Wait on the Lord

This reflection is a long time coming.  I originally started it at the beginning of Advent last year, and just know have been able to spend time getting my words right.  I finished it earlier this week for a reflection paper, but find these words speak to my soul in this time and place on my seminary campus.  The bold and italicized words are taken from Psalm 27  - a psalm that has been on my heart and mind for quite awhile.  If you are able, I would ask you keep the CTS community in your thoughts as we walk along side our beloved Hayner family during this time of transition.  In the midst of the waiting, we hold on to what we know - that we are Kingdom people - we come together and walk along side each other in times like these - with kindness and love. 

The Lord is my light and my salvation

 - whom shall I fear?

I've been here before - I've done this waiting before.  It's not the waiting that comes with the season of Advent - that waiting in the dark with the knowledge that the light will come - that the darkness will pass - this is a waiting where the darkness is never illuminated - is never brought into question - the darkness is just darkness.  This shadow never shifts, never gleans anything new - it dead ends into the place you know it will.  You try to ignore it - but the fear is there.  The fear of that returning pain of grief -

Wait on the Lord, be strong,

 and let your heart take courage.

I sat with spouses this summer - waiting like this - waiting for what we know was to come.  It was ugly - it was bloody - it was tedious - it was painful to live through - painful to watch... One spouse confessed to just wishing it would be over and than feeling guilt in wishing that of their loved one. "I sound so selfish - but I can't do this anymore - I'm not strong enough!"  What words of comfort do I have to offer in this season of waiting - in this time of transition - in this spring loaded space...

Wait on the Lord, be strong, 

and let your heart take courage.

I walked through this with my grandmother about a year ago. We'd lost her spouse of 60 + years at the end of summer, and we'd known they'd follow each other, even in death.  But as much as you think you're prepared, it still sneaks up on you and grabs at your heart and soul in ways you never expect.

But there it was - she was ill, and not going to get better. I'd received the phone call while on a Global Music Conference Retreat weekend at a ecumenical worship place in Richmond, VA, and I remember walking in circles in their calming garden, feeling my mind reel in circles with God. The words "why?" and "wait" were on repeat in my head and heart and I felt a bit lost. I couldn't make sense of much of anything - walking - thinking - praying in circles. 

Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud - 

be gracious to me and answer me!

  She'd been moved to hospice the week before Thanksgiving, so I packed up early from school and headed west.  With my grandfather, his transition to hospice had been so quick.  I had this fear I wouldn't see my grandmother - wouldn't get to spend just a few more minutes with her.  When I thought more about it, she knew everything I would have wanted to say - I didn't keep that from her. She knew how much I admired her, loved her, and appreciated her.  (Y'all know me - I'm not one to keep silent about my feelings.)  But I knew I wouldn't be ok if I couldn't spend time with her before she was gone.

 “Come,” my heart says, “seek his face!”

    Your face, Lord, do I seek.

 I arrived at the Hospice Center, said a prayer for strength in my car and walked in.  I remember everyone being so kind - most of the staff remembered my grandfather and my family from that time, and they were just so kind to me.  One staff walked with me to her room - I am now so grateful  for that - I didn't realize how anxious I would be. I wasn't sure what I was expecting - tubes - acrid smells of antiseptic - a shell of the woman I treasured so dearly - I did not know what I would see.

The room was warm - cozy - inviting.  The glow of her glass Christmas tree illuminated the space in the way that almost seemed sacred.   She looked beautiful, as she always does. I hugged my aunt who was there, and chatted for awhile, and then she left. I was alone with my beloved Bamma, for our last sleepover together.

And that's when the waiting felt real.  While I knew that was my grandmother, it wasn't.  I spent the night listening to hymns mixed with the sound of her labored breathing.  In the midst of the night, my attitude shifted from one of "why" and "wait" to an attitude of "go home and be at peace". The next few days were exhausting - waiting for the phone call - waiting for the weight of the waiting to be lifted from our shoulders.

