LEVI

Failure to thrive.

That term is not often used with young adults, but I had unintentionally lost thirty pounds over a few months, and it was time to find some answers. 

I was hospitalized for a series of tests. My husband, Bill, was left to juggle work and family life in my absence. Ethan, the youngest of our six children, was barely weaned.

A week later, an abnormal HIDA scan indicated the need for surgery. On the day of the procedure, I encouraged Bill to remain at work. He had already missed so much time, and gallbladder removal was fairly routine.

As often happens with non-emergent cases, mine was delayed. The hours dragged on as I prayed alone in my room and waited to be taken downstairs. 

I was relieved when a transporter finally arrived in the late afternoon. What a pleasant face, I thought. He cheerfully introduced himself as Levi, transferred me to a gurney, and made me comfortable. Then he rolled me through the crowded hall to the elevator. The doors slid shut, and it was just the two of us.

"How are you doing?" he asked kindly.

Tears unexpectedly sprang to my eyes. 

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked, concern on his face.

"I wish I could pray with someone before my surgery, but I don't know who to ask," I replied.

"I will pray with you," he said. Then he pressed the STOP button on the elevator and gently took my hand in his. 

As Levi began to pray, peace flooded over me. His words were unhurried, confident, calm, and certain. When our season of prayer ended, he set the elevator in motion again. Then Levi wheeled me to the surgical holding area.

"You are going to be just fine," he said with a warm smile as he gently clasped my shoulder.

"Thank you for praying," I whispered.

Then he was gone.

The next morning, my gastroenterologist confessed that the surgeon had apparently removed a healthy gallbladder. "It's possible the machine that measured your ejection fraction was mis-calibrated," he offered apologetically.

How unusual, I thought.

I remained in the hospital a few more days. One morning, a customer service representative entered my room to discuss my stay. Was there anything she could do for me? 

I asked if there was a way to recognize the kind man who had transported me. 

"Do you remember his name?" she asked.

"It was Levi," I replied, sitting up slowly. "He wasn't wearing a badge so I don't know his last name, but he was about my age. He had brown eyes, dark skin, and a huge smile..."  I trailed off as she made notes. He radiated joy, I wanted to say.  

"I will see what I can do," she promised.

The next day, the representative returned with a perplexed expression on her face. "Mrs. O'Hara," she said apologetically, "There is no one by that name who works in that department or anywhere else in the hospital. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

How unusual, I thought again. 

After I was discharged, I recounted the story to my husband.

"Didn't the elevator alarm make it difficult to hear?" Bill asked. He worked for an electrical company and was familiar with such things.

I thought back to that day. "There was no alarm," I answered with certainty.

"Kay, when you press the STOP button, it always sets off an alarm." Bill patiently explained.

"Not this time," I insisted.

"How unusual," Bill said, looking intently at me.

I have experienced a number of unexplainable encounters since Levi--always in times of danger or distress. To this day, I marvel that the LORD mercifully allows angels to appear to His children in time of need. 

Kay O'Hara

September 25, 2023

Nurses Amaze Me!

Nurses AMAZE me.

My family and I have been cared for by dozens, and I have enjoyed the privilege of working alongside hundreds. To be honest, I don’t know how they do it. Their private lives are no less complex and exhausting than ours. Yet they must navigate the unrelenting obstacles of physical and personal challenges while launching themselves upon the surging sea of their demanding profession. Only by compartmentalizing can they embrace their calling. Regardless of the situation at home, they promptly take shift report and step up to the bedside, filled with compassion and alertness, scanning for any sign of improvement or decline in their patients. 

Nurses tirelessly tend body, spirit, and soul with mercy and grace, armed not only with the latest research gleaned during their off-duty hours but also with experience compiled from years of toil and practice. Their daily routine is filled with the unpleasant, uncomfortable, and unmentionable. In a single shift, they will face adrenaline-filled crises with courage, calm, and competence. Then they must turn on a dime to cheerfully instruct and exhort convalescents on to good health. Afterwards, with still empty bellies and full bladders, they take a deep breath and walk into a room suffused with the fear and suffering of a new admission.

Woven throughout these hours of stress, hunger, and fatigue is the additional requirement to endlessly document their actions. Nurses are also expected to comply with a mountain of regulations while the specter of Press Ganey scores looms over them. As ridiculous as it sounds, a life may have been miraculously saved, but if the coffee was lukewarm, the entire experience may be thanklessly projected as a failure. 

When the end of shift finally arrives and belongings are gathered, they silently walk through the employee tunnel to their cars. Only then can the sorrows they have accumulated over the week be addressed as keys fall to the ground in the parking deck and blinding tears make it impossible to locate them. 

My friends, there are times when words are not enough, and this is one of them. If you are serving on the front lines as a nurse, my respect is boundless. 

