Choice C: Neither Evil Queen Nor Innocent Maiden

I love watching these old fairy tales I learned thorugh Disney's distorted eyes be reinterpreted and given twists to keep the story fresh. Watching Snow White and Huntsmen sparked reflection about gender roles and Disney princesses. The most basic theme to draw from this movie is that the only power females have are purity and beauty. And the ultimate power is to have both. Purity and beauty is the inspiration for men to war, for people to unite, and the only way hope transcends despair.

That in and of itself is enough to make watching a beautifully put together story torture. But I started wondering  what the allure was for watching Disney princesses as a young girl. I remember the stories taught me a very twisted view of gender roles, one that I thought empowered me and made me truly stronger and more powerful in my submissive and secondary status.  Brute strength and domination were okay for men, because, really, they can’t help themselves. I was taught to almost feel sorry for the simple and primal natures of man and celebrate how women can be above such earthly things.  Women gain power and control through purity and beauty. The catch is, of course, neither of these things are always in our control, are they? A man can force himself on a woman and her purity no longer exists and preferences for physical beauty are at the whim of those who control public favor. And while men and boys are comparing themselves against an impossible caricature of physical strength bringing them power, women are striving to perfect some ideal of beauty and/or purity that society told them would also bring them power.

Today, we recognize, yet are still trapped within, the twisted and tangled  sexualization and objectification of such roles and desires.  But, as a young girl, I wasn’t thinking with my hormones, I was thinking with my heart and my mind. I wanted acceptance and love. I wanted respect and attention, and I was learning how to achieve those things through mimicking the role models given to me. In Snow White, the two women are both beautiful and gain power from the inspiration such beauty gives those around them. However, the impure Queen has an insatiable appetite for strength over men and being in control,  while Snow White is the epitome of purity suffering through darkness and wins the hearts of men through selfless acts of sacrifice and goodness.  The righteous and pure woman who has beauty and desires to never have power will be given the most power and respect. Snow White did not earn her throne, it was given to her by those who felt she was worthy, while the Queen stole the throne from the King by killing him.  A woman who is empowered is impure and evil. Snow White's more acceptable journey into queendom is through maintaining her innocence despite temptations and exposure to reality. She woos men of all kinds with her innocence and beauty, the power she holds with these  traits conquers the evil of an empowered decisive woman destroying the kingdom.

 Keep your head down, work hard, be pretty but not slutty, be selfless and compassionate to the point of self-harm, and never expect any good to come to you… and then all the riches of the kingdom, all the loyalty of men and society will be yours. How in the world does that make sense? And, yet, ask many of the women raised on these Woman's Day post-World War Two emphasized gender roles, and they will recognize this twisted sense of shame and subversive empowerment.  Not that this illogic doesn't run farther back into the past, but these are the current interpretations.

 

So they can put Snow White into pants and armor, they can even give her a sword so the huntsman can spank her behind with it, but the story doesn't really change. Women have their roles to fill and men as well. Women and men can both have power, but the only good power women can have is through beauty and purity, never through intelligence, strength, or control, all of which will corrupt girls and women. That is the lesson these stories teach us.

 As a young girl, I already realized that those stories of princesses were a fantasy that did not match reality. I already had learned that we do not always control things such as beauty and purity. I learned hard truths that gender roles others may want us to have are not conducive to survival or real life. Women must take care of themselves, must protect themselves, and make decisions that are not always sweet and innocent. But, oh, how I longed for them to be true! I longed for there to be a dashing Prince Charming that would take all my cares away, if only I could live up to that ideal of perfect beauty and purity. And, oh, how easy it was to embrace the simplicity of such a way of thinking, a way that explains why it felt like no one loved me or paid attention to me… because I'm not pretty, special or sweet enough. Such twisted logic provides meaning and purpose without having to do any real thinking.

 The question is, then, how do we fight such pervasive models within society? Like a cigarette ad implying that smoking will bring you sex appeal and fortune, these gender roles both are persuasive and appealing -- even though they make no sense.

While it may seem that media has all the power over our self-image, the most influential voices in our heads and hearts are those we know, those who tell us repeatedly the same message. Our families, especially our parents may help lay the foundation. However, those of us that do not meet other's expectations will often seek out those examples that model who we feel  most comfortable being. We are not passive sponges that can only take the feedback that is offered to us; we are able to take active roles in developing who we want to be. Granted, fears of judgment and rejection are mighty strong barriers, but they are not impenetrable. And there are choices that are out of our hands,  parts of our lives we are just born with or which are determined by others.

I had no choice  in second grade when my counselors pulled me from the advanced math curriculum but kept me in advanced reading. Instead of addressing the issues of my home life, they saw my flagging grades as a sign I'm not interested or perhaps even capable of keeping up with advanced math. But I did have a choice later in high school, when I took the advanced and accelerated math classes and finished high school with college credits in calculus. The class was overwhelmingly male and we all fit stereotypes of nerds and geeks in one way or the other.  But we thrived in a place where we were encouraged to be different. Such an experience helped me to embrace parts of myself other experiences told me were not important or desired in young women.

 Another instance where  I stepped out of my comfort zone, the role as the klutzy non-athletic bookworm, began in college. I took a self-defense class to for practical reasons and discovered true talents and skills in martial arts. I spent my entire life up to that point convinced that I would never be accomplished in any sport or exercise, that I not only lacked the coordination, but also the discipline and desire. But witnessing the 4 women with black belts teaching the class, realizing each one not only was a misfit physically, but also highly skilled and confident in her art, made me realize I could be as well.  Years later, I proved my decades old self-image wrong by obtaining my black belt.

Grief overwhelms me when I think of the tug of war that every child and adult experiences between self-definition and society's definitions. It's not by any means a new struggle. And I'm afraid that it will never disappear, either. But, oh, how I rejoice when I see a child discover the strength of her difference, realizing that which sets her apart is not embarrassing or shameful, but helps define her as important and valuable.