Wait on the Lord, be strong,

 and let your heart take courage.

Waiting is hard to do when you know the outcome. When you know the wait will come to an end with a big, gaping hole in your life -you may have to be strong.   When you know it will end up in a funeral parlor, gathered around an open casket - waiting takes courage.  In the midst of darkness and a swirling chaotic mind - you keep on waiting - preparing to greet the familiar face of grief.

Loss of Words

But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.  

- Romans 8:25-27

If you follow this blog at all, you might notice there was quite the gap in my last post up until now. If you follow me on other social media, you'll know I'm alive and well - and finishing up this last year at Columbia.  If we've spent time together in these past four months, you too, might know, I'm still that Chatty Kathy I tend to be. 

So, what gives?

I think I was at a loss of words. More specifically, a loss of words to share with others.  I started my fall semester a bit weary after an amazing and challenging summer serving as a hospital Chaplain. I'd been away from campus about nine months, and I didn't feel like I'd "come home".  I'd had four months of home in Cambridge, four months of home in Texas - and it wasn't as easy just to pick up where I'd left off. 

 And while I gleaned much from my classes, they weren't necessarily the classes that got my heart going - they were more the exhausting and emotionally draining types of classes. There was my Ethics class that focused on Providence and Theodicy, which I quickly nicknamed "Processing CPE" (my hospital gig).  We had good conversations that were so, so, so difficult, and I often left with more questions than I began with.  All good things - but challenging all the same.  There was my Creation Care class which was taught by Professor Doom (I promise, I didn't give him this nickname!), where once again we had good, challenging discussions on scripture and our role in God's good creation.  I'd come home and feel like my composting coffee grounds just wouldn't cut it in our ever increasing polluted and worn out world.  By the time I made it to the end of my week, in my Marriage and Family Counseling class I would be on sensory overload.  I kept waiting for our case studies in that class to become less personable, but in my life, much like many others - I've seen the effects of suicide, infidelity, addiction, mental illness, chronic illness and more. There's a face I recognize for every one of those topics, and it was emotionally hard for me to sit through these discussions. 

 I also was out of practice of writing in my journal and self-reflection which wreaked havoc on my processing.  My heart felt heavy and it seemed to be a season of frustration - of transition - of pent up thoughts and ideas I had no idea how to give words to. 

And then, a shift. 

There's quite a few resources that reflect on the verse above from Romans, but I most like at this time of a new season what this one says: 

“We are not left alone in our waiting and struggle, for "the Spirit helps us in our weakness". Even though we don't know how or what to pray, the Spirit intercedes for us with "inarticulate groans ". The NRSV translation, "with sighs too deep for words," obscures the parallel between our "groaning" and that of the Spirit. Just as we groan together with the whole creation, the Spirit groans together with and for us, interceding for us according to the will of God.

Our grasp of God's will and the future God has in store for creation is limited at best. How can we pray for what we have not seen and have difficulty imagining? The Spirit gives voice to what we cannot articulate but hope and long for in our inmost selves.”  

(You can read more here.)

A shift, where the Spirit has given voice to what I have difficulty imagining. 

A movement in my soul towards new life. 

A time at home to rest.

A time to click submit on all your school work, and be done. 

A time to gather with friends and family around the table (and sometimes do crafts). 

A time to hear words of encouragement and wisdom from mentors in my faith tradition.

A time to bake dozens upon dozens of cookies with the women in my family.

A time for afternoon tea parties with nieces, afternoon cuddles with nephews while reading stories, and of course, to decorate Christmas cookies. 

 A time to recognize this journey called seminary is almost ever, and something new is coming.

A time for exploring your home city with friends from different times in your life, rejoicing in the mutual friendships, and your love for the city.

A time to binge watch the latest Dr. Who with your sister.

A time to visit colleagues who are in new places and beginning new ministries.  

A time to go out and dance with your siblings to an 80's cover band. 