Thank you for all you do. 

Kay O'Hara

4/30/2022

The Joys of Christmas Music

Have you ever noticed that songs have the power to transport us to an exact moment in time? 

I slid this CD into the player today. Suddenly, I was a youngster again, captivated by our family's old black and white television set as Leonard Berstein directed the New York Philharmonic in a majestic Christmas special. Such moments were a highlight of the holidays for me. 

You see, I am the daughter of two music aficionados. My mother was a pianist and organist, and my dad loved to sing and listen to music. As a teenager in Hershey, Pennsylvania, he would milk cows on Sunday afternoons, enraptured by the Metropolitan Opera on the radio. Consequently, though our old farmhouse had only one bathroom for the four of us, there was a full console organ in the living room, a piano in my brother's bedroom, and a magnificent hi-fi console under the picture window.  We kids were literally surrounded by music!

Though both my parents were well-educated, our family fell upon hard times in rural Appalachia during the '60s. In some ways, this was a blessing, for like Paul, I learned how to abound in little as well as much. When my folks were too poor to afford anything beyond nuts and tangerines for gifts, there was always Christmas music. Mother would play, or--joy of joys!--I would have the opportunity to learn and perform new music at school or with an area church. 

Mother's favorite Christmas song was "The Little Drummer Boy." Perhaps that's because she believed it's still possible to make a joyful noise regardless of one's circumstances.

While I never learned to play an instrument, and my vocal quality could best be described as acceptable, my parents did pass on their deep appreciation of music to me. What a blessing that a host of teachers, professors, and choir directors were able to add to this foundation over the decades.

I am ever in their debt!

Kay Seibert O'Hara

December 8, 2020

On Parenting Prodigals

On Parenting Prodigals

Parenting prodigals can be as devastating as losing a loved one, but you can still cultivate peace and joy in this difficult season. Here are some practices that have helped me over the years. 

1. Entrust your child to the LORD; He loves them even more than you! He is the only perfect parent and is always with them wherever they are. He will protect them or chastise them in accordance with His perfect will, and you can't ask for better than that.

2. Forgive them unconditionally, just as the LORD has forgiven you. 

3. Forgive yourself. No, you were not a perfect parent. If you are walking with the LORD, the Holy Spirit will convict you of wrongdoing. Ask the LORD for forgiveness, turn from known sin, and move on.

4. Let go of all your expectations of how your prodigal should behave. We cannot change the actions of others. Do not give your child the ability to wound you further. It is what it is. 

5. Pray for them daily. Remember: this is not the least you can do. It is the BEST you can do!

6. Give thanks to the LORD for the time they WERE in your life. An attitude of gratitude will protect you from anger, bitterness, and sin.

7. Serve the LORD with gladness and encourage others with your words and actions. If you miss your children at the holiday table, then invite a lonely senior or an international student to celebrate with you. If you are missing your grandchildren, consider working in the church nursery. 

8. Leave the light on and your heart wide open. The LORD is not finished with them yet. 

9. Accept your feelings. Grief is not a one and done experience. Weep when you need to. Smile in remembrance when you can. Your feelings are your feelings. Find a trusted Christian friend who is a good listener and will gently help you get back on track if you begin stumbling down a wrong path. 

10. Have a ready answer for the hope that is in you. Others are watching, and the LORD will not allow your pain to be wasted. Be honest and transparent with other parents that are suffering when your discernment gives you the green light. 

11. Be careful when you are in the presence of young people who are complaining about their parents. Listen with empathy but do not support their rebellion. Redirect them to gratefulness. If they are Believers, share with them how important it is to honor their parents and pray for them.  

12. Lastly, remember that even though this may feel like a battle between you and your family member, they are not the enemy. Ephesians 6:12 states: "For our struggle is not against flesh and blood but against (the devil and his minions.)"

Here is a splendid article by Focus on the Family that addresses many aspects of parenting prodigals. I appreciate how the author anticipates the reader's concerns and objections from a Biblical standpoint.  

https://www.focusonthefamily.com/parenting/good-parents-prodigal-kids/?fbclid=IwAR0UoEOnD-jqCYqneYrU9-jzCOpVCOGRBzH_IqVsDD0dg50dA27NczO4b-o

Remember, while prodigal parenting can be a heartbreaking season, there can still be peace joy in the journey when we trust the LORD. 

Kay O'Hara 

July 20, 2019

On the Third Day

He was irascible and opinionated. A real handful. And because he was a patient, great patience was required. 

I probed gently, pools of blood welling up as my instrument advanced through his mouth. "Dr. Smith*, you have a lot of calculus under the gum line. The good news is, your x-rays indicate we may be able to turn your periodontal disease around. I will need to see you for four deep-cleaning appointments, though."

