I'm going to share something that I'm only just coming to terms with. It's scary to share something so personal, especially in so public a forum, but I don't really know who reads my blog anyhow. And I think that's what is helping me continue to type.
Last Fall, I had a miscarriage. It was easy to be in denial that it happened and even now it doesn't feel fully real. Here's why. I never got it confirmed by my doctor. I had positive pregnancy tests at home. I was going to the doctor for other reasons and when I asked for a test there, but they somehow overlooked running it. And by the time I realized that, my tests had started to be negative at home.
For those that know me, you know that I have wanted to be a mom for years. I've come to think in terms of a "veil of motherhood." A barrier I have yet to cross. An inner circle of womanhood of which I long to be a part. With each new announcement of a friend or family member's pregnancy, I fight an internal battle. I want to be happy for whoever it is, but my heart breaks that much more. This past Mother's Day, I did the math at how far along I could have been in my pregnancy and it was so tremendously painful.
I have known others who have had miscarriages. And I have read about how many woman have them and don't even realize it. Somewhere I read it was called "the silent grief" because it's not talked about. I always told myself naively that I would talk about it if it ever happened to me. But when it happened, I only told my husband. I didn't even tell my mom, the other person I'm so close to, until a month ago...nearly 6 months after. I didn't want the sympathy. I didn't want the sorrow. I didn't want the reality to sink in. If I didn't share it, it could continue to be unreal.
But this has become a part of me. It's become a part of my story. And it has broken my heart. But I'm healing. And I'm becoming healthier so that hopefully when I carry a child in the future, my body will be better prepared to nurture and sustain life. A friend of mine recently shared this thought: "...to identify people as parents from the moment of conception." There was something so precious about considering myself a parent, if even for a few brief weeks. I feel like being a parent is a dormant side of myself. It's growing and yearning to come to the forefront. And perhaps someday it will come to fruition.
Thus endeth the most intimate blog I've ever written.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
"I know you're busy..." and Hospice vs. Hospital Chaplaincy
The title of this blog is much wordier than I normally aspire to, but those are exactly the topics in my head. Reminds me about a Mark Twain quote. Something like, "I would have written a shorter letter, but I didn't have time." Sounds about right. And for the moment, I'm just trying to get a few thoughts out with little to no editing.
First off, I've been hearing the phrase, "I know you're busy..." a lot. A lot, a lot. In context, it's usually said with love and understanding. For example, "I know you're busy, so you just let me know when we can meet." Or: "I know you're busy, so don't worry about the committee, we'll handle things." And while I'm grateful for this level of understanding, I feel both guilty to have rendered these phrases necessary and worried that "busy" is the word most associated with me at present.
I attended a funeral for a patient yesterday during which I learned much about the person before she got sick. It was enlightening to hear her described as "a perfectionist, with never a hair out of place. She was a loving Christian woman. She was a lady." In the midst of these accolades, I had a flash to my own funeral (not uncommon while working in hospice) and wondered, What are they going to say about me?! "Kelley...was busy."
When I was younger, I somehow associated "busy" with "important." When I came to the point of being a teenager, driving myself around, I had new freedom to go where I wanted and be involved in various activities. The thing is, I'm interested in so much, that if I have ANY desire to pursue any of them then I'm pulled in numerous directions. Even a skeletal look at my life is full.
At minimum, here is what my life consists of: Work, family, friends. (Not listed in order of importance. But actually listed in amount of time spent with each)
Added to that are many things I still believe are necessary: Church, reading, singing in 1-2 groups, making art, traveling.
But here's the thing. I love being involved in so many different things, that I never feel like I have enough energy or time to give of myself 100% to any particular task. This is even true for my job where I wear two hats. The result is that I feel like one or the other of my job is not getting everything it could or should out of me. In any given day, I have to change mental gears so many times that I often get internally dizzy trying to keep up. It's why I like lists. It streamlines things.
When I recently auditioned for a role in The Sound of Music, I was worried about adding so much extra via rehearsals. But one thing that it's done for me is narrow down my life a bit. For example, I've had to take a brief reprieve from one of my committees for the rest of the year. I discovered I was more relieved than sorry.
However, I still feel as though I'm running on fumes. I've never been someone who could just hone in on 1 or 2 things. It's seems to be in my nature to flit from one thing to another. For a time, I'll feel alive bounding back and forth between activities. But over time, it begins to wear me down. Not just physically, but emotionally as I worry incessantly that I'm not doing or being enough in any given situation. And then comes a spiral of worry, guilt, and fear of further consequences. Knowing this pattern, I'm trying to press on the brakes and either slow it down or divert it altogether.
Not only am I going back and forth between many events, people, and places, but within my one job I'm particularly stretched thin at the moment. Juggling between being a Chaplain and Bereavement Coordinator is beginning to resemble an impressive circus act of Barnem and Bailey caliber. Each week, I have to balance between making Chaplain visits, making Bereavement phone calls, and documenting all of these contacts. In addition, next week I'm starting a 6wk Holiday Support Group and have to have the 2nd draft of two mailings completed. We also have our occasional "lock down" days where all staff is on deck and we audit charts in office for 9 hrs. This is called QRR. And as it so happens, QRR, my first support group, and an out of town meeting all fell in the same week. Not only that, but our census (i.e., number of patients) is higher than it has been in a year.
And on top of that, several of our patients have passed away in just over a week. Many of them, I didn't even have the opportunity to get to know before they left this world. I have a deep sense of missing them even though we didn't know each other. And now my journey will begin with their families, through grief and mourning. Here's a moment of painful honesty: I feel like a good and qualified Chaplain. But I don't feel as qualified for bereavement care. It scares me and makes me feel like a fraud.
