Thin Places

Spurred on by my readings in The Feminine Face of God, I decided to attend a Full Moon Circle this week. It's an all-women spirituality group that I've only been to a handful of times. This week's theme was about thin places; places that are personally sacred. We each went around the room and shared heartfelt stories about where we have felt close to the sacred. The locations spanned the whole world. Some of mine include the beach in Belize I've written about before as well as mountains in general, especially The Blue Ridge Parkway. After sharing about my own thin places and hearing about other people's, I became worried. All the thin places I could imagine were either in the past or not some place I could easily access. Several people spoke of thin places that were special and sacred to them now. I racked my brain and realized a surprising thin place for me: prayer. Not prayer by myself, which I admittedly don't practice very often, at least not in the traditional sense. Art, writing, and singing are my personal prayers. I'm talking about the prayers I say with other people, usually in my role as a Chaplain, worship leader, or with my family.

As a Chaplain, I pray with my patients and their families. In my current cultural location, my prayers often reflect the most common theological perspectives here. It's taken me a while to become comfortable doing so. Mostly, my language reflects a theology that is not part of my current beliefs and yet, strangely, has still felt authentic for me. My discomfort has mostly been present because I haven't been able to understand how I could believe differently and yet feel so authentic in prayer. Recently, in The Feminine Face of God, I came across a phrase from a woman who was once a Roman Catholic nun who left her order and has since pursued painting images of the goddess as a reflection of her spirituality. "My Catholic heritage and environment have been like a beautiful river flowing over my subterranean foundation in God the Mother," she writes in her introduction to The Mother's Songs, "The two movements are not in conflict, they simply water different layers in my soul." They simply water different layers in my soul. Yes, absolutely. This helped me find language for why I can feel personally different from the beliefs of my patients and yet can authentically and whole-heartedly pray with them and their families along our varied theological perspectives; because it waters my soul to do so and connects me with my foundational and initial belief system.

In worship settings, I typically am praying among other Unitarian Universalists and therefore the language I get to embrace reflects my current beliefs. It becomes a combination of prayer, meditation, and guided imagery. It feels comfortable and peaceful. It's almost as though I zone out. I seek the words that feel the most fitting and reflective of the mood, theme, and feeling of the service of which the prayer is a part. Sometimes, it takes me a moment to reemerge into the present moment. But typically I still remain connected to the sacred like the smoke of birthday candles that continue to waft through the air even after the flames have been blown out.

With my family, I'm usually asked to say a blessing before meals. One or both of my parents usually ask me to do this. I think they do it because of my vocation as a Chaplain. They used to try to ask my husband to do it, but Dan doesn't feel comfortable when being put on the spot like that. Over time, it has become my role and is seen as an honor. I embrace as one. Traditionally, in this cultural location, many families have a patriarch lead family prayers. I appreciate and value that my family challenges this tradition.

One last family prayer memory. I've written about it before, but it particularly stands out because it combined my role as a Chaplain and as a family member - as a granddaughter, daughter, niece, and wife. When my grandmother was dying last year, my mom asked me to pray for her. She asked me to do so because she sensed that my grandmother, her mother, needed a minister to provide care. And there I was, the Chaplain Granddaughter, present, willing and able. I accepted the challenge of my mom's request and sang several old hymns and ended them with a prayer. My grandmother died very shortly afterward. I like to think that my prayer comforted my grandmother and offered her peace, as well as provided love and compassion for my family present in the room.

Prayer with others is one of my thin places. It's a sacredness I have access to on a regular basis. I'm grateful for having this particular thin place and becoming aware of it. Thank you to all the women who were a part of this recent, personal discovery.

Blessed be.

Serendipitous Surprises

When I started my most recent venture in writing, I explained that I didn't know where it was going to lead me. I didn't need or want to know. I just wanted prance playfully along the path as it became visible, one leap and skip at a time. Well, the path took a surprising turn about which I wanted to share.

