Reminiscing on a Loss

The one year anniversary of my grandmother's death is approaching. I didn't realize it at first, but I think that explains the unexpected moments of weepiness I've been having this week. A year ago at this time, I was spending evenings and many days at a local nursing home, eating a lot of fast food dinners, crying and remembering with family and feeling the sadness of impending loss. I began 2013 with my grandma's death on the horizon. It was a difficult way to begin a year.

And yet, the year became one of hope, positive change, and possibilities. I'm hoping for a continuation of what's begun as 2014 rolls around.

But for tonight, I'd like to take a much needed moment and share some of my thoughts from a year ago at this time. I'm glad that I shared many of them on Facebook so I can look over them again now. So here are my previous and current thoughts.

"Some things worth mentioning: my grandma's health is failing quite dramatically. It's likely not long that she'll be with us. I'm having a difficult time processing the new year (newness, hope, openness, possibilities) with the inevitable loss of a loved one. I am still finding hope in my ever-present search for gratitude. I feel blessed being surrounded by family, sharing my life with my loving husband, when joining in laughter with friends, and receiving a kind and meaningful gift from a coworker. So far, a pensive 2013." Although this year clearly started out with difficulty, I'm thankful that I still made time for uncovering gratitude. I wish I had written down what the thoughtful gift was because I truly can't remember it. But I do remember feeling like care and compassion was coming at my family from all sides.

"Thank you all for your love and support. My grandma died peacefully earlier tonight. We feel very loved and cared for." I remember sharing this very soon after she died. I also remember that though I needed to share it with my friends, that it was too soon for some of my family to have everyone know. I became more conscious of sharing statuses that affected so many others.

"Wow. So many visitors and so much food at my mom's house. Wonderful to have so many loving and caring people in our world. Thank you!!" It was overwhelming. I'm a caregiver by career and my mom one by nature. We both had to step aside and allow ourselves to be loved, supported, and held up when we're used to doing that for others. Our helpless vulnerability became an opportunity to be recipients of love.

"On the night my grandma died, I sang old hymns to her. Then later my mom asked if I could say a prayer for her. She realized that a pastor had been out to visit with the family, but hadn't actually said a prayer with grandma. It was an emotional and touching moment to be able to pray for my grandma with my mom, my aunt, and my husband. She died less than an hour later. I will hold this as a treasured memory and I wanted to share it with my Facebook family." Of all my memories from a year ago, this is one of the most difficult for me to remember. It was so sacred; so beyond the mundane. It moves me to tears even now because it was a rare moment when all my "selves" combined. My Chaplain-self and my granddaughter/daughter/wife/niece-self joined to provide a spiritual need. I don't know if my grandma heard me singing to her. But my family did. And we held hands and cried together and felt deep feelings together. This is the moment I have been needing to remember, but it's also the one I've been dreading because of the depth of emotion stirred by remembering.

"Working on the draft for my grandma's service. Another way being a Hospice Chaplain has helped me. My brother and cousin are working on the words they want to read. I'm going to try to sing and read the letter to my grandma I wrote in my last blog. It'll be hard for all of us, but hopefully cathartic too." It was not my original intention to draft the service. But the process turned out to be very healing for me. And I did make it through both singing and speaking. I remember being much more nervous about the singing, because so many of my family members didn't even know I could sing. But in the end, speaking my own words was the much more trying task than singing those written by someone else. I remember having to take a moment, breathe through the knot in my throat, and continue on. After the service, I overheard one of my cousins talking on the phone to someone. He said the service was so sad! By his tone, however, he meant it as a compliment because he, and many others, thought that three of the grandchildren participating was very special. I think we would have made my grandma proud.

