chaplain p.i.

A summons to the trauma bay brought me to Mr. Lewis, an eighty seven year old man that had crashed his car.  He was pretty banged up, but initial x-rays looked o.k.  The room cleared out while we waited for the ct scan machine to be free.  The doctors answered other calls and the nurses were charting.  I stepped up nearer to Mr. Lewis' head where the blood was already drying around the cuts.  "Mr. Lewis, I'm Erin, one of the chaplains here.  Are you doing ok?"  He said he thought so, but it hurt every time he breathed.  I reminded him that the doctors thought he had a couple broken ribs.  "Is there anyone I can call for you, Mr. Lewis?"  He said one son was out of town.  The other didn't have a cell phone.  I tried to call the out of town son.  No answer.  "How can I get ahold of your other son?" I wondered out loud.  "His friend is a manager at The Blue Crab.  He always knows where Joe is."  He said.  "Is the Blue Crab a restaurant in Spartanburg?"  I asked.  "I'm not sure."  "Do you know Joe's friend's name?"  "No."


I got on a computer in the major care area.  Blue Crab Restaurant Spartanburg.  Nothing. Blue Crab Restaurant.  Nothing.  Restaurants in Spartanburg.  No Blue Crabs.  I searched just Blue Crab.  Ah Ha.  Blue Crab Bar and Grill gave me some options. Not in Spartanburg, but in Moore, Simpsonville and Columbia.  One look at Google Maps told me they were at least in driving distance.  Now the embarrassing part.  I dialed Moore's Blue Crab.  "Can I speak to the manager?"  Wait.  "Hello, do you know Joe Lewis?" "No."  "Ok.  Sorry. Thank you."  I realized this was futile.  IF I had even had the right places, what's the chance that Joe's manager friend would be on tonight?  


I headed back to Mr. Lewis, but one look at his pale, battered face sent me back to the phone.  Simpsonville Blue Crab.  Manager.  Joe?  No.  Columbia's Blue Crab.  Manger.  "Do you know Joe Lewis?" "Yes.  Who is this?"  WOW!!  I introduced myself, briefly explained the situation and asked if he could try to find Joe and give him my phone number.  Three minutes later my phone rang.  It was Joe.


I felt triumphant as I rejoined Mr. Lewis and could tell him that his son was on his way.  His feeble gratitude was an abundant reward as we waited together for the ct scan.  Fifty minutes later I was still strutting as I met Joe at the entrance and brought him to his father.


I checked on Mr. Lewis the next morning in Neuro ICU.  And then the next day in a room on a regular floor.  That day I met out of town son and Mr. Lewis told him about my sleuthing.  I got to see his cuts healing and the scared look leave his eyes.  I checked on him every day until he got discharged.  Which in CPE is called "meeting your own need."  True enough.  But after all the private investigating I was invested.   And yes.  I am still proud.


"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.  Matthew 7:7

miller

Mid afternoon I got a call to be with a patient who was moving down to a palliative care wing in end stages.  I entered the room solemnly expecting unconciousness and grieving family members.  Instead I found a wizened, elderly man propped up in bed welcoming me in.  "I'm  John Miller" he announced.  "Who are you?" 
      "I'm your chaplain, Erin Miller." I replied. 
      "Miller!  Do you think we are related?" he joked. 
     I checked my sheet and the door number to make sure I was in the right room.  Yep. This was the room. "I bet we are brother and sister separated at birth."  I joked back to him.  He liked that.  After a few minutes of sparring, I asked him what was happening with treatment and he explained that his kidneys were failing and that his body was no longer  "cooperating" with the prescribed treatment.  We had several thoughtful moments of conversation before the transport team arrived to move him. "Nice to meet you Chaplain Miller!" he called out.

I caught his wife in the hall and told her I was on call all night and they were welcome to call me at any time.  Then I headed back to the on call room relieved to have such a pleasant visit when I was expecting so much worse.

At 6:00 am the next morning I got called.  John Miller had just passed.  Would I come be with the family?  I rushed down stairs.  His wife told me that he had fallen asleep shortly after getting settled in the new room and had just drifted away.

And this is one of those deaths that I just can't shake.  Because he seemed so full of life.  Because it really caught me off guard.  Because I was one of his last conversations.  Because he engaged me with humor and honesty.  Because he was cheerful to the end.  Because I would have liked another conversation.....

