Matt and Rachel

By Matt Horne

Caring for a chronically ill wife is not what I had envisioned when I was working up the nerve to ask out “that hot girl” who would later become my wife. We were in college and she was on the cross country team. She let me know very early on in the relationship that she had a chronic illness.

Nowadays, it’s just part of life. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if she were well.

There’s a reason I call her “Super Rachel.” On her good days, she can run circles around me–cleaning, getting things checked off her to-do list, and having tons of fun. She’s amazing.

On top of that, she has the greatest attitude and rarely lets her condition get her down. As her dad says, she’s an “overcomer.” Instead of having a “why me?” attitude, she says “what can I do to fix it?” She also has the tendency to volunteer for more than she can handle, but I digress. . .

Here are some tips about the logistics I’d like to pass on to help other couples who are coping with chronic illness:

Career

Super Rachel can’t work sometimes. A couple years ago, she was working part-time, working on her Master’s degree in Exercise Physiology, and working as a Graduate Assistant at the university (to pay for school). She crashed. We worked it out so we don’t need her income and she can stay at home trying to feel better.

Priorities

She was forced to reevaluate her priorities. Rachel used every ounce of her energy to please everyone else and live up to their expectations. Sometimes she was not physically able to drive home at night and I would have to put on my shining armor and drive my mighty steed (Ford Ranger) to pick her up. We had very little free time as a couple. At that time, she decided to put God first and her family (me) second in her life. School, work, and everything else is important, but not that important.

Now that she’s feeling better, she only works 2 days a week and we carpool, so she doesn’t have to drive herself. Working two days a week at the doctor’s office is the peak of her current physical ability, but she has the opportunity to help others with the same chronic condition she has.

Mobility

I searched on craigslist.org for a walker and a go-cart. (Yes, I call it the go-cart. Yes, I know I’m wrong. It is a mobility scooter. No, I won’t change.) I got the walker for $50 ($175 off) and the go-cart for $300 ($1,000 off). The walker helps her get around the house when she’s at her worst health-wise. The go-cart helps us get the shopping done, among other things.

Shopping

I used to get really frustrated when she said she had enough energy to go shopping, but didn’t. Invariably, when we got just about five items down on the list, she would need to quit and go home. I had probably 25 more things to get. It really made me angry sometimes, but it wasn’t her fault. The walker and the scooter dramatically changed things. Now, for the first time in her life, she actually enjoys shopping.

Independence

To help her be more independent on her bad days, I installed a hand-held shower head in the bath tub and bought a shower chair. Now she can clean herself most of the time.

Comfort

We used to sleep on an incline, so there wouldn’t be as much of a change for her when she gets up in the mornings. This is a common treatment for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.

Cooking

It is very important for her to be able to eat when I’m not home, even when she can’t stand up. If you can’t stand for more than a few seconds, you obviously can’t cook on the stove top. We try to get a good number of things pre-cooked and in the freezer for her to re-heat and I’m not talking about “healthy-choice box dinners” either.

We like to do what is called “Once A Month Cooking,” or OAMC. We’re not very good at doing it regularly, but if you do it right, you can have wonderful dinners & lunches for very little cost, and it’s all home made! With OAMC, you create a plan, buy your stuff, cook all day, and then freeze it for later. Sometimes all day Saturday spills over into part of the day on Sunday.

When she’s desperate for some nutrition and doesn’t have the energy to cook, she uses the walker to get to the kitchen, musters what energy she has to get the food from the freezer to the microwave, and then sits down on the seat of the walker (or the floor) while it cooks. After that, she can eat right there in the kitchen. Some days, we use the bar stool in front of the stove or sink so that she can get some work done.

And I almost forgot – I do pick her up and carry her sometimes!

Tomorrow Matt will Share. . .

How a Husband Can Encourage a Chronically Ill Wife – The Spiritual and Emotional Stuff

Matt Horne is the wife of Rachel, who lives with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS) and fibromyalgia, among other conditions. They have been married since December 2006 and Rachel is currently pregnant with her first child. Matt is the youth pastor at the First Baptist Church Hebron in Carrollton, Texas. You can visit his web site at http://www.matthorne.info .

“For great is your love, higher than the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies.” Psalm 108:4

Last year my son and I were cuddled up on the bed having one of those rare quiet moments where he just wanted personal attention and was holding still long enough for me to talk with him.