Last week, I received an email from one of the ladies in my company who works in Danville, VA. She and I are friends on facebook and she said she'd read my post "Being Someone's 'Angel.'" She asked if she could put it in her Hospice Volunteer Newsletter. Surprised, but pleased I assured her that would be fine and that I was honored she valued it enough to want to share it with others. From this conversation, I decided to show it to my own office's Volunteer Coordinator (henceforth "VC") Teresa. I know she is always looking for pieces to put in her newsletter and if this other VC found my blog interesting, I thought it might be worth showing to Teresa.

She also liked the words and immediately said that she too would like to use it in her newsletter. I was grateful for the compliment and the alacrity of her positive response. I also found myself feeling abnormally surprised and taken aback by her encouragement thinking to myself, "Really? You liked it that much?" I'm not sure why I responded so critically to my own writing. I suppose I've just never shared it beyond the internet world; a world and space that can feel distant despite its public nature.

I then discovered that Teresa shared it with another VC who then asked to know the link to my blog because she now wants to follow it. (Hi Donna!) Then! I find out today that not only did Teresa share it with the VC, but she also forwarded it along to our high up boss who forwarded it along to the woman who collects material for the company-wide newsletter. My boss also wondered about sending it out to the marketing agency that works with our company to potentially bring attention to our hospice in the larger community. Surprise after surprise!

All because of words I wrote. All because of words I wrote.

I feel like this all spiraled so quickly! Just last Monday, my blog was just a place where a few of my friends read about whatever I was currently pondering. I never fancied that a large number of people took interest in it. I'm an external processor and this was just another place that I could sort through my emotions and disorderly brain. And I do feel emotionally cluttered with all this. And since lists go a long way to helping me sort, here's a list of my current emotions: stunned, empowered, grateful, nervous, humbled, overwhelmed, shy, proud, thoughtful, encouraged, and confused.

Confused seems to be chief among my feelings. Confused because I don't quite understand why anything I would write would be valuable to others. How self-deprecating is that?! Especially in light of all that I've been reading from Julia Cameron about all people having a voice and all people being writers. That's all well and good in the privacy of my own journal and the semi-privacy of my blog, but I didn't realize how deeply embedded this feeling of unworthiness as a writer truly is for me. I suppose I have more work to do.

My writing feels valuable for me. It's a way to both experience the world and respond to it. I've always dreamed of becoming a published writer. And by that I mean publishing children's books or maybe even a book about Hospice Chaplaincy. But something like this never occurred to me! After I told my husband all of the above, he said, "You're a published writer." If that's the case, then one more excuse for not being able to call myself a writer has been wiped away from my list of obstacles.

How exciting! And confusing.

Perhaps someday, my other publishing dreams will become a reality. And maybe they will add to our financial livelihood. I think perhaps that's what I meant by being published. Being paid to write. Blech. I don't like defining a beautiful creative process by money. I'll continue to work on disassembling that line of thinking as well.

In the meantime, I'm grateful to report that my words are going to be reaching out to a larger community than I could have imagined. Julia Cameron, in The Artist's Way writes about serendipity, or moments where the Universe responds to our desires and creative yearnings. I think this certainly qualifies as a moment where serendipity has appeared, smiling and waving gleefully! And for now, I'll bashfully wave back feeling grateful for this serendipitous surprise. Thanks to everyone who has always been so supportive. I'm supremely grateful.

-Kelley

P.S. If you're interested in re-reading the blog that started all this, here's a link to "Being Someone's 'Angel'"

Being Someone's "Angel"

Recently, I was sitting with one of my hospice patients who told me she wanted to spend our time together watching "The Price is Right." Works for me! She made a specific request, and I got to fulfill her wish. This particular episode was entirely for nurses. Every person in the audience was a nurse. Most of you out there probably know that Drew Carey is now the host. As each person who became a contestant came down he would ask them what type of nursing they were in. One of the ladies said she was a hospice nurse. It was the first response to which he showed more than a little interest and he responded with something like, "Aw. My mom was on hospice and was taken care of by people like you. You guys are angels."

There it is. "You guys are angels."