 

Still, the world has changed since I was a child. Embracing diversity and uniqueness are traits present in our society. There are many groups out there that support our struggle for self-definition free of society's pressures. For example, The Princess Free Zone encourages parents and other adults to let their children define their own gender roles instead of assuming the standard is what they are or want to be.

 

 

So while reasons for my grief still exist, there is also hope- hope that we can surpass the easy route of assumption and judgment and embrace values that hold up our unique complicated selves as important and valuable. 

Re-Gifting the Spark: A Theology of Co-Creation for the Infertile

My last entry described a process I went through after a moment of grief I had upon watching the movie Brave. That moment not only helped me to let go of some of my guilt for stopping fertility treatments, it also helped me contemplate how to find my place as a co-creator when my body cannot create life. It is a question about identity, but it is larger than gender or sexual identity.

The reason I love the images of co-creation in theology is that it is active, life affirming yet in an empowering way, not one of dogma and doctrine. Many popular theologies are passive, waiting for or learning how something or someone acts and interpreting how we should react. My identity as a co-creator with God, as a crucial part of creation but also only one piece of an infinite puzzle, means that I am actively seeking my way in the world, actively seeking meaning and purpose, and also actively living my faith, promoting the goodness I desire to see in the world. What challenges this type of theology is in the more corporeal aspects of creation, the primal and practical aspects of survival in a very vibrant and visceral world. The desire to conceive and birth new life is about as primal and visceral as it gets.

For some people facing infertility, it is enough to realize that they are redirecting their love and energy towards raising adopted children as their own. Or at least that is what people tell me I should feel, so I assume someone must take comfort in it somewhere.

 On that night of cogitation, I berated myself, asking why I couldn't just let go of the birth obsession and focus on how I could love and raise some of the beautiful children in the world? Surely  it is a simple answer for a disciple of Christ, a minister whose life's work is to help reduce suffering in the world. Does it really matter if my children have my DNA or someone else's? Of course not. But…. I still feel betrayed. I still feel like my identity was snatched away from me.  I am not alright with God.

  If God is the ultimate Creator of all life and I'm made in the image of that, why is it I cannot create life and others can? If that is the truth, then I must be flawed, broken, and not truly in the image of God. Is that punishment? Is that deliberate so I make sure to realize that God holds all the power  and I'm really powerless?

Either way, I'm not convinced that the phrase "made in the image of God" really explains who we are or who God is. What I do believe is that our ability to be creative, unique, and complex reflects how creative, unique, and complex the entire universe is.

So, here I am, a person who will not conceive life in my own body. Let's imagine that the potential for life is within me; that potential is creative energy. Yes, I can redirect my creative energy to other forms of creating, such as writing. Yes, that creative energy can be directed towards other relationships and the creation of bonds between myself and others. But how can any of those compare to the energy and process of creating life? I don't believe they are even close. Yes, it all has value, but we must acknowledge the unique and complex process of creating life and the sacredness of such creativity. We cannot deny that all life is sacred and that the ability to create it is sacred as well.

 My undergraduate studies were in biology, especially biochemistry and developmental biology. I spent a lot of time contemplating the origin of life, how life evolved, and wanting to understand the mystery of existence as a sentient living being. My questions were not always so popular to my scientific-minded professors and  I discovered that the fundamentalist church I grew up in is not the only population to live with cognitive dissonance.

 I mention all this because when I studied biology and biochemistry, it fed my desire to understand and revel in the mysteries of life as a creative and distinctive process. It laid the foundation for my understanding of who we are and how we relate to God and the world. What happens when someone with such a foundation finds out that she is not part of the cycle of life, that her unique existence will not be contributing towards the building blocks of future generations? There will be no tangible contribution that will continue on after I'm gone. A piece of writing or the influence I have on people's hearts or minds is not the same as that. It is so different. Notice, I'm not placing a hierarchy of value on any of them, only pointing out that recognizing and valuing  the difference between them is important.

 So, where does that potential for life go if not utilized by my body? Creating life is a different energy than creating ideas or caring for others. One could argue that the particular form of energy for creating life can be transformed into a different kind of energy. That there is a way to change it within myself, like making a specialized cell convert back into an undifferentiated cell (think stem cell). Perhaps it sounds beneficial in the long run. But I'm not sure it is very efficient, let alone even possible.

 So, what I imagine is that this energy to create life is within me, I just don't have the working parts to go through the process. While I have limited control over whether my body can generate new life, I do have control over how that life creating energy is used. Instead of transforming it into the creation of inanimate or intangible things, I want to release it. I want the creative energy within myself to be used elsewhere, within someone else. I want that energy to still be used to create life, the mysterious and miraculous unique process of creating a human being. I don't want to transform it into writing a dissertation or developing better skills as a chaplain. I want the distinctive spiritual energy that sparks life within another to be gifted back to the universe, to be redirected to another who will create a beautiful soul.

  Then as I accept that my genetic material will not be part of the future, I can envision that the spiritual energy, the spark that starts life, is out there, somewhere, conceiving and giving birth to an amazing life. The energy within myself is not wasted or minimized or made to be something it is not. I can choose to gift that energy out to the universe, back to the Creator, and ask that it be give to someone who needs it. I can still be a part of the cycle of life. Yes, it is still as intangible as ideas or feelings, but it makes more sense to me.

 I choose to release the life creating spiritual energy back into the world. When my husband and I adopt, I choose to receive and accept back the miracle of life reflected in someone else's genetic makeup, but perhaps with the spark that I helped form and create.

  I find this concept also helps me contemplate how I will talk with my future adopted children about how I became their parent. I will not just say that I had love to give and chose to give it to them. Instead, my body could not make a baby, but my spirit sent out not only the desire to have a child, but the actual spark that helped create a child's spiritual self. OK, I won't say it like that, but that is what I will mean. I gifted my creative spirit to another so they could be born, or so another child could be born for someone else who greatly desired a child. And maybe, just maybe, the energy that sparked my own children's lives will be from me.  Either way, the potential for life is not really wasted. My power as a co-creator is not diminished because of an inability to conceive. Perhaps this perspective doesn't make sense to anyone else but me. Perhaps someone has already said it better than I. Or perhaps when I go back to school and analyze it under a hermeneutical microscope, there will be no shred of logic, no shred of philosophical thought that will back this idea up. I don't mind. Because it works for me. Because I now feel affirmed and reassured of my role as a co-creator once more.