He grumbled, and I sighed. Four one-hour appointments with this crotchety fellow were going to be a challenge. "Help, LORD!" I silently pleaded.

I was a new Believer, having come to the LORD a few weeks earlier in October of 1984, and my newfound joy and enthusiasm could not be contained. I radiated Jesus, and with the Holy-days fast approaching, my smile often lit up the room. I know this because Dr. Smith told me.

Midway through his first treatment, he suddenly asked, "You're not expecting, are you?" 

I sat back and stared at him. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"You're glowing," he said accusingly. A few minutes later, he pushed my hands aside. "Why are you so darn happy all the time, anyway?"

I smiled and took that opportunity to share the miraculous story of my recent salvation. Dr. Smith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but his eyes remained fixed on mine as I talked. 

"I'm glad that worked out for you," he remarked afterward.

Soon into his second appointment, Dr. Smith impatiently gestured for me to stop. "What did you do to get saved?" he queried.

I set my instruments down and reflected. 

"I told the LORD I was sorry for the wrong things I had done, I knew I couldn't get into heaven by doing good things, I believed his Son Jesus died on the cross for my sins, and I wanted to give my life to Him." 

He was silent for a moment. "That's it?" 

I nodded. 

Tears glinted in his eyes, but he said nothing. 

"Rinse, please," I said with a smile. 

We were making progress, quadrant by quadrant, but he was still not healing well. "Dr. Smith, I am doing everything I can to help you, but you are not flossing and brushing every day like I showed you."

He retorted, "Look, kid. Cleaning my teeth is YOUR job, not mine." Then, as if to soften his words, he patted my knee. 

Thanksgiving arrived before our third appointment. By the time I saw Dr. Smith again, Christmas was just around the corner, and I was overjoyed at the prospect of decorating a freshly-cut, ten-foot-tall Frasier fir tree. My husband and I had begun collecting ornaments two years earlier, and I was enthusiastic about my new hobby. 

Dr. Smith asked me to describe the ornaments to him, so I did. Our collection was eclectic: glass, brass, silver, gold, wood, and the occasional Hallmark. No two ornaments were alike, and some were artisan originals.

We chatted easily until our session was over. I scheduled his fourth and final appointment and handed him a card. For the first time, Dr. Smith gave me a hug and thanked me. "Merry Christmas!" he called back with a wave as he walked down the hall. "See you soon!"

The next afternoon my employer stepped into the operatory. "Kay," he said sadly, "I am sorry to tell you this, but Dr. Smith passed away in his sleep last night."

My heart was broken. I was fond of my new friend. Dr. Smith seemed resistant to the Light, and yet... "LORD," I prayed, "I hope our talks helped and he is safe with You now." 

I thought of Dr. Smith often during Advent. Then one morning, our receptionist walked into my operatory carrying a package. "Dr. Smith's wife was just here. She left this for you but didn't stay. She was crying,"  she said, puzzled.

I rose. What on earth?

Carefully nestled inside a presentation box were three amber ornaments. But they were not just any ornaments. They were Strini blown glass replicas from the Smithsonian Hall of Trees in Washington, DC. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read the accompanying card:

"For Kay from Dr. Smith. Merry Christmas!"

Decades have passed since I opened that package. At one point, I had amassed crates of Christmas ornaments and would decorate multiple trees over the course of many days. Now I am downsizing and gradually giving away pieces from my collection. I linger over each one, remembering its story. 

No ornaments are more precious to me than these three, however. Two will find their way to new homes this year, but I will keep one of them on my small wall tree until it's finally my turn to go home. 

Yes, Dr. Smith. I remember.

See you soon. 

Kay Seibert O'Hara

December 1, 2020

*not his real name

Circus Poodles

To the circus, we did go,
Couldn't wait to see the show!
Big cats made us gasp and shout,
Then they brought the poodles out!

We love poodles, big or small,
Black or white ones, short or tall.
If there's ten or if there's one,
Circus poodles are such fun!

On their back legs walking tall,
In a trash can, oh so small!
See them bounding in the ring,
Jumping poodles are our thing!

Laughing, talking, time to go,
We had such fun at the show!
Backward longing is our glance,
We will miss the poodles' prance!

Quietly we head on home,
What is this? We're not alone!
Barking, yipping, oh such spunk,
Circus poodles in our trunk!