Another result of having so many people pass away all of a sudden, is that the lives of these people get jumbled in my mind. I didn't have the opportunity to meet some of them. Many were on our care for too short a time. And now, in their deaths, I feel sad that their stories are left unknown to me and that their names and faces blur together. They were individual people with their own life stories and self-worth. I believe they deserve to be remembered in their death and I hope to learn something about them through bereavement care with their families.
As a hospital Chaplain, this was a normal feeling. People would come in for somewhere between 2 and 4 days before they were discharged. When I made Chaplaincy visits, I may only have the first visit, because, even if I returned the very next day, many of them were gone. In a vocational sense, I had a difficult time narrowing down my purpose. I knew my role in the trauma room and with families awaiting news on their loved one. I knew my role in an ICU and with families trying to weigh options in literal life and death situations. But in typical, day-to-day Chaplain visits, my role was less clear to me, although I didn't have language for it at the time. If I had, this would have been a good topic to discuss with my CPE group.
As a hospice Chaplain, I feel a clearer sense of purpose. Here's what I imagine my role to be: I bring individualized components of faith and spirituality to hospice patients who no longer can attend a faith community. On the whole, my "interventions" as their called include reading from the Bible, singing sacred music, offering prayers, listening to stories from a person's life, watching TV with people so they're not alone, providing companionship, reading from other texts like poems or novels, holding a person's hand, having theological conversations, having silly conversations, laughing, and always trying to be kind and compassionate. And each of these interventions will look different depending on the recipient. I pray differently for a patient whose Southern Baptist than I do for a patient whose a Progressive Christian or doesn't associate with any particular faith group. My personal experience coupled with my education and training help me to discern what's most helpful and appropriate in various situations.
Lately though, facing so many deaths in a short amount of time, I've only had the opportunity to meet some of our patients once before their gone. When people find out I work for hospice, the responses usually include some version of the question, "Isn't it hard to be around death so much?" Normally, it's not. Because death, or Death, is not an extremely frequent visitor, only occasionally swooping in for a visit. But right now? Yes. It is hard. I want the opportunity to sit still and consider each deceased person individually and learn about them while caring for their loved ones throughout the next year.
This past Sunday at my church, in one of the homilies was this phrase: "We have traveled far and we have traveled fast. Now we must allow time for our souls to catch up with our bodies." Yes. That is what I need. All my running around seems to have left my spirit and soul behind. In my mind, I imagine a ragged-looking me gazing wistfully at my soul, dancing around, smelling flowers, twirling and giggling...she's just waiting for me to sit still long enough so we can reconnect properly. I can hardly imagine having entire days to work toward this enterprise. However, I will be more intentional in having many moments on a daily basis that let her, my soul, catch up with my body.
Blessed be.
First off, I've been hearing the phrase, "I know you're busy..." a lot. A lot, a lot. In context, it's usually said with love and understanding. For example, "I know you're busy, so you just let me know when we can meet." Or: "I know you're busy, so don't worry about the committee, we'll handle things." And while I'm grateful for this level of understanding, I feel both guilty to have rendered these phrases necessary and worried that "busy" is the word most associated with me at present.
I attended a funeral for a patient yesterday during which I learned much about the person before she got sick. It was enlightening to hear her described as "a perfectionist, with never a hair out of place. She was a loving Christian woman. She was a lady." In the midst of these accolades, I had a flash to my own funeral (not uncommon while working in hospice) and wondered, What are they going to say about me?! "Kelley...was busy."
When I was younger, I somehow associated "busy" with "important." When I came to the point of being a teenager, driving myself around, I had new freedom to go where I wanted and be involved in various activities. The thing is, I'm interested in so much, that if I have ANY desire to pursue any of them then I'm pulled in numerous directions. Even a skeletal look at my life is full.
At minimum, here is what my life consists of: Work, family, friends. (Not listed in order of importance. But actually listed in amount of time spent with each)
Added to that are many things I still believe are necessary: Church, reading, singing in 1-2 groups, making art, traveling.
But here's the thing. I love being involved in so many different things, that I never feel like I have enough energy or time to give of myself 100% to any particular task. This is even true for my job where I wear two hats. The result is that I feel like one or the other of my job is not getting everything it could or should out of me. In any given day, I have to change mental gears so many times that I often get internally dizzy trying to keep up. It's why I like lists. It streamlines things.
When I recently auditioned for a role in The Sound of Music, I was worried about adding so much extra via rehearsals. But one thing that it's done for me is narrow down my life a bit. For example, I've had to take a brief reprieve from one of my committees for the rest of the year. I discovered I was more relieved than sorry.
However, I still feel as though I'm running on fumes. I've never been someone who could just hone in on 1 or 2 things. It's seems to be in my nature to flit from one thing to another. For a time, I'll feel alive bounding back and forth between activities. But over time, it begins to wear me down. Not just physically, but emotionally as I worry incessantly that I'm not doing or being enough in any given situation. And then comes a spiral of worry, guilt, and fear of further consequences. Knowing this pattern, I'm trying to press on the brakes and either slow it down or divert it altogether.
Not only am I going back and forth between many events, people, and places, but within my one job I'm particularly stretched thin at the moment. Juggling between being a Chaplain and Bereavement Coordinator is beginning to resemble an impressive circus act of Barnem and Bailey caliber. Each week, I have to balance between making Chaplain visits, making Bereavement phone calls, and documenting all of these contacts. In addition, next week I'm starting a 6wk Holiday Support Group and have to have the 2nd draft of two mailings completed. We also have our occasional "lock down" days where all staff is on deck and we audit charts in office for 9 hrs. This is called QRR. And as it so happens, QRR, my first support group, and an out of town meeting all fell in the same week. Not only that, but our census (i.e., number of patients) is higher than it has been in a year.