"We made it through my grandma's funeral service. It was beautiful and personal. So many family and friends gathered from all over the place! Thank you so much to everyone who came. You surrounded us all in love. Now we're spending time with family and enjoying great memories and yummy food." The same week as my grandma's service, I attended the funeral of a Roman Catholic patient of mine. My patient's service was almost entirely scripted from a Roman Catholic worship book. I think it was meaningful for the family, but the five minutes or so spent actually talking about the patient didn't feel like enough for me. I'm proud of the approach and time given to my grandma's service. It was certainly what we needed it to be.

"Thank you everyone for all the love and support. And especially thank you to Kody Kinsley, Kt Cassady, Robin Buzzeo, and Tracy Hawkins for the texts and calls. It's been wonderful to feel so loved." And I certainly did feel loved every day. I have some of the most wonderful friends ever. It's a gift to have them and another gift to be so aware of how deeply blessed I am. It's also wonderful that these friends are enduring souls in my life. They, along with Dan, have been sources of inspiration, laughter, support, silliness, and hope.

"I find that 'firsts' after someone dies are significant and sad. Even though it's been several weeks, I'm still seeing some people for the first time since my grandma died. They ask about her, I share, then I have to shed some tears to recover from another 'first.'" This post was brought on by someone at my work. We work for the same company, but not very closely. We ran into each other in the office and she very kindly asked, "How's your grandma?" It was at a time when I finally thought everyone knew she had died, so the question knocked the wind out of me and brought me up short for a moment. I had to go back to my desk and cry for a bit until I was able to temper my emotions.

"Making my grandma's soup tonight. Turns out my mom had the same idea and she made it tonight too!" We were surprised when we did this! I felt connected to my mom that we both thought to honor her mom the same night in the same way.

Here are some other ways my grandma was honored and remembered:

Right after Christmas, and right before grandma died, I printed a copy of the group photo of our family on my grandma's 87th birthday. I didn't know at the time quite how soon she was going to die, so these photos became extra special and well-timed.

My mom and I shared a special day together celebrating Mother's Day - her first since her mom died. We got dressed up and went to the Wilmington Tea Room. Without planning ahead, we wore our matching dogwood necklaces. Hers belonged to her mom. I found mine in the NC mountains very likely made by the same designer. Now, when we get together for mother-daughter dates, we often wear them.

Most recently, I made special ornaments for Christmas for my mom and aunt. Below are photos of my mom and aunt opening their gift and then a closer photo of the ornaments themselves.

We've made it through many firsts this year. I'm hopeful about 2014. And I'm grateful for all the love I have in my life. If you've made it to the end of my blog, thank you so much for sticking with me. Please feel free to leave me comments and thoughts.

With love,

Kelley

Death and Dying

I think this might be a rambling post. I need a place to sort through the jumbled mess that are my thoughts. It may be blunt. It may be raw. But I hope to benefit from time on here typing. So here it is.

My grandma is dying.

She has dramatically lost weight. Her skin hangs off of her. Physically, she is a fraction of the woman she once was. The past couple of weeks have been heart-wrenching. I have burst into tears more times than I can count. I have been deeply sad over her imminent death and maddeningly angry over logistical hoops we've faced as a family to get our preferred care for her.

An incalculable blessing is that my own hospice team has been able to step in and care for my grandma. Some of the aforementioned logistical nightmares made this seem impossible at first, but in the end, the people I work with every day are taking care of my grandma as if she was one their own loved ones. The work that I have given my life to at the moment has reached out and compassionately touched my own family at a time of great emotional vulnerability. We do this for other families. Now we're doing it for mine.

This afternoon, my grandmother's breathing changed. It had become even more shallow and it seemed that her dying was going to happen within a matter of hours. All my family gathered in her room: her two daughters, their spouses, my brother, my cousin, my husband and me. I called my boss in tears and gave her an update. She informed my grandma's nurse who came out to visit, check in, and give us her opinion (to take with a grain of salt). She thinks my grandma may die by tonight or tomorrow.

