Chicken Soup for the Nurse's Soul by Jack Canfield

see well. They handed out candles to be lit for the closing hymn. One woman adjusted Sandy’s pillow and stroked her hair. Throughout the service, the congregation catered to our patients, guiding them through the worship.
    The beautiful service closed with a candlelight recessional to “Silent Night.” Voices rang in disjointed harmony as the congregation assisted us in exiting the chapel and returning our charges to the unit. Many stayed to share punch and cookies and stories.
    As I got Sandy ready for bed that late night, she whispered, “This was one of the nicest Christmases I ever had.”
    When I shared her comments with my family later, we realized the magic that evening was on many levels. The unit had a special climate we’d never experienced before. Sandy had one of the best Christmases she’d ever known. The congregation had shared in a special, caring way. But we also realized that this evening impacted our family as well. We felt closer, bonded in purpose and spirit.
    Since that Christmas of 1979, my family has been blessed with many Christmases together—but I think that one was the best. Like author William Shore, I, too, believe that when you give to others and give to the community, you create something within yourself that is important and lasting. He calls it the “Cathedral Within.”
    Our family cathedral is a little stronger for the privilege of giving that Christmas.
    Barbara Bartlein
     

2
ON LOVE
     
I t is not how much we do—it is how much love we put into the doing.
Mother Teresa
     

A Forever Kind of Love
     
T reasure the love you receive above all. It will survive long after your good health has vanished.
Og Mandino
     
    One of our favorite patients had been in and out of our small, rural hospital several times, and all of us on medsurg had all grown quite attached to her and her husband. In spite of terminal cancer and resulting pain, she never failed to give us a smile or a hug. Whenever her husband came to visit, she glowed. He was a nice man, very polite and as friendly as his wife. I had grown quite attached to them and was always glad to care for her.
    I admired their expression of love. Daily, he brought her fresh flowers and a smile, then sat by her bed as they held hands and talked quietly. When the pain was too much and she cried or became confused, he hugged her gently in his arms and whispered until she rested. He spent every available moment at her bedside, giving her small sips of water and stroking her brow. Every night, before he left for home, he closed the door so they could spend time alone together. After he was gone, we’d find her sleeping peacefully with a smile on her lips.
    On this night, however, things were different. As soon as I entered report, the day nurses informed us she had steadily taken a turn for the worse and wouldn’t make it through the night. Although I was sad, I knew that this was for the best. At least my friend wouldn’t be in pain any longer.
    I left report and checked on her first. When I entered the room, she aroused and smiled weakly, but her breathing was labored and I could tell it wouldn’t be long. Her husband sat beside her, smiling, too, and said, “My Love is finally going to get her reward.”
    Tears came to my eyes, so I asked if they needed anything and left quickly. I offered care and comfort throughout the evening, and at about midnight she passed away with her husband still holding her hand. I consoled him, and with tears running down his cheeks he said, “May I please be alone with her for awhile?” I hugged him and closed the door behind me.
    I stood outside the room, blotting my tears and missing my friend and her smile. And I could feel the pain of her husband in my own heart. Suddenly from the room came the most beautiful male voice I have ever heard singing. It was almost haunting the way it floated through the halls. All of the other nurses stepped out into the hallways to listen as he sang “Beautiful Brown