Sacrifice, being brave, and letting go...

My husband and I went to watch the Disney movie Brave. The story triggered a moment of grief. When I saw the mom defend her daughter no matter the cost, even at the risk of her own death, I had this sudden realization. I would never get the chance to prove that kind of love for my own birth child. Why can’t I have that chance? I would willingly sacrifice myself for my own children. I would fight, kill, and use the last breath in my body to make sure they are safe. The sorrow is so profound at those moments. One more thing about being childless that limits my world experience. The question here is not about whether I can have children by means other than through my own body. It is about mourning the possibilities, the future that held my birth children in it, the future that says I will sacrifice everything for them. I cannot conceive. In the car on the way home, as I'm silently crying my heart out, I thought," Did I really do everything in my power to conceive and carry my child?"

 I chose to stop after 2 years of fertility treatments. That is not a long time compared to some. We chose to stop with IUI, artificial insemination, instead of continuing on with IVF, in vitro insemination. It was extremely scary for us to make such a decision. I had desperate moments where I even considered moving to a state that requires health insurance to cover IVF. I thought about weight loss options that I NEVER considered to be healthy options. The truth I took so long to process is that I was compromising my own ethics and morals. In fact, I was already uncomfortable with the amount of resources I spent trying to force my body to do something it did not want or was not able to do.  It’s not about God’s will or fate or destiny. It is about the simple fact my body can’t do something.

 I do have choices and options, many more than the majority of people suffering with infertility. Am I cheating the lives of my future children by not pursuing these options regardless the consequences? The decision I made for myself, the choice my husband and I chose for our family, is that not only am I not cheating them, I am choosing to protect them. The drugs and procedures I used on my body have consequences on my own body. Besides the risks involved in prolonged fertility treatments, there is also the issue of my overall health affecting my pregnancy and the health of my child. Granted, all the potential issues I may have can be managed well most of time with advances in science. However, NOTHING about my situation is "most of the time."  I no longer assume the statistics are in my favor.

 So, while I started out tearing up my soul with thoughts I didn't do enough, I eventually came to the conclusion that I committed the ultimate sacrifice a future mother can make… I chose to stop. The genetic makeup of my children is not significant enough of an issue to torture my body, risk the future health of me, my children, and our family. I realized that I did limitless amounts of research, that I spoke with at least a dozen health professionals, addressed every obstacle and health issue that blocked our road ( and what a relief to finally KNOW  and be able to treat what chronic illnesses I have), I went to counselors, specialists, dieticians. I realized  that I did do everything in my power to conceive and give all that I had to those future children. And when faced with a choice of how far I would go, out of love, I chose to let go.

 Bravery isn't just about facing an obstacle and conquering it. Sometimes bravery is about choosing another path. Sacrifice isn't just for  something  or someone you already have in your life, but sometimes, it is for something or someone you may never meet.  So, thank you, Disney, for helping me realize that I'm not a coward, that I'm not weak, and that I chose a path that causes me more immediate pain, but has great potential for a wonderful future.

My ruminations did not end there, however.  But, enough writing for now.

Heavy hearts exist in chaplains too

My heart is heavy today. It has been a week of loss at hospice this week. That sounds redundant, but honestly, hospice is about living, not dying. It is about quality of life and comfort, of course, but it is also about acceptance, normalization of something that can be scary, isolating, and miserable, something that is a part of every living being's existence and yet we as a culture and as individuals try to deny its power over us... death, ending, beginning, loss, change, transition, absence, limitations, waiting and more waiting, anticipation, regret, the list is endless, just as endless as our experiences.
My heart is not just heavy over the loss of the person, but for the heartache left behind, for the misery leading up to the death. I have been in hospice for 5 years now. I have met hundreds of people who have died and even more of families who remain to grieve for them. I miss them all. I'd be lying if I said that I don't miss them. The laughter I share, the tears, the songs and whispers, the hugs, hand holding, prayer sharing, tear-wiping, humble-inducing meaning of life, what wisdom and what courage, what inspiration these wonderful people give me.

My heart is also heavy with the burden so many caregiving professionals carry... the burden that there will always be more that I could have done.. It sounds so trite, but honestly, I was not present at any one of these deaths and it weighs on my heart. Five years is a long time in hospice. I'm considered a veteran of hospice, how funny is that? I would not have made it this far if I hadn't learned boundaries, if I didn't have faith that no one is ever alone in this world, that not only my team look after these patients and families, but also the workers at the facilities they live in. I watch those new to hospice struggle with where to place those boundaries, with the burden of "just one more thing, or just one more visit, or just a few more minutes" and my heart aches for them... while at the same time struggling with guilt and wondering if I'm burnt out just because I set boundaries and stick to them most of the time.

I put in a long day yesterday, 7 visits... including explaining hospice to a man going on service and to a son putting his actively dying mom on service, and 3 people I visited can no longer speak to me and the other 2 have declined significantly. I'm not using that as an excuse, but as an example of when, even with good boundaries, the sorrow seeps into my bones. Tomorrow I will sit with a woman who wins blackout at bingo or smiles for the first time in months to the hymn I'm singing her and I will be healed.