I told him, “Do you know how much Mommy loves you?”
“How much?” he asked.
“I love you as high as the sky and as deep as the ocean” I told him.
“I love you. . .” he started to say, trying to think of something to compare it with. “. . .as deep as the toilet!”

[Ah. . .  thanks, I think!]

Well, maybe he was trying to think of a body of water like I had mentioned the ocean.

We ARE loved. Valentine’s Day is passed and suddenly all the store decorations remove the hearts and signs of affection and throw up big green clovers and little men dressed in tights. How fickle this can also represent our love. We remember those we love on the big holidays, we try to write “Happy Birthday” on friend’s Facebook walls, and we occasionally pick up the phone and hang up saying, “love you.”

But we don’t always feel loved ourselves. Does anyone remember us? Does anyone really see us?

Living with an illness can be isolating and lonely. Even today as I prepare all of my paperwork for a new doctor, trying to explain the timeline of 18 years with rheumatoid arthritis, I look at my organized preparations and think, “Is this really my life?” I mention my marriage and the adoption of my child. The rest of my notes revolve around surgeries, infections, medication changes, and flares.

But God loves us. We look at our bottles of pills all lined up and we think, “How? If this is how He chooses to love me, do I really want to trust this God? I this is how He allows those He loves to suffer, why would I believe in Him?”

Because He loves you. He chose you. He even chose this path for you.

If you were the responsible child in your family growing up, you may remember how there were even greater expectations put on your shoulders. Perhaps more was even expected of you. It didn’t seem fair. If you were the child who was not quite as responsible, it may have taken you a bit longer in life to discover what you wanted to be when you grew up, what your passions were, etc. Perhaps because you were not forced to go through challenges as frequently, it took a bit longer to find yourself.

God chooses those of us with illness to bear seasons of suffering because He loves us and knows that we can be more of a comfort to those who are suffering–who have no hope–WHILE we are living with illness. As we stand in the muck of life, still explaining how we rely on our Father’s guidance and love each day to endure our illness, people will listen. If we did not suffer, if life was easy, the cash overflowed, we never suffered, would those who were hurting seek us out for advice? Not likely.

I don’t understand it all and I don’t pretend to. I don’t even strive to fully comprehend it all, because even the Bible tells me it’s impossible for me to fully get it. Psalm 108:4 tell me, however, that God’s love is great, higher than the heavens, and that His faithfulness reaches to the skies. That is the best way the author of the Psalms could even begin to explain it in human terms.

It’s like God looks down at us and says, “I love you as deep as the ocean” and we look back and respond, “And I love you as deep as the toilet.” His love is beyond our comprehension.  Ecclesiastes 8:17 says, “Then I saw all that God has done. No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all his efforts to search it out, man cannot discover its meaning. Even if a wise man claims he knows, he cannot really comprehend it.”

But our inability to fully understand it does not lessen the impact it can have on our life. it doesn’t change God’s love. It only assures us it is worth fully grasping onto and never letting go
Lisa Copen is the founder of Rest Ministries and has lived with rheumatoid arthritis for 18 years. She is the author of Mosaic Moments: Devotionals for the Chronically Ill.

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“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” (Romans 12: 15 NASB)

Rejoicing comes easily when something good happens in the lives of friends. But when death and its sorrow invade a home, we often find ourselves struggling for an adequate response.

We sincerely want to help, but deep inside we’re afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, not being “strong” enough, or of becoming depressed. Who among us ever feels sufficient when death intrudes? And yet, that is when we’re needed most of all.

The good news is that, in spite of our human weaknesses and fears, God can use us to uplift and encourage the bereaved. When the Holy Spirit dwells within our hearts, He will be our guide, our comforter. He knows another’s needs; He knows our capabilities. As we pray, seeking His wisdom, He directs us to take action. When our thoughts give birth to Spirit-led activities, we actually become the answer to someone’s prayer. The resulting consolation exceeds human understanding.

This truth became a reality to me years ago when our youngest son, Jeffrey, died suddenly of meningitis. As a registered nurse, I had studies about grief and observed it in the lives of others, but when it happened to me, I was overwhelmed by its total impact—mentally, physically, emotionally, socially, psychologically, and spiritually. Thankfully, I did not have to face that life-shaking sorrow alone.

As loving family members and friends demonstrated compassionate care, I found that whether one is a casual acquaintance or a close friend, there are many creative ways of ministering.

