Drive in Spiritual Care
I’m sure you have experienced it. It’s that “same friendly service by trained technicians offering a great value.” All you have to do is drive in to get “more than just an oil change!”
Similarly, people drive into our mobile Covid clinic every day seeking friendly service by trained nurses who offer a ‘great value’ in the form of a Covid-19 shot. It’s funny, but many drive into our makeshift, four-bay building and say, “Is this where I come for my oil change?” Chuckles usually follow in an attempt to decrease their fear of getting a shot.
The procedure is simple. It’s quick. In less than 10 minutes, people drive-in, complete a questionnaire, then they receive their shot. We, nurses, repeat this procedure hundreds of times each day! In our hastiness to vaccinate as many as we can, it is easy to forget that some come seeking more than just the shot. They come needing spiritual care, too.
Last week I began my clinic day asking the Lord to slow me down –– to impress on me when I needed to be less brisk, to take time, and offer spiritual care. The Lord answered me on that very day.
A sporty car drove in loaded with stripes, a spoiler, and a loud pipe! It was no surprise that the driver was a young man. As he rolled down his window I drew near and greeted both him and the passenger saying, “Welcome! Who will be receiving their vaccine today?” The driver replied, “We both are!” I then requested their IDs. This is part of the vaccine protocol. The driver was in his mid-twenties, while the other passenger was a 16 year–old female. I began to review the CDC questionnaire with the driver. My nursing training taught me, however, that something was amiss, as the smell of drugs permeated the air. And so, I beckoned a colleague for help. My nursing colleague picked up where I had left off. She completed the questionnaire and then gave the driver his vaccine.
Meanwhile, I waived my hand and asked the female passenger to exit the car directing her to a nearby table. She complied not knowing that I have literally given hundreds of vaccines to others, never once asking any other to exit their car. I then placed my back to the car so the driver could not see me question the teenager. I reviewed the CDC questionnaire protocol with her. As a nurse, I queried, “Before you leave, I must ask, are you safe? Do you need help?” She replied, “I’m ok.” As a Christian, I pressed, “Are you sure? I smell drugs in the car and I know he is on drugs.” She replied, “Yes, he has drugs.” Yet, it was the hat that a mother wears, which had me insisting one more time, “Do you need me to call for help? I am a mother; I want to help you.” Again, she replied, “I am ok.” Lowly, I uttered, “Well then, I want you to know I am going to pray for you!”
A few cars later, an ‘accessible’ min-van with a converted side-entry drove in. The father rolled down his window to say his son was to receive his “second dose!” The father opened up the side door where his wife of fifty years was seated next to their 47 year–old son in a wheelchair. He had cerebral palsy with severe rigidity in both limbs. For many months, their disabled son was not eligible for the vaccine as he was not an essential worker or over 65. They came on this day for their son’s second dose. All who come must provide a consent and so I asked, “Who will sign these forms?” The mother responded, “I will. He can’t talk but he can understand you.” And so, I engaged in a short conversation with their son as his head involuntarily moved. I asked their son if he was ready for his shot. Eyes spoke of utter delight! As we finished, I asked the parents if they had any other questions. The mother quickly replied, “When can he go to Walmart? He has not been out of the house in over a year and wants so much to go!” Tears ran down my face. I patted the father on his shoulder and commended the parents for the marvelous care they have provided their son. “May the Lord continue to bless you and your family,” were my parting words.
Next came a whistle-clean black sedan driven by an older man. I guessed him to be about my age. I asked the driver “Who was here for a vaccine?” He replied, “My brother!” The driver turned his head to the passenger and said, “He has autism. He doesn’t talk much.” I then obtained consent from the driver before giving his brother the vaccine. Normally, I ask the driver to quickly exit to the required 15-minute observation area. However, at this moment, the Lord prompted me to further engage with the driver. Painful eyes told me that he was suffering emotionally. I stuck my head into the car and said, “Sir, your brother is so sweet. You are doing such a good job caring for him!” His voice quivering, he responded, “Thank you” adding “but it is my father who cares for him every day. My father is 85 years old.” Humbly, he cried saying, “Our mother died last year.”
Immediately, I asked, “Sir, may I pray for you right now?” A quick nod came and so I prayed, “Abba, Father. Thank you for loving us on this day. Thank you for this vaccine…Please give their father the strength he needs…We love you, our Lord, our God.” Tears fell from my eyes, too, as they drove away.
When given the opportunity to work at the local Covid clinic, I jumped on it! As a nurse educator, most of my days are spent teaching nursing students online. As an asynchronous instructor, I rarely see my students. Rather, most of my faculty-student encounters are somewhere ‘up in the cloud!’ Faculty who teach in a ‘faceless’ web-based setting often miss eye contact, body language, and facial expressions found in face-to-face instruction.
I expected my Covid clinic days to be filled with drive-in, friendly service, and lots of valuable shots. I didn’t expect my days to be more than just that. Yet, what I found were Christ-ordained days filled with joy and many opportunities to provide drive-in spiritual care.
Does your plan of care have intentional purposes to share the gospel? To provide spiritual care no matter your nursing practice setting?
This post was written by Sharon K. Titus, PhD, MSN, RN. She is currently an Associate Professor at Azusa Pacific University and was a missionary transcultural nurse for 16 years, working primarily in Indonesia, Thailand, and Germany.
If you have stories like hers, stories of simple acts of faith, compassion and Christ-like care, please share your story with us. Christians on the front line need to be reminded that God is still at work in the darkest of times and places.