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“This is the Body of Christ, Liz,” she said placing the cross-incised wafer into my outstretched palms and returning to the chair in my study. Silence of communion etched innate belonging upon our psyches; we gleamed with the gift.
Only after raising my eyes did I begin to speak. “Thanks, Bridget, it’s been a long time. I so appreciate your coming to my home this morning,” I said, scooting back in my arm chair and noting the sun’s glimmer upon a cardinal’s wings, in flight. Before her arrival, I wondered what we’d have to share. Yet, words came easily, despite my departure from the church seventeen years ago, caused by a significant dream.
“I’m also glad to see you again, Liz. Your home is lovely, so welcoming. How long have you lived here?” And so, the conversation grew, with intervals of laughter.
In her younger years, Bridget had taught religious education to the parish children, then, went on for a degree in theology in spiritual direction and retreats, all the while, raising children with her husband, still an avid chess player. Her interest in my life experiences led to questions about my terminal illness.
“Do know that your name appears in the weekly bulletin—among the ill parishioners? Although you are not physically among us, we come to each of you, in prayer, Fridays at the church.” Of special note were her strong hands with a simple gold band and her lively eyes filled with life’s rough and tumble amusement.
Before we separated, I asked, “Bridget, will you remove your mask so I can see your face? It’s been a while.”
In the ensuing moment, unspeakable joy fused us to Another. The Gift deepens.
“Please open wide,” he said in soothing tones. Goggled, bibbbed, and slightly tilted backwards upon his dental chair, I closed my eyes and prayed, “God’s care,” with each breath. Bit by bit, I felt my body relax, my spirit welcoming God’s hands replacing the filling from my molar that had fallen out. With Jessica’s assistance, the hole was soon filled. A simple procedure, yes, but one that I had dreaded, given my weakness and shortness of breath and coughing spells.
Indeed, I did experience God’s care tending my damaged tooth, yesterday, and for twenty years, his specialty in biological dentistry that informs his practice; it has kept me well with dental products compatible to my bio-chemical make-up—No metals of any kind in my mouth.
When it was time to part, his eyes smiling, he placed his large hand upon mine and said, “I wish you well.” In that moment, our spirits co-mingled within deep joy, evidence of His healing touch.
His name is Dr. G. Michael Rehme, DDS, located in Town and Country, Missouri. His son Michael, a dentistry practitioner, has recently joined the practice.
I wait for words, my note card opened on my table, my pen in hand. Distractions assail me: in my neighbor’s yard hangs the KC Chief’s banner, its bold red and black design flashing in the afternoon sun. I shake free of the team’s fierce determination to trample the Raiders in tomorrow’s game, then adjust my note card and wait for words. They must come.
My friend of long years is ill with double pneumonia, worsened by a blot clot in her lung. Round-the-clock surveillance monitors her condition and keeps her bed-fast. This is just another hospitalization. Others have checkered her life-steps, from all of which she has rebounded, her cheery attitude still sunning others through her continuous practice of acceptance—Even more following a night in her own bed, in quiet environs.
Indeed, she exemplifies Twelve-Step Living, even during these uncertain circumstances; her discovery of the joy of living deepens and teaches us to do likewise. Over and over, we learn that it’s not about us.
In some ways, her hospital stays mirror my own, but with my hospice admission, my return is unlikely.
But enough of this word-game. My note card is still empty, the pen limp in my hand.
I begin, “Dear Judy…”
Heart Whisperings 