Bearing Witness

 

Eleven years ago,

On a Wednesday night,

In a hospital room at Wake Med,

I unofficially officiated my first wedding.

The bride-to-be’s mom had had a massive stroke the Sunday before and was on life support.

She was not going to recover.

The family had made the decision to take her off life support that night,

But before they did,

The couple wanted to be married so that the bride’s mom could be there.

I took my guitar and my Book of Common Prayer to the small little room in ICU.

Standing at the foot of the mother’s bed,

I sang a song,

Guided the couple through their vows,

And pronounced them husband and wife.

There were tears:

My tears, the family’s tears, the nurses’ tears.

It was a beautiful moment,

And it was so very real…

Even though there was no license and no way to declare the ceremony legally binding.

 

Yesterday,

On Palm Sunday,

At a beautiful outdoor venue with the sun shining down,

I officiated another wedding.

The couple was having a hard time finding an officiant,

So a friend recommended me.

I exchanged e-mails with the bride-to-be a handful of times.

I sent a copy of the ceremony for approval.

I met the bride and the groom at the rehearsal on Friday.

I showed up for the wedding yesterday,

Held the groom’s ring on my pointer finger and the bride’s ring on the tip of my pinky finger,

Guided the couple through their vows, and

Pronounced them husband and wife.

There were claps and smiles and tears all around.

It was a beautiful moment.

And it was so very real…

Right down to the signing of the marriage certificate that made everything legally binding.

 

As a Reverend Music Teacher,

Ordained into the gospel ministry

But living out my call in the public schools,

I have the privilege of bearing witness to a lot of life’s beautifully, vulnerable moments.

From the classroom to performances to weddings to funerals,

When families look at me and say, “Thank you,”

I get to respond truthfully, “It was my honor to be here.”

And it IS an honor

To get to walk alongside persons on their journeys

And to represent the presence of God in real and tangible ways.

 

Dear God: Help each of us, in the ways we are gifted, to walk alongside others and to represent You in real and tangible ways. Help us to show up for one another and to do the work of Love…legally binding or not. Amen.

A Bad Feeling

Going back to work today wasn’t too bad. Tomorrow will likely be more difficult because I’ll have less adrenaline. But today was okay…except that I carried an underlying sense of anxiety all day—because of the book that I’m reading.

I’ve read the book before—a clearance book from the Books-A-Million in Columbia—but I don’t remember anything about it. The basic plot is of a twenty-something going home for her brother’s wedding, only her brother is uncertain as to whether or not he should go through with the wedding because he has fallen in love with another woman. He must figure out what to do and she must face her past.

The book is fine. Decently written. Decently read. But I’ve been so worried about the fiancé that I’ve been anxious for the entire four hours that I’ve been reading (with my ears)—and evidently in the hours when I’ve not been listening in my car—that I haven’t really been able to enjoy it.

The writer doesn’t share the fiancé’s point of view. The only things we know about her come from the narrator’s perspective. So we don’t know what she’s thinking—how she’s feeling—if she has any clue that her wedding is likely going to be cancelled and that a ten year relationship is likely going to end—or if she’s going to have a huge bomb dropped on her. Regardless, she’s in a really bad situation…and no matter what happens, she’s going to be really hurt. She’s either going to be marrying a man who loves another woman or she’s going to be forced to walk away from the man she thought she’d be with forever—and neither are really fair to her—nor are the lies she’s been told—or the information that’s been kept secret—or the choices that have not been given to her to make.

I know. You may be thinking. This is a fictional character, Rev. Dee. But is it really? Isn’t this the story of so many people? Maybe not the possibility of a cancelled wedding on the wedding weekend—although I know that that happens more often than any of us want to admit—but the unfairness, the lies and half-truths, the secret information, the choices not offered, the imbalance of power, the not-knowing how to have a really difficult conversation. Might this be your story, too?

I remember struggling with similar thoughts as I walked up and down the halls of the hospital where I served as chaplain. On so many occasions, I felt horrible knowing that I knew difficult information that families did not know—yet I couldn’t say a word. I held an unfair power advantage in the situation—and sometimes I had to have conversations with people, trying to remain present and non-anxious, knowing that their loved-one was dying—knowing that their hearts were going to break momentarily—when all information was made known. I hated the knowing. And I hated imagining how I’d feel if I were on the other side of myself.

