When I began working at this new hospice 8 months ago, I kind of got into a funk. Without any patients yet, I was spending most of my time performing church services, doing bedside communion, and developing grief group presentations. It's not that I dislike these parts of my job, but I really thrive from one-to-one spiritual care. Ritual is important to me because of the potential to provide people with a powerful moment. I'm not really into writing and developing and planning it all out... but I also am finicky about what is said or done. So now I have a routine,a format for the services, and can now focus on providing meaningful moments for the residents.
This afternoon I went to a memory care assisted living place and went room to room. I ended up not giving a single person communion, but I had a lot of conversations, held hands, rubbed backs, said several Our Fathers, and prayed for about a dozen people and their families. During that time, I made people smile, I eased their hearts a bit. There was one woman, whom I visited several times before, who is no longer able to say the right words for what she needs or wants, but smiles all the time. I wanted to try to spark recognition in her mind and heart. After I said the Lord's Prayer for her, she showed no response. So then I decided to try singing. I sang a few verses of Amazing Grace. For the first time I saw her eyes get sad and teary while she looked as if she were remembering bittersweet memories. I can't tell you what a gift it was to reach her in that way.
This isn't the first time I've seen this response to that song. (No, it isn't from my singing, I have a fairly pleasant voice, I promise) Others with dementia have responded to Amazing Grace with tears and even sobbing. There is something sacred in tears. Instead of feeling like I was causing her pain, I felt like she was able to set free emotions that were hard for her to express anymore. When a person with dementia goes through a phase where she is paranoid, angry or violent, it disturbs us. It is painful to watch someone you love or who was so sweet turn into a stranger. And you can feel like the person is trapped in hell. But when it is all smiles and/or flat affect, I think we forget the person is still trapped in her own way. Those tears and sad, far-away eyes meant something to her. That song meant something to her.
So, for all the smiles I helped bring about today, it is the tears that I am most thankful for.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The ratty familiar blanket of grief
Grief is like an old blanket surrounding me. Its comfort isn't from softness, but from familiarity. Actually, it kind of chafes and often suffocates, but its an old friend by now. No matter what, it never leaves me. A constant in an ever-changing world. Through the weave of my blanket, I see the world distorted. When I should see the happiness in others, all I can see is what is not mine. I distantly recall others talking about how selfish grief made them feel, but I didn't truly understand. Now with every pregnant belly and smiling pictures of young families I see, I feel bitter, bitter feelings. Envy. Rage. Jealousy. Vicious and Cruel, it beats up my heart and soul.
No matter how hard my life was, I never wanted to be someone else. I never regretted my past. When I was flat on my back, looking up from where I fell, I would wipe the tears, smile, and get back up, looking forward to a better time. But in this dark place, I have begged and pleaded within my heart, that somehow, someway, I could be delivered, replaced, released from where I am now. There have been moments of despair so strong, I see what makes one bargain with the devil. My heart is not allowed to make decisions for me these days. I cannot trust my usually sharp intuition about people, places, and emotions.
It is not in every moment that I feel like this. In fact, I have some very amazing, sun-drenched, soul-healing days. And moments that I see so clearly, even through the fabric of grief, that I can feel the acceptance and love of the universe deep within my bones. But the dark times are more terrfying than they ever were. They well up from within, like a geyser of black oil.
I'm not sure where to go, now that I've found this violently cruel place in myself. How does a mystic, a seeker of truth and beauty, turn so dark inside? Where is redemption, where is solace, where is forgiveness? I am not short-sighted or blind. I know my suffering is almost trite and so utterly common. There is limitless amounts of suffering in this world. But, it is now my turn to struggle with the experience. The grievances in my past, though some are terrible, seem so petty now.
The truth, ah yes, if I'm honest with myself, is in my anger. How can I feel connected to a universe I feel so betrayed by? Because I CANNOT accept that my infertility, my broken body, isn't someone's fault. Either it must be mine, or it must be the universe's. This is not some fluke, some accident of converging factors. This is my life. This is my future. There is NO freaking mystery here. It's not sacred or divine. It is pain and suffering. Out of the trillion and one threads of the future that lie before me in this moment, none of them are really in my control. The LURE that is supposed to encourage me to make positive choices is not present in this moment, because the choice is taken away from me. And, yet, the universe is not something I can just ignore. It is all around me. I am made of it, body and soul. So I rant and rave at it, like a petulant teenager who wants to be free, but can't leave home.
