Who says worship's only for church?

[Recording located at end of post]

Imagine a place where kindness is the norm. Where people smile, hold doors and let those with crutches and in wheelchairs go first. Where employees ask what they may do to be helpful and mean it. Where all walks of life meet, mostly in unsettling circumstances. Where Zen-like instrumentals waft through uncluttered, futuristic passageways, a daily schedule of art and music is posted, large-scale paintings, sculpture and photography adorn the stunning architecture of the campus. Where Parisian sweets and simple sushi are available. Where ego seems to take a backseat to need.

In a hospital of all places. My visit this week with my parents to the Cleveland Clinic astounded me. Especially when compared to my mother's last-summer stint in a local hospital that was doomed from the moment we entered the ER room as someone was vomiting all over the corridor and no one wanted to clean it up. As a matter of fact, no employee, save a few nurses, wanted to do much of anything for anyone, let alone the patient, the last person on their totem pole of pecking order.

That experience reveals everything wrong with healthcare, but the Cleveland Clinic is a bright example of how business can get it right. Very right.

Just the idea that an experience typically anxious and angst-ridden could be calmed by a quiet, interwoven attitude of care, nurturing, listening and serving on all levels was so invigorating and heartening. Prior to our visit, anyone who'd ever been to the Cleveland Clinic raved about it. I tended not to truly believe it. After all, a hospital is a hospital; at least from my perspective.

We weren't made to wait more than five minutes for any scheduled procedure (of course, we showed up at 7 a.m., so being first was a bonus) or even for the top heart specialist, who spent a good chunk of time talking to and listening to my parents, treating them as relevant. I was sickened last summer at the condescending attitude toward older people at the local hospital. The consulting physician told me several times that he didn't think my parents understood what he said and that my mother kept asking him the same question. I know it's because he never answered her. Ohhh, that still burns me. He also relayed many other things founded on ego and not truth.

The reverence of kindness at the clinic lingered in the hallways long after patients and staff had passed. I don't think I've ever been anywhere so large and institutional when the population was so congenial. More surprising given the nature of why people were there.

There is a culture of kindness at the Cleveland clinic that, for me, began when I approached desk A-17 a eight-til-seven in the morning as Stephanie was disinfecting her seat and warming up her computer. I told her I'd give her time to catch her breath as I knew we had arrived early. She worked to finish more quickly and began the admission before her official starting time.

Perhaps, the smiling, though chilly young man opening our car doors as we arrived on a steely cold morning should have been a clue. All we had to do was toss him the keys and walk in, which was good for my mother, who does not tolerate dropping temperatures.

I am certain, there are blights on the Cleveland Clinic's sterling reputation, but it is such a breath of fresh air and such a contradiction to most health-care settings I have witnessed.

It gives me hope. Hope that this is a better model for how health care can be done; not dictated by egos and insurance companies. Hope that people can make the best out of difficult circumstances when given an example. Hope that kindness can rule, even become the norm.

Of course, I don't want to become sick, but I'd sure like to visit the Cleveland Clinic again -- just to check that what I experienced was real. It'a so much easier to go back out into the cold world warmed by the experience and bring it to the people and places I will touch.

• When was the last time I was touched by human compassion?
• What difference have I observed a thread of kindness making?
• Especially within an institutional setting?
• How does a common experience, especially a difficult one, trigger compassion in us?
• Where have I witnessed Spirit at work in a typically secular venue?


whipping in on
an icy swirl
from the lake

unsure and
reluctant

going as
the dutiful
daughter

understanding
my vulnerability
in places of disease

then being
totally surprised
as Spirit's 

form shone
in accommodating
faces, friendly
gestures and
genuine caring

who says
worship's only
for church?

http://my.clevelandclinic.org

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Strangers who haunt us

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Last week, I wrote about serendipitously meeting Rebecca at Whole Foods. Today, I believe that wave of Spirit put me in the path of Amanda and Scott, again, two strangers I encountered while having tea. 

I'd taken my younger daughter to Starbucks enroute to picking up her sister from band practice. I had to be fair, not necessarily by my accounting, since I'd schlepped the older one out earlier in the week for refreshment.

Hadn't but just sat down, when, the man sitting across from me noticed my keycard was the same as his wife's. He wondered if we worked at the same place. No, we just had the same brand of key cards. The conversation got deep very fast as I learned they have 5 sons, one of whom died in his mother's arms, was revived and, later, survived a heart surgery. There were two miscarriages. Amanda, who was also present,though more quietly so, was a stay-at-home mom until Scott found himself out of work. Their roles are reversed. They used to live close to me in Milford, but moved six years ago when busing was cut and they could no longer afford it here.

Once again, death entered the equation. But so did religion, spirituality and faith. We talked about so much distraction in the world when I mentioned I was Quaker and, for the most part, we wait in silence listening for God. That captivated Scott. He is an informal student of religion and open to new ideas. Scott and Amanda actually met at church. He spotted her all in black, beautifully playing the trumpet, when they were both pretty young.