A time to feel how light your heart has become and wonder if the dark shadows of grief have lessened.

A time for the Spirit to intercede in the wonderful and unpredictable way that Spirit does. 

 A time to recognize a season has passed, and a new season is upon us.  A season that is full of light and hope - a season that brings warmth despite the cold, and brings a reminder in a tiny babe that God hasn't abandoned God's people. 

Praise be to God for that Spirit that reminds us in the midst of our weakness and groans, there is a hope for what we cannot see. 

So cheers, in this new year, in this new season, and blessings as you journey along. 

Year Four - The Final Countdown

I've been thinking about writing this post for about a month now, and finally figured it was a good time to get it out of my head and onto the page.  I've officially been in my final year at CTS for over a week now, and let it be known, I most definitely feel like a senior.  I find motivation a little hard to come by. I'm not as excited or energetic like the new class of students on campus.  While their excitement and energy is contagious, I also find it exhausting.  I find myself more business oriented, trying to be efficient and effective, and when you do that, sometimes relationship building gets left on the side road. There probably is a perfectly good explanation as to why I feel this way: I'm still recovering from CPE this summer, I'm adjusting back to being on campus after nine months away, or maybe it's because I still sometimes surprise myself thinking I am still a student.  

Let's rewind three years.

First of all, when I came out to Decatur, Georgia for seminary, I honest to goodness thought I would be here for three years, graduate before I turned thirty, and return home to my amazing family, wonderful boyfriend, adoring cat, and find a church in the Great State of Texas doing Youth Ministry and preaching every once in a while. In fact, I made myself freak out less about being five states away by repeating this mantra on a regular basis during my first semester when I was balancing learning Hebrew and remembering how to write papers after a five year break from college.  

I remember driving out to Atlanta.  I'd spent the night in Tyler, Texas with my grandparents, and as I was having breakfast with my Peepa, I couldn't help but just get weepy.  Peepa prayed with me and told me how proud he was I was going to be a preacher. I remember I tried to correct him in saying I would be a minister of sorts, and he just gave me a look (any of my family will remember that look Peepa gave).  It meant, "be quiet, I'm right." He walked me to my over-loaded car, gave me a hug and shared a story of what it was like for him when he left home for the war.  I think I cried all the way from Tyler through the entire state of Louisiana and possibly stopped only in Vicksburg, MS.  Then, I cried some more when I saw a sign for Dallas, Georgia (really?!?!?!)

I wouldn't say I came to seminary kicking and screaming, but I came with a heavy heart.  I left behind all I knew of my life in Texas - my friends, my family, my job, and yes, my bed!  I often found myself looking up at the sky shaking  my head, kind of stuck in this, "I know I should be here, but why is it so hard???"

Well, if you have known me at all in the past three years, you might know the cat died.

Rest in Peace, Charlie.




The relationship with the boyfriend ended, and I added another degree and will graduate at the beautiful age of thirty (which I turn in a few weeks). The family is still amazing and continues to grow - I've gone from one nephew and one niece to two of each, with another nephew on the way this fall!  By the grace of God, I've been able to be present when they've been born, and I have to say, being an Auntie is one of THE BEST things ever. 

Nephew #1 - I look so young!

Niece #1

Nephew #2!

Niece #2!

While I've sometimes struggled with being at CTS, I have never doubted my being here.  I knew Columbia was where God was calling me from the moment I stepped on the campus - EVEN before I applied to be a M.Div seminarian (just like in 1999 as a high school freshman I knew Austin College would be the one.)  Oh, how I've been homesick (shout out to the siblings & parents & family & friends who answer my calls when I feel weepy), but the the growth I've experienced here has been life changing.  

Taken sometime during Fall during my first year out here in GA.

  I've fallen in love with Atlanta (for the most part) and have come to appreciate the history of the city, the diverse cultures represented, and all FOUR seasons that happen here.  The food's not bad either. I've had family and friends come out and visit me here, and been able to share with them this city that now has a special place in my heart.  