So I guess that’s what this book has done to me—made me imagine how it would feel to be the fiancé unknowingly waiting for life-changing information to be shared with her—and it’s a bad feeling. The blind ignorance. The shock. The feeling of being second-best—of somehow not being good enough. It’s just…a bad feeling.

So for everyone who may be remembering and/or feeling any of those feelings tonight—
For whatever reason—
I offer prayers for peace and comfort right now.
And for everyone who is in any type of relationship—
For however long—
I offer prayers for honesty and respect;
for ears to hear and hearts to listen; and
for healthy wisdom and endurance to do the hard work of love—
wherever that work may lead.
Amen.

My People

“This is a bit overwhelming,” I said. “But it’s good. It’s really good. I’m so glad that my people are finally getting to meet my people.”

Gentry, Erwin, Johnsonville.
Camp Mundo Vista, Camp La Vida.
Friendship, FBC Erwin, Antioch.
Harnett Central, Meredith, Campbell, Wake Med.
Friends, family.

My people got to meet my people. To see each other. To put faces to names. To hear each other. To worship together. And short of my getting to see all of my people myself, hug lots of necks, and sing with my friends again, it is the thing I was most excited to happen at my ordination last night.

To those who were there in person: Thank you.

And I’m curious: What words from last night’s service spoke the most to you? Have any words been going through your mind today? (And I’m not necessarily looking for words about me. I’m genuinely curious as to how the Spirit spoke to you.)

To those who sent words and prayers in your absence: Thank you.

For everyone: Here is the program order.

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Order of Worship
for the Ordination of Deanna Deaton
March 29, 2015, 6pm

Welcome
Presentation of Candidate
Call to Worship
Congregational Hymn #235: When I Survey The Wondrous Cross
Invocation
Special Music: You Are
Scripture Reading, Isaiah 55: 8-12
Homily and Prayer
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 1 and 3): The Servant Song
Scripture Reading, Romans 12: 1-8
Charge to the Church
Litany of Affirmation and Support
Special Music: A Follower’s Prayer
Scripture Reading, John 15: 9-17
Charge to and Prayer for the Candidate
Laying on of Hands
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 2), The Servant Song
Deanna’s First Ordained Communion
Presentation of Church Gift
Benediction

Defining Moments: Worry and Prayer

I have vivid dreams.

For instance, I dreamed last night that I hadn’t completed my English project and that my failure to do so was going to result in my making a B in the class. I sat my parents down and warned them that my 4.0 was going to be blemished and then I agonized over the fact that the project had stumped me. While agonizing over lunch, a student showed me an art project that he had completed for class and I was so fascinated by it that I stayed in the cafeteria to discuss it. I got so caught up in discussing the student’s artwork that I completely missed English class. Knowing that I never missed class, my teacher/professor—a combination of my favorite junior English teacher and my favorite college English professor—called for me over the intercom. I was to report to the principal’s office. As I walked through the hall to the principal’s office, one of my bottom front teeth fell out. At first, I was proud to have lost my tooth, but then I realized that it wasn’t a baby tooth and that it wasn’t a positive thing that it had come out. And that’s when, all at the same moment, the hallway traffic became so crowded that I couldn’t move, I realized that it was time for car duty, and I realized that I wasn’t going to make it to the principal’s office as summoned. As I called the school to let the principal know that I had car duty and would thus not be reporting as requested, I began flying to the parking lot. As I flew, I saw a couple sitting outside on a picnic blanket and we waved. And that’s the last thing I remember…from that dream.

Unfortunately, most of my dreams for the past couple of weeks have had something to do with school—and most of them have been full of complications, angst, problems, or worries. I suppose that my dreams are reflecting the anxiety that I feel about returning to school—a somewhat unwarranted anxiety brought on my unknown scheduling, classes, committees, duties, meetings, and lesson plans—and I suppose that both my waking and sleeping thoughts are working together to multiply whatever anxieties I’m feeling.

So I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised that I heard a wise voice say to me this morning, “If you’re going to pray about it, don’t worry. If you’re going to worry about it, don’t pray.”

While interviewing for my chaplaincy internship, I heard about a placement at a skilled nursing facility. Though the placement was far outside my comfort zone, I felt an immediate pull toward the location that could not be explained. After volunteering for the position, I quickly began to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. After visiting the facility for the first time, I felt completely overwhelmed. Yet it was that placement and those people that eventually stole my heart and changed the way that I see and value the dignity of all human life.