At this point, I think most, if not all, of my family will see this at a good thing. My grandma's Alzheimer's has been so advanced that she's not been able to really *live* in quite some time. But now, her life has been reduced to gathering breaths in each moment. She can't engage with us. She can't speak. She can't process that we're there. But she's peaceful and comfortable.

I learned tonight that on this day, twenty years ago, my grandma's mom died on 1/3/93. I think it would be significant and meaningful if she died on 1/3/13. I don't want her to die quicker because of this, but I still think it would be serendipitous if it happened.

Because of everything that's going on, I've been so tired and drained lately. I feel sleepy most of the day, but have trouble falling asleep, then have a restless night. I think sheer exhaustion will win out soon and force my body to rest. But I don't see that happening tonight because I fully expect to be called in the middle of the night learning that she's died. My mom and aunt are staying with her. 

I have been very grateful to be involved and help where I can. Whether it's picking up food to bring out to the nursing facility, passing tissues to people who need it, hugging family members, or updating family and friends. A particularly poignant moment for me was when Dan and I went to Belks to help pick out the clothes my grandmother will be buried in. When I asked my mom if any thought had been given to that, she said "Grandma always said she wanted to be warm." We supposed she meant "dressed warmly" and my mom had thought of getting a warm nightgown and robe. I offered to search the stores for an outfit. My mom gratefully took me up on the offer. Due to the Christmas shopping season, finding a set that actually matched was more difficult than anticipated, but in the end Dan, my mom, my aunt, and I were able to find a very lovely pajama and robe combination that we all thought was perfect. The outfit was completed with a matching set of silky panties and warm fuzzy socks.

I know it may seem like too much information to mention the silky panties, but let me elaborate as to why I did. Short explanation: "Gilmore Girls." Longer explanation: One of the main characters, Lorelei, has taken over planning her grandmother's elaborate funeral service and, just when she thinks she's got it all planned out, she realizes she's forgotten to buy underwear for her grandmother. She rushes out to a store and has a wild meltdown with a saleslady. That scene was in my mind when we were shopping and, before I had said anything, Dan commented, "This reminds me of 'Gilmore Girls.'"

It's also been a strange thing to bring in the new year when my grandmother will likely die soon. I typically associate new years with hopefulness, promise, and untapped potential. The end of a year seems a more natural time for death to me, though I am fully aware that death has no set schedule. Still, it's been a sad and pensive new year so far.

Also mixed in with all my other emotions is a sense of sadness because my dear cousin is not here to say goodbye. She moved to Florida within the last several months and hasn't been able to be present when our family has gathered together in the midst of our common loss.

Another thought I've been having is about endings and "lasts." When a new child is born, their world is tumbling over with "firsts." First smile, first laugh, first bath, first crawl, etc. But as I've sat with my grandmother, I've been realizing that I am a witness to her "lasts." Perhaps the last bath she'll be lovingly given by one of our hospice aides. Maybe her last smile. Her last time opening her eyes. The last time she says anything. Maybe even her last breath. There's such a finality to it all.

I keep imagining her at different stages in her life. This has been spurred on even more because of the stories being told by my family members. I imagine her as a school child in class, with her friends, and playing. I think of her as a young wife married to my grandfather. I picture them as new parents, then as parents to girls of different ages. I've been hearing stories about her mothering style, things she said and did. I'm learning about personality traits I didn't get to know and experience for myself. I imagine her as a quietly strong women of great sweetness and hospitality; as a faithful mother, sister, daughter, wife, cousin, and friend. She has loved and laughed. She has made a family. She is my last grandparent in my adopted family. With her death, I feel like my parents are much more exposed. I told Dan today, "If I'm this sad about my grandma, how am I ever going to get through my parents' deaths one day?"

But I think I know the "how." I will get through because I have people that love me. People who are there for me and show me kindness and compassion. I will get through because I have loved my parents and been through so much with them. Just like I will survive my grandmother dying. And hopefully my parents and I will have many more years of memories to make yet.