It was a very even exchange of listening and being listened to: a rare gift, especially in the care of complete strangers. But then, were they – really? Scott didn't think so. Upon parting, which we were disinclined to do, he said he had felt not only blessed by the encounter, but certain we were supposed to meet. "Usually, we just get our coffee and go," he said. "But something told me to comment on your keycard; not what I'd normally do."

They both looked me back straight in the eye, which I liked. I think you get soul-to-soul that way. In the same manner I'd get naked-to-naked, skin-to-skin with my kids when they were babies. It's a way I like to connect and the manner in which I recently greeted wounded American soldiers back from Afghanistan. Mostly amputees and those with limited mobility that I think rarely get seen as whole. (link) Looking someone square in the eyes helps me witness their essence, their wholeness.

Scott's eyes told me more than his words. At some point in the conversation, I mentioned how wise they seemed for their ages, mid 30s. That blew Scott away. "Just today, I was praying for wisdom and right here, right now, you just gave me my answer."

How often do we experience this? Perhaps more than we recognize.

Well, they had to be on their way and we soon had to be on ours. We vowed to meet again at Starbucks because we just knew we would. They left ahead of us and as I was packing up, I used the last $10 in my wallet to buy a gift card for them next time they visited. A random act of kindness? A thank you for such instantly deep community? A desire to see them again? Who knows? Only Spirit. 

• When have I felt on a wave of Spirit?
• What was it like?
• What were my experiences?
• Who or what came into my path?
• How did I express gratitude? 

whisking in,
12-year-old
in tow

a quick
coffee break
before retrieving
the older one
from band practice 

about to settle
in on a nice,
hot chai,
when an energetic
stranger asks
me a question

the answer leads
to conversation
and a knowingness
by both parties

that we were not
strangers

we, reluctantly,
part company

I return to my drink 

 ... and it is still hot* 

 *homage to my favorite book, the last line, from Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are"

A single act

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It’s been a full week from one extreme to the next, life transitions, ups and downs and little time for quiet or spaciousness; yet there have been moments. Perhaps more than I have noticed.

 One happened Tuesday morning after I had arrived at the pool churned up. Not troubled necessarily, but mind, body and spirit busily engaged from a full long weekend of traveling and preparing for the always-crazy end of the school year.

 At first, I was forced to share a lane, which beats not swimming … but not by much. Fortunately, rather quickly, another opened up and I started to melt into the laps. Yes, I had walked out the door without my water bottle; at least, however, I was attempting to get back into the groove. I require a regularity and rhythm that had been out of sync because of social and family obligations and traveling. 

Here, now I was returning. To myself, my heart, my mind, my body and, eventually, to God. I struggled with letting the thoughts and busyness go, settling into my lone lane. Then I heard the door click. Another swimmer, I selfishly intimated. I’ll have to share. If I don’t look up when I make my turn-around, I won’t have to. I was stopped as someone called my name and handed me an ice-cold water. “My deed for the day,” she muttered as she walked away. I stared rather blankly trying to register what just happened: a random act of kindness. The woman to whom I said a quick hello in the locker room and mentioned I’d forgotten my water had purchased one from the machine for me. 

Instantly, everything changed. As if God were telling me it’s okay, I am not forgotten in the busyness of obligation for others.

 I’ve carried that kindness around all week, in and out of ceremonies, last lunches, parades and, even, an unexpected trip into my ob-gyn for a biopsy. Of course, I won’t know results until next week and neither my physician or I believe it’s anything. While this event caught me off guard, I think I might have stumbled more into self pity had it not been for that single action of receiving a cold water poolside. That has been such a reminder ALL week in the madness that even if I am too busy for God, God is never too busy for me. There’s a peacefulness in that revelation. One that prevents me from a self beating because I have not had time to pray, meditate or do some contemplative reading all week. 

One that has also kept me from being too weepy after discovering that my cloissinee Catherine of Sienna charm fell out of my prayer-bead bracelet. I think I lost her in Washington, D.C. probably on the subway.

 And helped me giggle yesterday at the doc’s office when, after we were finished, I accidentally met him in the maze of hallways looking for a bathroom and he routed me away from the one with the ripe-diaper aroma. And not growling this morning when four kids were jumping over mattresses and couches playing hide-and-go-seek all over my house.

I can’t imagine that kind woman at the gym had any idea how much she’d brighten my week. I am grateful she didn’t think twice about it and followed her heart.

 • How has a random act of kindness affected me? 
• When I have committed one, how am I able to release myself from any result and just do it because I should? 
• Where have I experienced God this week? 
• Where unexpectedly?
• How am I gentle with myself when I don’t squeeze in contemplative time? 

arriving home Monday evening
on a wave of Washington, D.C. 
whirlwind


just in time
for 6th grade graduation,
school to end,


a parade to watch,


birthdays to celebrate


and very little
decompression,
let alone
God time


except for a single soul
who graciously
quenched my thirst
at the beginning of the week


and I’ve felt that
living water
through tension,
trauma, celebration
and gratitude