Dish duty at Camp Buc for an All Church Retreat

 I've interned in inner-city churches, one vibrantly healthy and growing, the other one rapidly declining and figuring out it's role in the church, the city, and their own community. I've learned a bit about grant writing, joined a Gospel Choir, mastered the Hebrew and the Greek, and made some friends who I hope will be around for the rest of my life.  

I've even sung karaoke with a real life hard rock band.  

 I've loved how close Atlanta is to quite a few other places - I've done Mardi Gras in Mobile, Winter in Florida, Spring Break in Myrtle Beach, and spent a summer in North Carolina.  Ok, I've fallen for the state of North Carolina too...and not just the part called "Montreat" (though being 3 hours away is AWESOME.) 

From my summer at UPC in Chapel Hill, NC

 I've traveled more than I would have ever imagined - including a trip across the pond to study at Cambridge.  

Some of the lovely ladies I met at Westminster. 

I STUDIED AT CAMBRIDGE. 

 (Sometimes I don't even believe that happened...)

I mean...I met Rowan Williams...in person...

In the past three years, I've passed all my Ordination Exams. I've spent hours in classrooms listening to professors whom I admire, reflecting on readings, and responding alongside my classmates. I've done more group projects than I ever thought I would in graduate school. 

I've spent even more hours reading, then re-reading essays, chapters, sermons, scripture, and even books.  (This doesn't surprise me, I know graduate school included reading.  I just didn't quite understand how foreign some of the reading would be for me.  Thank heavens for Shirley Guthrie.)

I've worked on my spirituality. I've practiced silence, explored prayer, and found myself continually humbled at how and where God shows up.  Gratitude has taken on an entirely new meaning.  And somewhere along the way of the journey, I stopped looking up at the sky asking "why me, O God?", and started looking saying, "I'll go where you send me."  I came out here with quite clear expectations for myself, and in the way it often happens, those expectations have changed, and I don't mourn that. There's an image from StoryPeople, by Brian Andreas, called Falling into Place, and it sums up where I stand quite perfectly:

As much as I would love to return to Texas upon graduating on 5-16-15, I'm open to where God sends me.  I've mastered the Skyping, the flying home, and even the driving home (Thank you Audible!).  I remember when my parents came to visit me in North Carolina and my mom said, "keep going to neat places so we can always come and visit."  In a weird way (and she probably didn't know it), it was a permission I hadn't asked for or thought I needed, to go where I am called.  I guess I see it more as a blessing these days.

So I will take on this Senior Year.  I will pray for a positive spirit.  I'll try not to be a negative nelly in group projects.  I will try to allow myself to share in the excitement and energy of our new students.  I will remember that there are ways to be efficient and effective while maintaining relationships and building up our community. I know my God has called me out - called me to serve a broken world - called me to work towards healing and reconciliation - called me to think creatively and teach the ancient words in ways that all children of God can understand. As I begin this year and prepare for transitioning out of seminary into the church, it won't be the beginning of my ministry, but a continuation.

 It's going to be scary. There will probably be much uncertainty.  It might be hard.  I bet it will be exhausting.

But, I'm ready.

I've got some good people holding me in prayer. I've got some good people to reach out to and ask for help, ask for guidance, ask for a good laugh, or maybe, a good cry.

I know that as I move towards #fivesixteenfifteen (CTS graduation date), there's still much to learn and much to do. So with a willing heart, I'll try and give it my all. 

Listening

Part of our CPE experience included a day of learning about poetry as medicine. We took an entire day to read poetry together, as well as write poetry.  I'm an avid poetry person, but I was a bit daunted by a day of this.  It turned out to be quite an experience of growth and healing, not just for me, but for my peers.  It was a delight to hear how we all took a theme, such as listening, and created a variety of works of words.  We were given a certain amount of time (about 15 minutes for this one!) and a theme, and then shared our poems together after. I've been meaning to share some of my poems here, and finally have gotten around to it!  So, here's one poem I wrote in regards to listening, specifically when I'm going into a patient's room. If you'd like to learn more about poetic medicine, here's a website that talks about it. 