Let me tell you the irrational and crazy thoughts that wrap around my strangled heart. One, I'm unworthy. Somehow the universe sensed this darkness in me, even when I didn't. Two, I really am meant to be a vessel, a tool, for the universe to use. Therefore, I am allowed only so much happiness to distract me. Or perhaps, to be a better tool, I needed to be worn down with a bit of my own suffering. Three, from what the doctors told me, I really did have a choice when I was younger. I could have easily gotten pregnant at 20. I made my choice, now I have to live with it. And of course, this leads to thinking of infertility as a punishment for wrong choices, doesn't it? Four, I am a burden to my husband, I am broken and barren. What kind of partner makes him suffer for my problems? Five, I was made for this... to be a hospice chaplain, a preparer for the journey of death. Life and creation don't belong with someone like me. That is for other people. Six... well, the list is endless and ever changing.
I found myself thinking thoughts that would give up all my ethics and ideals just to be given the chance of conceiving. And with those thoughts, my anger, hurt, and despair now mingles with guilt and shame. I do not believe we are meant to be selfish creatures. We are meant for more than that.
The balm to my soul? The place I've found that allows me to keep moving forward? It's not a pretty happy place with rainbows and flowers. It's the rough, burlap blanket of grief that comforts me. An acceptance that pain and suffering is just part of me now. It's not bravery or courage, not really. Just the hard reality that this is who I am now. If by some fluke I became pregnant tomorrow and had a life with several of my own birth children, this pain would not disappear. It would still be a part of me. I may find a future that has more happiness than there is in this moment. I may adopt and surround myself with people to give my love to, but this blanket will never leave.
Where is my hope now? It is that this blanket may someday be a mantel, a cloak I wear with pride and love, as a place that I have been, a place I visit occasionally, but never have to linger as long as I am now.
No matter how hard my life was, I never wanted to be someone else. I never regretted my past. When I was flat on my back, looking up from where I fell, I would wipe the tears, smile, and get back up, looking forward to a better time. But in this dark place, I have begged and pleaded within my heart, that somehow, someway, I could be delivered, replaced, released from where I am now. There have been moments of despair so strong, I see what makes one bargain with the devil. My heart is not allowed to make decisions for me these days. I cannot trust my usually sharp intuition about people, places, and emotions.
It is not in every moment that I feel like this. In fact, I have some very amazing, sun-drenched, soul-healing days. And moments that I see so clearly, even through the fabric of grief, that I can feel the acceptance and love of the universe deep within my bones. But the dark times are more terrfying than they ever were. They well up from within, like a geyser of black oil.
I'm not sure where to go, now that I've found this violently cruel place in myself. How does a mystic, a seeker of truth and beauty, turn so dark inside? Where is redemption, where is solace, where is forgiveness? I am not short-sighted or blind. I know my suffering is almost trite and so utterly common. There is limitless amounts of suffering in this world. But, it is now my turn to struggle with the experience. The grievances in my past, though some are terrible, seem so petty now.
The truth, ah yes, if I'm honest with myself, is in my anger. How can I feel connected to a universe I feel so betrayed by? Because I CANNOT accept that my infertility, my broken body, isn't someone's fault. Either it must be mine, or it must be the universe's. This is not some fluke, some accident of converging factors. This is my life. This is my future. There is NO freaking mystery here. It's not sacred or divine. It is pain and suffering. Out of the trillion and one threads of the future that lie before me in this moment, none of them are really in my control. The LURE that is supposed to encourage me to make positive choices is not present in this moment, because the choice is taken away from me. And, yet, the universe is not something I can just ignore. It is all around me. I am made of it, body and soul. So I rant and rave at it, like a petulant teenager who wants to be free, but can't leave home.