And on top of that, several of our patients have passed away in just over a week. Many of them, I didn't even have the opportunity to get to know before they left this world. I have a deep sense of missing them even though we didn't know each other. And now my journey will begin with their families, through grief and mourning. Here's a moment of painful honesty: I feel like a good and qualified Chaplain. But I don't feel as qualified for bereavement care. It scares me and makes me feel like a fraud.
Another result of having so many people pass away all of a sudden, is that the lives of these people get jumbled in my mind. I didn't have the opportunity to meet some of them. Many were on our care for too short a time. And now, in their deaths, I feel sad that their stories are left unknown to me and that their names and faces blur together. They were individual people with their own life stories and self-worth. I believe they deserve to be remembered in their death and I hope to learn something about them through bereavement care with their families.
As a hospital Chaplain, this was a normal feeling. People would come in for somewhere between 2 and 4 days before they were discharged. When I made Chaplaincy visits, I may only have the first visit, because, even if I returned the very next day, many of them were gone. In a vocational sense, I had a difficult time narrowing down my purpose. I knew my role in the trauma room and with families awaiting news on their loved one. I knew my role in an ICU and with families trying to weigh options in literal life and death situations. But in typical, day-to-day Chaplain visits, my role was less clear to me, although I didn't have language for it at the time. If I had, this would have been a good topic to discuss with my CPE group.
As a hospice Chaplain, I feel a clearer sense of purpose. Here's what I imagine my role to be: I bring individualized components of faith and spirituality to hospice patients who no longer can attend a faith community. On the whole, my "interventions" as their called include reading from the Bible, singing sacred music, offering prayers, listening to stories from a person's life, watching TV with people so they're not alone, providing companionship, reading from other texts like poems or novels, holding a person's hand, having theological conversations, having silly conversations, laughing, and always trying to be kind and compassionate. And each of these interventions will look different depending on the recipient. I pray differently for a patient whose Southern Baptist than I do for a patient whose a Progressive Christian or doesn't associate with any particular faith group. My personal experience coupled with my education and training help me to discern what's most helpful and appropriate in various situations.
Lately though, facing so many deaths in a short amount of time, I've only had the opportunity to meet some of our patients once before their gone. When people find out I work for hospice, the responses usually include some version of the question, "Isn't it hard to be around death so much?" Normally, it's not. Because death, or Death, is not an extremely frequent visitor, only occasionally swooping in for a visit. But right now? Yes. It is hard. I want the opportunity to sit still and consider each deceased person individually and learn about them while caring for their loved ones throughout the next year.
This past Sunday at my church, in one of the homilies was this phrase: "We have traveled far and we have traveled fast. Now we must allow time for our souls to catch up with our bodies." Yes. That is what I need. All my running around seems to have left my spirit and soul behind. In my mind, I imagine a ragged-looking me gazing wistfully at my soul, dancing around, smelling flowers, twirling and giggling...she's just waiting for me to sit still long enough so we can reconnect properly. I can hardly imagine having entire days to work toward this enterprise. However, I will be more intentional in having many moments on a daily basis that let her, my soul, catch up with my body.
Blessed be.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
In a Holding Pattern
I feel the need to vent a little about a cyclical problem I'm having. It's going to take a little back story, so please be patient while I get to the current issue.
I began seminary in August 2005. At the time I called myself a "disgruntled Methodist." I was raised in the United Methodist Church and it was a wonderful place to grow up. My church of origin was full of love and support. However, as I began being introduced to new ideas and religious perspectives in college, my worldview and religious views began to morph and transform. The end result was that scholarly views of reading the Bible made more sense to me than an inerrant, infallible reading. Learning about Biblical stories in their historical context changed how I viewed them. They retained meaning, but with new depth built upon history, reason, and years of scholarly research. However, what I learned in school did not match what was/is taught in most Christian churches. Bishop John Shelby Spong wrote in his recent article for Huffington Post "The contrast between the way the Bible is understood in the academic world and the way it is viewed in our churches is striking." In my experience, this is very much true. I have found a spiritual connection in the academic world more so than in most churches.
But I digress...
After graduating from college, I spent a year in the work force doing a job that was a very poor fit. For those of you who know me well, imagine me sitting in a cube all day calculating numbers from various formulas. The primary person-to-person interactions I had with coworkers occurred when things went wrong. And I had a very conflict avoiding boss who would leave sticky notes on people's desks rather than talk to them face to face to resolve problems. What this did was inspire me to look ahead and try to find something better. I began applying to seminaries. I knew if I got in, I would be moving away from North Carolina as the four schools were in California, Colorado, New Jersey, and Georgia. The best fit by far was Claremont school of Theology in California. After hearing back from all the schools, I started at Claremont and began my education as "a disgruntled Methodist" as mentioned above.
What I mean by that phrase is, I still considered myself a part of my church of origin, but no longer felt it was a good fit. And when people asked me what church I belonged to, I felt the need to explain further. "I'm United Methodist, but..." For example, "I'm United Methodist, but I'm my church is against having openly gay clergy and I think that's wrong." That was the largest point of contention. But it was more than that. I found myself inspired by multiple religions and wanted a place where this concept was not only tolerated but accepted and encouraged. In seminary was where I met my first Unitarian Universalists. The more I learned over the years, the better a fit it seemed.
Here's more...
When I began my time at CST, I was in the Masters of Divinity (MDiv) program. When I began pastoral care classes, I sought to change my degree to an Master of Arts in Pastoral Care and Counseling. I spoke with the admissions counselor, who was the person I needed to go through in order to make this change. She strongly discouraged me from doing so. Her primary reason for trying to persuade me otherwise was that most faith groups required an MDiv for any type of ordination. One known exception was the United Methodist Church who required their ordained Deacons to have a masters degree, but not necessarily an MDiv.