Within the last year, when my grandmother could still talk to us (though she had already forgotten the grandchildren generation) my church choir went to sing at my grandmother's assisted living facility. At one point, my grandma was watching me sing and she leaned over and said something to my mom, which promptly made her cry. My intuition was correct. My grandmother had remarked, "I want that girl to sing at my funeral." She no longer remembered me, but my singing stood out to her in a way that made her want me to sing for her in the service honoring her life. And I do hope to be able to, though I'm worried I won't be able to make it through. But it will be okay if I have to submit to tears before being able to finish singing. I'm not sure yet what I might sing, but I think it will be one of the old hymns my grandmother loved.

Though she can't hear me when I've said these next things to her, I feel like ending this by typing her a message.

Dear Grandma,

I love you very much. We all do. You have always loved me just the same as the other grandchildren, even though I came into the family differently. Thank you for never making me feel less important than them. I will always remember your fairness, your sweet Henderson accent, your smile and your laugh; smelling your amazing vegetable beef soup when we'd arrive for a visit; getting to go into the formal sitting room when someone rang your front doorbell! Playing in your basement and backyard; going to family reunions with you, getting rides to dance from you; knowing that you were a wonderful mother because of the two beautiful, loving and compassionate daughters you've raised. Thank you for being such a foundational person in our family. We will miss you so much. I hope you find granddaddy and great mama and that you can all be together again.

Love always,
Kelley

Further Connection and a Homily in Progress

So...

I wrote about my friend who proposed an intentional covenant of connection via weekly emails and monthly snail mail. So far, it's absolutely wonderful. To know that my emails will be read with care and responded to is so healing. Many times, I've tried to email, text, or call people in my world but haven't heard back from them. There's only so long that that kind of one-sided connection can last before it fizzles.

My friend said my enthusiastic response to her proposal gave her the confidence to make communication offers with other people. She has three more people who she'll be trying to stay in touch with in similar ways. With her encouragement, I decided to be brave and invite two of my other friends into the circle of connection.

So here's what I'll be doing!

With Tracy (the originator of this fantastic idea): I'll be receiving emails from her on Tuesdays and responding to them on Wednesdays. In addition, I'll be sending her a piece of real mail at least once a month.

With Kody: I'll be emailing him on Sundays. He's asked for two days of response time, so I'll be hearing back from him by Tuesdays. He also agreed to snail mail at least once a month and counter-proposed occasional packages as well!

With Kt: She liked the idea too, but said she writes enough emails in her life and would like to become...wait for it...actual pen pals, writing real mail to each other, trying for once a week.

So there you have it! The ways in which I hope to continue to be connected to my incredible friends. Now, I'd like to be intentional about spending time with Dan locally. Perhaps a guaranteed once a week walk? Away from anything with a screen to drag our attention away from each other.

Exciting.

On another note, I'm currently at a coffee shop getting my writing juices flowing with this blog because Sunday is my annual hospice memorial service. This is my once a year event where I invite everyone who has lost a loved one on our care for the past year to a memorial service that I have planned and facilitate. I think the event will be welcoming and hopefully healing for people. I have a local high school ensemble chorus who will be coming to share music with us. Dan's running the sound. My mom and Dan's mom are catering for the 2nd year in a row. The order of service has been printed beautifully thanks to one of my co-workers. I've received RSVPs to make me feel calmer about all the effort going into this event. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, which is excellent considering last year it POURED the day of.

Only thing left?

My homily.

It's also what was last minute for me last year. Damn procrastinating personality! It's just very difficult to write a homily that encompasses so many different people, both our deceased patients and their families. When I'm asked to do a service for a particular person, it's nice because I can focus on THEM. I can get personal stories, ask families what they want to have included, make the songs and words intentionally reflect particular people.  But for dozens of different people and the staff that take care of them...much more difficult.

