Today's meditation was written by Cathy Self, Senior Vice-President for the Baptist Healing Trust.
I'm struck with the efforts of so many in our world who seek to leave a legacy – something that will mark a life's meaning and purpose. Great pain and sacrifice has been offered over and over to place that perfect and final brushstroke on the canvas or the perfectly placed pause between the notes. In this past month I have said goodbye to three giants whose names you have not heard and whose work was done quietly and without acclaim. The legacies left by these remarkable people are legacies of Love.
It occurs to me that as caregivers we have that same opportunity for a legacy – not of public renown or acclaim but of quiet Love. My Dad felt the touch of Love as he lay dying some years ago in a hospital bed. Limited by pain and weakness, his only recourse was to receive the ministrations of a caring nursing tech who quietly gave him a bed bath each morning. Larger-than-life, fiercely independent, capable and strong, Daddy could do nothing but surrender into Millie's hands and care. Each day she came and went, saying very little, offering so very much. And each day, as Daddy settled back into his pillow after her leaving, I would hear a deep, peaceful sigh and watch a sweet but barely discernable smile find its way onto his face.
There was a day when a different nursing tech arrived to do what was technically and competently the same task. As she finished her work and left, my Dad rolled over, opened his eyes and said very quietly to me, "I miss Millie." You see, Millie did her work with great Love. As the days rolled by it was easy to appreciate Millie from our vantage point. I doubt she was ever recognized publicly or widely. When I spoke of her to the nursing manager, the response I received was "Yes, she has been with us a long time. She is very dependable and proficient." I suppose that is what the nurse manager thought I'd want to hear. What she missed, and what I remember about those days is that Daddy felt Love through Millie's hands.
Love does that – it cares more for others than for self, doesn't want what it doesn't have, doesn't strut, or have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," or fly off the handle, doesn't keep score, always looks for the best, keeps going to the end (1 Corinthians 13, The Message). The giants in my life that are no longer physically present were like Millie – quiet, sure, and deeply loving people. They understood what matters. And they, like Millie, left legacies of Love.
Journal of Sacred Work 
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