My Clenched Fist and the Seed I Wish to Hold

• A year before I started self-defense and karate, I would have laughed in your face if you said I could ever be graceful and skilled enough to do martial arts.
• A few years into martial arts, and I would have laughed at you if you suggested I would ever become a black belt, train hundreds of kids or teach battered women at half way houses.
• A year before high school graduation, I would have laughed at you if you said I’d ever walk into a Christian church again.
• A year into college, I would have laughed in your face if you said I would stop working with wildlife and never work as a scientist.
• A year after college, I would have laughed if you said I’d be a scientist ever again.
• A year into seminary and I would have laughed at you if you told me I’d never work in campus ministry, but become a hospice chaplain and love it.
• A year into seminary, I would have laughed if you suggested I'd consider any PhD work in Pastoral Theology and not Biblical Studies.
• A year into seminary I would have laughed at you if you told me someday I’d feel compelled to choose between academic goals and starting a family.
• A year before I graduated from seminary, I would have laughed in your ear if you said I'd be married a few months after graduation.
• Two years ago I would have laughed in your face if you told me I would let go of my dream to be pregnant.
•  A year ago I would have laughed at you if you suggested that I may be able to go back to school for my PhD.

What isn’t in between those lines of incredulity is the turmoil of blood, sweat, tears, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, loss, gain, and ever continuous cycle of change.

I don’t think that as a young idealist intent on changing the world I had any clue the amount of heartache change entails. When I look at this list, there are goodbyes and heartache cracked through all the accomplishment and growth. There are life-threatening diagnoses that resolved but left ghosts behind, there are relationships born and relationships shattered. There are epiphanies of great transcendence and epiphanies of profound despair. I see the world through fresh eyes every day. I see with increasing clarity and increasing murkiness the tension between how finite and limited our experience is and how infinite and expansive the universe is.

We all make choices about how our life will proceed, even if by passive means. However, I’m not sure I ever chose a passive way to discern my life’s path since I was born. I fight and struggle and attempt to make meaning in places no seed would normally grow. Each of these milestones that seemed so impossible is stacked on top of hard life experiences, lessons that left profound influence upon my soul. To become empowered and grow, something else had to be released, let go.

As I face my current life change, there is a difference. I had no qualms about the choice I made to start a family. I knew that I wanted to have enough time outside of my career/calling to focus on my personal commitments of family and community. But so many of the options were eliminated from my list of choices until it felt there were no choices left to be made.  I would trade the heartache and despair I feel  instantly for the my denied dreams of a life filled with meaning from hands-on ministry and hands-on birthing and child-raising. I would give up in a heartbeat the thoughts of PhD work, the path of growth and discovery this will bring if I could just have the dreams of feeling a baby grow inside me, the sight of a child with my husband’s eyes and ginger hair.

But first we must unclasp our grip around the emptiness it held to be open to receive the gift we will be given.

Oh how much time and sorrow are wasted on clasping our fist around emptiness, nothingness, the if-onlys and why-nots, the lack of choice, banging our head on the impenetrable wall blocking our path. Imagine the tension, the energy exerted to keep a fist clenched. Imagine how much more it cramps without anything to hold onto, the nails biting into the palm of your hand. Imagine the slow burn of releasing cramped muscles, the amount of effort it takes to relax them and release that tension. It is painful, but it is also a release from pain. It burns and aches and bites. But oh, how much sweet relief there is upon loosening it, unfurling the fingers and stretching the hand. The muscles are not used to it, though. It is so easy to close that hand again to grasp at nothing, to grasp too soon or to flinch at contact.

So now I place the idea of pursuing my academic dreams in my palm, like a beautiful seed. I hold it and observe how light it feels to me compared to the clenched fist, how right it feels in my palm. Tentative touches and attempts to plant the seed are interspersed with comedic yet devastating Buster Keaton antics. I clench with grief and it slips from my fingers. I try to plant it and I kick it onto a rock or slip in the mud. I clench my hand around it, not giving it up despite my fist wanting to clench, and it bruises my palm. I release my grasp and it falls. I try to pick it up and the wind rolls it away from me. A merry dance a dream will give you if that path has bumps of grief.

I have said goodbye to dreams before. I have compromised, found alternatives and substitutes. And this dream I am attempting to let go has no real replacement. There is only letting go. I will have a family always. I will have children, but they will not be from my womb. I have purpose and meaning and hope. But it looks nothing like it did 6 months ago.

With each step I take and with each attempt to hold that new seed, I release the pain and say goodbye to a dream.

Those Simple Questions Are Always the Hardest

I have been reflecting on the most painful part of my journey of not being able to get pregnant. I've filtered it down to a kind of chicken or egg question, or even a nature or nurture question. What is most important in the creation of a human being? Is it the DNA, the conception,  the environment a fetus/child develops in (the womb experience)... or is it the exposure to life experiences as the child grows into an adult? Of course, the real question in my heart is WHO is most important in the creation of a human being, the birth mother or the one who mothers outside of the womb?

I realize the answer is both/and, not either/or. However, here I stand on a precipice, attempting to make sense of my metaphysical and theological foundation, one of being an active part in creation and creating, and I cannot create new life nor grow it inside my body. From the outside looking in, there are plenty of ways to work around this, ways that include recognizing there are other types of creating. But no one can tell me that creating life is not the most basic and primal expression of such a metaphysical purpose.

I recognize not everyone is as focused on esoteric questions as I am. From the age of 12, I have been focused, obsessed even, with what the purpose of life is, what my purpose is, and how I am going to influence change in the world. For me, the struggle is not making me face the fundamental questions, it's making sure I stay grounded in the present experience. Knowing this, it makes sense that I am a chaplain. I've learned the art and skills of getting to the nitty-gritty of those questions while also nurturing a present mindfulness. I spend my professional time finding ways to help people get to the bottom of their grief, despair, anxiety, by answering these very spiritual and philosophical questions of meaning and purpose, then reframing their perspective... if for you, the world is xyz, then does the rest really matter? If you believe that God decides when you live and when you die, does it matter what the doctors think? If the true purpose of life is to love and be loved, then while your body and mind may have new limitations, by loving and being loved, you still are fulfilling your ultimate purpose... your life matters.

My goals are similar but also very different from a therapist. I believe this stems from a strong sense that spiritual revelation about self and world can alter a person's perception and thought process faster and deeper than anything else. Of course, it is also true that spiritual abuse and trauma can damage a person the quickest and deepest as well. Without hope, meaning or purpose, we are truly lost. We admire the perseverance of those who survive crisis and trauma because they cling to these things when the world feels like it is ending.