I want to focus on universal themes of loss and the trauma of death. Because frankly, death disrupts our lives. We're going along, living our day-to-day, then boom! Someone we love dies. And the truth of it is, no matter how many people tell you "It's going to be ok." there is, at least for a moment, a time where it doesn't feel that way. We live in a very death-denying society. With the transition of deaths to hospitals and nursing homes, (which are viable options, don't get me wrong) the feeling of someone dying has turned from being personal and family-oriented to stranger and machine-oriented. Hospice is trying to open up the possibility of people having the choice to die in their homes, surrounded by family, and photos, and memories, and love. In a personal way.

When someone dies in our culture, who is not a celebrity, I find that there is a stressful push to "be ok now!" We try to get back to "normal" as quickly as possible. At my HOSPICE job, it's written into the policy that employees receive "up to three days" of bereavement time at the death of a close loved one. And "close" only counts for parents, grandparents, and siblings. Really? Three days? Yeah, right. I think this is especially bogus when the person who we've lost because the sun of our universe...illness causing them to be the center of our world perhaps under very difficult circumstance and for an extended period of time.

While I want to acknowledge and make a sacred space for the losses, and the aching holes left behind, I also want to spend a good bit of time talking about love. There's a Forrest Church quote that I adore. It will be read by the hospice social worker before I homilize. I want this quote read at my own Memorial Service hopefully MANY years from now.

By the Reverend Forrest Church who was, before his passing, a Unitarian Universalist Minister:

"Every time we commit ourselves, every time we share ourselves with another...we risk so very much. We risk disappointment...we risk the enormous pain of loss. If we try to protect ourselves from suffering, we shall manage only to subdue the very thing that makes our lives worth living. Though we can, by a refusal to love, protect ourselves from the risk of losing what or whom we love, the irony is, by refusing to love we will have nothing left that is really worth protecting."

In other words, the only way we can avoid the pain of grief is also by avoiding the joy of love.
And I, for one, do not believe that my life would be worth a lick of beans, as they say here in the south, if I didn't have people to love and who loved me. My ideas about god change and evolve over the years, but one thing I have been consistent on believing is that there is evidence of divine love present in the love of my family and my friends. They are the embodiment of sacred connection, hope, and love. Without them, I feel depressed and disconnected. I feel like there is nothing worthwhile. But with them I feel full and whole. I soar and can expand to a fuller potential. I can make a difference in the world because of their love.

And when I lose someone I love, then their memory, and even my guilt and regrets, spark within me a desire to live better. To love more. To tell the people I care about how grateful I am for them. Each life, and even each death, alters my life perspective. They turn the course of my life path, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.

Each of the people coming to the service on Sunday has been affected by death in the past year. More than anything I want their losses to be acknowledged and for them to feel cared for and safe. And I want for them to eat delicious food, because I fully believe there is something ancient and wonderful about sharing a meal with people.

Well this blog certainly has gotten my writing juices flowing just like I'd hoped! I've even been going back and forth from my homily writing while typing it. Now, I plan to focus more exclusively on my homily, praying that something loving and comforting will result.

If you have any thoughts please leave me a comment. Otherwise, until next time!

Blessings,
Kelley

Processing a Loss

In the wee hours of the morning on Thursday, the world experienced a loss. Kim Sibbach, a 26-year-old who has been battling breast cancer for the last three years, died. Kim and I grew up in the same town. We danced at the same studio. Our moms worked together for decades. They're best friends. Kim and I were not close, but I knew her. And even peripherally, this loss has tremendously been in my head and on my heart. I have an array of feelings: devastation, anger, sadness, concern, sympathy, heartache, worry...

I hate that we live in a world where people like Kim get cancer. That she won't be able to grow old and become a journalist like she dreamed. Or fall in love, or decide whether she wants to become a mom...I hate that some of her grandparents outlived her. I hate that her mom only has one child now, even though Stacy is fabulous. I hate that Kim was only a year younger than me, and her death seems to be making my mom think a lot of "What if it had been you..." thoughts.

