big

I forgot how big God is.  I didn't know I forgot.  But today I remembered that I had forgotten.

I have eight new classmates/coworkers/chaplains.  They come from all over the country, from different denominations,  different seminaries, with different calls and different spiritual journeys.  I am so enriched by hearing their perspectives and the voices that call them to God.

This morning Ronnie finished his on-call with a devotional at morning report.  He shared a worship story and song by his favorite worship leader.   I had never heard of this leader, but the song was beautiful and it moved me.

Shaundra speaks up in class adding spunk and depth.  Today she quoted two teachers that influenced her at Harvard Divinity College.  I loved the ideas she shared.

Taylor is preaching this week at her church's Presbyterian convention.  After lunch we gathered in the chapel to hear a preview.  Her combination of words, ideas and stories kept us on the edge of our seats and taught us a new way of looking at an old Bible story. 

And that's just three of them.  All during the week I hear stories from a nurse turned chaplain, a teacher turned chaplain, an engineer turned chaplain, and another pastor turned chaplain.  I get to hear eight people pray, each using phrases and names for God that are comfortably familiar to them and new to my ears.  

Each of them have unique mountain top stories.  And testimonies of how God has walked with them through valleys.  It reminds me that there is no limit to God's reach and creativity and choice of voices.  And there will be no finish line in my learning.


Nancy Ortberg, in her book Looking For God, writes "when we give ourselves permission to vary our spiritual routines, we emerge with a broader, multifaceted view of our great God.  What a joy to realize that from the time we wake up in the morning until the moment we lay our head on the pillow to sleep, we have been given a  variety of extraordinary ways to connect with our extraordinary God."

"Take a long, hard look. See how great God is—infinite, greater than anything you could ever imagine or figure out! Job 36:26 The Message

expectations

I get a page to the EC for a trauma alert MVA.  As I walk in, the charge nurse waves me over. "Great!   The chaplain is here.  Let her have a crack at him."    What?  I peer over at a bruised and scratched up man in a neck brace jabbering a mile a minute incoherently.  "He's high as a kite and already cussed out two of us," she says.  "You go in there and get him all saved and stuff."  


I join a family around a bed in ICU.  They have just learned that their elderly mother is brain dead, the result of a massive stroke.  As they are trying to absorb the news they ask me to say a prayer.  "We know God is capable," they assert.  "Tell Him we want her healed."


I stop to talk to the secretary in Labor and Delivery.  Two babies have died today and the nursing staff is taking it hard.  The secretary thinks I can help.  "You are going to need to come back in a little while and explain why this kind of thing happens.  They are really going to need some chaplaining."


And in Major Care I get flagged down walking by.  "Hey preacher lady!"  a nurse calls out.  "You going to come talk to all the drunk drivers we got in today?  Tell them they need to get their acts together."


I always smile at these comments.  And I feel sort of  little.   Helpless.  Ill-equipped.  I wish I was more Ghandi like, or  Pope-ish, or that I had a magic, red super chaplain outfit and the zip that goes with it.   I wish I was Jesus.  I think about Him here, at my hospital, raising these people up, wiping tears, healing bodies and minds and addictions, restoring health and hope.    I guess His pager would never stop buzzing.  His on-call bed would never get slept in.  And I think He would end His shift exhausted and triumphant, walking out to the parking deck with the nurses and cleaning people who were also finishing their shifts.


In lieu of that, you get me.  No cape.  No miracles.  A lot of compassion.  A little patience.  And plenty of questions of my own.  Yep.  That's what you can expect.


"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked him. The blind man said, "Rabbi, I want to see."  So Jesus healed many people who were sick with various diseases...Before daybreak the next morning, Jesus got up and went out to an isolated place to pray.  Mark 10:51 and Mark 1:34-35

in the dark

How do you take nine strangers - all kinds, from all over - and quickly form a cohesive group?  I guess by making them all sleep in the same room (on different nights!), by having them all walk the same halls and calling them all to the same trauma bay.  And by teaching them a new language.  It worked for us last summer.  And now I'm back to speaking Enneagram again with the new group. 

The Enneagram is a centuries old "map of the basic personality types of human nature and their complex interrelationships."  It gives us all common ground and at the same time provides valuable self awareness.  OK, I will admit it.  I'm a complete convert and evangelist to the Enneagram.

I'm a Nine, a peacemaker, an optimist.  I love being a Nine, but have continually be aware of what ruts I slip into easily.  Here is something I learned today about my Nine tendancies.
Nines demonstrate the universal temptation to ignore the disturbing aspects of life and to seek some degree of peace and comfort by numbing out.  They can respond to pain and suffering by attempting to live in a state of premature peacefulness or to run away from the tensions and paradoxes of life.  Nines tend to focus on the bright side of life so that their peace of mind will not be shaken.

The hospital is a good place to practice being a healthy Nine.  I can't avoid the reality of pain and suffering.  I am called to this pain, not away from it.  I can't ignore it.  But I can learn in it.

Ann Keiffer's Gift of the Dark Angel talks about this kind of lesson.
"I hauled my depression from sanctuary to sanctuary, but found no sanctuary.  I was a spiritual misfit and went away all the more depressed that I could not embrace these churches or feel embraced by them.  Maybe I'd come to a bad time, and God wasn't in right them.  Actually, God was in.  In the place I hadn't looked yet; in the depths of depression." 

...even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.  Psalm 139:12

hanging low/hanging on

When Labor and Delivery called, they gave me the quick facts.  A little baby had just been born with Trisomy 13.  Incompatible with life.  His life expectancy ranged from minutes to days.  Would I come and be with the family?