Our society is convinced that thinking will fix everything. We override our feelings at every opportunity. I may be exaggerating, but after years in chaplaincy, it seems like this is more true than not. The irony is that our feelings always affect our thoughts, just as our thoughts affect our feelings. And the glue that puts it all together is our spirit. To disconnect the spirit from the mind or body is futile.

So, my personal struggle lately has been an assumption that I never worked through or made sure it could stand up to scrutiny. I never looked too closely at whether this joy of being part of the creative universe would work for one who is not just barren, but also sitting in an ambiguous state- having the working parts but never knowing why one cannot conceive, never truly knowing if all those risk factors for baby and me really would have happened. I assumed as woman my body made me part of creating life, and I took pride in this. Without more than a passing glance of what it meant for men or those who never carry life, I created a theology with gaping holes in it. While my premise that we all are uniquely created and creating beings that are part of a changing universe is a great foundation, I thought like one of the privileged, not as one who might be considered marginalized.

Marginalization is a strange thing. I am considered by the BMI to be morbidly obese. I consider this a "scientific" way to marginalize me and put me in a box. This box inundates me with constant reminders that I'm not good enough for society. I am judged continuously, to the point that I did fear my weight would affect my ability to sustain pregnancy. I also lived in fear that my health problems, the same ones that contribute to my weight, meant I may not be part of the elite (conceivers) I so desperately wanted to claim as my own. Like a middle school child wanting to be popular, I focused on being someone else so hard that while the knowledge I may be different hovered in the background, I ignored it. I spent YEARS trying to change myself to fit in, to force my body to conform by dumping horrific drugs in me and manipulating hormones. I made life miserable for myself and anyone around me. While I may have said being healthy was my goal, it wasn't. Ultimately, I don't think I cared about my health as long as I could conceive and be pregnant successfully. I wanted drugs to force my body to do something it couldn't, something it may never be able to do. While I did set some ethical boundaries for myself, they were FAR from what I felt comfortable with. So here I sit, not even 6 months after I was told it was time to stop trying to get pregnant. I sit here and wonder what happened to me.

The simple answer is grief happened. Rage, despair, hopelessness happened. I became so swamped with strong emotions and reactions that it's no wonder I could not think straight. I would try to disconnect from my body's experience only to be forced to live with the consequences of biological forces manipulating my emotions and thoughts.  What a war with myself. If the spirit is the space between mind and body, the mortart that connects it all, then my mortar crumbled and fell apart in many, many places. Grief never leaves, but perhaps some healing can happen now and the mortar that is my spirit will mend.

The answer to my initial question about who's more important, birth moms or moms who raise the kids, is a mute point. I'm trying to create a hierarchy of value based on what society expects from us... instead of acknowledging that we all live in tension between many points. While I will continue to grieve for not having some of those points (conceiving, pregnancy), I live with many other points of tension, many other possibilities for future outcomes. It is no easy and I'm sure I will come up with many more questions like this one, ones that will hopefully bring me back to those simple questions of meaning and purpose.

Grief and My Soul Sucking Alien

So tonight my husband and I went on a date for Valentine's Day. We watched the movie "The Vow". The premise is that a woman wakes up after a car accident and has forgotten the last 5 years of her life, including meeting and marrying her husband, losing and meeting friends, fights with family, switching towns,  career paths, and life goals.  So much happened to change her life and she has to start all over again, discovering the same beliefs and convictions that led to the changes in the first place. She had to rediscover who she was and is.

Life transformations and transitions are interesting things. They seem to always sneak up on us, as if we haven't gone through them before or as if we don't know that life at 50 will be different than life at 20. So we stumble along, whine a little "Not AGAIN! How many times do I have to change?!", and ultimately feel lost, over and over and over. Some of us, if we're lucky, are found for a while. We have those periods of clarity, of who we are and why we're here. So many ways to talk about it, depending on your belief system. The planets aligned or everything came together or even God worked through me.

The past 3 years or so, especially the last 2, feel surreal to me, as if my memories are from another lifetime. The constant pressure, stress and side effects of fertility treatments and challenging health tainted everything I did or thought or felt. I'm not saying it was all bad or all good. It was both, just like life usually is, but somewhere along the way I lost myself. I tried not to. I tried really really hard not to. However, if you know me, you probably realize being around me often was kind of like listening to someone sing just slightly off key.

Since we decided to halt the fertility treatments for now (and most likely for good), a weight has been lifted off me. I kind of feel like a giant soul sucking alien parasite has been detached from my back. When it was detached, my life- body, heart and mind- went out of whack. I had to detox from the alien nasties or something. And now, at times, I can finally see more clearly, before the nasty returns.

The trouble is, this alien nasty is grief. And grief never leaves us. Not really. Funny how I've become a grief educator just as I experience some of the most heart wrenching grief I've ever experienced. It's not as if I haven't felt the loss of a dream before, the loss of a potential future being erased. But the dreams of babies who have my husband's eyes and my freckles are somehow different than the dreams I've had before. They feel more tangible, even though they are still ideas. When I was younger and I lost my faith in "The System", when I realized I could not really "Save the World", I never thought I'd get over that heartbreak and be able to hope again, to trust in a better future.  It was so very real to me at the time, that grief for intangible things. But with time, I did dream again, I did imagine a future where I can change the world... just not how I thought I would when I was an invincible teenager.

So right now, my faith is pretty low. I'm being honest. There are moments however I remember other times when I thought my heart would break. And guess what? I got through them. The grief is still there. A memory of a heartbreak, but those wounds no longer cut so deep. There are times I'm not sure I'm going to emerge from this abyss, but then I remember and I can at least have hope for a day where the pain is not so sharp, not so mind/heart/body twisted up.