Now here's where the problem really begins. Because of my headstrong, you-can't-tell-me-what's-best-for-me attitude, I changed degree programs anyhow. I reasoned that I did not feel called to ordination and that if I changed my mind or felt something different in the future, then I could become a UMC Deacon.
I continued in my degree program, taking the most remarkable classes from very interesting and intelligent professors. I embraced my first role as a Chaplain at Santa Monica UCLA Medical Center and Orthopedic Hospital. I learned so much about Chaplaincy and myself during that CPE internship. I went on to be a Pastoral Counseling Intern at The Clinebell Institute. Ultimately, I learned that pastoral care and chaplaincy was a better fit for me than formal counseling.
I completed my degree, having worked hard to more fully learn about pastoral care and counseling in my classes and experiences. I still did not feel a call to ordination. As graduation neared, I was searching desperately for a job. At that time, Dan came across a poster advertising a Hospice Bereavement Coordinator position in Palm Springs. I interviewed for the job, but did not get it. However, that experience led me the company that ultimately became my first hospice employer.
I officially went into to Chaplaincy and grew in my pastoral identity while caring for people in very emotional and heart-wrenching times. I gained confidence in my ability to be calm in the midst of chaos and to provide spiritual care for a people from various religious backgrounds. I have since worked at a second hospital through a CPE Residency Program and am currently working as a Hospice Chaplain and Bereavement Coordinator. The job, company, and my coworkers are an incredible fit. I feel like I am able to bring my education, experience, personality, and intuition to my job on a daily bases.
However, I am still not ordained. And I am now strongly feeling a call to become so. In the UUA, the process is called Fellowshipping, where I would be officially endorsed by our governing body.
But there are many obstacles. Which brings me to the present and the reason for this post in the first place. And because I like lists and they help me sort through things, here is my list of woe. (Dramatic aren't I?)
And the final side of this (for now) is that in addition to all of the above, Dan and I both want to start a family in the near-ish future. But we currently can't afford to and if I pursue all of the above, it's going to push off us starting a family even longer. This is something I become more potently aware of each time I learn another friend is pregnant for the first and sometimes the second time.
So I feel stuck. And sad. I want to be fully embraced as clergy. As it is, even though I do ministry daily, I feel "less than" other ministers because of my lack of title. I don't feel like I should wear clergy collars or robes. I call myself a Chaplain, but am reluctant to introduce myself as a Minister. And I'm not fully connected in the UU Church like I want to be. I'm not fully supported or endorsed.
When I met with people from the Ordination Office of the UUA, they said people being landlocked was the biggest problem people had in moving forward with ministry aspirations. I certainly fit into that grouping. And truly, I get so overwhelmed by it all that it's difficult take the next step. Or even figure out what the next step is.
As of today I've contacted the Ministerial Credentialing Director Unitarian Universalist Association to see if we can talk via the phone or skype to figure out what my next step will be. I just hope that when the time comes for me to make a decision about what's next, I'll be able to do so...
I began seminary in August 2005. At the time I called myself a "disgruntled Methodist." I was raised in the United Methodist Church and it was a wonderful place to grow up. My church of origin was full of love and support. However, as I began being introduced to new ideas and religious perspectives in college, my worldview and religious views began to morph and transform. The end result was that scholarly views of reading the Bible made more sense to me than an inerrant, infallible reading. Learning about Biblical stories in their historical context changed how I viewed them. They retained meaning, but with new depth built upon history, reason, and years of scholarly research. However, what I learned in school did not match what was/is taught in most Christian churches. Bishop John Shelby Spong wrote in his recent article for Huffington Post "The contrast between the way the Bible is understood in the academic world and the way it is viewed in our churches is striking." In my experience, this is very much true. I have found a spiritual connection in the academic world more so than in most churches.
But I digress...
After graduating from college, I spent a year in the work force doing a job that was a very poor fit. For those of you who know me well, imagine me sitting in a cube all day calculating numbers from various formulas. The primary person-to-person interactions I had with coworkers occurred when things went wrong. And I had a very conflict avoiding boss who would leave sticky notes on people's desks rather than talk to them face to face to resolve problems. What this did was inspire me to look ahead and try to find something better. I began applying to seminaries. I knew if I got in, I would be moving away from North Carolina as the four schools were in California, Colorado, New Jersey, and Georgia. The best fit by far was Claremont school of Theology in California. After hearing back from all the schools, I started at Claremont and began my education as "a disgruntled Methodist" as mentioned above.
What I mean by that phrase is, I still considered myself a part of my church of origin, but no longer felt it was a good fit. And when people asked me what church I belonged to, I felt the need to explain further. "I'm United Methodist, but..." For example, "I'm United Methodist, but I'm my church is against having openly gay clergy and I think that's wrong." That was the largest point of contention. But it was more than that. I found myself inspired by multiple religions and wanted a place where this concept was not only tolerated but accepted and encouraged. In seminary was where I met my first Unitarian Universalists. The more I learned over the years, the better a fit it seemed.
Here's more...
When I began my time at CST, I was in the Masters of Divinity (MDiv) program. When I began pastoral care classes, I sought to change my degree to an Master of Arts in Pastoral Care and Counseling. I spoke with the admissions counselor, who was the person I needed to go through in order to make this change. She strongly discouraged me from doing so. Her primary reason for trying to persuade me otherwise was that most faith groups required an MDiv for any type of ordination. One known exception was the United Methodist Church who required their ordained Deacons to have a masters degree, but not necessarily an MDiv.
Now here's where the problem really begins. Because of my headstrong, you-can't-tell-me-what's-best-for-me attitude, I changed degree programs anyhow. I reasoned that I did not feel called to ordination and that if I changed my mind or felt something different in the future, then I could become a UMC Deacon.