Then another day recently, I saw a homeless man on the side of the road. My heart breaks every time this happens. I don't know what put this person there, but I'm more likely to assume it's systemic in its cause. So I bought him dinner and brought it to him. His name was Tom and he thanked me deeply and sincerely. Then he added, "I was praying God would send me an angel and then you showed up."

There it was again. Being someone's angel.

Today, I was visiting a patient I hadn't seen for several weeks. We sang old hymns together and I read to her from verses of the Bible she requested. She told me stories from her life and I sat there, trying to make out her words which are often soft and difficult to understand. As I was about to leave she held my hand, squeezed it with her fading strength and said, "You're my angel." It choked me up.

To her, I was her angel.

A phrase that I used to just brush aside with an embarrassed "thank you" has now stuck with me and has made me wonder: what are the qualities that make someone an "angel" to someone else?

I think kindness and compassion are two of the largest pieces. To be gentle, caring, and willing to sit and listen. To hold someone's hand who's feeling lonely or afraid. To make someone smile and laugh. To share yourself with them and make a deep, abiding connection. To give out of love and compassion. Maybe these are some of the characteristics of a modern-day angel. They seem to be what has brought forth this sweet description lately. I appreciate things that help me embrace the simple/deep/wonderful connections that I find the most valuable. I will continue to think about what it means to be someone's angel. But I will choose not to overthink it and lose the beauty and sweetness of the compliment.

I want to close out this entry with one of my favorite quotes. I think it's another worthy reminder of what is good, and lovely, and true:

“To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson


Blessings,
Kelley

Days of Awe

Yesterday in my Unitarian Universalist congregation, we honored the Jewish "Days of Awe" in our service. We learned about Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I have been drawn to Judaism for years. Its history, both religiously and culturally are so steeped in tradition and it seems to strike a chord deep within me. One comment I've had about Judaism before is that focusing so much on tradition made it less relevant for changing people and cultures. I'm now singing "Tradition" from Fiddler on the Roof in my head. However, I have recently found many of the prayers and traditions I've learned extremely valuable and potently relevant. In fact, some seem so valuable that I wish they had more of a place in my life throughout the year.

I'm not an expert in Judaism, but here's what I've learned about the two holy days we honored. Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of the Jewish New Year. It's the time when the book of life is supposedly opened. In the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, people are supposed to ask for forgiveness for any hurt they have caused others. To use a much-Christianized phrase, it's a chance to represent from one's sins. It's a chance to apologize, make amends and ask for forgiveness from other people. And to do so deeply meaning it and intending to learn from one's mistakes. You're supposed to ask forgiveness of everyone you know because you never know who you may have unintentionally hurt or "sinned against." My minister addressed how loaded the word "sin" is and defined it like this: sin is when you do not treat all people as though they have inherent worth and dignity. Yom Kippur is the final day of this time and is when the Book of Life is supposedly closed and the people's names in it will be the ones who live through the next year.

This time is an opportunity for contemplation and deep personal reflection. A chance for each individual to strive to grow into a better person. The readings we recited together sparked thoughts of forgiveness - of others and ourselves. I wish I could put them all in this blog, but then no one would probably read it, because it would be incredibly long. As it is, I'm still going to type out a couple of them because I just think they were that incredible. They brought forth the reality that none of us are perfect (see my previous blog for the lesson I needed in this), that we all have the opportunity to try again. What the tradition in the Days of Awe do is give the opportunity for this to be recognized, acted upon, and embraced so that a new year of hope and second tries might be possible. A chance to learn from past mistakes and be intentional in one's effort to move forward.

Here is one of the readings we did, reading it aloud together as a congregation:

Let us acknowledge our faults and our failings together.
For the wrong we have done whether by intention or by mistake.
For the wrong we have done by failing to work for peace.
For the wrong we have done by keeping silent in the face of injustice.
For the wrong we have done by closing our ears to the poor and hungry.
For the wrong we have done by not making time for those who needed us.
For the wrong we have done by withholding our love from those who depend on us.
For the wrong we have done by distorting the truth for our own advantage.
For the wrong we have done by forgiving in ourselves what we condemn in others.
For the wrong we have done by forgiving in others what we condemn in ourselves.
For the wrong we have done by conforming to fashion and not to conscience.
For the wrong we have done in failing to fulfill the promise which is in us.
For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, help us atone. Teach us to forgive ourselves.