It was during one of my visits that I heard the voice that spoke to me this morning. Amongst other things, I was extremely worried about my parents traveling alone to Florida and I was sharing my worries with my friend Keisha. After listening to me for a few minutes, she looked at me with a sassy look in her eyes, clicked her tongue, and emphatically told me, “If you’re going to pray about it, don’t worry. If you’re going to worry about it, don’t pray.” Then she puckered her mouth and raised her eyebrows as if to dare me to argue with her.

That’s how Keisha is. Unable to move from the neck down but totally able to express herself with her face. Unable to use her vocal chords but able completely and clearly able to communicate with words. Unable to breathe through her mouth and nose but able to taste and swallow—hot fries are her favorite! Unable to physically leave her bed alone but able to soar through the heavens with her thoughts and prayers.

“If you’re going to pray about it, don’t worry. If you’re going to worry about it, don’t pray.”

Thanks, Keisha, for that defining moment in your old room, standing by your printer, surrounded by butterflies, filled with love for one another.

I will begin praying about school and attempt to stop worrying. Hopefully my dreams will listen, and I will not fail anymore projects or lose anymore teeth.

Smiling Back At Me

I almost quit.
I almost walked out of the hospital in March and didn’t go back.
But I decided to stay the course.
And I’m so glad that I did.
My one unit of Clinical Pastoral Education profoundly changed my life.

As I begin 2014, I can’t help but think back on 2013 and be grateful for the year that I had. As I wrote in last year’s beginning of the year note, I “got myself into God” and God did amazing things in, with, in-spite-of, and through me.

I learned that all I can really do in life is celebrate when I realize it’s safe to wear comfy shoes and then show up with my comfy shoes on and see what happens. Sometimes it will be wonderful. Sometimes it will not. But as long as I remain present, for however long or short I stay, life is there.

I learned that with as much as I’ve lost, there is so much more. With the death of one dream, there is the space for another to grow. With the loss of one hope, there is the addition of countless others. With the absence of one friend, there is the presence of many more. I am blessed. I am abundantly blessed. And no matter how much I’ve lost, there is so much more.

I learned that the gift giver must give. I am a natural gift giver. Giving gifts is an extension of my arms. But not everyone can receive those gifts without feeling as if the extension comes with strings attached. For some, gifts are or have been used to purchase affection, manipulate actions, or influence love. For some, receiving gifts sparks panic or creates guilt so deep that it overwhelms genuine care and good intention. I learned that this year. And I learned that I must be mindful not only of my need to give but also of the receivers’ abilities to receive. I must weigh the price of the gift with the emotional depth of connection. I must consider when not giving a gift is actually a better gift than anything I could create or buy. But I must not stop giving, for to stop giving is to suffocate a central part of who I am.

I learned that God is unpredictable. Never would I have imagined that I would be teaching again, yet my teaching stuff is unpacked, my music classroom is set, and my bedroom and car are both full of stuff to be taken to my greatest place of ministry yet. After I chose to stay the chaplaincy course in March, I chose to embrace the chaplaincy course for the long-haul. When I thought I was heading heart-first into more chaplaincy work, God was steering me toward the lowest performing school in the county and making it so abundantly clear that it was where I needed to be that all I could do was cry tears of excitedly ironic relief. God is so unpredictable. Yet. It’s kind of neat to see where God leads…especially when every experience prepares you for the next…and a preacher surprises you so profoundly that you truly desire to attend worship for the first time in years.

I was emotionally ambushed that day that I almost quit in March. Everything I thought I’d been doing right was evidently wrong and my ability to please people had failed. I was hurt. I was confused. I was exhausted. And I was ready to give up. Yet I didn’t. I dug down deep and found parts of myself that I didn’t know existed.

And my eyes were opened.

And my life was changed.

And my feet were freed to walk right back into the public schools to find the good that is, to give to my heart’s desire, and to sing with an unpredictable God who is smiling back at me.

Time Out

I’ve had to put myself in time-out two times this week.

A variety of factors have combined to produce a very bad mood.

Rather than submitting my coworkers to my terrible disposition, I’ve locked myself in my room and tried to work my way through my frustrations.

It hasn’t worked.

I’m still quite aggravated by the many factors I cannot control and the many more that I can but don’t seem to have the time or organizational system in place to influence.

This morning as I was preparing to do the morning announcements, I realized that we have a teacher workday on Monday. When I learned this fact, I literally cheered. I need a workday. My colleagues need a workday. The kids need a break. We all need a breather…

And so, friends, I confess my current negativity tonight.