Even though she was so young, Kim left an amazing legacy. To process her fight against cancer, she kept this blog: http://myleftone.blogspot.com/2008/08/diagnosis.html . In it, she expressed herself in quirky, intelligent, thoughtful, emotional ways. Her visitation and funeral were packed. She left behind a family that loved her, friends who adored her, a job where she will be missed, and countless memories from everyone whose paths crossed with hers.

Some things about Kim: She was grumpy in the mornings. She wasn't touchy feely. She liked hippos. She was an amazing writer. She loved her job and co-workers at PTs Grille in Wilmington. She was a Pirate at ECU. She lived. She loved. She made a difference in this world by being here and being herself.

Kim's life and death have caused me to think about how I want to live my life. How I want to remain optimistic even in the midst of difficulty. How I want to become healthier and hopefully live a long life with the people I love. How I want to connect to others and develop relationships built on respect, kindness and hope because those connections can go a long way to making our world a more loving, peaceful place.

Her funeral service was so touching. But it still just felt...wrong. Wrong that there we were, at her funeral. But it was personal and full of love. I pray that her family and friends are surrounded by love and support and over time...feel peace.

Kim's Aunt Myra wrote this today:
"We often think one person can't make a difference. Kim, you showed us that we can, one person at a time, change the world around us. Anyone who took the time to look around at the over 400 people who showed up last night or at the overflow crowd at the church today would have seen your legacy - the love you created. I know you would want us to keep the love alive. Love one another, commit random acts of kindness, be true to who we are, a child of God here for one purpose - to make the world a better place. Any less would dishonor you and the God who created us. 'Til we meet again."

Here are a few other tributes from her family and friends:

I can hear her now..."This cloud there, that cloud here." "This color is not me." "Hey BIG GUY, here is the list of things I'm gonna need." "Is it me or are these wings itchy?" You wanted her, you got her! And you are lucky... -Joseph Pate

Dearest Kim, I will never forget you. When I think of you I can't help but laugh and cry at the same time, so many happy memories...sitting on the bus together riding to and from school every day until we finally got our cards. Seventh grade when you and Sandy Pham came over to my house and we made those cardboard people for Ms. Russell's class. And even though now everyone knows you as the biggest beach bum ever, I remember back in the day when you hated the beach so much and I couldn't ever convince you to come with me because you hated the sang getting in your shoes. Thanks for sharing your home and your bed with me all those times when we were younger and my parents were out of town...you are the best! Andeven though you have moved out of the body you borrowed for a few years, I know you're still here with all those you love and who so adore you! -Julia Bland Segovia

I regret every missed opportunity to tell you how much you meant to me...how your friendship enriched my life. I love you. Always have. Always will. -Megan Bennett Irby

Thinking about you today. You were one of the most beautiful and absolutely the most energetic person I ever met. I will never forget your smile, your hugs, or our crazy ghetto weekend in g-ville. -Shelly Fransisco

Hey! Thanks for being at the beach tonight! Thank you for letting me know you were there with that push of the wave. It was good to see your smile light up the sky. It's still so hard to think you aren't here anymore. But feeling you there helped. I love you Kim. -Stacy Sibbach


Below are a few pictures of Kim. Look through them. Say a pray for her family. Remember her legacy of love.

Click on people's faces in the photo to tag them.

Kim and her mom Vicki

Click on people's faces in the photo to tag them.

Sisterly love, Stacy and Kim


Cap and gown from East Carolina University. Go pirates!


Sassy glasses!


Awesomeness


On the beach, like she loved to be.


With her best friend

Click on people's faces in the photo to tag them.

Family Photo: Stacy, Daryl, Vicki and Kim

Beauty

An Honor and a Privilege

Last week, the day before Thanksgiving, I started work early and didn't stop for lunch so that I could get off early and begin my Thanksgiving holiday early. Little did I know that the day would take a devastating and surprising turn. I was finishing up my charting in my car of the Harris Teeter parking lot waiting to get some last minute items for Thanksgiving, when I received a call.