By far, the most emotionally stirring moment of the service for me was the time when we remembered those who have died in this last year. We once again read aloud together. At the end of each "Remember the soul of my beloved..." we paused while people in the congregation said aloud the names of their loved ones who died. For "beloved friends" I said Kim's name, the 26-year-old family friend who died from cancer earlier this year. For "beloved relatives", I said aloud "Rosemary", my aunt who died a year ago in August. Here's the full list of the beloveds that we remembered:

God, remember forever those dear to me who have gone to their eternal rest...

Remember the soul of my beloved father.
Remember the soul of my beloved mother.
Remember the soul of my beloved sister.
Remember the soul of my beloved brother.
Remember the soul of my beloved husband.
Remember the soul of my beloved wife.
Remember the soul of my beloved partner.
Remember the soul of my beloved daughter.
Remember the soul of my beloved son.
Remember the souls of my beloved friends.
Remember the souls of my beloved relatives.

May they be at one with God, who is life eternal. May the beauty of their lives shine for evermore and may my life always bring honor to their memory.

Following this moment, people were invited to come forward and light a candle for their deceased loved one. Normally, when we light candles for joys and sorrows, we sing together as a congregation in the background. But these candles were offered in sacred silence. I was choked up as I lit my two candles, but I went first to begin the ritual and then calm myself because I had a role in the service immediately following the candle lighting. I took deep breaths and watched the faces of those that came forward.

It's incredible to help facilitate worship services. One of the many reasons I love doing so, is being able to look out into the congregation and seeing the faces of those with whom I am sharing worship. This is even more the case when I watch the faces of those lighting candles. Each person with a story of their own, and, in this case, having experienced a loss. I was caught up in the sacred blessing the opportunity provided. I calmed down and felt prepared to lead the next part of the service.

That is until the final man came up to light a candle. He's a man in our congregation who is at the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He knows enough to realize he's forgetting important things. There are holes in his memory that are holes in his personal identity. He lit his candle and turned to the congregation saying, "This is a candle for everyone I can no longer remember."

I lost it.

In my mind and heart rushed images of and feelings for both of my grandmothers whose minds were/are ravaged by Alzheimer's. And the future fear of my parents facing this dreaded disease. The images of my patients who have also had Alzheimer's swam in my mind. I was trying to choke down sobs as I rose to the pulpit with my minister and attempted to read the next part of the service. I couldn't do it. She took over and I was so grateful. I looked out in the congregation and saw others' tear-filled eyes looking back at me. We shared a beautiful, connecting moment.

The entire service was so special and meaningful. I feel so blessed and so tremendously grateful to be part of services like this. Services that honor other religious traditions that give my own faith meaning. Services with rituals that are spiritual and stir something deep inside me. The service, the readings, the connections, the preciousness of it all touched me to my core.

Today I received an email from my minister. In it, she wrote this, "Thank you for Sunday. It is always a pleasure sharing worship with you."

The feeling is mutual. I feel honored to share worship with all the people at my church. I can't express my gratitude enough. As the traditional Rosh Hashanah greeting says, "L'shana tovah!" which means "For a good year!" Blessings to you all!

Artful Connection

I spent the bulk of today at a friend's home. It is an incredible, beautiful, and sacred space. She is a fellow artist and Unitarian Universalist. Though over 30 years my senior, we share many of the same quirks and seem to have an inordinate amount of understanding of each other. I'm thrilled to be developing further connection.

The weather was extravagant today. October is my favorite month in my favorite Season. And today brought with it crispy air and bright sun. The only thing lacking was a bit of Fall foliage on the trees.