I continued in my degree program, taking the most remarkable classes from very interesting and intelligent professors. I embraced my first role as a Chaplain at Santa Monica UCLA Medical Center and Orthopedic Hospital. I learned so much about Chaplaincy and myself during that CPE internship. I went on to be a Pastoral Counseling Intern at The Clinebell Institute. Ultimately, I learned that pastoral care and chaplaincy was a better fit for me than formal counseling.
I completed my degree, having worked hard to more fully learn about pastoral care and counseling in my classes and experiences. I still did not feel a call to ordination. As graduation neared, I was searching desperately for a job. At that time, Dan came across a poster advertising a Hospice Bereavement Coordinator position in Palm Springs. I interviewed for the job, but did not get it. However, that experience led me the company that ultimately became my first hospice employer.
I officially went into to Chaplaincy and grew in my pastoral identity while caring for people in very emotional and heart-wrenching times. I gained confidence in my ability to be calm in the midst of chaos and to provide spiritual care for a people from various religious backgrounds. I have since worked at a second hospital through a CPE Residency Program and am currently working as a Hospice Chaplain and Bereavement Coordinator. The job, company, and my coworkers are an incredible fit. I feel like I am able to bring my education, experience, personality, and intuition to my job on a daily bases.
However, I am still not ordained. And I am now strongly feeling a call to become so. In the UUA, the process is called Fellowshipping, where I would be officially endorsed by our governing body.
But there are many obstacles. Which brings me to the present and the reason for this post in the first place. And because I like lists and they help me sort through things, here is my list of woe. (Dramatic aren't I?)
- The Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) requires an MDiv or its educational equivalent for ordination/fellowshipping
- As stated above, I have an MA in Pastoral Care and Counseling rather than an MDiv, which is more of a problem than you'd think. In order to prove I have the educational equivalent, I would likely have to take classes online from one of the two UU seminaries which I currently cannot afford.
- The UUA also requires a church internship for ordination/fellowshipping
- As I mentioned, I have completed two internships and a residency in ministry. But I have not interned at a church.
- To get an internship at a church I would probably need to move because the only church locally is the one I am a member of, and I've been told (understandably) that I could not be an intern there because I am too connected and people could not be impartial toward me.
- To move, I would have to leave my current job which I love and get a significant level of satisfaction from.
- Moving would also take me away from my family, who were the big reason I moved to begin with.
- All this would be to gain the title of the Rev. Kelley Wheat-Rivers
- But the end result would be that I would want a job exactly like the one I already have and am loathe to leave.
- If something should happen to my current job or company, I would, of course need to pursue work elsewhere. And the fact is that most Chaplaincy positions require ordination/denominational endorsement. It just so happened that my current position did not.
And the final side of this (for now) is that in addition to all of the above, Dan and I both want to start a family in the near-ish future. But we currently can't afford to and if I pursue all of the above, it's going to push off us starting a family even longer. This is something I become more potently aware of each time I learn another friend is pregnant for the first and sometimes the second time.
So I feel stuck. And sad. I want to be fully embraced as clergy. As it is, even though I do ministry daily, I feel "less than" other ministers because of my lack of title. I don't feel like I should wear clergy collars or robes. I call myself a Chaplain, but am reluctant to introduce myself as a Minister. And I'm not fully connected in the UU Church like I want to be. I'm not fully supported or endorsed.
When I met with people from the Ordination Office of the UUA, they said people being landlocked was the biggest problem people had in moving forward with ministry aspirations. I certainly fit into that grouping. And truly, I get so overwhelmed by it all that it's difficult take the next step. Or even figure out what the next step is.
As of today I've contacted the Ministerial Credentialing Director Unitarian Universalist Association to see if we can talk via the phone or skype to figure out what my next step will be. I just hope that when the time comes for me to make a decision about what's next, I'll be able to do so...
Sunday, October 2, 2011
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:
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:
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.
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!
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!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Honesty at the Risk of Perfection
I did a psychological/career assessment earlier this year. After just a couple of days, I gained new insight about myself that I've continued to mull over since that time. For instance, I learned why Chaplaincy seems like such a vocational fit beyond "it just feels right." It's flexible and I get to develop relationships with people, etc. Some ideas, like this one, became clear almost immediately. Other results of the test have become more understandable only over time and continued life experience. Here's my most recent, yet difficult to admit, epiphany.
Part of the results of the personality-type portion of the test explained that I have a difficult time in situations where I don't feel like I can present myself as together/organized/on top of things. I brushed this off at the time, but have come to see it's revealing truths in various situations. To the outside world, whichever "world" it is, I want to look like I'm funny, energetic, organized, and pulled together. This has been true at my job, my church, and in my family. It's only with Dan and very close friends that I let myself fall apart. Or at least be less than the "perfect side" of myself I try to present to the world. This is even worse when I not only have to admit vulnerability, but be cared for and helped.
This came to a head yesterday when I was at work experiencing difficulty breathing. It had been going on for days (Yes, days. I'm terrible about admitting when something is wrong). One of my nurses remarked about how I had been sighing all day. I ended up telling her that I wasn't sighing, but rather trying to take really deep breaths and seemed unable to. She came over and was soon followed by three others from work. With their encouragement (read: *insistence*), I called a doctor, and was seen that afternoon, had things checked, and nothing distressing or worrisome was discovered. (More about that at another time as I may need to go back to find out more).
However, the moments where I was vulnerable and the center of attention at work made me feel supremely uncomfortable. And exposed. And frustrated. Here I was, in a place where I try to exemplify the qualities of organization, creativity, compassion, knowledge in my field, teamwork, etc, and I was in a moment where none of that was the focus and I felt frantic. I know this sounds extreme, and looking back I see that it was. But there is more at work here.