Let me tell you the irrational and crazy thoughts that wrap around my strangled heart. One, I'm unworthy. Somehow the universe sensed this darkness in me, even when I didn't. Two, I really am meant to be a vessel, a tool, for the universe to use. Therefore, I am allowed only so much happiness to distract me. Or perhaps, to be a better tool, I needed to be worn down with a bit of my own suffering. Three, from what the doctors told me, I really did have a choice when I was younger. I could have easily gotten pregnant at 20. I made my choice, now I have to live with it. And of course, this leads to thinking of infertility as a punishment for wrong choices, doesn't it? Four, I am a burden to my husband, I am broken and barren. What kind of partner makes him suffer for my problems? Five, I was made for this... to be a hospice chaplain, a preparer for the journey of death. Life and creation don't belong with someone like me. That is for other people. Six... well, the list is endless and ever changing.
I found myself thinking thoughts that would give up all my ethics and ideals just to be given the chance of conceiving. And with those thoughts, my anger, hurt, and despair now mingles with guilt and shame. I do not believe we are meant to be selfish creatures. We are meant for more than that.
The balm to my soul? The place I've found that allows me to keep moving forward? It's not a pretty happy place with rainbows and flowers. It's the rough, burlap blanket of grief that comforts me. An acceptance that pain and suffering is just part of me now. It's not bravery or courage, not really. Just the hard reality that this is who I am now. If by some fluke I became pregnant tomorrow and had a life with several of my own birth children, this pain would not disappear. It would still be a part of me. I may find a future that has more happiness than there is in this moment. I may adopt and surround myself with people to give my love to, but this blanket will never leave.
Where is my hope now? It is that this blanket may someday be a mantel, a cloak I wear with pride and love, as a place that I have been, a place I visit occasionally, but never have to linger as long as I am now.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
With a humble heart, I pray for Japan
Oh what clever timing the Universe has. Preparing my heart for humility just as a horrible atrocity hits our world in Japan while the season of Lent brings reflection of our own limitedness... These things have allowed for humility instead of rage and anger to fill my heart.
I no longer spend hours and hours of my time fighting the establishment on issues such as nuclear power and development, but that doesn't mean it is less important to my heart. Natural disaster is not something we have control over and often society chooses to ignore the implications of what will happen when we can't control something as volatile as nuclear power. We are indestructible gods of our world, we are the ultimate creation of evolution, we are the subduer of nature and humanity. Blech. Just thinking it makes me sick with its self-righteous bloated sense of entitlement and superiority. Why does it take people dying, suffering, and facing horrible atrocity for us to wake up?
My heart breaks for the people of Japan and what they are facing. The trauma of so many sudden deaths and destroyed homes is awful enough. Now they have a long term catastrophe that not only creates fear and anxiety for their own lives right now, but threatens their future and their children's future as well. I see others contemplating this and others taking action to halt the development of nuclear power and it makes me even crazier with grief. Yes, there is a lesson for us to learn from this. But the chaplain in me says, WAIT, let us be there for those suffering in their time of need and not immediately objectify them into a learning moment. If anything, being with them in this catastrophe should compel us to deeper self-examination and not just a blame game or a political statement.
The need for power overrides our common sense. I cannot just blame some larger power structure for this. The need for more and more energy to fuel our insatiable appetites created this problem. Obama's energy plan would not include such large amounts of nuclear development if there weren't a higher demand for energy than our world can provide naturally. I sit here in a room lit and temperature controlled with a clock ticking, a computer humming, a cell phone buzzing, clothes, makeup, products surrounding me that take disgusting amounts of energy to produce. I picked up my breakfast at fast food place that probably uses more energy in a day than my house uses in a month... and I do so complicitly, acknowledging it and yet doing nothing about it.. or at least doing less than I could about it.
Our house is as energy effiecient as we can afford to make it (to make changes is expensive) and we implement a new idea when we hear about it. We recycle, reuse, buy bulk when we can, and have a compost for our food waste. We do not throw away clothes or anything that can be donated, and of all our appliances, cars and furniture, only our computer was bought brand new (most hand-me-downs and not bought at all). We go to the library weekly and (mostly)resist the urge to expand our own library of books, DVDs and music through purchasing them. Sometimes I convince myself that my life is intentional because I do these things. But surely these things should be what we assumptively include in our lives, not something we deserve an award for. What else can I be doing? What else am I taking for granted and really could be less of a consumer and waster of energy? How are my actions contributing to the corporate sin that allowed this atrocity to occur?
How may I seek forgiveness for my own complicity and responsibility for what is happening to and in the world?
With a humble heart, I pray for the healing of Japan, the compassion of God to shine through us all, and most of all, I pray for deeper self-understanding and transformation.