The call was from the secretary from the church I grew up in. And although I am no longer a part of their church, denomination or even religion, I was called because there was a pastoral emergency and their church minister was out of town. A family that I have known for several years suffered a tragic loss. A child, not quite four months old, died suddenly. I went straight to the hospital and spent the next couple of hours with the family in the midst of raw, painful grief. As a Hospice Chaplain turned Hospital Chaplain turned Hospice Chaplain again, I've been around this type of situation before. But it was different being with people I had known for so long. More proof that my yearning to be a Parish Minister is the right choice for me.

Tomorrow, I'm assisting in the Funeral Service. I'm nervous, but honored. May the service begin a healing process for this family as they grieve for the unthinkable. Blessed be.

New Chapter and a Vocation of Love

This morning I woke up with a greater sense of purpose than I typically have as of late. I'm approaching a new phase in my life. This "in-between" time didn't last as long as I expected, and somewhat feared.

This has been my life for the last couple of months:
I completed my Chaplain Residency at New Hanover Regional Medical Center on August 20th. On August 21st my dad's sister passed away. She had been sick for a while. I thought I was more prepared for her dying, but it rocked me worse than I could have imagined. The following couple of weeks were spent in harsh grief, helping my parents go through her apartment, and trying to be there for my dad. Meanwhile, I continued to try and look for a job. I had some interviews, but nothing really came of them. I didn't even tell my family about some of the interviews, because the outlook of so many didn't look good, and therefore I was less torn down than I would have been having to share the "I didn't get the job news" repeatedly.

I did interview for a Hospice Chaplain position, but weeks went by and I didn't hear anything. But, it turns out there had been some internal inquiry about the job and eventually, I was offered the position. I begin on Monday. Right now, I'm working my last on-call shift at NHRMC. I can really feel the end of this particular chapter closing. It's an odd feeling, but I'm glad I'm aware of it.

I have mixed feelings about going into hospice again. Hospice is a wonderful gift. It's an incredible, loving service and I will be proud to be a part of it again. But Hospice is also a narrower ministry. Not narrow in depth. But narrower in that it is singularly focused on end-of-life. Hospital Chaplaincy was a bit more broad. While still crisis ministry, there was hope and healing mixed in. Parish Ministry is the ministry I have discerned seems to be the best fit for me. Someday... But in the meantime, I am gratefully surprised that I can still don the current title of "Chaplain" having supposed I would have to temporarily relinquish a ministerial title.

And that's what's going on with me.

In broader, national news, there have been several suicides among gay teens that has led to a growing awareness of bullying both in schools and in society at large. Ellen Degeneres, in particular, has been asking many of her guests about their own experiences with bullying. These deaths and the treatment of gay youth has sparked in me such an indignant anger that I have been spinning my wheels trying to think of things to do. Facebook has been a helpful outlet for me. I can share with this larger social network my beliefs that Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex, Queer, Questioning, and Allied persons deserve love, care, compassion, and equal rights. I have been told from more than one person on facebook that I have my facts wrong and that "The Bible says...". But as a person with theological training, I believe the Bible was written in a particular social context and historical time. And though I absolutely believe that it has wonderful relevance for many in the present, I do not think it should be used to devalue people who were born non-heterosexual.

The local University in my town had a rally and vigil this week sponsored by the GLBTQIA (Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Questioning, Intersex, Ally) Resource Office. I created four new posters for marriage (and life!) equality. I was grateful to unite with so many people and to feel like I was DOING something in response to all the hate that led to so many suicides.