In my CPE Residency, it was brought to my attention that I am particularly terrible at giving myself grace or offering myself forgiveness. I encourage others to focus on self-care, to take time out, to get checked when things are wrong, and to let others help. But boy are those very things that I am terrible at doing. I think it comes down to a deep feeling that people only love and care about my "together" self. As I said, I have a wonderful husband and loving friends who I have let inside the façade of togetherness. Just this year, I have shared a more open, well-rounded, honest part of myself with my mom and the results have been beautiful. But it's not easy and changing (where healthy) won't happen overnight.
I wonder whether allowing myself grace and acceptance for the times when I'm overwhelmed, burnt out, tired and disorganized will help me stave off reaching the point of collapse. Where I want to shut out the world and recuperate until I can smile, laugh, and gather myself into the person I feel proudest to share.
I've had some really incredible examples of people who have brought less than their best self into situations where they've still been valuable contributors. And their best selves always arrive again in time. I don't love them any less when they share another side of themselves. In fact, it feels like a relief.
If someone else in my office had been having a difficult time breathing, you can bet I would have been by their side encouraging support and care where I could. A friend of mine who is also a Chaplain told me once that she has a prayer she says before she makes visits: "Let me bring 100% of what I have to this situation." Not 100% of all that I could be ever, but 100% of what I have to offer at that moment in time. It's much more realistic and freeing.
Hopefully this new and deeper understanding of myself will aide me in becoming more forgiving of myself and offering myself grace to accept my very human well-roundedness.
But I do have some peeves. Oh yes. I do. I've noticed that with several people, when I have had a moment of breakdown and let myself be cared for, then I feel a shift in our relationship. Literally, four people come to mind, who seem to treat me as though I'm forever broken afterward. They tread warily around me and talk to me in the soothing tones one might adopt when trying to keep an animal calm. Instead of asking, "Hey! How're you doing?" the next time we meet (regardless of how many days/weeks later it is) they tilt their heads to the side and ask gently with a furrowed brow, "You okay...?" voice hitching uncertainly at the end. Sometimes I get really irritated and just want to say, "You mean because three weeks ago I was upset about something? Yes, I'm okay now! I haven't been wallowing over the same thing since we last talked!"
Another peeve. Please, helpers in future situations, notice when it's all just too much. Yesterday, I was sitting at my desk at work and four or five people were inside my cube (teeny thing that it is) all telling me what I needed to do at that moment. Please remember that the issue was not being able to breathe deeply. Do YOU think the added anxiety and pressure from everyone was helping? If you answered "No!" then you get a cookie. But you have to get it yourself. But I do give you permission. Go ahead. I'll wait.......
We good? Good. Moving on.
Another bit of venting before I round out this blog! One of my co-workers was even listening in when I was on the phone with the doctor and later my mom when I was calling her to get a ride to the appointment. Just give me a second to be on the phone without interrupting, trying to get my attention and telling me something. It was all just too much at that moment in time. Or maybe anytime. But it was a lot. There's a phrase in Chaplaincy I've probably written about before. It's called "non-anxious presence." My co-workers were definitely not practicing that yesterday.
However, they were demonstrating care, love, concern, sweetness, compassion and others offers of help. And I will continue to feel deeply grateful to work with such amazing women. These are the women I care for hospice patients with. I was a recipient of their love and can explain firsthand how much their care meant...when I calmed down and let myself finally feel it.
Life's a process. And onward it goes... :)
Part of the results of the personality-type portion of the test explained that I have a difficult time in situations where I don't feel like I can present myself as together/organized/on top of things. I brushed this off at the time, but have come to see it's revealing truths in various situations. To the outside world, whichever "world" it is, I want to look like I'm funny, energetic, organized, and pulled together. This has been true at my job, my church, and in my family. It's only with Dan and very close friends that I let myself fall apart. Or at least be less than the "perfect side" of myself I try to present to the world. This is even worse when I not only have to admit vulnerability, but be cared for and helped.
This came to a head yesterday when I was at work experiencing difficulty breathing. It had been going on for days (Yes, days. I'm terrible about admitting when something is wrong). One of my nurses remarked about how I had been sighing all day. I ended up telling her that I wasn't sighing, but rather trying to take really deep breaths and seemed unable to. She came over and was soon followed by three others from work. With their encouragement (read: *insistence*), I called a doctor, and was seen that afternoon, had things checked, and nothing distressing or worrisome was discovered. (More about that at another time as I may need to go back to find out more).
However, the moments where I was vulnerable and the center of attention at work made me feel supremely uncomfortable. And exposed. And frustrated. Here I was, in a place where I try to exemplify the qualities of organization, creativity, compassion, knowledge in my field, teamwork, etc, and I was in a moment where none of that was the focus and I felt frantic. I know this sounds extreme, and looking back I see that it was. But there is more at work here.
In my CPE Residency, it was brought to my attention that I am particularly terrible at giving myself grace or offering myself forgiveness. I encourage others to focus on self-care, to take time out, to get checked when things are wrong, and to let others help. But boy are those very things that I am terrible at doing. I think it comes down to a deep feeling that people only love and care about my "together" self. As I said, I have a wonderful husband and loving friends who I have let inside the façade of togetherness. Just this year, I have shared a more open, well-rounded, honest part of myself with my mom and the results have been beautiful. But it's not easy and changing (where healthy) won't happen overnight.
I wonder whether allowing myself grace and acceptance for the times when I'm overwhelmed, burnt out, tired and disorganized will help me stave off reaching the point of collapse. Where I want to shut out the world and recuperate until I can smile, laugh, and gather myself into the person I feel proudest to share.