Here are ten suggestions:

1. Be present, even if you don’t know what to say. Give a hug, squeeze a hand, and don’t be afraid to cry.

Physical contact with friends gave me strength. Not only was I energized, I was touched spiritually. Through loving hugs, God seemed to be sending a message, “See, I AM with you. I haven’t forgotten your hurts, and these friends are here to show My love.”

Grieving Christians know intellectually that God is always with them, but the pain is so great, they may feel momentarily forsaken. They may even repeat the words of Jesus Who cried out from the cross, “My God, My God, why has Thou forsaken Me? (Matthew 27: 46 NASB).

The unsaved also feel abandoned. Taking time to be near this friend in need may be instrumental in softening his heart toward the Gospel message on some future occasion. Unconditional love is not soon forgotten and may lead your friend to seek the joy of salvation.

2. Say something positive about the one who died.

A common misconception is that it is better not to talk about the person who died for fear of making grief more difficult. Actually, the opposite is true. A kind remembrance is comforting and helps the afflicted feel that his loss is being shared by others.

For example, I appreciated a church nursery worker who, shortly after our son’s death, told me how much she enjoyed having our seventeen-month-old in her room. She reflected about his antics with the other children as she recalled, “He was such a joy. I’ll never forget the way he looked up at me with hose big blue eyes.”

3. Sign the register at the funeral home.

The simple act of taking time out from a busy schedule to visit the funeral home can be very expressive. We experienced this with Ruth, a waitress at a restaurant where our family occasionally went out for dinner. She was always smiling, friendly, helpful, and interested in our three pre-schoolers.

Although we had no other contact with her, Ruth came to the funeral home and signed the register prior to Jeffrey’s memorial service. I was touched by her action. It meant so much to me to know that our family was not “just another customer” to Ruth. I’ll always remember her kindness in letting us know she cared.

4. Send flowers, sympathy cards, or simple memorial gifts.

I never realized the significance of flowers until I received them. The colorful blossoms and green plants made me feel surrounded by the warm love of my friends.

When the mailman delivered beautiful cards, the personal notes and scriptures seemed tailor-made, just what I needed for the moment. A few contained comments such as…”I know I should have sent this card sooner, but…” My response was, “No, it was right on time.” It is never too late to send a card.

5. Encourage the grieving by reassuring them of God’s love, but refrain from preaching.

Allowing God to use disappointments for our good is a conscious decision that takes time. In the early stages of grief, one does not have the emotional or spiritual energy necessary to handle weighty spiritual matters.

I remember feeling upset toward an elderly lady who said, “Well, Honey, God just needed another beautiful flower for His garden in Heaven.”

That made me angry as I thought, “God can make His own garden without taking my son, and besides, Jeffrey is a person, not a plant.” Refraining from speculations about God’s purposes and reason, and simply giving reassurance of God’s love, grace, or other character qualities, will be appreciated by those who grieve.

6. Take food to the home in disposable containers.

When plunged into grief, I found the most ordinary tasks impossible. I was so numb, I couldn’t have prepared a meal if the ingredients had been lined up in front of me. That is why I was so grateful for sensitive friends who brought food. Items not used right away were tucked away in the freezer for handy use later.

It was convenient to have food brought in disposable pans so we didn’t have to worry about returning the containers. However, one thoughtful friend came by, picked up all the empty dishes and returned them to their owners. Even if you know nothing about the family’s culinary preferences, don’t hesitate to prepare something. It doesn’t have to be elaborate.

7. Help the family with practical needs.

Special friends can be extremely helpful during the immediate time after a death. Here are some ways you might think about helping a close friend: make telephone calls to relatives and friends; offer to keep the children; straighten the house; take care of the laundry or any unpredictable catastrophes (for example, our dishwasher broke and my friend called the repairman, stayed with him until it was fixed, and then paid for it.)

You could also spend time receiving guests, answering the telephone or receiving food and gifts so your friend can rest, or offer to run errands and take care of shopping.

8. Be a good listener and be patient.

Death is such a crushing blow that it takes time for a person to come to grips with its reality. From my own experience, I knew mentally that my son would not come back, but emotionally, I didn’t want to believe it.

My friends were patient to listen as I recounted the events surrounding Jeffrey’s death, again and again. This repetitious review seemed helpful in bringing my body, soul, and spirit into accepting the fact that the shock I’d experienced actually did happen.