The Lord cares deeply when His loved ones die.     Psalm 116:15 (New Living Translation)

enough

Today I peeked into the room of an elderly hospice woman.  She waved me in enthusiastically and I was delighted to see her recently styled hair and red lipstick as well as her smile. We started a conversation about her family when, all of a sudden, her clear speech became jibberish.  "Mahabita goinche mella turon by Saturday?"  I told her I hadn't quite caught all of that and she smiled at me.  I talked to her a little more and then watched as she dozed off in mid sentence. I thought she must be exhausted so I slipped my hand from hers.  She immediately woke up and said "you aren't leaving already are you?"  Help!

One of the questions I regularly struggle with in a visit is "how much is enough?  I wish there was an extrinsic guideline that said "OK, you are done, wrap it up."  When left to my subjective criteria I often replay the conversation several times over to see if I left at the right time.

'How much is enough' is a question I ask in my life too.  This week my boys are gone so I have lots of time to be a very present wife, but I am only doing phone mothering.  Then my boys will come back and I will try to be a very present mom, but my housework will suffer.  Laundry or exercise?  Read to the boys or finish my homework?  I can fall asleep wondering if I did anything that day well enough.

I think this fixation with "enough" speaks to a spiritual challenge.  I reread a chapter in Brennon Manning's book Abba's Child this morning.  It ends with this quote "...the longer you spend time in the presence of Jesus, the more accustomed you grow to His face, the less adulation you will need because you will have discovered for yourself that He is Enough.  And in that Presence, you will delight in the discovery of what it means to live by grace and not by performance." 

My grace is enough; it's all you need.  My strength comes into its own in your weakness.  2 Corinthians 12:9

contagious

In the hospital we are always reminded of germs.  Hand sanitizers dot the walls.  Posters in the elevators remind us to hygenically wash.  Racks of gowns and gloves cover many room doors.  Dreaded diseases are routinely discussed.  My germ awareness has extended all the way to my house - where antibacterial wipes now abound and where I whince each time one of my boys cough.  I don't want to get anything warned to be communicable by contact.

Last night I was called to a elderly patient's room with the warning that he was fading fast.  When I got there I joined his son and daughter-in -law.  They updated me on his status, and on the weeks prior.  How he had moved in with them when he could no longer be alone.  Then to a nursing home when his needs were more than they could meet.  Now to the hospital.  They were exhausted.  And sad. As tears ran down their faces I could feel a life time of love.  I saw the pain of having your big, strong, hero dad wasting away before your eyes.  I felt the loss of his place around their table this year for Thanksgiving, and then Christmas.  I knew their helplessness.  And I realized I was crying too. 

Grief is contagious.  Maybe the most contagious thing in the hospital.  One minute I'm in the on call room watching House Hunters, the next I'm trying to swallow that hard lump in my throat with a family I just met.  Their grief is transmitted by proximity.  It goes to a deep inside me to a place that no handwashing can remove. I caught the frustration, the weariness, the anger and sadness.  I was infected with their love.  I did my best to share it back with them.  Grief is contagious.

I hold my face in my two hands.

No, I am not crying.

I hold my face in my two hands

to keep the loneliness warm -

two hands protecting,

two hands nourishing,

two hands preventing

my soul from leaving me

in anger.

Thich Nhat Hanh

He was despised and rejected—a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;  it was our sorrows that weighed him down.   Isaiah 53:3,4

measurements

Yesterday two of my patients in Neuro ICU were transfered to step down floors.  Their families were both thrilled that their loved ones were healing.  A change for the better!

A patient I had been visiting at the hospice house was dicharged.  She had improved and able to return home. A charge for the better!

Today our group spent hours around a table reading our mid term evaluations.  We answered questions about what we have learned so far about ourselves, our theology, our pastoring and our classmates.  After thirteen months of Clinical Pastoral Education I reflected on how my views of God have expanded,  how my emotional availibility is growing, and how I am learning to be more comfortable in the dark spaces of life.  Though I feel very sure of these changes, it was gratifying to hear them affirmed and expounded on by my teachers and classmates.  More change for the better!

I love this quote by George Bernard Shaw.  It speaks to recognizing growth.

"The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them."

May God give you more and more grace and peace as you grow in your knowledge of God and Jesus our Lord.  2 Peter 1:2

you made my day

I stood at the foot of his hospice bed.  His eyes fluttered open and he gave me a little smile.  I introduced myself and talked to him for a moment.  Then he tried to respond.  His lips moved but no sound came out.  I asked him to repeat it and tried my best to lip read but understood nothing.  I fought the urge to bolt, took a deep breath and moved closer.  "I'm so sorry Mr. Albert.  I can't hear you.  Can I just keep you company for a few minutes?"  He reached out his hand to me.  I took that as a yes.  I talked about the day, the weather outside, the picture on his bedside table.  I tried a few yes or no questions, so he could participate in the conversation with a few nods.  As I was wrapping things up, he tried to talk again.  "What?"  I leaned closer and I could make out his whisper.   "You      Made       My      Day." 
    
