hot sandwiches

I knocked on a big, red front door.  At a house I'd never been to before.  The knock was answered by a little, stooped, bald 90 year-old man.  His wife had been admitted to hospice three days before and he was overwhelmed by the stream of new people visiting -nurse, doctor, nurse assistant, social worker and now me.  He brought me into the living room where his wife was sitting.  I introduced myself to her, sat beside her and turned to include him.  But he was headed out of the room, calling over his shoulder "I'm not going to stay.  I don't believe in women chaplains."

I don't believe....  As in the Loch Ness Monster? Unicorns? The Easter Bunny?  Because I drove all the way out here and I'm standing in your living room.  So believe it buddy.  I'm here.

Rejection is something chaplains deal with regularly.  People have lots of preconceived opinions.  Evangelist here to convert you to their beliefs.  Preacher here to lock down your eternity.  Meddlesome woman trying to do a man's job.  Actually I don't know what they are thinking.  These are just my guesses.  Because all I'm told is "we don't want a chaplain."

When I started working as a hospital chaplain being rejected crushed me.  I would leave the room wondering what I had done wrong.  How could they decide they didn't like me after only 30 seconds.  I'd worry that I was letting the department down.  That I'd blown it.  

But we had lots of training on this.  We were told that rejection was about the patient and family, not about us.  We were taught to be curious about the reasons that would prompt a family to react negatively to chaplains.  We were reminded what a gift we were giving people -empowering them to decide who visited them.  Giving them a choice.  And after a year of practice, and watching my awesome co-chaplains get rejected occasionally too, it stopped stinging.

My wise counselor added to the conversation.  Something along the lines of "Pay attention when you are feeling rejected. What is really going on?  Not everyone has to like you.  The more you like yourself, the less it will matter if a random person doesn't choose to like you."  So these are all things I pull out and review when a door gets slammed.  Or when a 90 year-old man leaves the room.

And under all this maturity, a thought sprouts like a stubborn, green shoot.  "I am going to win you over little man.  You are no match for my friendliness and cheerfulness.  So watch out!"

He answered the door again on my second visit.  He left the room again, but I could see him standing in the hall listening.

On the third visit he stopped me as I was leaving.  "I made something for your trip home."  He pressed a tinfoiled circle in my hand.  Inside was a warm sesame bun with a burger and cheese.

Today I visited again.  When I finished praying with his wife, he was standing in the room.  "I made you something for your trip home." He said again.  This time the tinfoil held an Italian burger with mozzarella and marinara sauce.  He smiled shyly as I exclaimed over his cooking skills and thoughtfulness.

I'm going back in two weeks.  Can't wait.  I will never tell him that I'm a gluten free vegetarian.  Or that my husband is the one who thinks his sandwiches are delicious.  Because his warm, tinfoil packages represent progress.  A thawing.  A shift of opinion. And believe it or not, I think we might become friends....