Ears?

Check.

Open? Attentive?

Perked up like Rover’s in anticipation

to the door creaking open,

hearing more than the door

and knowing what is heard?

Double check.

Eyes?

Check.

Alert?  Bright?

Taking in all things

with a sense of wonder and mystery?

Looking past objects

and into the deep unknown

like baby’s first encounter with the

musical mobile hanging above the bed?

Double check.

Mouth?

Check.

Slightly open, not pursed?

Ready to respond reassuringly?

To make affirming,

appropriate sounds of empathy?

As your grandma used to do when

you shared your day’s adventures

at bath time?

Double check.

Shoulders?

Check.

Loose and low?

Relaxed and resolved?

Avoiding the desire to look like

the high school offensive lineman

as he haunches up to defend the ball

no matter what,

protecting all he encompasses?

Double check.

Hands?

Check.

Calm? No twitching?

Ready to respond

with the slightest of touches

that carry more weight

than you’ll ever know?

Double check.

Heart?

Heart?

You there…?

Oh – good. Check.

Ready for what could be a doozy?

Ready to be made vulnerable

like the limbs of a tree that feel

both beauty in the seasons and

loss in the changing of them?

Ready to be worn on the sleeve

and exposed to the elements?

Double check.

Good.

All systems go –

Ready to engage.

Who knows what you'll encounter?

A beloved land that seemed distant could soon be home within you.

Charting: Factual vs. Fictitious

 For anyone who has ever had the privilege to be exposed to a medical charting system, this post might seem familiar.  This post isn't really about my chart notes being factual or fictitious, it's more about walking that fine line of what is needed to be said and what wants to be said.  Like most hospitals/doctor's office/etc, this hospital uses a note-taking system that allows for everyone who interacts with patient to document it. 

 

The system here is named...

 

wait for it...

 

 

 It is, of course, epic.

 

 Everyone uses it.

 

Doctors, x-ray technicians, nurses, OT, PT, and yes, even Chaplains.

 

Especially Chaplains.  Our use of the epic system varies quite differently than our medical peers.  Instead of doing medical assessments, we do spiritual assessments.  (It's not as intense as it sounds, I promise.)  Praise the Lord, our charting requirements are much simpler than our cohorts.  (We were able to knock out our system training in under two hours.) 

 

I find the charting sometimes quite hard to do.  When I was in pre-surgery, and I visited on average 10-15 patients each morning, and most of them before 7:00am.  I didn't chart until an hour (or sometimes 4 hours) later, and developed a note system to helped me remember everyone I'd met with. It involved many colors of pens, dots and dashes, and random one word reminders, that anyone else looking at it would say, "What?", but I look, and go, "ahh, yes".

 

Then, when it's time, I would come back to an office, sit down, and try to chart our visit. 

And that's where the trouble starts. 

While I could easily copy and paste a note for everyone I've visited, I just can't do it.  I feel like if anyone, I'm the one person, who in charting, should put a little piece of the patient in the chart - and not the details of age or sex or medical issues - but a bit of who they truly are - a loving mother, an anxious spouse, or hilarious grandma. 

 

This might be my English degree sneaking in, too.  Charting is very impersonal, all said from 3rd person perspective.  I, of course, find myself writing sentences that could be the beginning sentences of a soon-to-be-smashing-hit novel. (emphasis on "could be")

 For example, this is what could be considered a general note used for a patient:

  

Met with patient and family; introduced them to Chaplain Services. Patient expressed he was a little anxious, but felt supported by friends and family. Offered pastoral support. Will continue to provide support and follow up as needed.