I admit my utter humanity and inability to always remain a calm, non-anxious presence in the midst of high stress and seeming chaos.

And I acknowledge that I, chaplain-at-heart though I be, too, need a chaplain to listen, support, and respect me for the person I am and work I attempt to do…

Even when that work leads me to put myself in time-out.

Happily Ever After: Till Death Do Us Part

Each year, the North Carolina Reading Council holds a Young Author’s Writing Competition. A couple of years before I stopped teaching in 2007, I decided to enter the adult category of the competition. This year, I’ve decided to do the same.

This year’s theme is “Happily Ever After: What’s Your Story?”

This is my story:

Hey there—My name is Deanna,
And you are…? Of course I will
Pray with you. And you want to know if I can
Perform your wedding ceremony, too? Am
I ordained? No. I am not ordained. But I can still perform your wedding.
Love is what matters tonight. The legal stuff can come tomorrow…
Your mom had a stroke on Sunday? She means
Everything to you? Blood is still coursing through her
Veins but her eyes will never open again?...
Enter, now, into this sacred partnership of love. Promise, now, to honor and
Respect one another for as long as you both shall live.
And remember these witnesses surrounding you tonight:
Father, mother, sister, nurses, friends—affirming your new lives together while standing in
the grief of life falling apart…You want
To take home a copy of the vows? Of course I’ll make you a copy…And you’re right. This has been an
Extraordinary event. One that I will not forget…You will
Remove life support after midnight? But you want to say your goodbyes right now? Take your
time. You have much to celebrate. I will come back. And I will stay with your mom until her soul
passes into happily after ever.

What about you, reader? What is your “Happily Ever After?”

Forty Minutes Ago

I don’t remember exactly what prompted the question—it was certainly nothing theological—but one of my students looked at me the other day and said, “Are you going to pray for us or something?” I didn’t answer his question aloud, but in my mind I thought, “Oh, yes, my dear child. Yes. I am going to pray for you. In fact, I am praying for you right now.”

In and out. In and out. Breathe in--all of the uncertainty, fear, and insecurity that is troubling him. Breathe out--light, love, peace, and all things good. In and out. In and out. Even as I teach. Silently pray. In and out. In and out.

At the end of class, as most of my students passed with either a high five or a wave, this student stopped, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I already know that you love me, Ms. D.” Then he hugged me. As I hugged him in return, I said, “Yep. I do love you.” But what I was thinking? I was thinking, “How do you already know? We just met 40 minutes ago.”
As I’ve pondered the prayer guide that earlier in the week I set myself up to write, I’ve realized that this task is too big for me to accomplish in two days. So today I’ve decided to post a prayer that I wrote during CPE instead. When I’m not breathing in and out, I’m often singing this prayer to myself:

Lord, I pray for everyone
Whose hearts are breaking today
Lord, I pray for everyone
Whose bodies are wasting away
There is so much hurt
And so much pain
So much grief
And so much anger
There are so many fears
And so many doubts
Lord we need you,
We need you,
Right now.

I don’t know how prayer works. Really. I don’t. But somehow I know that it does. And so I will keep praying.

For the students I teach. For the families from which they come. For the teachers who teach alongside me. For the administrators who work above me and the legislature who works above them. For the support staff who holds the school together. For the churches and businesses around us who want to be involved.

I pray for everyone…and their hurt and pain and grief and anger and fears and doubts.

I pray for God…and God’s peace and healing and hope and joy and courage and rest.

I pray that love will radiate from my spirit so beautifully that every person I meet—especially my students—will know that I love him (or at least that I’m trying)…even if I only met him forty minutes ago.

Because I Forgot Yesterday Was Thursday...

...I didn’t write my Thursday note.

It was an honest oversight.

Really.

I completed my final 24-hour on-call Wednesday. I was awake at 6:30am that morning and began steady work at 9am. I didn’t stop until 4:15am yesterday. The time in between those hours was beautifully wonderfully terribly tragically amazing.

Needless to say, I left the hospital a little tired. I took a short nap yesterday morning, but I still sort of felt like a zombie the rest of the day.

I also went to the skilled nursing facility at which I volunteer on a day that I normally do not go. I had the privilege of introducing a new volunteer to “my people” and got to celebrate a dear woman’s 94th birthday. But it felt like Tuesday.

And so.