I was also so proud of my Unitarian Universalist faith, because not only were many people from my local congregation present, but our minister was as well. She wore a clerical collar, easily distinguishing her as clergy in the masses. She had been asked to say a prayer. Prior to doing so, she shared that her experience from a bully was from the head of her religious group, who taught that people "like me" she said, were unnatural and wrong. She told the crowd that that was NOT so. She prayed not only for the people are are/were bullied, and the families of those who have lost or taken their lives because of hate, but also for the bullies. After her prayer, several people came up to her...one girl said something before collapsing into a hug. I wondered how many people had hurt this young girl. And further, how many of them represented a religious point of view. My minister was there to show her love. And this girl wasn't the only one to receive it.

I wonder how many people are unaware that there is a liberal religious faith like Unitarian Universalism that thinks that all people have worth and dignity, regardless of their sexual orientation. I felt a renewed sense of calling as I watched people approach my minister and ordination mentor, ask her about her church and receive her love and support...I wondered about the healing that began at the rally.

I absolutely want to become an ordained minister. I want to be someone whose life and love represents not only a larger religious organization, but also something Holy. I believe in a loving Spirit. I call it God. I call it the Universe. I call it Love. Religion has been used to hurt and divide. I want people to feel loved for exactly who they are. May it be so.

May all my liberal Christian ministers and friends have their loving voices heard. May their lives and their ministries shower people with love and acceptance. And may their care and openness increase in volume. I add this to acknowledge that Unitarian Universalism is not the only loving religious home for people who are GLBTQQIA. Gene Robinson, a bishop in the Episcopal Church was one minister who spoke up in youtube's "It Gets Better" campaign. You can hear him here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPZ5eUrNF24


Here are some other links of interest:
Fort Worth City Councilman, Joel Burns sharing his "It Gets Better" story: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax96cghOnY4

The Trevor Project: http://www.thetrevorproject.org/

Personal account from my CST colleague, Casey Crosbie: http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/caseygcrosbie/1/1286387828/tpod.html?utm_source=FB&utm_medium=FBMTB&utm_content=FBStreamPostTitle

Mormon leader gives Anti-Gay sermon after suicides. Here's a link to write an open letter in response, and to view the sermon: https://secure3.convio.net/hrc/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=945

Human Rights Campaign: http://www.hrc.org//


I'm still looking for loving responses to the hate. And I shall continue to look, act, and love.

Drawing with Loving Intentions

So you see, imagination needs moodling - long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering. -Brenda Ueland

Tonight I drew two new drawings, both featuring the dogwood flower. You see, almost exactly a year ago the mother of one of my friend's died. After her mom's death, she mentioned that her mother's favorite flower was the flower on a dogwood tree. I made a mental note. Soon afterward, I drew a pen and ink drawing of a dogwood branch with flowers and leaves. But since my move across country, I have lost the particular sketch pad that the drawing was in. I have been devastated and furiously searching for the pad. For so long, it didn't even occur to me to try to redraw it because I was in such a less artsy place.

But tonight, as a part of my "This I Believe" group I decided to create art; and to recreate this photo idea. And because I was nervous about the process, I made an altar of sorts, which is actually a suggestion in the guidelines for this week. I took four candles that a friend made, and placed a leaf plate between them. I turned off the TV and put some music on.

Then I drew. I drew one drawing for my friend Tracy. And a second, different one for her brother. I was looking online for photo ideas for the dogwood flowers. I found one that ended up being Stephen's. Then I was looking for one for Tracy. I found a beautiful rendition of a dogwood flower, so I clicked on it to see the picture larger. The drawing was incredible. But then I froze when I saw the artist's name. What was it, you ask? Tracie Hawkins. The friend I was drawing it for? Tracy Hawkins. Fate, synchronicity, God's will, destiny...all these words have been floating in my mind. But I took it as a sign and drew my own version of that particular dogwood flower for my friend as a memory of her mom.

Stephen's Dogwood:

Tracy's Dogwood:

I've never drawn with such loving intentions before. I was silently putting love into the lines, shapes, and shading. I hope it will touch their hearts and work towards their healing.

May it be so.