Be still . . .

 
clasped hands resting on a lap

Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that
Be still and know
Be still and
Be still
Be.

Because my work is focused in supportive and palliative care, most of the patients I support are chronically, critically, or terminally ill. Since my role on our care team is spiritual health, I am privileged to have some incredibly deep, raw, and transparent conversations.

I’m always looking for what has shaped my patients’ spirituality. It’s a starting place to recall, dust off, or rediscover those aspects of faith that have—at least at some point in time—brought spiritual comfort, support, love.

With some patients, the conversation turns into something beautiful. I can hear it in their voice, or see it in their face, maybe even watch their body language. And I become even more curious. What have they experienced? What have they read? Where have they been? What is it that has informed their spirituality?

This was the path with Ms. K, a terminally patient. The more she talked, the more I could tell there was a spiritual peace about her. I commented, “Your spirituality is unusual. I can hear it in your voice. It’s really beautiful. What is it that nourishes your soul? How do you feed yourself spiritually?” There was silence as she thought about how to express her answer. Finally, she said, “It’s not something I’ve read, or something I’ve been taught, or experienced. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just a knowing.”

Her answer took me aback. Now I was the silent one. I couldn’t think of a more perfect answer.

I’ve spent most of my life in spiritual strife. Always reaching, reading, listening, trying to learn more, experience more, be my spiritual best. But today, through Ms. K, I feel that maybe it’s okay to put all else aside, and just rest in the knowing.

Janet Speer is a Spiritual Health Clinician with Emory Healthcare in Atlanta.

 
Judy Nelson Lewis