Something about times of need heighten my awareness of music and song. Two songs speak to my dark place. One is a hymn from the 1880s, Uncloudy Day. Here is an excerpt:

Oh, they tell me of a home Far beyond the skies
Oh, they tell me of a home So far away
Yes, they tell me of a home Where no storm clouds rise
Oh, they tell me Yes, they tell me Of an uncloudy day

And another from  Florence and the Machines new single "Shake it Out"

I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart
'Cause I like to keep my issues strong
It's always darkest before the dawn

2011 in review.

2011 in review.

My health and wellness blog.

Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Tears

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.

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.

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.

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.

Why Hospice? Part 2: Spirit Healer

Why Hospice? Part 2: Spirit Healer. I am a hospice chaplain because I feel called to help heal and transform the spirits of those who are seeking.

The church and I have a love-hate relationship. The church is like a 2000 year-old older brother and I'm the rebellious younger sister. We both love the same parents. We both love Jesus. And we fight. All the time.

Sometimes I think my older brother has some sort of dissociative disorder (split personality). There are the fundies and the liberals and the brimstone throwers and the social gospelers and the charismatics and the reformed and the orthodox and the bible thumpers and the guilt mongerers and somehow they are all connected by a book and a historical figure named Jesus. I always found church history to be fascinating and utterly disturbing at the same time. I think that the churches who avoid theological training and claim to teach only the bible are trying deny their roots. As if by not studying the interconnected history and doctrine, they can pretend they don't have part of the same theological DNA as Catholics or Jehovah's Witnesses. It's kinda funny.

After a childhood in an ultra fundamentalist church, I became a nomad of faith... one of the many seekers who call themselves "spiritual but not religious". I had a desire to heal the world and make a difference through science. It didn't work out so well. I've got a knack for science, but my esoteric questions about the meaning and purpose of the universe made my professors a little twitchy. My college chaplain was the first to name my call to ministry, even when I was hesitant to call myself Christian. And he was right.

The AHA! moment I had in college is that I could come up with a solution to the worst pollution problem Earth has and I'd still only be putting a band-aid on a gushing wound. The real problem is a dissociation with the universe (aka God, aka spiritual...) which creates a sense of apathy towards what is happening to the world today. So, to get at the source of the world's suffering, we must first heal its spirit. Does it really matter if we rescue one tree if we allow the forest to die? What if we could heal the apathy and spiritual numbness inside us... perhaps we then could encourage permanent change in the masses, not one minute piece at a time.

So, I knew I wanted to be a spiritual healer, but not how that would look. Once I found a church community I fit in well, I began realizing more and more my call was to be with people who had no church home. Those IN the church, for better or worse, have spiritual direction available to them. The people not in church, and let's face it, that is the majority of the U.S. population, often have nothing. I took a traditional route to become educated and trained. It wasn't easy, and even after accomplishing all the tasks to be ordained, I questioned it. To be blessed and authorized to do ministry by my big brother, whom I love AND who drives me crazy, was an important step for me. I commited myself not only to a vow to represent God and the Gospel, but also to be loyal to my church. I have many strong feelings about the church- not all bad, but not all good, either.

This helps me as a chaplain, because I identify not only with the religiously faithful church-goers, but also those who reject the church out of a sense of betrayal, shame, rage. I recognize the presence of God in all traditions and faiths and I respect the people who doubt God even exists. I feel as if I've experienced almost all of that in my own life.


When I talk of this to others I often hear, "Well, people in a church need pastoral care too."  This is true. But there are a couple things to consider: 1. All pastors whose titles don't specifically say "Associate for Pastoral Care" will admit that finding time to provide such care is hard. There is SO much more to being a pastor of a church. 2. If I were a pastor in a church, I would be providing spiritual care to those who feel comfortable and safe in the church, which means they may be more open to receiving care from the pastor or congregation than many of those I'm with in chaplaincy. There are so many for whom the church walls are oppressive. With my help, they can seek spiritual care without ever entering the church.

The other thing I hear is "Why don't you become a counselor or a medical doctor? You'd be helping people that way." The problem with that is I truly believe that spiritual suffering is the root of our discontent. I don't believe that psychology or medicine has all the answers for how to help a person. Chaplains often call what we do "psychospiritual" and that term acknowledges we incorporate both the learnings from science AND the spiritual in our practice.


When we experience loss and anticipate death, it is a potent time to explore our metaphysical  or theological foundation. What is the meaning of life, death, suffering? Where do we find hope and how can we anticipate the future despite suffering? Who am I and where is God? What happens after we die? What is point of the passage of time if all we do is die? How has my perspective changed due to my experience? What is my relationship to others and why do I have all these different reactions and emotions? Can I find peace?

The list goes on. The point is, I chose to be trained in the art of asking these questions as well as sitting with people while they answer them (or ignore them). To be honest, there is not really a right or wrong way to approach these issues, only many perspectives on how to make it easier or smoother. And with experience and continued training, comes understanding to make it so.

Not every person I visit with needs or wants spiritual healing. Not every person likes my personality or how I ask questions. But with each seed planted towards spiritual transformation, I am making the world a better place. Some days, like today in fact, i don't talk with one single patient or family member because I work on Medicare required paperwork. It gets boring or tedious to do all that paperwork and drive for 10-20 hours a week, but it's worth it. I get those special moments where I know I eased someone's suffering for just a little while and it fuels my spirit and eases my burden as well.

Why Hospice? Part 1: People Pleaser

In honor of National Hospice Month, I'd like to share some thoughts percolating in my mind. I want to reflect on why I am a hospice chaplain. Today's theme is about being an emotional caregiver.

I am a minister and emotional caregiver because I took to heart something a counselor told me as a teenager. She told me that the personality traits that appear as weaknesses or flaws can become our greatest strengths as well. I know, it sounds like self-help yoda-like drivel. And yet, it wouldn't sound so cheesy if there weren't truth to it. People say those things over and over and you just roll your eyes... until that one day when your soul is exposed and your heart emptied, waiting to be filled. And for whatever reason that bit of wisdom which you've heard with your brain is finally heard by the deep well within your heart. In other words, it is an "AHA!" moment. And she was the one to give me the wisdom at the exact time I was ready to hear it with my heart.

