now, I am safe, warm, well-fed, and expertly supported.  I am also exhausted, sore, and still a bit overwhelmed by all that has happened and what happens next.  I simultaneously feel a profound peace.

I recognize that my life has been one long, bewildering, beautiful miracle.  Thank you for continuing to be such amazing friends and for being a cherished part of my life.

April

Last Thursday, I officially retired from my role as Hospice Chaplain and from my career as a working soul.  Having now closed my tenure carrying the title of Chaplain, I am led to reflect back to a prayer I wrote six years ago, while working as a Resident Chaplain in Spokane, WA.  My mentor commissioned me to compose a prayer to open the retirement ceremony for one of our staff chaplains.  Today, it speaks to me in both familiar and challenging ways.

Gracious God, I lay my work to rest,
and in doing so,
I lay at your feet

the faces I have seen,
the voices I have heard,
the words I have spoken,
the hands I have held,
the service I have given,
the joys I have shared,
the sorrows revealed.

I lay them at your feet,
and in doing so, I ask,
what now would you have me do?

June

I have been gifted an incredible life.  I grew up in Sedona, Arizona, a beautiful, strange, adventure-inducing place in the ‘70s and ‘80s of my youth.  I invested much of my time there hiking and sometimes scaling the impressive cliffs, mesas, promontories, and inselbergs—remnant outcroppings of basalt encased by sandstone—that surround Sedona. 

Today I am wheelchair-bound and seldom get out of the house.  I am still able to stand and pivot but unable to walk any steps, and even my stand-pivot days are approaching a close.  I’ve experienced an approximately 30% decline in my “respiratory function”—the volume of air I am able to move into and out of my lungs.  This is all progressing more rapidly and more broadly than I had hoped.

But through all the struggles and injuries and disappointments and “troubling” results from the Nerve Conductivity or Pulmonary Function tests of life, I have also witnessed the miracle of unbounded imagination bending stark reality.  For just moments, yes, but those moments are as real as the cliffs and inselbergs among which I grew up.  I’ve been witness to the fact we each are principal actors in the dynamic interplay of imagination, reality, and potentiality.  

I’ve been witness to power of human community as antidote to the worst tragedies this life can dish out.  The depth and breadth of love and support and kind expertise my community of family and friends provides knocks me silly on a daily basis.  I am humbled by the multitude of people who bless my life!  

I often experience an unexpected perspective on the story of the fishes and loaves—there are sooooo many incredible people in my life.  I’ve been witness to more miracles than I will ever remember, much less recount.

Best.  Life.  Ever.  Thank you, Creator, thank you.