Here are a few images of my friend's amazing view:




I arrived at her home around 11:3o for our prearranged "Art Day!" Not only did I bring an obnoxious amount of art supplies (canvases, acrylics, watercolors, sketch pads, etc.) but also fruit, french bread, and individual chocolate mousse cakes. We spent a few hours talking to one another, with me also becoming acquainted with her various animals. We learned more about each others' histories and life stories. Our time together was so natural and comfortable. And I was able to paint using my newest acrylics! Many hours well spent today!

Here's an image of my latest painting:


The day was so spiritual and healing. Full of depth and connection. What a blessing. I feel incredibly grateful.

First World Problems

One of the events that takes up part of my life is a bi-monthly small group called a "Chalice Circle." At this group, we discuss various topics that are personal and increase in depth each week. Most of the time the group has discussed events from our pasts. However, at our most recent meeting we discussed "What is going on currently in your life? What's exciting you? What's worrying you? What are the most important things taking up your time and energy?"

I vastly appreciated the opportunity to discuss this topic. We shared, listened, and learned more about one another. Eventually, our topic evolved into discussions about transitions. Various members of the group are facing significant transitions. I specify "significant" because in an ethereal sense, life is in continuous transition. Some changes had to do with vocations and trying to seek the "what's next" with increased fervor and excitement. At one point in the discussion, a member of the group remarked, "These are very 'first world' problems." Meaning, that in our group and in our culture, we have the luxury to explore higher callings because our basic needs are most often taken care of. I'm potently aware that not everyone in this country and culture could say that they have their needs met, but it seems to be true within my small group. All the more reason that I feel like I need to snip out my complaining and embrace what I have. Realizing as much helped me gain a bit of perspective that even on my difficult days, I am still living a life that is remarkably fulfilling.

As a child and youth, I had this incredible sense of hopefulness, optimism, and joy. I fully believed that I would fly off and change the world someday! As an adult, I've been jaded by greed, hatefulness and the like. And yet, I still believe I'll make a difference, even if on a smaller scale than I once imagined. It's helpful for me to remember my rosy glasses of youth though. To write about it, talk about it, and otherwise share it with others. Because, as with my previous faith group, that bubbly idealist still lives within me. And she wants to thrive and live and shine!

So I've gained perspective, increased my gratitude, and wanted to share with others the value of having "first world problems."

Ponderings of a Sunday Morning

I'm a member of a UU congregation called the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Wilmington. I have had the privilege of being a part of two UU churches since becoming a part of this faith, and each one has brought so much to my life. I wanted to take a moment today and write a short entry reflecting upon this morning's worship experience.

I arrived prior to the service and was greeted with love and hugs. Next week, I'll be doing one of the two homilies in the services, and my fellow homily-speaker and I had a hilarious conversation assuring the other that "I'm not done either." Two eager children handed me my order of service, the little girl explaining with a smile that her bright yellow glitter necklace was actually sunshine. During the worship service I sat between one of my closest friends and two middle schoolers who I adore. I gave and received many hugs prior to the service.

I lit a candle of love and hope, prayed and meditated in community, and heard a sermon that made me thoughtful. But what I love the most about my congregation is the endearing manner in which they have settled into my heart. I feel loved. Many of the people in the church have already shown me that they will care for me in difficult times and double my joys by sharing them. I bring all of who I am into this church: doubting, seeking, loving, giggling, weeping, cherishing...it's all there. And it all has a place. I am so honored to be a part of this church and this faith. And today especially, on this beautiful Spring day, I feel hope and renewal. I also feel gratitude for all those who were Unitarians, Universalists, and Unitarian Universalists who came before me to pave the way of our faith and make it possible for me to be a part of this free religious community.

So onward I go, in gratitude, love, and hope. Amen. Blessed be.

Good Fit Thus Far

Short note dropping in to say that Hospice has been a good fit so far. I have been healing from my previous hospice work, been getting to know my colleagues, and been doing caring work that connects me to people. I've really appreciated the practicality and openness of my boss, and HER boss. And I adore that I'm still in a ministerial role and get to discuss spiritual thoughts, pray, listen, and be with people. Soo grateful.