The Rev. Dorothy Shelly on poetic reflections

Anybody See My Shoes?

I have always enjoyed poetry. I was a contemplative pre-adolescent girl growing up in rural Bucks County in eastern Pennsylvania. A grade school elderly (at least in my youthful eyes) teacher at West Rockhill Elementary had done well at introducing me to verse. Miss Moyer was quite the inspiration in my early formative years. Looking back, another highlight of those years was the ritual of searching the daily newspaper for Sketches, the immortal poetic compositions of Ben Burroughs.

Writing themes of his syndicated column were love, joy, struggles, and sorrow, some of which I was more acquainted with than others as a little girl. The poems were short, simple, and direct. For many years, I not only read but clipped and saved Burrough’s Sketches. Now fifty-something, I still find versely solace in those yellowed clippings tucked away in the old painted jewelry box with the defunct dancing ballerina.

I never received any formal schooling or training in writing. Instead, I have been schooled and trained in nursing, theology and pastoral care – chaplaincy, to be specific. Unlike my girlhood daily searches for poetry, now in my ministry with the elderly, poetry finds me. Presently, I am awe-struck when holding my first book of published poetry, Anybody See My Shoes? Poetic Reflections From A Chaplain.

“Anybody See My Shoes?”
That’s what she called aloud
At the close of Morning Prayers.

Coming from way in the back,
The words seemed to echo . . . .
“Anybody See My Shoes?”

Others who gathered complained,
Claiming it to be a most inappropriate outburst.
To the contrary thought the chaplain,
It was a holy benediction.

Florence comes to Morning Prayers,
Sees the glow and feels the warmth
Of the burning bush.

Clearly it is she, not the chaplain,
Who pronounces the benediction . . . .
“Anybody see my shoes?”

“Take off your shoes, the place where you are standing is holy ground,” said the voice of God to Moses. In my ministry with God’s aged children, I convey that God still speaks those words today and everyday. It is my hope that they, regardless of their present life situation, recognize every moment as sacred. It is holy ground, like the place where Moses stood before that burning bush and was privileged to hear God’s words.

In essence, as their chaplain, I invite my residents to remove their shoes and share their stories. Feelings are evoked and precious memories are stirred. More often than not, after hearing their recollections, I am the humbled recipient of new perspectives on life and its divine meaning. Through their sacred sharings, I come face to face with knowing fulfillment in my calling to a ministry with the aged.

Memories of my own journeying come flooding back as I hear stories told and retold of tender love as well as tenuous moments. I believe that we all are earthen vessels; repositories of memories of life experiences until we, too, finally stand upon that sacred place and hear the holy invitation, “Take off your shoes.”

The dream of publishing a book of poetry began to unfold as my own collection of poems grew. The sacred re-creations evolved from pastoral interactions and observation with folks, mostly in their eighth and ninth decade of life. Jane Kenyon was on the mark when pointing out, “One of the functions of poetry is to keep the memory of people and places and things and happenings alive.” (A Hundred White Daffodils, p. 164) These sages in the nursing home have become my mentors. They show me just how holy the world is through their eyes and ears. Since childhood, I have known that we all have a little poetry inside us waiting to come out. It is the way the spirit celebrates.

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