I no longer spend hours and hours of my time fighting the establishment on issues such as nuclear power and development, but that doesn't mean it is less important to my heart. Natural disaster is not something we have control over and often society chooses to ignore the implications of what will happen when we can't control something as volatile as nuclear power. We are indestructible gods of our world, we are the ultimate creation of evolution, we are the subduer of nature and humanity. Blech. Just thinking it makes me sick with its self-righteous bloated sense of entitlement and superiority. Why does it take people dying, suffering, and facing horrible atrocity for us to wake up?
My heart breaks for the people of Japan and what they are facing. The trauma of so many sudden deaths and destroyed homes is awful enough. Now they have a long term catastrophe that not only creates fear and anxiety for their own lives right now, but threatens their future and their children's future as well. I see others contemplating this and others taking action to halt the development of nuclear power and it makes me even crazier with grief. Yes, there is a lesson for us to learn from this. But the chaplain in me says, WAIT, let us be there for those suffering in their time of need and not immediately objectify them into a learning moment. If anything, being with them in this catastrophe should compel us to deeper self-examination and not just a blame game or a political statement.
The need for power overrides our common sense. I cannot just blame some larger power structure for this. The need for more and more energy to fuel our insatiable appetites created this problem. Obama's energy plan would not include such large amounts of nuclear development if there weren't a higher demand for energy than our world can provide naturally. I sit here in a room lit and temperature controlled with a clock ticking, a computer humming, a cell phone buzzing, clothes, makeup, products surrounding me that take disgusting amounts of energy to produce. I picked up my breakfast at fast food place that probably uses more energy in a day than my house uses in a month... and I do so complicitly, acknowledging it and yet doing nothing about it.. or at least doing less than I could about it.
Our house is as energy effiecient as we can afford to make it (to make changes is expensive) and we implement a new idea when we hear about it. We recycle, reuse, buy bulk when we can, and have a compost for our food waste. We do not throw away clothes or anything that can be donated, and of all our appliances, cars and furniture, only our computer was bought brand new (most hand-me-downs and not bought at all). We go to the library weekly and (mostly)resist the urge to expand our own library of books, DVDs and music through purchasing them. Sometimes I convince myself that my life is intentional because I do these things. But surely these things should be what we assumptively include in our lives, not something we deserve an award for. What else can I be doing? What else am I taking for granted and really could be less of a consumer and waster of energy? How are my actions contributing to the corporate sin that allowed this atrocity to occur?
How may I seek forgiveness for my own complicity and responsibility for what is happening to and in the world?
With a humble heart, I pray for the healing of Japan, the compassion of God to shine through us all, and most of all, I pray for deeper self-understanding and transformation.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
A bit of humble pie
Humility. It’s been on my mind recently. An opportunity to learn about another woman-in-ministry’s journey reawakened an area of spiritual practice that I haven’t thought about in a long while. It’s funny how people tend to forget the progress they’ve made and remember only the parts they still struggle with. That is me, to a tee. The same time I learned some of this woman’s story, I also came across at work the Greenleaf Center for Servant Leadership. While I liked the ultimate message of humility, I also struggled with the language. Nothing like patriarchally-secure privileged white men to think the language of servitude is okay. Not that it isn’t okay in some contexts, but to be flung around so casually is a bit harsh on the ears of my soul.
This aversion led me to dig deep into my intuitive memory to find the time and place where I became comfortable with words such as humility and obedience. Deep within the soul-soil, I found the seeds planted by one of my spiritual mentors, Joan Chittister. I’ve never met her, but like so many others, her words speak to my spirit. I recall reading her commentary on the Rule of St. Benedict as I received spiritual and discernment direction from a Benedictine monastery. I desired greatly at the time to come to peace with the hurt and sense of betrayal by “the church”. My distrust and pain were so great, I was not sure I could respond to my call to ministry.
Even with a recent and drastic slimming down of my library, I could not find her books. So, I googled her and the word humility. Google found a reprint of an essay by her in the National Catholic Reporter. The essay is titled “Pride and Humility: A New Self-Acceptance” and is in her book Heart of Flesh (which is somewhere on my bookcases).