I've had some really incredible examples of people who have brought less than their best self into situations where they've still been valuable contributors. And their best selves always arrive again in time. I don't love them any less when they share another side of themselves. In fact, it feels like a relief.
If someone else in my office had been having a difficult time breathing, you can bet I would have been by their side encouraging support and care where I could. A friend of mine who is also a Chaplain told me once that she has a prayer she says before she makes visits: "Let me bring 100% of what I have to this situation." Not 100% of all that I could be ever, but 100% of what I have to offer at that moment in time. It's much more realistic and freeing.
Hopefully this new and deeper understanding of myself will aide me in becoming more forgiving of myself and offering myself grace to accept my very human well-roundedness.
But I do have some peeves. Oh yes. I do. I've noticed that with several people, when I have had a moment of breakdown and let myself be cared for, then I feel a shift in our relationship. Literally, four people come to mind, who seem to treat me as though I'm forever broken afterward. They tread warily around me and talk to me in the soothing tones one might adopt when trying to keep an animal calm. Instead of asking, "Hey! How're you doing?" the next time we meet (regardless of how many days/weeks later it is) they tilt their heads to the side and ask gently with a furrowed brow, "You okay...?" voice hitching uncertainly at the end. Sometimes I get really irritated and just want to say, "You mean because three weeks ago I was upset about something? Yes, I'm okay now! I haven't been wallowing over the same thing since we last talked!"
Another peeve. Please, helpers in future situations, notice when it's all just too much. Yesterday, I was sitting at my desk at work and four or five people were inside my cube (teeny thing that it is) all telling me what I needed to do at that moment. Please remember that the issue was not being able to breathe deeply. Do YOU think the added anxiety and pressure from everyone was helping? If you answered "No!" then you get a cookie. But you have to get it yourself. But I do give you permission. Go ahead. I'll wait.......
We good? Good. Moving on.
Another bit of venting before I round out this blog! One of my co-workers was even listening in when I was on the phone with the doctor and later my mom when I was calling her to get a ride to the appointment. Just give me a second to be on the phone without interrupting, trying to get my attention and telling me something. It was all just too much at that moment in time. Or maybe anytime. But it was a lot. There's a phrase in Chaplaincy I've probably written about before. It's called "non-anxious presence." My co-workers were definitely not practicing that yesterday.
However, they were demonstrating care, love, concern, sweetness, compassion and others offers of help. And I will continue to feel deeply grateful to work with such amazing women. These are the women I care for hospice patients with. I was a recipient of their love and can explain firsthand how much their care meant...when I calmed down and let myself finally feel it.
Life's a process. And onward it goes... :)
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The Cultural Location of Chaplaincy
My first experience of ever embracing the role of "Chaplain" was in Santa Monica, CA, where I was required/encouraged to introduce myself as one of the "Interfaith Chaplains" offered by the hospital. This was during my pre-UU days and it was interesting to be designated as interfaith even though I had only ever identified as Christian before. But something about that description resonated with me. Although, looking back I realize with blatant awareness that I was woefully ignorant of caring for others outside of Christianity. In that job, I learned how it can be a spiritual experience to learn Radiohead songs to sing with the Music Therapist on the Pediatrics floor with the kids. And that being present can be deeply healing. I recall that when my internship was ending, I was really mourning the loss of being a Chaplain.
Then after I graduated, I became a Hospice Chaplain for the first time in Ventura, CA. Some random things I miss about Ventura County are all the Spanish names for cities and street signs. There's very little trilling of R's in the South. Here, my Chaplaincy took on a new shape as most of my patients were Roman Catholic Latinos. I learned to retrieve resources from the local Catholic churches and to humbly offer them to patients and their families. At this job, I learned the value of cultural curiosity and sensitivity. When I made a genuinely caring effort, I was met halfway and then I could join the people I was caring for as we continued the journey together. I also gained a significant amount of confidence as a Chaplain. Not in a boasting, "Look at me, I'm THE Chaplain." But more in a, "I really value what I'm doing, I know I can be calm in the midst of chaos" kind of way. It was interesting though, because overall, many of my patients still weren't actively religious.
And then I moved to the Bible Belt. Whew. It has been an adjustment. To explain a little, I'd like to reference a conversation that I had with a fellow seminarian and Chaplain. She was doing her Chaplain Residency in New York. Most of the people she visited were not Christian, but a part of another faith or no particular faith group. She was hoping to hone her skills as a Christian Chaplain, but was finding this difficult because she didn't get a lot of practice in her cultural location. I, on the other hand, felt like I was a fish out of water in the opposite way. I would have loved to hone my skills at addressing the needs of people who are not Christians, but I'm a Unitarian Universalist in the Bible Belt, mostly caring for people who are conservative or fundamentalist Christians. And yet, I feel like my skill set is adjusting to this particular cultural location, to help me care for the people whose spirituality has been entrusted to me.
However, I did have a brief moment of panic (can it really be called panic if it's brief?) where I worried that my skills were becoming so fine-tuned for the people I care for now, that I would be deficient if Dan and I decided to move (which is not being considered, just an fyi). After presenting this fear to Dan, he calmly chimed in that he thought I had always adjusted my Chaplaincy to where we lived, and that he was fully confident that I could do it again.
So this post was a response to the actuality that I had indeed adapted by Chaplaincy style to the various cultural locations in which we've lived. It was a review and a relief. I'm also extremely grateful to have had the experience I did in the United Methodist Church growing up, because my church of origin gifted me with many skills I use often for my weekly visits. Visits which most often include: singing from my UM Hymnal with patients of various protestant backgrounds, reading from the Bible, reading from other literature and poetry, hearing and encouraging the telling of life stories, and praying (often in a way that reflects the conservative beliefs of the patient/family).