I truly believe that my vulnerabilities are my greatest strengths now. And the one that helps me as a hospice chaplain is sometimes called being a people-pleaser. There are other names for it: being a chameleon, being  co-dependent, sometimes it manifests as being an over-functioner or a clingy hover-er. But I think it all comes down to the gift of empathy... or perhaps an intuitve emotion-reader.

So, I took to heart those words and transformed my empathy (that had once converted me into a introverted invisible ghost) into a useful tool, an instrument towards changing and shaping the world for the better. When I was a child absorbing the emotions in a room, I had no clue how to analyze, interpret and respond to them. Whether you call it an intuitive gift or a keen sense to the subtle clues like body language and voice inflection, it is something that has always been a part of me. I would become overwhelmed by it and the only way I knew how to protect myself was to either keep the people in the room happy or to shut down emotionally.

But since seeing that counselor in high school, I have continuously strove towards understanding how people interrelate -what makes each person tick and what happens when 2 or more people are in a room together as well as the how and why of it all.  Most of all, I aimed for goals to understand myself better, to strengthen the gifts I have and challenge myself to overcome obstacles.  I now know boundaries and have channeled my gifts towards easing the emotional burden of those facing death and/or experiencing loss. It takes advantage of my strengths while helping me transform something that could be harmful (pleasing people to the point of self-harm) into a beautiful tool to help others.

The journey towards personal transformation is a lifetime pursuit. While I feel good about where I am, I also know that the people I meet can teach so much more than I can imagine.  I feel blessed by the fertile ground hospice provides for transformation and serenity. The next installment will answer why am i a spiritual care provider.

Sitting in the Dark, A Sermon

Isaiah 9:1-4

But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.

Matthew 4:12-23
Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: ‘Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light,and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.’ From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’

The light casting out the darkness is a great image for how our faith in God works sometimes. God is my light and my salvation. God delivers me from the darkness and shadows haunting me. I like these images and use them often to comfort myself.

But lately I’ve been wondering what is so horrible about the dark. There are times when being in the dark comforts me. With all the lights out, I can relax and focus on my breathing and my heart beat. I can think without the distraction of seeing the pile of things I need to do. In the dark, I rest when my head hurts or I am tired. In the dark I can listen better, whether music on my stereo or the words my husband is telling me. When it is dark, I can see better the lights that are dimmer or are far away from me.

What is scary to me about the darkness is what I don’t know. I don’t know what made that creaking sound in the living room. I don’t know how far I can walk before hitting my shin on the coffee table. Like many kids, I was afraid to sleep completely in the dark. With the hallway light glowing behind me, I would run from the door and make a flying leap onto my bed. I was scared there might be a man under my bed who would grab my ankle. I was afraid of what I couldn’t see but could only imagine. The darkness also feels unbearable to me when I am feeling all alone. Despite my desire to not waste energy, when I lived alone in seminary I would sometimes turn on all the lights in my apartment and turn on the television even though I wasn’t watching it… just because I had this strong realization I was alone. It is not the darkness itself that threatens us, it is the emotions that we associate with darkness that endanger us.

When our spiritual path is filled with darkness, what are we truly in danger of? When my life is going through lots of changes and hardships, what is it that casts shadows on my spirit? Just like walking in the dark, it is the fear of the unknown. I cannot see the bumps in my path, and yet like a child staring at the slightly open closet door, I imagine the worst possibilities. I am certain that there is something in the shadows waiting to get me. And when I am facing the unknown and my spirits are shaky, I can feel particularly isolated and alone.

Sometimes, we are not able to get out of the darkness right away. So much in our lives are not in our control. For better or worse, we don’t choose what family we are born into, we can’t control the craziness in society and the atrocities in the news. We don’t choose the time we are born or the time we die. We do not choose the time we get sick or lose a job. No matter how we try, we can’t always will ourselves out of the darkness. We don’t always know what to do or where to go. The unknown doesn’t always reveal itself to us just because we want it to.

How, then, do we live in the darkness? Is there a way to find rest in the dark? Is there a way to find safety and security in the dark?

As I got older, I became less and less scared to sleep in the dark. What has changed? I now trust the reality I can hear, touch and see. I trust the locks on my doors to keep out intruders and the dog to bark if a stranger is near. I know that the walls of my house are protecting me from the cold. And I avoid tripping over things in the dark by walking slowly and holding onto the doorjamb and wall as I walk. And best of all, I have a lamp next to my bed that is always within reach when I need the reassurance of light.

On our spiritual path, I trust God to protect me and guide me through the dark. I may not feel God’s presence, but I know God’s there. Just like in the dark when I cannot see the walls of my house or the locks on my door, I still know they are there. I know God is there. I lean on Jesus when I am afraid I will stumble or fall. Jesus is my touching stone in uncertain times and I know his love and wisdom will guide me when I cannot see the way. When the way is so dark and I feel so alone, prayer, worship and fellowship with my community are the lamps I turn on when I need the light of God’s lamp to reassure me. The lamp of God’s light is always there waiting for me to turn it on when I need it.

For as the psalmist says: God is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? God is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? For God will hide me in God's shelter in the day of trouble; God will conceal me under the cover of God's tent; God will set me high on a rock. May God’s light warm you and provide you comfort all your days. Amen.

A note to myself for further reflection...

On the eve of a much anticipated vacation, I experienced another first in my path as a chaplain. I want to write about it and hope I will someday. But tonight I'm still wrapping my head and heart around the experience. Going on a 10 day vacation with no computer. It will be journal writing for that. Perhaps I'll share my reflections when I get back.

