Page 119 - Senior Link Magazine Fall 2018- Online Magazine

HONORING SENIORS

him looking very uncomfortable. I reached out and held
The Honor and the Gift his hand as I always did. When I asked if I could get him
some pain medicine from the nurse, he said no. I asked,
Always at Hand “Are you sure?” and he said, “Yes, just pray.” I knelt
beside his bed on the hard tile floor and put my other
hand on the side of his face. The grace of our touch
filled the room.
by Kara Leslie I began my prayer and finally ended with Amen.
He then took his hand and placed it on top of mine
and held it to his face as he said a prayer for me. It was
beautiful and full of love . . . his hands and his words.
Rev. Kara Leslie is an Episcopal priest, who There is a gift received and given when we are willing to
works as a chaplain with Interim Hospice. She reach out and hold someone and let someone hold us.
also has her own private counseling practice. Brené Brown in her book, Braving the Wilderness,
says we need to hold hands even with strangers (p.36). I
do this every day as a hospice chaplain because I believe
In 1932, Rev. Thomas Andrew Dorsey lost his wife in the healing power of touch when we hold hands. I
Nettie in childbirth. Two days later, he lost his infant tell my patients that I am a handholding chaplain and
son. This young man, overwhelmed by his grief and ask if that is okay with them. Most are so thankful
knowing there was only one source of healing, turned to receive a soft, kind and loving touch. Rev. Dorsey
to God and said, “Take My Hand, Precious Lord”. He knew how to make it through his storm: he needed a
wrote this hymn based upon his experience and Psalm hand to hold, and he needed Someone to hold him in
37: 24, and in the first verse we can hear his pain: his grief. This is what hospice chaplains do. We reach
out to strangers, and we hold our patients’ hands and
I am tired, I am weak, and worn. their families’ hands. We hold them in our hearts, our
prayers and in our hands . . . and sometimes we are
Through the storm, through the night, held, too.
Lead me on to the light.
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home.
In hospice, most of our patients want to go
home . . . home might be heaven; it might be where
they grew up, or it could be the last place they lived
before moving into a retirement home or nursing home.
I believe in holding hands with my patients as they long
for home. It is important and often more healing than
words.
There is a sweet woman I see regularly; she is so
petite her legs dangle freely in her wheelchair like a
child on a swing. She can’t hear me, and she doesn’t
speak, but she always wants to hold hands. I lay my
hand out palm up, and she puts both of her hands on
mine, and then I cup hers in-between my hands. We
can sit there for more than five minutes holding hands
in silence. She smiles, and I smile back. Her hands
are not even half the size of mine, but together we feel
warmth and wholeness. She is tired and weak, and as
her chaplain, I want to be her companion on her journey
to home with God.
When we hold someone else’s hand, we are
reminding them of the gift of being held - held by God,
held by another, held by joy and love. We as humans
long to be held and loved.
Recently, I was visiting an elderly man many times
a week because he was in much pain. He didn’t want to
take pain medicines; he simply wanted prayer. When I
went to see him, I could tell he was strong in mind, body
and spirit. We sat and visited in the dining room as he
waited for something to eat. When he lost his appetite,
I visited him in his room. One day, I walked in to find

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