 

Here is what I wish I could say:

 

Walked into the patient's room, and patient looked up nervously, as if anticipating yet another person walking in to take something from him - his blood, his temperature, or his signature. Yet as I introduced myself, relief flashed across his face.  I walked farther into his room where his friend greeted me with a genuine smile, one that touched all the corners of your heart and just oozed kindness and warmth.  Addressing the patient, I went through the "pre-surgery" routine, which often times felt like a one-woman-stand-up comic relief type of show.  I informed him there were people here at UTSW who wouldn't ask for anything from him, but would offer what they could for him - a kind smile, a prayer spoken, or the opportunity to kick someone out of the room.  Patient expressed how much it meant to have his friends and family along side him in the room where he felt over exposed and how their presence made him feel normal.  Patient had a great laugh and you can tell this is a group of friends and family who tell each other they are loved.  It was an unexpected blessing to visit with them on this early summer morning; a reminder of our God at work in what may seem a mundane morning, but sacred all the same

Here's another example.  Something like this gets charted:

  

Met with patient and visitor; introduced them to Chaplain Services. Patient expressed no needs at this time; will continue to follow up and provide support as needed.

 

And here is what I wished I could say.

 

Walked into patient's room, and the sense of inconvenience of the entire sitution was speaking louder than the bright yellow gown draped around the patient's shoulders. I introduced myself to the patient who exclaimed within the first few seconds confirmed she was "fine" and needed no assistence from Chaplain Services.  Eye-contact was somehow avoided the entire time I spent with the patient and visitor, as was the mention of the reason for the patient's visit.  I wanted to share with the patient she was not alone in having her life interrupted or inconvenienced by the aggresive monster named Cancer. I wanted to let her know that it was ok if she was not fine.  But I put my wants away and let the patient know Chaplain Services was available at her disposal, and left her room. 

 

I wouldn't say it's an internal battle, but sometimes it's hard to truly capture what happened in the moments I spent with a patient in their chart. I know there is a good reason to remain objective within the charts, but it still feels like we're treating an object, and not a person.  And that's where the little Chaplain notes can make a difference.  I can make a comment that this patient gets much meaning out of being called grandma, or that this patient's from out of town, but has a strong support system here in town.  Do the doctors or nurses or therapisits read any of these notes?

 

Maybe. I mean, I hope so.  And I hope it offers something to the story of this patient.  I hope it gives the doctor/nurse/caretaker pause, maybe a reminder for some that this is a beloved grandfather.   

Or that it clues them in that this patient has no strong support systems to share in the grief of a terminal diagnosis. 

 

There ARE many health professionals who treat patients as more than just a Medical Reference Number or new diagnosis.  But Chaplains can sometimes fall in a weird gap of meeting patient's needs.  We often have met with family and somehow have acquired little nuggets of knowledge that maybe no one else had thought of. This is not because the others don't care, but when I meet with a patient, I don't have any medical jargon going on in my head - I am there, face to face, with the patient.  Or the family as the case might be. 

Sometimes I laugh with families as they remember funny jokes. Sometimes I pray, sometimes I listen to a prayer, and sometimes I leave with a blessing. Sometimes I just walk people to the right set of elevators. Sometimes I listen to patient's share their journey to this time and place.  Sometimes I direct people to the best cup of coffee in the hospital. Sometimes I weep with families as they walk through the shadow of the valley.  Sometimes I give hugs and talk about alligators with a 7 year old who has a dad dying of brain cancer.

All of these "sometimes" are important, and some seem monumental.
 All are a part of a patient's journey here at the hospital.

And when I'm done, I come back to the office and condense the visit into a succinct, somewhat impersonal but always factual chart note.

And then I hope the empathy felt, the emotions noticed, and the little peices of information gleaned prove to be represented well within the note.


 

 

 

 

Musings on Pre-Surgery

I just finished my month on Pre-Surgery rotation.  For the month of July, I joined the special people who show up to UT Southwestern OR's at the crack of dawn.  Or maybe before the crack.  My alarm has been set for 4:30am since July 1st, and my bed time has been consistently 9:00pm, sometimes earlier!  Arriving at the hospital so early is equal parts creepy and peaceful.  It's quiet and I found myself really enjoying the time alone in the Chaplain's office area to center and focus myself.  It's creepy in that there's no one in our area at 5:30am, so every noise seems a bit misplaced.  During my time on pre-surgery, I've learned a few things about myself and about pre-surgery that I thought I would share. 

