In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Tiny Person, Big ImpactT.S. MoranI met J on a Tuesday, the second day of my new job as the pediatric oncology social worker. Five days later, he died.Although J was 8 months old, he seemed tiny, like a preemie. When I saw him, he was snuggled into the shoulder of the attending physician. It was evident that one of his diagnoses was failure to thrive. He also had what (...) was thought to be a low-grade glioma of the optic pathway, and despite months of treatment, he was declining. It was clear that the team cared for J very much. They visited him, held him, played with him, and sang lullabies to him in Spanish. I was so impressed by their compassion.J had spent about half of his short life at the hospital. He was born prematurely to a young mother, herself in foster care. His mother had numerous obstacles preventing her from visiting often and it did not seem that she bonded well with him. J's mother stated that her boyfriend discouraged her from visiting. She did not have transportation and declined offers of hospital-funded Uber rides. She had little prenatal care or education about becoming a mother.J's mother seemed guarded in her interactions; hesitant to reveal anything that might show her vulnerability. The team was frustrated as it seemed she was not receptive to their efforts. The team was also concerned that she did not fully understand J's condition due to her poor health literacy, despite the use of a certified language interpreter. Still, when she did visit, she was kind and caring and stated that she did not want her foster mother involved in providing J's care.Part of my job was to help prepare the family for discharge to home. I had been speaking to their caseworker from Child Protective Services. She was a strong advocate for both mother and baby. After several meetings with the team that included J's mother and the caseworker, J's mother accepted his prognosis. She was willing to provide care at home with hospice support. She came to the unit several times that week to receive training about his care needs. The hospice nursing visit was scheduled, and J and his mother left the hospital on a Friday.The caseworker called on Monday to tell us that J had passed away peacefully on Sunday. The reaction on the unit was palpable. New residents and seasoned chiefs were teary-eyed and sighing. To some, it seemed like a relief. Given the team's extraordinary care and concern shown to this family, I was not surprised by their emotions.What surprised me was my level of grief. I had spent the 12 years prior serving adult hospice patients; I understood end-of-life care and death's eventuality. I thought I was well prepared. This experience was different from my past. I was able to cope with an adult patient's passing without much distress, accepting that most adults had lived a full life.I felt grief for the team who had invested in J, and for his short life filled with illness and pain. I felt grief for his mother, who had experienced a horrific childhood, had lost her innocence too young, and had been robbed of the opportunity to experience joyful parenting. [End Page 82]The chief recognized the team's need for support and quickly organized a "debriefing." A lot of the team participated, even those who only had brief contact with J. Everyone had a chance to reflect on their experience in caring for this child. Because of my hospice training, I was included. I validated their loss, their efforts, and their love for J. I provided basic grief education, enumerating their possible reactions of sadness, anger, frustration, fatigue, confusion, or numbness, and this helped me to feel like I also contributed to his care. I encouraged self-care—from taking time off, to lingering over an extra cup of tea, to speaking about their experience with me or another social worker.When I spoke about my feelings to my coworkers, they were understanding and acknowledged... (shrink)

The antithesis of nature and freedom is the central idea of Kant's philosophy. It is the direct expression of its postulated division of all existing things into the world of phenomena, which in their sum-total constitute nature, and its original foundation—the world of things in themselves, which lie beyond the categorial determinations of nature. Necessity and causal relations, like space and time, apply only to the world of phenomena; the world of things in themselves is free of these determinations and, (...) therefore, constitutes the realm of freedom—freedom from the intractable laws of nature. Thus, Kant, on the one hand, proves the unconditional subsumption of phenomena under the laws of nature, under the strictest determinism, and, on the other, insists just as decisively that freedom is the first, pretemporal link in the cause-and-effect chain of events. True, the existence of this original freedom is unprovable; it is unknowable, supersensible, and transcendent. But if we agree that there are not only phenomena but also things in themselves, then the conclusion about freedom is fully justified. If, on the other hand, we reject the existence of things in themselves, then we deny at the same time any possibility of freedom, for there are no exceptions in natural determinism. (shrink)

Our understanding and praxis of spiritual formation is only as sound as our theology of the Holy Spirit. Unfortunately, there is a common shortcoming that leaves our theology of the Spirit less than fully capable of rendering an adequate account of the Holy Spirit's agency in transforming a person into the likeness of Christ. Theology of the Holy Spirit commonly emphasizes victorious and genteel themes while failing to articulate adequately that the Spirit is a direct agent in transformative suffering. Some (...) of the Comforter's most important sanctifying work is exceedingly discomforting. This article focuses on these less palatable aspects of the Spirit's work in an attempt to tell a fuller story about the Spirit. By adding often-neglected dimensions and textures to our theology of the third Person, we are more capable of articulating the full range of the Spirit's role in formation. (shrink)

A pO -algebra $${(L; f, \, ^{\star})}$$ is an algebra in which ( L ; f ) is an Ockham algebra, $${(L; \, ^{\star})}$$ is a p -algebra, and the unary operations f and $${^{\star}}$$ commute. Here we consider the endomorphism monoid of such an algebra. If $${(L; f, \, ^{\star})}$$ is a subdirectly irreducible pK 1,1 - algebra then every endomorphism $${\vartheta}$$ is a monomorphism or $${\vartheta^3 = \vartheta}$$ . When L is finite the endomorphism monoid of L is (...) regular, and we determine precisely when it is a Clifford monoid. (shrink)