How precious!  Is it any wonder that I love these sweet elderly men?  I get teased about my affinity for them when I come back to the office with another story about a another darling old man.  But really - their eyes sparkle, they have the best stories, and they are delighted to have someone to talk to.  What's not to love?
    
So to all my old men - like Mr. Oatmeal,  Mr. Food Poisoning,  Mr. Frequent Flyer,   Mr. Bear Hunter,  Mr. Country Fried Steak,  Mr. Struggling to Breath, and Mr. Paratrooper - Thank you for talking to me.  You made my day!

What do you know that we don't know? What insights do you have that we've missed?  Gray beards and white hair back us up— old folks who've been around a lot longer than you.  Are God's promises not enough for you, spoken so gently and tenderly?  Job 15:9-11 The Message

word of the lord

     I was visiting from room to room at the Hospice House. Mr. Henry was not in his room, but I found him in his wheelchair at the far end of the hall. “You are out of your room!” I said in greeting. “Are you feeling better today?”  “Yep,” he said. “I’m getting my exercise.” And he wheeled away.
     A few minutes later I was at the nurses station charting. I heard some arguing around the corner and heard the nursing supervisor say “I don’t care who told you. You can’t go home today.” More arguing. Then she walked around the corner and called out “where is the chaplain?” 
     Gulp. “I’m here.”
     “Did you tell Mr. Henry that he was free to go home today?” She asked accusingly.     
     “No.”
     “Well, he thinks you did.”
     I headed out to find Mr. Henry. He saw me coming. “The chaplain is the voice of God,” he began. “If you say I can leave, then I can leave.”
     “Mr. Henry. I never told you that you could leave.” I used my firm mom voice.
     “You said I had to be out of my room!” He thought he had won.  He was gonna be disappointed.
     “I said that you weren’t IN your room, not that you had to leave. Mr. Henry, are you trying to get me in trouble?'
     “You are the word of the Lord,” he mumbled. “You could at least help me leave.”

     Thank you Mr. Henry, for seeing chaplains as important people.  Sorry I couldn't have abetted your escape plans.  I think you are better off where you are for now though.

I am counting on the Lord; yes, I am counting on Him.  I have put my hope in His word.  Psalm 130:5

carried

It's been a tough week on the chaplains here.  One walked into the room of an angry, self proclaimed devil worshipper, another met a bedridden, demeaning atheist.  You never know what you are going to get when you open the door.


So I breathed a sigh of relief when I introduced myself to a man sitting alone in the surgery waiting room and he immediately told me that he loved chaplains.  Whew!  "I love chaplains. One of the most pivitol moments in my whole life was because of a chaplain."


Well, pull up a chair.  I can't resist that opening line.


Seems Cal was a paratrooper.  In January of 1951 he was making his 32 jump.  I asked if he got scared jumping out of a plane.  "No!"  he said with bravado.  Then he winked and said "Yes.  But don't tell anyone."  On this dark, cold night the whole troop was to jump and then run to the designated location.  Somehow during the process another paratrooper got tangeled up in Cal's shoot.  As Cal was landing, the other guy landed hard on top of him.  Then took off running.  Cal got untangled and then realized he couldn't stand up.  He couldn't move his legs.  He began to yell, but no one was in earshot.  Cal was helpless, alone and freezing.


Minutes went by.  Long, dark, lonely minutes.  Then Cal saw headlights.  He waved his arms and yelled for all his worth.  The jeep stopped.  In it was an army chaplain.  "Are you OK?" he asked.  Cal said no.  The chaplain picked him up and carried him to the jeep.  He drove him to the hospital and carried him in.


Cal had a broken back.  He healed slowly, regained use of his legs and went on to earn two purple hearts.  But he never forgot that night.  That chaplain's act of caring was burned in his memory. Forty nine years later I was welcomed with open arms because of a chaplain who stopped by.


 "Because he loves me," says the LORD, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.  With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation."  Psalm 91:14-16

salt

I got into the on-call room moments before the cleaning lady.  As she bustled around the room we chatted about how long she has worked here.    Thirty six years!  Every day moving up and down the on-call hall, a tiny motel like wing, changing sheets, folding towels and lining trash cans for the medical and chaplainal residents who will be spending that night.  I watched her military-like precision as she aligned the sheets, smoothing the surface and tucking in the corners.  I realized that they are called hospital corners for a reason!