Learned Things About Pre-Surgery:

• It takes special people to work this early shift.  While it sort of is like working a night shift, it also isn't, because you leave work with plenty of daytime, normally around 2:00 or 3:00 pm.  The nurses I worked with were a lovely balance of perky and calming - something that is most definitely needed for many surgery patients so early in the morning. 

• Surgery is all about vulnerability. I wouldn't say all patients are necessarily willing to have surgery, but most don't just end up laying half exposed in our beds just for a giggle. To walk into a place where you willingly know you're going to be knocked out and cut open is a bit surreal and sometimes, scary.  People respond to this vulnerability and anxiety in a variety of ways, covering the entire range of human emotions. 

• Medical School Interns are HILARIOUS at 6:00 in the morning.  Especially on July 1st, their first day at the hospital. 

• Always check to make sure the patient's room number matches the name of the patient. ALWAYS.

• Sometimes a doctor will start a surgery a few hours early.  Sometimes a doctor will start a surgery a few hours late.  Flexibility is key. 

• The Unit Clerk is a key person to know on the surgery unit.  Seriously.  THEY KNOW EVERYTHING. 

Things I Learned About Myself on Pre-Surgery:

• I can be a morning bird.  I can be a night owl.  I cannot be both.  Especially on the same day. I turn into something quite wicked.   

• I can do anything for 30 days. Such as waking up for a shift at 4:30 in the morning. 

• I love people.  People are wonderful.  I thrive around people.  They bring me energy and life.  But, sometimes, after meeting with 15 families in the span of an hour, and then everyone else within another hour, I meet my people max by 10:00 am.  I have to go and put myself in isolation just to regroup and center myself.  

• I love stories.  I love hearing people's stories.  One of my favorite aspects of Pre-Surgery round is being able to hear patient's stories.  It doesn't happen every time, but when it does, man oh man is it special. 

• The foam in/foam out procedure KILLS my hands.  I have to wash my hands every other foam, and even then, my hands start to remind me how much they dislike the foaming.  

• Chaplains are the one person people can kick out of a room. And that's ok. If people can feel an ounce of control or power by asking my out, that is perfectly fine.  I make sure to leave them with a blessing, if not in the room, as I step outside and hand sanitize.

• Knowledge is power, but when it comes to pre-surgery, ignorance is bliss.  Especially in regards to the medical procedures being done to patients.  There is something in letting the patient's tell me what is going on with them.  I play a bit dumb (but really, I don't understand half of what the medical stuff is) and let them articulate what's happening.  This saves me from having to google a medical term, which I have found often does not end well. 

• I google more medical terms than I want to admit. And then I spend some time convinced I have that/will get it etc. 

• Laughter is medicine.  Humor can break down barriers and walls and transform a space, a face, and many a morning.  I love laughter.

• I need about 30 minutes after I wake up to just wake up.  This often involves my coffee and some Morning Edition from NPR. By the grace of God, I have about a 30 minute commute where both of these things are addressed. 

• Not the last thing I've learned, but maybe the best reminder I've remembered on Pre-Surgery - the Spirit works in wonderful and mysterious ways.  I never know how God's gonna use me when I walk into a room with a time limit maxed at about 5 minutes, but I know God is at work within me. It's another part of that wonderful, mysterious, and sometimes confusing way that God calls us into God's ministry.  And within all that mystery and within that 5 minutes, I know it is enough, and I am enough.  

Praise be to God!

"What do you do?" Part II

OK.  So there's been a bit of some time in between part one and part two, but all for the sake of learning!  A typical day in my life of a Chaplain at a hospital is quite varied, as I suggested in the other post. 