In my zombie-like state, I forgot it was Thursday.

And I didn’t write my Thursday note.

Naturally, I was surprised when my mom looked at me this morning and said, “You didn’t ever post your Thursday note?”

Blankly, I said, “Oh. No. I never wrote it.”

So I’m writing it now.

And I’m not saying much in the process.

Because I’m still sort of zombie-ized.

And I’m itching because my leftover beach sunburn is peeling and I’m sitting beside Bullet to whom I’m allergic.

But I’m writing.

And discipline is important in writing.
And in keeping the kitchen clean.
And the rugs that get covered with dog hair.
And the refrigerator that fills with leftovers.
And the car that fills with travel mugs.
And the belly button that fills with lint.

The end.

Messed Up Clay

I graduated today.

My first unit of CPE is officially over, and I have emerged with 300 hours of visitation credit, a lot of learning, one new mug, one new bowl, and one new book (amongst other things). It was actually kind of funny as my group met for the final time today. All of the ladies in the group pulled out gifts for everyone. The guy in the group said that he just had smiles and hugs to give…which was perfectly fine, too.

As I was trying to figure out what to write tonight, I thought about my new bowl and pottery and a plate that I once made in the pottery studio. The bowl that I received today is a beautifully thrown bowl. The plate about which I’m speaking was an ugly-ly handmade plate. I didn’t make it ugly on purpose. It just turned out that way.

Yet. What I thought was ugly was seen as beautiful by one of my friends. She was able to see through the cracks and imperfection to see something beautiful…which…of course…is how God sees us and how I hope to see others and how I hope others will see me.

Earlier today, I posted a simple status…Three of my all-time favorite statements to both hear and speak: "I'm glad you exist." "You are important." "I believe in you."

These are the statements that we say when we find beauty in messed up clay.

These are the statements that I heard in CPE as my group found beauty in me.

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Messed Up Clay

Messed up clay,
Wedged into a cube,
Forced into the extruder,
Formed into coils.

Messed up clay,
Laid upon a mold,
Smoothed by gentle strokes,
Blended into one creation of many parts.

Messed up clay,
Placed upon the drying rack,
Dried to leather hard,
Baked to set forever.

Messed up clay,
Cracked from the heat,
Worked too little by careless hands,
Hoping to be sealed by a glaze.

Messed up clay,
Dipped into blue,
Swirled over with black,
Left to settle before revisiting the heat.

Messed up clay,
Returned to the fire,
Emerged with deeper cracks,
Destined for permanent imperfection.

Messed up clay,
Wearing ugly colors,
Allowing water to leak through,
Sitting idly on a shelf.

Messed up clay,
Considered worthless by most,
Thought priceless by one,
Embraced out of possibility rather than perfection.

Messed up clay,
Held as treasure,
Believed in by grace,
Containing love much more valuable than bread and water.

Messed up clay,
Messed up life,
Messed up you,
Messed up me.
Messed up clay--

Yet there is beauty!

Beautiful clay.

I Am Learning

I am learning that I feel more comfortable ministering to people who have requested my presence. In those situations, I am able to walk into the room knowing that I am wanted instead of questioning whether or not my presence is more of a burden than a help.

I am learning that I have come a long way in my ability to sit in silence and wait. Instead of quickly filling periods of silence, I am now able to let silence resonate and see what might come.

I am learning that even though I don’t understand prayer, I find myself praying with a genuine heart…and that when the person I’m praying with or for responds with affirmations of, “Yes, Jesus,” or “Thank you, Lord,” it empowers me to pray more boldly.

I am learning that it’s wonderful to be able to walk away from a situation knowing that I don’t have to carry it alone.

I am learning that problems don't always resolve quickly.

I am learning that to some people the minister really does represent the presence of God and that ministry is a very humbling place to be.

I am learning that maybe things don’t go wrong--maybe things just go differently than we plan.

I am learning that respecting cultures and boundaries is sometimes very tricky. Sometimes my genuine expressions of presence, care, concern, admiration, and thanksgiving unintentionally cross the receivers’ boundaries of acceptable behavior. How, then, am I to be myself while being respectful of others’ unspoken boundaries?

I am learning that waking up each day and being able to get myself out of bed to get dressed and start my day truly is a gift. There are so many people who must depend on caregivers to fill all or part of their needs. To be able use the bathroom by myself, eat my own food, shop for my own groceries and clothes (as much as I don’t like the latter), take my own medicine, cut on and off the television and change the channels as I desire, type on this computer using both of my hands…those things are gifts…and I must not take them for granted.
I am learning that a wonderful thing about not having a full-time job is the ability and freedom to help friends and family members with my presence when they need it.