I had to ask Ruby what keeps her going for thirty six years at the same job.  She had an answer.  "I know how nice it is for you kids to have a clean room to come back to at night."  I suddenly remembered how many times I have stepped off a busy hospital hall into the calm of the on-call room.  How nice it is to have a stack of white towels, an empty trash can, and a fresh bed to flop down on.  I never realized what Ruby intentionally put into it to make it that way for me.

Ruby inspires me.  So what if it is my 324th stroke assessment, I'm going assess Ruby-style! Someone wants a Bible at 4:00am?  Or pharmacy assisstance during my lunch?  I am going to try and offer the Ruby treatment.  I want to remember how much little things matter.

I told this story to all the chaplains during our morning report.  Then I read this quote -

     "Sometimes God calls us to do great things for Him. 

      Sometimes He calls us to get out of our comfort zones, get out of the boat, face the unknown, and do bold things in His name.  The Bible is full of stories of people in varying degrees of compliance as God called them to defining moments.

     Sometimes, God just asks us to be salt.

     The thing about salt is that it is never the main point.  It is not a defining moment.  It is not a moment in history or of astounding greatness. But it is good.  Especially to the one who is touched by it. 

     No one ever goes to a restaurant and returns raving, "You must go there!  They have the most incredible salt I have ever tasted!"  But it is there, making a difference.

     We all have serious defining moments in our lives.  But there is a lot of ordinary living in beween those moments.  Weeks, months, and years of life when we can honor God and reflect Him to a world that doesn't always see Him clearly - simply by being salt."  Nancy Ortberg, Looking For God.

Jesus said "You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God flavors of this earth.  If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness?" Matthew 5:13, The Message

transformation

You see this chair?  It was buried in a pile of old furniture at an antique warehouse.  I was following my friend Angela around as she looked for treasures with her laser beam eyes.  She spotted this chair and pulled me over to it.  "Don't you love it, Erin?"  Uuhh, No.  I mean I could tell by her tone that I should love it.  That somehow this was a Great Chair.  To me it just looked like someone had finally decided to clean off their church platform and had gotten rid of it.  But Angela was still talking.  About colors and fabrics and good bones....

Ten minutes later I was buying the ugly chair and loading it in my car.  I hadn't changed my opinion of the chair.  I had no idea how it was going to become part of my house.  But Angela was sure.  And I trust Angela.

Do you see this beautiful chair?  It is Angela's vision realized.  It's been painted and recovered.  It is one of a kind.  It is blue!  And interesting and admired.  It is probably my favorite piece of furniture in my whole house. I love, love, love it.

Last week Angela and I were talking about our work.  Artists and chaplains. How different they are.  Yet with the same underlying theme.  We both take something bad, seemingly hopeless, grim (a house, a chair, a family waiting for their patient in the trauma bay) and we try to make things better.

Someone had insinuated to Angela that her work was frivolous.  I bristle at that.  There is nothing frivolous about the feeling I get when I walk into my home and sink into the colors and design and furniture and accessories that welcome me.  My living room is lovely. It beckons and refreshes me.   And that is Angela's doing.

Look at this job description -
Must have great vision.
Must have the patience to search and search and find.
Must be able to restore something to its full potential.

Must be willing to redeem something that has been discarded as junk and make it a treasure.
Must employ enormous amounts of creativity, artistry and imagination to get the job done. 

This looks just like Angela's resume.  It also looks like God's.

While we were sinners God died for us. 
We are God's people, redeemed by God's great strength and mighty hand. 
God restores our souls and devises creative ways to draw us close when we get separated.  Romans 5:8, Nehemiah 1:10,   Psalm 23:3, 2 Samuel 14:14 - just to name a few!

Transformation is what God is all about.  And this God like quality is going on all around us.  I think it is the most fascinating topic in the world.  

Transformation is what keeps me glued to shows like Curb Appeal and Iron Chef.  It gets played out every time a teacher teaches a child how to read, or a mechanic fixes a broken down car, or a hair stylist gets out their scissors.    Transformation is what is happening when a pastor takes a sentence from the Bible and makes it come to life.  When a physical therapist helps a person with a broken hip learn to walk again.  When a parent cooks a meal for their family.  When a counselee begins to realize changes in their psyche.  When a chaplain walks into a room filled with hysterical grief and helps a family find acceptance and peace.  It's happening.

Transformation is exciting and meaningful.  I am delighted to see it happening in my house.  And in my life.  I'm not always sure what God is up to, but I'm learning to trust there too.  In the mean time I love getting to be a transformer.  For chaplains and artists and everyone in between -God shares this holy work with us in so many ways.

For I am about to do something new.  See, I have already begun!   Isaiah 43:19