Kay O'Hara
February 14, 2016

Angels Among Us

I stood patiently in line waiting for my turn to register with the guard for another after-hours visit with my eighty-seven-year-old father at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Asheville. My brother and I had been tag-teaming visits with Dad since he had fallen ill two weeks earlier. As the guard took a man’s driver’s license and pressed it into the scanner slot on the name tag generator, I wondered if this new technology might have provided additional evidence of that miraculous night just two years ago…

“Kay, it’s for you,” the charge nurse called, raising her voice over the general clamor of the nurses’ station where I worked. Since my dad was having a patch repair on an old aneurysm site hundreds of miles away in North Carolina, I hurried over to take the call. This was to be a “tune-up,” an overnight stay at the most. The positive outcome far outweighed the risks, my brother and I had been reassured. I had been waiting hours for this call; the procedure had been delayed late into the afternoon.

“Dad’s not doing well,” Joe spoke with emotion. “They can’t stop the bleeding. His arteries are too calcified and they can’t get a good seal. They found a new aneurysm, too. He’s already had eight units of blood. Can you come?”

I rushed home to gather my things and make hasty arrangements for my teenage children who would be left behind to continue on in their school routine. This was the most painful aspect of being a widow and single mother—not having someone with whom I could share the burdens in times of emergency. I wept as I packed, grateful for the silent support of the children as they fetched important items and slipped them into my bags.

Soon after dark, I was on the road, navigating a different and hopefully faster route to the mountains by the glow of my portable GPS. Fatigue pressed in on me soon after midnight. I had been up since before five that morning and still had miles to go before I could sleep again. "Lord, help me!” I interjected into the outpouring of prayers for my father.

A short time later, I lost my way on a strange road with no paper map to reference. A pack of coyotes suddenly appeared in my headlights. The poor creatures flew in every direction across the hood and on either side of the windshield, taking out the front end of my car. Crying and shaking, I crept forward, too afraid to get out of the car to see what mayhem I had caused. The urgency of the situation overrode my concern for either the animals or the condition of my vehicle.

Wide-awake from the surge of adrenaline following the accident, I panned the GPS out until I located the main road. Eventually, I found my way back onto Hwy 25. Within an hour, I was handing my driver’s license to the hospital guard, sweat still drying on my hospital scrubs. I realized I had forgotten to change.

“Seibert… Seibert… yes, he’s in the Coli ICU. You just missed your mother. I’m surprised you didn’t pass her out in the parking deck. Hadn’t even been a couple of minutes,” he said as I signed my name.

I looked at him sharply. “Excuse me?” I queried, keeping my surprise in check. It was two in the morning. Perhaps I wasn’t hearing clearly.

“Your mother’s been here for hours. She just left,” he patiently explained as if he were speaking to a small child.

“You must be mistaken,” I replied.

“Nope. Remember the name. Unusual name. Came to see your father.” he insisted as he handed my license back to me.

I said nothing more about this, thanked him, and asked for directions. Within minutes, I was outside the locked doors of the unit, wondering if anyone would allow me to go to my dad’s bedside at such an hour. Just then, they swung open as an employee exited. Could she help me…?

One of the intangible benefits of working at a hospital is the professional courtesy that is often extended by members of other facilities. After a brief consultation with this nurse and her subsequent, “Wait here, please,” she disappeared. Soon afterward, a man ushered me to my father’s bedside, describing his serious condition and altered appearance as we walked. Disregarding the array of machines that were keeping him alive, I held my father’s hand, prayed aloud, and reassured him of my presence and my love. The team let me stay there for fifteen minutes; they once again needed the space to continue their intense battle for his life.

Numbly, I walked down the hall to the ICU waiting area. A spry, older man with a neatly trimmed Amish-style beard greeted me. He had been keeping a vigil over his dying wife in the glass cubicle next to Dad’s. We exchanged stories about our family members. Then, he began to talk about the woman who had stood in my father’s room at the foot of his bed praying for hours since his return from a second surgery that night.

“She’s been so wonderful to watch,” he mused with a smile, “Never in the way of anyone, just stood there praying the whole time. I can’t believe they let her do that. Was that your mom? A friend of your dad’s?”

I shook my head in dissent. I had no idea who this could be. All of my dad’s friends were too old to drive after dark. As for my mom… she died of a stoke barely two weeks after my husband was killed by a drunk driver. Dad and I had shared the widow/widower experience for the past eight years. It was one of the reasons we were now so close. Tears stung my eyes. What on earth?

The next morning, my brother and I convened in Dad's room. He was on a vent, heavily sedated, in critical condition, but still with us. I asked the nurse about the late-night visitor. As he bustled about the room adjusting tubes and checking monitors, the nurse remarked that the night staff had mentioned her, but he didn’t know anything more than that.

In the days that followed, I spoke with a number of people. Though none of them could describe the woman with any certainty beyond the words, “Calm, serene, beautiful, peaceful,” she was seen by many and questioned by none. Whoever she was, she had a presence and authority about her that allowed her to be where no one else could be—at my father’s bedside in prayer until the moment I arrived.

She was never seen again.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Hebrews 13:2

Kay Seibert O’Hara
June 11, 2011