A good friend will understand that heartache needs expression, and tears will be common for the first six weeks or so. Crying is a healthy way to begin dealing with the agony of death.

9. Acknowledge grieving children in the family.

Children experience a great sense of loss and are deeply affected by death. However, their reactions are sometimes unpredictable and may seem inappropriate at times; they cannot verbalize their feelings very well. With all the extra guests, confusion, and adult concerns, children may be unintentionally ignored. They need special attention most of all.

When our son died, his brother, Steve, was five years old, and sister, Angie, was three. Each of their Sunday school teachers visited our home at separate times. One brought a small green ivy in a planter appropriate for Steve’s room, and another brought a small plate of cookies for Angie. Each teacher spent a little time hugging and loving the children. I’ll always remember their thoughtfulness and the children loved receiving their own special visitors.

10. Share a book that has helped you.

A book that my husband and I found helpful for the children was If I Should Die, If I Should Live by Joanne and Benjamin Marxhausen. We read it over a number of times with them. It strengthened us as well.

If you’ve read an account of someone’s experience which concludes on an encouraging note, consider taking a copy to your friend with prayers that he will look toward a brighter day. Realizing that others have made it through the dark valley will strengthen him and give him hope that joy can dawn in his life again, too.

Perhaps these suggestions will assist you as you minister to grieving friends. You may not be able to say, “I understand,” but you can communicate “I care,” the most important language of the heart.

This article was first published in the magazine, The Evangelical Beacon, April 3, 1989. Copyright Fran Caffey Sandin. All rights reserved.

Fran Caffey Sandin is a registered nurse and freelance writer, is the wife of a physician, mother of two and grandmother of three. She is also the author of a new book, “Jesus Really Said It: The Words of Jesus.” She is an organist for her church where she and her husband teach a couples’ class, and she assists with other ministries. Fran is a member of AWSA (Advanced Writers and Speakers Association), speaks for ladies’ groups, and has been interviewed regarding her books on both radio and television stations in the U.S. and in Canada. She enjoys walking, hiking, sailing, snowshoeing, reading, baking, and playing with her grandchildren.

By Dana Kennedy

In a holy whisper, compassionate eyes searching my soul, He hands me a gift.

“I love you, my child. As the cross is a symbol of my love, so is this gift. It’s not what you desire, but it will bring you more than you ever asked or imagined. Remember, all my gifts are good.”

Tears course off His face as He leans down to kiss my forehead.

As I carefully open the gift avoiding the thorns twisted into a bow, the blood red paper drops to the ground. I lift off the lid and peer into the tiny box. Before my mind can comprehend that it is empty, I am brought to my knees. Pain, fatigue, and weakness crash through my body pulling me under. Instantaneously, I am stricken with illness.

“Oh, God! What have you given me?” I scream in anguish.

“There, there, my child. Be still and know that I am God.”

He gathers me to His heart and carries me to the darkened window. As His breath dispels ice crystals formed in the shape of a dove, He points outside and says, “Look beyond your own comfort, to see what I see.”

In the crisp chill of a winter night, the heavens open and I know fully even as I am fully known.

My life includes gifts many healthy people experience. The chance to wed and to have children. The gift of friends and loved ones, a home and a church. But, the most intriguing gifts are the ones He gives through illness.

I realize I can’t, God can, and I let Him.

As He caresses my face with a look of love I can’t begin to fathom He says…

“My child, the true gift you hold tonight is me. I want for you to know me and to love me above all else. Because this is truth, your illness isn’t some evil plan of mine designed for your ruin. It’s meant to bring you closer to me, my heart and my will for your life. For without it, you wouldn’t be all I’ve planned for you. Remember, when you begin to doubt my love, that I came as a babe to save all mankind. I am the gift.”

With that thought echoing in my heart, I kiss His check and accept my gift.

Dana Kennedy is a survivor, encourager, wife and mother. She writes a devotional column for Glory and Strength e-magazine. It has taken Dana the better part of 17 years to begin to understand the gifts God has hidden for her in chronic illness, especially Himself. Dana welcomes your contact at dtearosee@earthlink.net

An Anonymous Story called “Daniel’s Gloves”

I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.

As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, ‘I will work for food.” My heart sank.

I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.

Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: “Don’t go back to the office until you’ve at least driven once more around the square.”

