Stillness and Mystery

Over the past two days there has been a strange stillness here in NE Texas. The usual bookends of our winter days are frosty mornings and chilled nights with moderate daytime temperatures between that keep us from complaining much at all about either. That has not been the case since Monday evening when a thin blanket of snow and ice began its descent and found welcome on our cars, streets, roofs, and yards. The hurry of life stopped. The normal sounds of activity ceased. A retreat of sorts was sounded, and we retired to our living rooms. There is a still peacefulness and a deep exhale when the view from our windows and porches reveals winter’s precipitation. We are both intrigued and haunted – even perplexed. For us here in the deeper parts of the South maybe that perplexity stems from mystery. All of our normal machinations don’t match well with snow and ice. We aren’t built for this: privately or corporately. So, we dissolve into the stillness and try to endure a day or two of non-control. Sad, perhaps, that is how we respond to stillness, to mystery.

On this day, I was brought into the proper reception of stillness and mystery. I visited a patient of ours. She is old. She is sick. She is aware of both. Sleeping peacefully when I entered her room, a hand on her shoulder did not wake her. I sat down next to her bed. A prayer was offered in silence – in appreciation for the stillness and mystery in the sacred space of life she inhabits. A few minutes of quiet is a nice respite for me, too. I embraced the chance. When I stood to leave her eyes stirred open. I spoke her name. She turned to me and gave notice she recognized me. I asked, “How are you today?” “I’m not doing too well today”, she answered. I nodded that I had heard her. I said, “Would you like for us to pray together?” She said, “Yes.” We let the stillness and mystery descend.

“Loving God”, I began. And, to my surprise she repeated those words into the stillness. “Thank you for this day”, I continued. So did she. I don’t remember much of anything else I prayed. I simply made sure to only pray in four or five word phrases. She repeated each one – all the way down to the AMEN. She fell asleep as quickly as she stirred. I turned to leave. Stopping part way across the room I prayed again -- giving thanks for the stillness. For the mystery. And, for grace beyond all boundaries of my imagining.

Grace and Peace,
Chaplain Mark A. Davenport

Cypress Basin Hospice