Spices, passion, and choices

A day off and nothing to do. Well, that's not true. But while compiling the list to do, I began thinking of my blogs. I don't have much opportunity to write anymore. It's something about grad school that I miss... shh.. don't tell anyone. ;) I really do have a lot of thoughts in my head about a lot of topics. But occassionally in my life I have needed some down time from contemplating the global interconnectedness and other BS that I love. There has been a longing in me to experience more of this wonderful thing called life, to meet more interesting people, create a family to love and be loved in return, and finding the adventurous wonder of a simple life.  If only all that self-help mumbo jumbo in the"The Secret" were true, my will and intention would have conquered the world for me by now. That's not true, since I have no desire to conquer anything, though it sounds like the right thing to say. 

What I do like about "The Secret" is the idea that we are masters of our own destiny.  There is A LOT that is out of our hands... and sometimes there is too much trash raining around us to get out of it completely, but if we take what IS in our hands, we can do more than just change our life, we can transform our perception of our life.  This is not about living in illusions, or delusions if you prefer. This is about seeing the world so radically different, it's almost as if we've developed another sense.

A. and I watched a lovely movie called "Mistress of Spices" based on a book of the same name. It's been compared to the movie Chocolat, but I think the story shares a common human theme. And it reminded me of who I am.

There are so many different paths and personalities in humanity, but one of them carries people whose heads live in the clouds, whose hearts demand service to others, and whose metaphysical perception of the world is different than people on other paths. Saints, humanitarians, both famous and infamous, inventors, artists and the like are often on this path.  And this path can consume a person with passion for others, for their vision, for the future of the world, for the intangible. This path is not straight and not without sideroads, options. And one of these options is whether they will lead a "normal" life or live only for their cause or passion. The third option is trying to live with both the bigger dream to make a difference and the personal dream of happiness with a partner and family.  So many brilliant people like this burst in radiant transformation of the world and fizzle out hard and fast. Others try to walk the tightrope between worlds, struggling to find happiness in simple living and to work in their passion. While others deny their passion, choosing their daily life over bigger dreams. Ultimately, there is heartache and tragedy, but there is also a radical choice to make the most of what's in front of you, to find your own happiness while fighting for the happiness for the entire universe.

I'm not sure if any of this makes sense or not. To me it does. In my life, I chose to become a chaplain, to find and claim a partner in life, and be open to the possibility that I may some day go after my passion to transform the world Regan-style.  But right now, here in this moment, all I want to do is experience the life of a mother. I'm beginning to accept that perhaps the universe will not bend to my desire the way I want it to.

 Perhaps I will have to practice what I preach and change my perspective of what it means to be a mother, to be a woman. Perhaps I might never be pregnant and experience the power of creation within me. I can think of this more often now and not cry. I can remember what my passion truly is, what my impetus is in this crazy world, and remember that creation exists in many forms, as many forms as love has. 

Whether my family grows within my womb or not, it will grow. And with that will come my strength, my foundation.  Because I do not want to fizzle and burn. I do not want the misery of a lonely heart. I do not want to face my demons or the evil in the world without that foundation to ground me. And with my strength through them, I can perhaps do a small part in the transformation of the world.

Partners in Love, a wedding homily

Wedding Homily:


We use and hear the word love all the time. “Oh, I just LOVE that shirt” or “Oh, Brad Pitt is so dreamy, I LOVE him”. I have a friend that when she gets drunk, puts her arm around whoever is next to her and says “I LOVE you”. I think she means it when she says it. And we all should understand the difference between the love among family and love for objects or things, including sexy movie stars. But, I do believe that flinging the word around casually can be dangerous.

On the opposite spectrum, we have the fairy tale, media promoting ideal of true love. How many little girls and boys watch Disney movies and think that all their dreams will come true if they find the perfect prince or princess, have a fancy wedding, and make lots of babies? And how many of them become broken hearted, disillusioned, and start thinking something is wrong with them, because they can’t find true love?

As a pastor, I truly believe that the reason we are all put here on earth is to love one another. However, we weren’t put here to love our favorite TV show or jeans. And our lives will never revolve around only one person.

Now, there are wonderful moments in our lives where we think that we will never love someone as much as we love right now. These moments, often at times of birth or new romance are blessings. When we see a new baby for the first time or are walking along with a goofy smile on your face because you get to see your new love. .. Those are moments where love overwhelms and overflows.

But what I suggest to you, and what I think God blesses us with, is the ability to expand our heart each time we love to fit more people in it. Of course, I don’t mean the literal beating heart. What I mean is the place inside of us, the spirit or soul within us, that expands and grows exponentially to fit the people in our lives.

We are God’s creation and created in God’s image. And I believe that God’s love for us is limitless and we are given that same capacity to love large. That doesn’t mean that love answers everything. If you listen to the wedding vows carefully, it isn’t all “Happily Ever After”. In fact, there is more about standing beside each other in the storms of life than there is about all the gushy, mushy stuff that little girls dream of.

There has been love between E. and D. for a while now. They have already stood beside each other through many storms. There have been hard tragedies, especially the loss of T. But their love was there. There have been scary heart-wrenching moments, like when D. had his heart attack. But their love was there. And there have been days, we all know it’s true for them and every couple, where they don’t really like each other that much. But their love was there. And that love overflows and includes their sons and granddaughters, their parents, family and friends. They do not stand here as an island, joined only to each other. When they make a commitment to each other to continue loving and being partners through life, you all are included in that.

As we go through the vows, I encourage you to remember not only what I’ve said, but also what the Scripture says. The Song of Solomon says “Set me as a seal upon your arm; for love is as strong as death, passion as fierce as the grave. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.”

What is UCC? The Language of God Video

The Language of God from United Church of Christ on Vimeo.

Guest Blogger I was.

Brian & Sara Brandsmeier host a wonderful blog called Ephphatha Poetry. A few weeks ago Brian asked if I would write a reflection on a NY Times article on their blog. Here is the result.

Article: Flock Is Now a Fight Team in Some Ministries

Response: Christian Fight Club: A Reflection by Regan Doyle Saoirse

There's also another response to the article on there as well that provides great insight. Be sure to keep tabs on their blog. They share some great reflections about various topics in progressive christianity.