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Spiritual Health

WHAT DOES SPIRITUAL HEALTH MEAN TO ME?

Since I was a small child, I have had the gift of faith – a belief that God would take care of me through trials and tribulations of life.

Although as an only child I felt lonely, I never felt alone. I was taught in parochial school that I had a guardian angel. I prayed to her at bedtime to watch over me through the night. I learned as an adult that if I turned my will and my life over to my God that answers would come and solutions would be found.

Each morning I say a prayer I learned from a dear friend. I use it for all my daily activities from dawn to darkness. “I place my hand in yours, for I cannot walk alone.” This is a short, comforting, powerful sentence. When my adult children and my grandchildren go about their lives, I place them in God’s hands and know they are safe. I know that God loves me and takes care of me in ways even I don’t understand and I am blessed.

Helen Peele, RN

Gram’s Mittens

My grandmother’s name was Bertha. I’ve missed her daily and deeply since 1983. All of her 92 years were satisfactory except the last. When I asked her how she could be so calm, so peaceful, so content, so happy, she always said, “Well, you brighten the corner where you are.” Simple and profound.

To me she was a remarkable, strong woman, a survivor. In 1921, she immigrated with six children to the United States. From Russia via Germany and Canada, she followed my Grandfather to Chicago by a year. She never again saw the land of her birth or the family she left behind. She was uneducated, but intelligent and insightful. She spoke four languages. She was versed on world affairs, having lived through tense times, wars and political upheaval from a position of poverty. With the help of her children, she taught herself English. She survived the Great Depression and anti-German sentiment during World War II. She lost one son to influenza, another to Korea, another to ravages of drink and her husband to Parkinson’s disease. She made the best potato pancakes and bean soup I have ever tasted. Her love for me was comforting and unconditional.

My Grandmother believed in work. She worked when she cooked. Watching her grate potatoes was mesmerizing; her movements were efficient, deliberate, rhythmic and strong. She worked when she read, so pleased to have a newspaper or a book or her Bible, not wanting to miss a word, sometimes reading aloud. She worked when she watched TV, encouraging the wrestlers or commiserating with soap opera stars. She worked when she rested, knitting in circles or straight lines. She knitted without looking, almost absentmindedly, and the rhythm of the clicking needles kept time with her rocking.

Work was her solution to grief, a source of meager income, a salve to other woes, and an end all by itself. After she finished working at the factory, she worked as a housekeeper and live-in “granny." When those children were grown and her health and energy waned, she continued to work, knitting socks and mittens. I received a pair of mittens in a color of my own choosing each winter until I was 36. I cherish the few pairs that remain, tangible symbols of caring, a labor of love. They surround my hands with her warmth and keep me connected to her in a small way.

The staff of the Health Department wishes you memories as warm and comforting as mittens this winter. Have a safe and peace-filled New Year.

Christine Blue, RN