I am learning that sometimes all I can do is show up with my comfy shoes on and see what happens.

I am learning that with as much as has been lost, there is still so much more.

I am learning that life really is a blessing and that to embrace it in its fullness is the deepest act of worship that I can present to God.

What about you? What are you learning these days?

Moments

During one of the darkest periods of my life, I wrestled myself to sleep each night. I tossed and turned to the point of exhaustion, knowing that God’s design for God’s children was not to be paralyzed by guilt, shame, and/or sadness.

In those moments, I often imagined Jesus walking into my bedroom, standing beside my bed with a look of deep love on his face as I struggled with my demons. Many times, I looked at him with tears pouring down my face and said, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

In those moments, Jesus simply stood there. Full of love. Unwavering. Sometimes crying with me. Sometimes pouring compassion over me as I cried. Never judging me. Always letting me know that I wasn’t alone.

In these moments when I’m given the privilege to serve as chaplain, this is the image of who I want to be…this image and the image of Jesus laughing.

In these days of humble honor, I desire to be a chaplain who demonstrates a less-anxious presence. I desire to work with an energy level that feels alive, safe, warm, and welcoming, and I desire not to absorb the stress of the situations in which I find myself but to be fully present in them—feeling the emotions in the room but not getting stuck in them.

Last night, as I stood beside a friend’s daughter at Duke, I wept. The room wept with me. We wept for a body much too young to be shutting down. I wept for her newborn baby also struggling to survive. I wept because of the mysterious virus that is attacking their livers and for the uncertainty that their families and loved ones face. I stood there full of love for this young woman I barely know. Yet I know her mom. My love unwavering. Pouring compassion through my tears. Not judging. Praying for miraculous healing. Praying for Emily’s dreams to be filled with the certainty that she is not alone.

Will you join me in praying for Emily and Aiden—for God to do a supernatural work in their lives? Will you join me in praying for Diana and Oliver—for God to give them peace and strength as they spread their time between daughter and grandson, desperately clinging to life?

Will you imagine your own image of Jesus looking upon you (and others) with love? And will you celebrate these moments that you have been given to do the work God has called you to do?

In Solidarity With Love

Sitting on the couch, stinky white dog beside me, mismatched black socks warming my feet, brown shorts and black t-shirt demonstrating an outfit the fashion police would arrest, I must jot down the things that I learned or pondered during my first on-call at the hospital on Wednesday:

1) The residents and Spiritual Care staff at the hospital are wonderful. They willingly and graciously helped me through the daytime portion of my duty, patiently guiding and mentoring me through a vast field of ignorance. To see them using their gifts and passions to minister not only to patients and family members but also to me was a humbling and inspiring experience.

Each day when I worked for SC WMU, we’d pray for missionaries who had birthdays on that day. We’d call the International and North American Missionaries by name but we would lump the chaplains and volunteers together by category because there are so many chaplains and volunteers sharing Christ’s love. Yesterday, that prayer for chaplains and volunteers took on new meaning as I observed and experienced firsthand the peace-giving work of the chaplain. I’m going to try to start praying for the chaplains that I know by name every day, and I’m going to start with the wonderful people that I’m working with now.

2) It is super important to have at least one or two emergency contact numbers memorized! Thanks to the speed dial on my cell phone, I don’t know many telephone numbers at all. But. If I’m ever in a trauma situation where I can speak and the chaplain asks me if there is anyone that I want them to call for me then I need to know the number. You do, too. Contrary to popular opinion, the wallet, purse, and/or phone don’t always stay with you when you enter the Emergency Department.

3) Badge holders with retractable elastic come in very handy when the name tag includes cheat sheets of vital information. While emergency contact numbers should be memorized, all information in the world shouldn’t…especially when it can be easily accessed via said badge.

4) Although I’m not a fan of wearing them myself, I think that everyone should wear a name tag. Names are important. Being called by name is important. Looking someone in the eye and calling him/her by name instills a sense of dignity that too often gets lost. It also provides incentive not to act out or do anything that would shame a person’s name. I’m terrible with names. I want to get better at remembering them. In the meantime, I’ll start lobbying for embracing the name tag.