Then with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square’s third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack.

I stopped and looked; feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town’s newest visitor.

“Looking for the pastor?” I asked.

“Not really,” he replied, “just resting.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Oh, I ate something early this morning.”

“Would you like to have lunch with me?”

“Do you have some work I could do for you?”

“No work,” I replied “I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch.”

“Sure,” he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions. “Where you headed?”

“St. Louis.”

“Where you from?”

“Oh, all over; mostly Florida.”

“How long you been walking?”

“Fourteen years,” came the reply.

I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, “Jesus is The Never Ending Story.”

Then Daniel’s story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He’d made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought.

He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God

“Nothing’s been the same since,” he said, “I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now.”

“Ever think of stopping?” I asked.

“Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles, that’s what’s in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads.”

I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: “What’s it like?”

“What?”

“To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?”

“Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn’t make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people’s concepts of other folks like me.”

My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused He turned to me and said, “Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I’ve prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.”

I felt as if we were on holy ground. “Could you use another Bible?” I asked.

He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite.. “I’ve read through it 14 times,” he said.

“I’m not sure we’ve got one of those, but let’s stop by our church and see.” I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.

“Where are you headed from here?” I asked.

“Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon.”

“Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?”

“No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that’s where I’m going next.”

He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town-square where we’d met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.

“Would you sign my autograph book?” he asked. “I like to keep messages from folks I meet.”

I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, “‘I know the plans I have for you,’ declared the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Plans to give you a future and a hope.’”

“Thanks, man,” he said. “I know we just met and we’re really just strangers, but I love you.”

“I know,” I said, “I love you, too. The Lord is good!”

“Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?” I asked.

“A long time,” he replied

And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.. He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, “See you in the New Jerusalem.”

“I’ll be there!” was my reply.

He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, “When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?”

“You bet,” I shouted back, “God bless.”

“God bless.” And that was the last I saw of him.

Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them…. a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them.

Then I remembered his words: “If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?”

Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. “See you in the New Jerusalem,” he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will…

“I shall pass this way but once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again.”

My instructions were to send this to four people that I wanted God to bless and I picked you. Please pass this to four people you want to be blessed.

This prayer is powerful and there is nothing attached. Please do not break this pattern. Prayer is one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards. Let’s continue to pray for one another.

‘Father, I ask you to bless my friends, relatives and e-mail buddies reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of your love and power. Holy Spirit, I ask you to minister to their spirit at this very moment. Where there is pain, give them your peace and mercy. Where there is self-doubt, release a renewed confidence through your grace, In Jesus’ precious Name Amen.’

Nelvin C. Cepeda / UNION-TRIBUNE, Nurse Rod Salaysay serenades a patient, Harry W. Crocker, at Scripps Memorial Hospital

If you have spent time in the hospital you know just how quickly the thrill of being in charge of the remote control can dry up. If family members or friends visit, you feel torn between the feelings of gratefulness that someone cares, & yet being exhausted by a simple conversation.

Nurses, however, can hold so much influence however, in how our hospital stay really feels. When I was stuck in the hospital for 8 days with the flesh eating bacteria I didn’t have a whole lot of visitors. (Can’t imagine why, huh?) It was a nurse on her Sunday shift who sat & talked to me about her kids, the Fireproof movie, & other day to day stuff that made a couple hours quickly pass. Even nicer, when another nurse arrived for the next shift she said the previous nurse had said, “I don’t even feel like I am working today! I had such a nice conversation with that woman in room 20.”

So when I saw this story, Healing serenade; Nurse comforts patients & families with original songs published in the San Diego Union Tribune I wanted to share it with you. I can’t reprint the article here, but if you feel like reading an encouraging story I invite you to click on the link above & read more about Rod Salaysay.

Rod has been a nurse for over 24 years. He worked in the trauma unit at La Jolla’s Scripps Memorial Hospital caring for people who were on the brink of death. . . & he wanted to offer them something more than his average  nursing duties offered.  So he got out his guitar, & started write original songs for his patients. Sometimes the patients can  , Salaysay wanted to offer his patients something more. So, he puts his feelings of hope, love & support into original songs that he sings to them, even if they may not always hear him.

And if the patients can’t hear him? Well, their loved ones can, & sometimes that makes all the difference. . . to see someone still offering hope.

-Lisa

>Read more here

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