I work in a residential mental health facility as an Activity Director, and over time I began to notice something quiet but consistent among the people I serve. Beyond activities, schedules, and structure, there was a deeper craving—a longing for spiritual care. It wasn’t something they always put into words, but it showed up in their questions, their restlessness, and their desire to sit with something meaningful. I started simply. I played church services online so they could watch together. We added gentle spiritual activities into our week, creating space for reflection, peace, and connection. Something shifted. The room felt calmer. The conversations felt softer. It felt like a need was being honored. Recently, I asked my pastor if she would be willing to come visit. When she arrived, she sat in a room with 16 residents who weren’t quite sure what to expect. You could feel the uncertainty at first. But as she spoke, listened, and simply showed up with presence and compassion, the room changed. Love filled the space in a way that can’t really be explained—you could feel it. Now my residents keep asking, “When is she coming back?” And today, my heart is so full. It reminded me that spiritual care doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s just about creating space, inviting love in, and trusting that it will meet people exactly where they are.

This is an interview with a Mighty Caregiver and his experience with random acts of kindness in the community. https://www.edgeumc.com/podcast/episode/49f3d398/mighty-caregiver-patrick-lenigan

I work in a mental health inpatient residential community. Every day, I walk alongside people who are rebuilding their lives with very limited income and resources. For many of my clients, even basic necessities—like clothing—are hard to come by. Recently, I lost a significant amount of weight, and my closet quietly told a story of change. Instead of packing those clothes away or dropping them off somewhere anonymous, I brought them to work. I placed eight large bags of clothing on tables and invited my clients to look through them. What happened next was something I won’t forget. There was laughter. Smiles. Gentle teasing. People trying on jackets, holding shirts up to the mirror, asking one another, “Does this look okay?” The room felt lighter. For a moment, it wasn’t about diagnoses, treatment plans, or struggles—it was about dignity, choice, and joy. Now, when I see my clients walking through the halls wearing clothes I once wore, my heart feels full. They wear them with pride. They appreciate them. And they remind me that having clothes you feel good in isn’t a small thing—it’s deeply human. It’s about being seen, valued, and comfortable in your own skin. This experience stayed with me because it was so simple—and so powerful. Please remember: there are people in our communities who need clothes. Sometimes what no longer fits us can become a source of confidence, comfort, and happiness for someone else. And sometimes, sharing in that way changes us just as much as it helps them.

I am a HUGE Billy Joel fan. I was so happy to see his surprise return after revealing a brain disorder. My wife and I have been to many concerts and his flow of care is his ability to share his music on stage. Also, some say I am Billy’s Doppleganger.

After 40 years as a nurse, I help people in their golden years create simple income in retirement, so debt and money stress don’t take away from family, caregiving, or legacy. I am now officially retired as of 12/31/25 11:59. This weekend will be the first that I will not be working.