5) I don’t want to eat barbeque or a salad in the middle of the night. The idea of heavy dinner food and/or a salad in the wee hours of the morning feels wrong to me. Yet. I think it’s great that the hospital cafeteria serves these foods to those who otherwise wouldn’t get them because they are sleeping during the day so they can work at night.

6) It’s okay to cry. To weep actually.

[Selah]

7) Sometimes permission can set us free. I went into yesterday terrified of doing something wrong. My old script of needing to perfect—to please everyone—to do the “right” thing—had been screaming at me for two weeks, trying to convince me that I was going to fail with chaplaincy. After shadowing the residents and talking to my supervisor, however, I was able to soften that loud voice and remember what I know to be true: no one is perfect, I am my own worst enemy, and life is about much more than right or wrong. My supervisor told me that she trusted me—that I wouldn’t have been accepted into the program if she didn’t think I could do it. She encouraged me to trust my gut and to minister out of my gifts and abilities—because they are vast. The residents showed me that it’s okay to get turned around in the hospital, that I didn’t need to panic when I hear the pager go off, that it’s okay to touch people on the shoulder, that it’s okay to laugh, that it’s okay to ask questions, that it’s essential to remain hydrated. One resident told me that I had a naturally calming presence and a patient said the exact same thing at 2am.

[Selah]

For yesterday’s spiritual care office devotion, we read Psalm 46 and focused on verse 10: “Be still and know that I am God.” As we sat together in the holy and sacred silence that is God, I breathed in the breath of life that is the Spirit and prayed to represent the love and peace that are Christ.

I made it through my first on-call because those around me must have prayed the same thing.

[Selah]

I will rest now. I can barely keep my eyes open. The dog, my mismatched socks, and my lovely outfit are ready to rest, too…and fall asleep thanking God for the communion of saints and the prayers of a people standing in solidarity with Love.

Jesus Knows How I Feel

I’ve always enjoyed bowling. Growing up, when visiting my grandmother in Florida, I’d often ask my cousin and brother if we could go play bowling. They’d always tell me that you don’t play bowling but that you bowl. It took me a long time to get the language right but I finally did. I went on bowling excursions with my youth group in high school, took bowling for PE in college, and bowled with a league while in SC. I actually just put my 2012/2013 USBC membership card in my wallet last night.

One of my favorite bowling experiences, though, occurred not when I was bowling seriously but when I went bowling for my 21st birthday. I was serving on a summer missions team in the mountains at the time so my parents and sister drove across state to spend the day with me. That birthday bowling excursion was a very welcome break in the summer because we were serving on staff at a camp for adults with physical and mental disabilities at the time. I was way out of my comfort zone.

On the first night of the camp, the kitchen staff served spaghetti. The camper sitting across from me had spaghetti all over his face and watching him eat it made me physically feel ill. Later that night when the campers entered worship I quickly realized that I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I don’t remember if it was that night or sometime later in the week but I remember finding myself sitting outside in the parking lot, guitar in hand, crying out to God in weakness and insecurity. It was that night that I had one of the most profound realizations of my life and recorded it in this song:

Jesus knows how I feel because he's been here before
He has felt all the pain, he has felt all the joy
That comes in this life, through living each day
Through learning to love, and give it away
Jesus knows how I feel

I see them there, their hearts cry out
For a voice to simply talk to them
But my voice gets stuck in my throat
Just like a child too shy to talk to a neighbor

So I fall down to the ground
I can't get up, my strength is gone
These tears I've cried have drained my soul
And I don't know how to let go

I see them there, their hearts cry out
For a hand to simply reach and touch them
But my hands are stuck behind my back
And I don't know how to untie them

So I fall down to the ground
I can't get up, my strength is gone
These tears I've cried have drained my soul
Will compassion ever flow?

Jesus knows how I feel because He's been here before
He has felt all the pain, he has felt all the joy
That comes in this life through living each day
Through learning to love and give it away
Jesus knows how I feel

And I believe that Jesus does.

Jesus saw people, had compassion on them, laughed with them, cried with them, spoke to them, and touched them. Jesus knew when people were hurting and Jesus did whatever he could to take their hurt away, treat them with dignity and respect, and make their lives a little better.

There is a lot that I don’t understand in this life. I don’t understand sickness, disease, trauma, long-term illness, disabilities, pain, crime, or anything else that causes suffering. I don’t understand why bad things happen to good people and I feel sick when I think about the process of death and dying. I didn’t understand things on that night when I went bowling in 1998 and I don’t understand things now as I embark on my journey of chaplaincy.