Their room was dimly lit, but filled with family.  Mom in the bed, dad next to her.  All four grandparents, sister, two aunts, cousins, friends.  They lined the edges of the room, encircling mom. 


She was holding a tiny, darling boy.  He didn't have any of the extreme physical markers that come with Trisomy 13.  He did have black curly hair, and pink gums that showed every few minutes when he let out a little mew like noise.  The baseball themed premie outfit that had been bought that morning engulfed on him.  His name was James Thomas, named after his mom's brother, who had died at this same hospital 5 months before.  James was wrapped in the softest blue blanket and handed to me, for a little crooning before I dedicated him and baptized him. 


All during the day I stopped in, met new family members, got updates on dropping pulse ox levels, and gave hugs.  Then at 9:00 pm I got the death call.  I hurried back to the room.  As I walked in James' maternal grandmother was gathering everyone into a standing circle holding hands.  In a clear but emotional voice she began to pray this beautiful prayer through a chorus of amens and "that's right's."


(for best rendering, read this prayer out loud) 
"Oh Jesus.  Oh dear Heavenly Father.  Oh Spirit.  We are standing before you today.  Our heads are hanging so low.  So low, Jesus.  Why couldn't we have kept precious little James?  Why didn't you just heal him today Father? Oh Jesus.  But though we are broken, we are also filled with gratitude.  Thank you God for the 12 hours we had with this precious little man.  Thank you for our family gathered here today.  Thank you for all the love in this room.  Thank you Jesus.  We don't understand what happened here, but we know you are good.  Oh, we know you are so good, Jesus.  Forgive us for our sins.  Make us in Your image. And we will testify of your goodness.  Hold us tight Father.  Hold us in your strong arms.  Give us peace.  Thank you Jesus.  Bless us today Father."


No dry eyes.  Some good questions.  A whole lot of beautiful, honest faith.  I didn't want to leave that patch of holy ground.


Then Jesus answered, "Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted."  Matthew 15:28

altar-ed

In the Old Testament, the patriarchs would mark a significant day, victory or decision by building an altar.  This altar would mark the moment forever, and remind everyone of the Holy Goodness that had brought them to this place.

As our year of residency drew to a close we had some marking of our own to do.  One mark was Vicki's God jar.  Each day Vicki took names from the prayer request box, patients we kept thinking about, staff who needed encouragement, etc, and wrote them all down on little pieces of paper.  She put these papers into a "God jar" to help us remember that they were in God's hands.  By the end of the year, that jar was jammed full and overflowing.

On Friday, our last day together, we grabbed the jar and some matches and headed outdoors to find a spot to burn them so "our prayers would rise like incense..."  We didn't really have a plan, but ended up in the empty part of the far parking lot behind Chucky Chicken.

Where the Israelites had arid deserts and the Jordan River, we had South Carolina humidity, asphalt and the faint order of fast food.  In place of large, carefully placed rocks, we found a tin can.  Nathan got a fire going.  Cathie and I fanned the smoke.  We kept up furtive glances for the police to descend on the white coated arson suspects.  And then Vicki opened the jar.  (You can read Vicki's beautiful commentary on this too.)  We began to read the names, sometimes remembering vividly before dropping them onto the little flame.  We took turns reminiscing about our first deaths, our worst traumas, the patients we still couldn't forget, the ones that cracked us up and the ones that made us weep. 

And just like in Bible times, as our smoke rose up to heaven, our altar became a holy place.  

Though the spelling is different, the homonym alter means to become different.  This was a year of big changes, of growth and learning and challenges and friendships.  One year ago I had never heard of these three people.  Now I love them fiercely.  Twelve months ago we were brand new residents.  Today we are seasoned chaplains.  365 days ago we were overwhelmed and intimidated.  Today we are confident survivors.  We were altered by being together here, and standing around the altar we could commemorate that.

So my dear Yaars - the hospital misses you, the staff miss you, William Hyatt, Tuggles, Kelly K, Bobby S, Rosetta, Flavin, Evelyn and Maneck all miss you.  But I miss you the most!

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the altering and the altar-ing. 

There he built an altar, and he called the place El Bethel, because it was there that God was revealed to him.  Genesis 35:7

pending

One of our routine chaplain duties is to promptly conduct a stroke assessment on any patient coming into the hospital with anything resembling a stroke.  Our assessment is to include patient's awareness of diagnosis, prognosis, family support, faith community support and emotional status.  After a conversation with the patient or their family we log all this information into the computer.  We don't think anyone ever reads our carefully obtained information, but we continue to assess.


One of the answer boxes we check says PENDING.  "Mrs. Jones, do you know why you're here at the hospital?"  "Well, my left side is numb, but we are waiting to hear what the doctor says."  PENDING.    "Mr. Smith, how soon will you be able to go home?"  "I won't know til we get the test results back."  PENDING.


PENDING.  While waiting for or anticipating.  Not yet decided, confirmed, or finished.  Imminent. Awaiting conclusion or confirmation.  Those are hard words for people who don't like to wait.  For patients wondering about their chances.  For families worried about their loved ones.  For chaplains curious about what the rest of their life might be like.....


In the last couple days I've gotten a few hints.  I'm going to stay at this hospital for an extra quarter.  That happened out of the blue.   I've survived two rounds of interviews with one really great hospice in my home town, made some great job contacts, and have an interview with another hospital tomorrow.  It's looking like I may have a couple part time deals at the end of the summer.  They may lead to more.  It's all pending.


And in the mean time....I'm trying to learn to pend in peace.  To pend joyfully and faithfully.


Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is there.  Psalm 62:5