Healing Comes

Over the course of the past 13 years, I’ve worked as a pastor in several different churches around the Bay Area. I earned my Master of Divinity to be qualified to do so, but in some ways, this was never the plan. Growing up, I always thought I would serve overseas, probably in China, and homeschool my kids, because that would be my only option.  

So, when I got into church ministry, I chafed at it. I longed to be set loose, to be freed up to minister at large - to anybody and everybody. Every time I took on a new role and was handed a stack of business cards, something within me sensed, “This isn’t how I’m supposed to serve.”

In this present season, in which I’m not pastoring through a local congregation, I find myself ministering in more organic ways in our neighborhood, through friendships at my children’s school, and in our city. Recently, I’ve found some other ways of ministering, through hospice chaplaincy and spiritual direction, that feel much more authentic and truer to who I am and how God made me to be.

I want to share a moment I had a few weeks ago at Silver Oaks Memory Care in Menlo Park, visiting a new patient of mine. In that moment, suddenly the veil lifted, and for a brief time, everything came together for me. I felt so deeply loved and cared for by God and by an unexpected patient of mine in a profound and beautiful way.

This patient, who I’ll call Dee, could actually talk to me. Many of my hospice patients have dementia or Alzheimer’s, and some are so close to passing that they’re no longer able to communicate.  They can barely lift their heads; they must stay in bed, and they require a lot of support for daily living. 

But Dee could comprehend that I was her spiritual care chaplain, part of her healthcare team, and she understood what I was there to do. So, after I got her situated in her wheelchair in her shared room, tucking one shawl around her shoulders, and tucking another shawl around her tummy to keep her hands warm, she jumped right in.

“When I feel afraid, I talk to Jesus,” she told me. She looked at me with her clear blue eyes, words simple and straightforward.

“Oh! That’s wonderful,” I said. “Tell me more!”

“He looks right at me.”

Playfully, I asked her, “Out of curiosity, what color are his eyes?”

“Blue,” she told me.

My heart laughed, but I understood, so I continued, “And what does he say when you talk to him?”  I kept my tone light, but she responded with an earnestness that disarmed me.

“He says, ‘Do not worry. Everything will be okay. Your mom is doing well, and she wants you to know that.’”

As we continued talking, Dee told me what she could about her life, her parents, her husband, and her children. At points when her memory would fail, she would simply tell me she didn’t know the answer to my question.

Were her parents kind to her? Her mom was.

What was her husband like? Kind … sometimes.

How many children did she have? Two … or maybe 4. (We decided she must have had two, then after they got married, she must have felt she had 4!)

As I felt our time drawing to a close, I said to her: “There’s a Bible verse that says, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news.’ (Romans 10:15) You’ve brought me such good news in how you’ve described your faith to me. Could I lay my hands on your beautiful feet as I pray for you?”  She readily agreed.

I sat down on the carpet in front of her, but her feet were enclosed in fuzzy peach slippers. So, I put my hands on her ankles. They felt cold to my touch, but they warmed up as I held them and prayed. I began praying for her, praying for her to be able to shed the sadness that she’d experienced in her lifetime. I prayed for her to continue to lift her concerns up to Jesus because he cared for her.

Suddenly, I felt something stir deep within me: a subtle awareness of the disconnect between what I was praying for her and what I was personally experiencing in my own life. I felt so convicted that I needed to do what I was praying for her to be able to do. I needed to shed all the sadness I’d been carrying around from my decade-long career as a pastor that never quite fit right. I needed to shed my burdens from my past, my preoccupations over the future, my perpetual unease with my present.

I must have stopped praying – because I suddenly felt Dee place her gentle hand on the top of my head.  The roles unexpectedly reversed, and tears broke forth – from me. Something within me dislodged, and I couldn’t continue. I couldn’t keep praying through the tears. So, my patient started praying for me.  Her voice comforted me, and now it was her words that reassured me.  I was now the care recipient, and her soft voice spoke similar sentiments to what I’d just expressed. Except now she repeated the words Jesus’ said to her, “Everything’s going to be alright. You’re okay. God loves you. You can trust him.”

I honestly can’t remember exactly what she said, and I don’t know how long she prayed, or I cried. But I can tell you how I felt—like this chaplaincy work had been set up for my healing, and this was the work for me in this season. These patients were part of my healing, my restoration, and my experience of forgiveness.

God meant me to be there for them as much as he meant them to be there for me.

I cried harder than I expected, and she just kept stroking my hair, so gently. And touching my shoulders, just like I imagine my own grandmother would do if she lived nearby.

My tears ended somehow, and I wiped my eyes. I wrapped up our prayer time, with a softer voice, humbly thanking God from my heart for this powerful exchange and profound encounter. I opened my eyes at the end and looked straight up into Dee’s face, smiling into her blue eyes. I simply thanked her for ministering to me.

I gave her a hug and told her I’d come visit next month. I would bring my violin, and we could talk and pray together again.

I know that when I do, there will be mutual ministry between us, once again.  And in the meantime, great belovedness.

Tina grew up on Long Island, New York, in an intergenerational home of ethnically Chinese parents raised in Taiwan. After studying English literature at Harvard College, she went on staff with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and served the multi-ethnic chapter for 6 years. In this capacity, she also ministered to the broader community as one of the Harvard Chaplains. 

Over the course of 12 years of local church ministry in the Bay Area, she ministered in a variety of ways as she completed her Master of Divinity at Fuller Theological Seminary. She has served as a pastor overseeing life groups, outreach, and discipleship.  She has also had significant seasons serving as an interim pastor in various contexts.  

As a wife and involved mother of three elementary-aged children, she is now focusing on the ministry of spiritual direction and serving the broader community as a chaplain. She loves to write, play volleyball, and puzzle with friends. She has benefitted greatly from several NEWIM retreats during her years of service, including the Writers' Getaway. Listen to her experience here.

Connect with her at christinetenghenson@gmail.com.