Here's what my day is often quite full of:

Me being awkward. 

Me having lots and lots of feelings.  

I can't emphasize the feelings business.  Praise the Lord that we have plenty of time and willing hearts and ears to hear about said emotions. 

If you change phone to pager, this is an accurate statement of what happens more often than I would like. Who would have thought all those times in the early 90's when I was jealous of my mom's pager, I would be getting one! My heart does weird palpitations when the pager goes off, and sometimes, I do go to bed praying the pager won't go off.  But it does.  And when it does, you do what you need to do to make sure the needs of the patient/family/staff are met.  It's good problem solving/triaging skills.

 

We write quite a bit.  Between charting for our patients, copious amounts of email communication, and writing a verbatim, there are so many words.  SO. MANY. WORDS.  And I normally love words.  But, I'm just kind of overwhelmed with all the words.  The talking, the writing, the reading, the talking some more, and then writing some more.  It's not always hard per se, it just often seems overwhelming. 

I pray a lot. THIS IS NOT A BAD THING.  Just an observation.  And it's often "off the cuff whatever is in your head and heart" kind of prayer.  Sometimes after I pray, I'm not a 100% sure exactly what I have said.  I ask patients if there is anything I can pray for specifically, and my heart just melts sometimes with responses.  Some mornings I feel the Spirit ever so present and at work.  And even on the mornings I don't "feel" it, I know the Spirit is at work in ways I can't imagine. 

(I would change this image to say, "Can I pray with you?", I'm more of a "with" person than a "for".)

 

More often than not, I get rejected when I walk into a room or ask if they would like a prayer.  I don't take it personally (for the most part).  I just realize I am one piece of the many pieces that make up a bigger puzzle picture.  In our CPE group, we use the image of planting seeds.  In this way, it is much like working in youth ministry.  You plant seeds and aren't ever really sure how they will take root and grow.  Sometimes you're blessed to see fruition come of ministry, but often times you just continue praying and holding them in your heart. It's a humble reminder that it's not about you, and God works in wondrous and mysterious ways, ways I will often never get to see. 

 

I hold hands more than I ever imagined.  This is one of the most powerful things I do at work.  Holding hands with a stranger takes some vulnerability on both parts.  I can relate with many patients in needing a hand to hold.  Most of the touch they receive here at the hospital is not at their request - it's blood being drawn, poking and prodding, and can be quite invasive.  While we all want healing of our bodies, it often does come at a cost.  I see patients who yearn for wholeness in their bodies yet tremble at the thought of another needle, another exam, another surgery, or another test.  I often joke in pre-surgery with patients that Chaplains are the one group of people at the hospital who will ask nothing of them - not even a signature!  To be responsive and accepting of the simple touch of a hand, the patient has the power to decide what they want - a power that often has been taken away while in the hospital. 

(Sometimes when joining hands with people, it can get a little awkward.)


Chaplains do many things. We help with Advance Directive and Medical Power of Attorney paperwork. We help with Decedent care paperwork.  We greet families in waiting rooms, we grab extra blankets for cold patients, we offer prayer or we sometimes offer jokes.  We meet patients where they need to be met, and we do it in the name of the One who calls us. 

When I enter a room, I pray that God will allow me to love this child as God loves them - unconditionally, with compassion, and remembering that they indeed are part of God's good creation.

 

The other day I decided I felt a bit like Patch Adams (without swimming pools of spaghetti). For the most part, I have the luxury of time to sit with patients and hear their stories.  In fact, that is one of my favorite parts of the job - hearing people's stories - honoring them and allowing them a safe space to share. 

 

So, I hope you feel you have a bit more insight into what exactly I do here at the hospital.  Every day is different, bringing new challenges and new blessings into my life.  It can be chaotic and tiring, but too can be calm and comforting.  Some days are uglier and smellier than I would like, but than some days the beauty and wonder of life are ever present.

All I can ask of each day is that God uses me as God's instrument.