The prayer list

“Do you want to be on the prayer list at church?”

I ask this with trepidation. Casper was very clear when she first met our family through hospice that her faith included angels, heaven, and new life after death, but she was not so keen on the whole sense of God. She was especially not okay with formal church worship. Her family church was Pentecostal, and was not warm and welcoming. It was not open to gays and lesbians. And, most importantly to her, it abandoned her beloved aunt, who raised Casper and her siblings while their parents worked to support a large family, when she faced a terminal cancer diagnosis. Casper saw “church” as hypocrites- dress up on Sunday and forget the flock in real times of need. Her aunt was one of those church ladies who did everything for others, and then they would not help her in the end. As a hospice nurse, Casper saw far too much of that as well.

But our church…well, we are just different. She saw that in action when Linda was sick, and then when she was dying. Our church shows up. We live what we say. Perfect we are not, but colorful we are. All ages. All colors. All genders. All families. We are the church for everyone else. And when stuff happens, folks show up. My mom is out visiting 90 year old shut ins (and she’s closing in on 80). Bette cuts out newspaper articles and remembers to bring them in for members. Extra bounty  from home gardens is shared. Bulletins are recycled. Barbara manages to meet every single new person who walks in our doors. We pray for our sick members and for marriage equality and for justice and our military members. But we are also a tight knit bunch, and when Casper joined the family she was walking into a big group who knew me, and who knew her name and wanted to welcome her. It was a bit much. Picture the lion’s den if you will, especially for someone who was already losing her memory but wasn’t really aware of it yet. “Who is that? Did I meet them before?” And then there were those who were so used to “JillandLinda” all one word, that calling Casper by her name, and not slipping and calling either Casper or me Linda was a long, long process. It still happens. I can joke about it now, but it wasn’t so easy at first. There just is no good way to correct someone and tell them that I am not my beloved but deceased spouse. I have learned to ignore it.

Today we had time to get to church after my mammogram, but we were going to be late. I offered breakfast out. Casper chose church. We snuck in the back, and made it for the sermon, the fellowship, the being there. And although Casper doesn’t sing, she was there. We knew our very best friend had joined the prayer list today, for something we never ever wanted to see happen. And as we sat, Casper looked out at who was there. She saw folks turn and wave, and smile, and welcome her. And she leaned over, and said she wanted to be on the list too. This was part of home now, and for the first time she wanted support. Tomorrow we face another ECT, more trauma, more impact of the way PD has changed our lives. She faces some terrifying moments. And for the first time she wants what is now her church family to be there.

After church Casper found herself greeting those she has come to know, and who she now considers friends and family. She was less in a hurry to leave, although crowds are somewhat scary now, and a little overwhelming. She hugged folks- and Casper is not an openly affectionate person. You learn that lesson too in the South as a lesbian- affection is not to be shown. Our church is an affectionate place, and she has been able to adapt.

I am not one who thinks you have to have faith to have a full life. I am never one to tell someone what their beliefs should be. My family includes most walks of faith, and my friends include more. I mean it when I say I respect them all. But I know my walk through this life, with the rough spots that cannot seem to stop popping up like bad potholes, would have been much tougher without my faith, such as it is. I hold on to my firm belief that Linda left this world for something better and is waiting for me, that in the midst of crisis and chaos there is peace somewhere, and that I cannot possibly be in control of all of it. And I am glad for it. Tonight I will rest a bit more peacefully, even with PD tremors knocking the bed around, because of the slight turn today and because I know my church family is there for all of us, each in their own way. My hope for others facing serious illness is that they have such amazing support, from whatever source it comes. Facing chronic illness or serious illness all alone… I cannot even imagine.