I still want to develop my ministerial identity for those who are UU or at least not a part of the mainstream religious identity here. For that, I look to my Worship Committee experience at my church and the various opportunities I'm given to pray in a non-conservative Christian way. The language is different and much more freeing. And yet, because the majority of my verbal prayers as a Chaplain do not feel reflective of UU, I feel out of practice every time I step up to the pulpit at my church. Being allowed and encouraged to use vocabulary like, "Spirit of love and of love, God of many names and many expressions..." and "in the name of all that is Holy, Amen"...they open possibilities. I feel like it could be worthwhile to write prayers and phrases down that are more true to who I am spiritually. A spiritual discipline perhaps?
Here are a few stirring phrases that I would like to use at my UU church in prayer:
God and Goddess, known to many in countless ways
Resonate within us a feeling of hope, connection, love and creativity
May we experience and recognize the blessings in our lives
May we ruminate in gratitude, deeply feeling all that which we have to be grateful for
For experiences that cause us distress, sadness, and mourning, may we be surrounded by the love of supportive souls...who nourish our pains with words of encouragement, loving hugs, and soulful presence.
When we are happy and want to celebrate, may we find people who help our joy double because they share it with us.
May we as a community of faith stand together throughout each others' life story
We have many histories gathered together, and yet we all ended up in this space, at this time...what a gift and a blessing in itself to be here. Now.
Let us all take a deep breath in while we ponder how fortunate we are to be in each others' presence.
In gratitude, in love, in mourning and in hope, we pray together in the name of all that is Holy and Sacred, Amen.
(Update since this was first posted: I prayed these words today at my UU Fellowship. I weaved them in with words that came in the moment and it was a beautifully spiritual experience.)
Then after I graduated, I became a Hospice Chaplain for the first time in Ventura, CA. Some random things I miss about Ventura County are all the Spanish names for cities and street signs. There's very little trilling of R's in the South. Here, my Chaplaincy took on a new shape as most of my patients were Roman Catholic Latinos. I learned to retrieve resources from the local Catholic churches and to humbly offer them to patients and their families. At this job, I learned the value of cultural curiosity and sensitivity. When I made a genuinely caring effort, I was met halfway and then I could join the people I was caring for as we continued the journey together. I also gained a significant amount of confidence as a Chaplain. Not in a boasting, "Look at me, I'm THE Chaplain." But more in a, "I really value what I'm doing, I know I can be calm in the midst of chaos" kind of way. It was interesting though, because overall, many of my patients still weren't actively religious.
And then I moved to the Bible Belt. Whew. It has been an adjustment. To explain a little, I'd like to reference a conversation that I had with a fellow seminarian and Chaplain. She was doing her Chaplain Residency in New York. Most of the people she visited were not Christian, but a part of another faith or no particular faith group. She was hoping to hone her skills as a Christian Chaplain, but was finding this difficult because she didn't get a lot of practice in her cultural location. I, on the other hand, felt like I was a fish out of water in the opposite way. I would have loved to hone my skills at addressing the needs of people who are not Christians, but I'm a Unitarian Universalist in the Bible Belt, mostly caring for people who are conservative or fundamentalist Christians. And yet, I feel like my skill set is adjusting to this particular cultural location, to help me care for the people whose spirituality has been entrusted to me.
However, I did have a brief moment of panic (can it really be called panic if it's brief?) where I worried that my skills were becoming so fine-tuned for the people I care for now, that I would be deficient if Dan and I decided to move (which is not being considered, just an fyi). After presenting this fear to Dan, he calmly chimed in that he thought I had always adjusted my Chaplaincy to where we lived, and that he was fully confident that I could do it again.
So this post was a response to the actuality that I had indeed adapted by Chaplaincy style to the various cultural locations in which we've lived. It was a review and a relief. I'm also extremely grateful to have had the experience I did in the United Methodist Church growing up, because my church of origin gifted me with many skills I use often for my weekly visits. Visits which most often include: singing from my UM Hymnal with patients of various protestant backgrounds, reading from the Bible, reading from other literature and poetry, hearing and encouraging the telling of life stories, and praying (often in a way that reflects the conservative beliefs of the patient/family).
I still want to develop my ministerial identity for those who are UU or at least not a part of the mainstream religious identity here. For that, I look to my Worship Committee experience at my church and the various opportunities I'm given to pray in a non-conservative Christian way. The language is different and much more freeing. And yet, because the majority of my verbal prayers as a Chaplain do not feel reflective of UU, I feel out of practice every time I step up to the pulpit at my church. Being allowed and encouraged to use vocabulary like, "Spirit of love and of love, God of many names and many expressions..." and "in the name of all that is Holy, Amen"...they open possibilities. I feel like it could be worthwhile to write prayers and phrases down that are more true to who I am spiritually. A spiritual discipline perhaps?
Here are a few stirring phrases that I would like to use at my UU church in prayer:
God and Goddess, known to many in countless ways
Resonate within us a feeling of hope, connection, love and creativity
May we experience and recognize the blessings in our lives
May we ruminate in gratitude, deeply feeling all that which we have to be grateful for
For experiences that cause us distress, sadness, and mourning, may we be surrounded by the love of supportive souls...who nourish our pains with words of encouragement, loving hugs, and soulful presence.
When we are happy and want to celebrate, may we find people who help our joy double because they share it with us.
May we as a community of faith stand together throughout each others' life story
We have many histories gathered together, and yet we all ended up in this space, at this time...what a gift and a blessing in itself to be here. Now.
Let us all take a deep breath in while we ponder how fortunate we are to be in each others' presence.
In gratitude, in love, in mourning and in hope, we pray together in the name of all that is Holy and Sacred, Amen.
(Update since this was first posted: I prayed these words today at my UU Fellowship. I weaved them in with words that came in the moment and it was a beautifully spiritual experience.)
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