But I do understand this: I don’t have to understand everything and I don’t have to make everything right. Like Jesus, I only need to see people, have compassion on them, laugh with them, cry with them, speak to them, and touch them…just as I ended up doing after sitting in the parking lot that night in the mountains.

Jesus knows how I feel (even if he never bowled). And a lot of other people do, too. And I’m so very glad.

Along The Way

A few years ago, I bought a pair of solid leather shoes. After spending quite a bit of money on the shoes, I prayed that God would bless them and allow me to wear them for many years, ministering to people along the way.

A few days ago, I got a new phone. After spending quite a bit of time contemplating what kind of phone I needed, I decided to go with a mildly smart phone (or middle school education phone as I like to say) instead of a truly smart phone. My new phone has number buttons that I can feel but it still allows me to get online when I so choose. I talked about my new phone decision with my counselor, friends, family members, and God and finally settled upon another middle school education phone because I didn’t want a smart phone to take over my life or finances. Once receiving my new phone, I prayed that God would bless the phone and allow me to use it for many years, ministering to people along the way.

I’m not good with major decisions. I don’t want to make a wrong decision (although I realize that every decision, in some way, in some time, can work for good). I don’t want to waste money, get stuck with something I’ll regret, choose something that’s not a good fit, or get stuck in a situation from which I cannot get out.

But…I didn’t really hesitate today when making a decision about my placement with CPE. In addition to working at the hospital, I’ll be working at a long-term, palliative care facility. When I shadowed the on-call chaplain last Thursday (and came home asking what I’d gotten myself into), I didn’t feel drawn to a particular section of the hospital. When my interviewing supervisor mentioned the long-term care facility in my initial interview, however, I did feel a sense of curiosity about the placement. And so…it’s what I chose.

Did I enjoy going to the nursing home when I was a GA or in youth group? No.
Do I still have an aversion to strong smells? Yes.
Do I still feel sadness when I see bodies wasting away? Yes.
Do I still feel, in most ways, totally uncomfortable about what I’ll be doing? Yes.

Yet…as is the case with CPE in general…I feel in my gut that I’m doing the right thing—or at least what will be good for me at this point in my life—as challenging as it will be.

As a friend recently told me, “CPE thrives on anxiety.”

So…I’m going to pray that God will bless the anxiety and the placement and allow me to use them both to minister to many people along the way.

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

I stopped by the hospital to shadow the on-call chaplain today. While there, I filled out some paperwork that included pages of questions to which I answered “no.” Had the questionnaire read like this, however, then my answers would have all been “yes”:

• Has sensitivity to strong smells.
• Gets squeamish around blood and other bodily fluids.
• Has trouble reading maps.
• Gets lost easily.
• Has trouble memorizing acronyms and profession related language and jargon.
• Struggles with issues of death and dying, especially as they relate to children and/or impact friends and family members of the deceased.
• Feels deep sadness for senior adults whose bodies are withering away.
• Has boundary issues.
• Fears dying alone.

If you know me well, then you know that I often thank God for not calling me into the medical field. There is no part of me that has ever desired to be a doctor, nurse, physician’s assistant, office worker, or anything else in the medical field.

Yet…I find myself on the brink of beginning an internship at a hospital where I will be surrounded by all of the things that I fear the most.

I keep asking myself, “What have I gotten myself into?”

I started re-reading My Utmost For His Highest on January 1st. I read it while in college and recently had a quiet desire to revisit its pages.

On day one, I read, “But before we choose to follow God’s will, a crisis must develop in our lives…God brings us to the place where God asks us to be our utmost for him and we begin to debate. God then providentially produces a crisis where we have to decide—for or against. That moment becomes a great crossroads in our lives.”

On day two, I read, “‘He went out, not knowing where he was going (Hebrews 11:8).’ Have you ever ‘gone out’ in this way? If so, there is no logical answer possible when anyone asked you what you are doing…You don’t know what you are doing to do. The only thing you know is that God knows what God is doing.”

Thank you, Oswald Chambers, for writing those lines for me in 1935.

So…what have I gotten myself into? I’ve gotten myself into God.

And I’ve answered these questions with a resounding yes:

• Loves God.
• Loves People.
• Is ready and willing to do the work…even if it means jumping off a cliff into a sea of the unknown…medical field.