In it, she reviews the 12 principles Benedict lifts up and she asserts that the Rule he wrote reveals Benedict had a feminist soul and attempted to temper the violent patriarchy of medieval Europe with his book. Wow. Not your typical commentary on monastic rule books.
One of the things I like but also think is a bit dangerous in today’s world, is that she dissects what each principle means for women and for men separately. She bases this on the contemporary assumption of feminist theology that while Man’s ultimate sin is pride, Woman’s ultimate sin is self-deprecation (see Valerie Saiving’s work dissecting Niebuhr). Within her book, which is subtitled “A Feminist Spirituality for Women and Men”, the context is set and the reader understands it. However, the essay standing alone in a national newspaper does not have that context. The reader could easily assume that she sees separate and distinct gender roles and just seeks to redefine them a bit. Gender role differences are always a sticky area to discuss. They exist, but are not inherent. They will never disappear completely, but we as a gender will never be completely defined by them, either.
Outside of academia, I am not a person that spreads the gospel of feminist theology… well, not overtly. I’m finding that within chaplaincy, at least, the influence of the presence of the feminine is transforming it in wonderful and positive ways, even without aggressive persuasion. The metaphor within The Incredibles pops to mind… While Mr. Incredible’s superpower is to smash, muscle and intimidate, his wife, Elasti-girl’s superpower is in being flexible. Their names resemble the power differential in our society and their superpowers resemble the roles society brings about for us. Bringing in that flexibility to chaplaincy and a very clinical healthcare system, is important.
Back to humility, it is not a bad word for feminists and Chittster demonstrates it. She helps us remember that while we must assert our power as women, we must also reclaim the true meaning of humility and give up this false humility that society forces us into. It’s a very powerful piece and I highly recommend it to you as I will this new colleague.
This aversion led me to dig deep into my intuitive memory to find the time and place where I became comfortable with words such as humility and obedience. Deep within the soul-soil, I found the seeds planted by one of my spiritual mentors, Joan Chittister. I’ve never met her, but like so many others, her words speak to my spirit. I recall reading her commentary on the Rule of St. Benedict as I received spiritual and discernment direction from a Benedictine monastery. I desired greatly at the time to come to peace with the hurt and sense of betrayal by “the church”. My distrust and pain were so great, I was not sure I could respond to my call to ministry.
Even with a recent and drastic slimming down of my library, I could not find her books. So, I googled her and the word humility. Google found a reprint of an essay by her in the National Catholic Reporter. The essay is titled “Pride and Humility: A New Self-Acceptance” and is in her book Heart of Flesh (which is somewhere on my bookcases).
In it, she reviews the 12 principles Benedict lifts up and she asserts that the Rule he wrote reveals Benedict had a feminist soul and attempted to temper the violent patriarchy of medieval Europe with his book. Wow. Not your typical commentary on monastic rule books.
One of the things I like but also think is a bit dangerous in today’s world, is that she dissects what each principle means for women and for men separately. She bases this on the contemporary assumption of feminist theology that while Man’s ultimate sin is pride, Woman’s ultimate sin is self-deprecation (see Valerie Saiving’s work dissecting Niebuhr). Within her book, which is subtitled “A Feminist Spirituality for Women and Men”, the context is set and the reader understands it. However, the essay standing alone in a national newspaper does not have that context. The reader could easily assume that she sees separate and distinct gender roles and just seeks to redefine them a bit. Gender role differences are always a sticky area to discuss. They exist, but are not inherent. They will never disappear completely, but we as a gender will never be completely defined by them, either.
Outside of academia, I am not a person that spreads the gospel of feminist theology… well, not overtly. I’m finding that within chaplaincy, at least, the influence of the presence of the feminine is transforming it in wonderful and positive ways, even without aggressive persuasion. The metaphor within The Incredibles pops to mind… While Mr. Incredible’s superpower is to smash, muscle and intimidate, his wife, Elasti-girl’s superpower is in being flexible. Their names resemble the power differential in our society and their superpowers resemble the roles society brings about for us. Bringing in that flexibility to chaplaincy and a very clinical healthcare system, is important.
Back to humility, it is not a bad word for feminists and Chittster demonstrates it. She helps us remember that while we must assert our power as women, we must also reclaim the true meaning of humility and give up this false humility that society forces us into. It’s a very powerful piece and I highly recommend it to you as I will this new colleague.