caught

I'm doing some reading to enrich my hospice rotation.  Henri Nouwen's book Our Greatest Gift has one of my favorite illustrations.  More than just great advice for end of life, it reminds me of how I want to live each day.


    " The Flying Rodleighs are trapeze artists who perform in the German circus Simoneit-Barum. When the circus came to Freiburg two years ago, my friends Franz and Reny invited me and my father to see the show. I will never forget how enraptured I became when I first saw the Rodleighs move through the air, flying and catching as elegant dancers. The next day, I returned to the circus to see them again and introduced myself to them as one of their great fans., They invited me to attend their practice sessions, gave me free tickets, asked me to dinner, and suggested I travel with them for a week in the near future. I did, and we became good friends.


     One day, I was sitting with Rodleigh, the leader of the troupe, in his caravan, talking about flying. He said, “As a flyer, I must have complete trust in my catcher. The public might think that I am the great star of the trapeze, but the real star is Joe, my catcher. He has to be there for me with split second precision and grab me out of the air as I come to him in the long jump.”


     “How does it work?” I asked. “The secret,” Rodleigh said, “is that the flyer does nothing and the catcher does everything. When I fly to Joe, I have simply to stretch out my arms and hands and wait for him to catch me and pull me safely over the apron behind the catchbar.”


     “You do nothing!” I said, surprised. “Nothing,” Rodleigh repeated. “The worst thing the flyer can do is to try to catch the catcher. I am not supposed to catch Joe. It’s Joe’s task to catch me. If I grabbed Joe’s wrists, I might break them, or he might break mine, and that would be the end for both of us. A flyer must fly, and a catcher must catch, and the flyer must trust, with outstretched arms, that his catcher will be there for him.”


     When Rodleigh said this with so much conviction, the words of Jesus flashed through my mind: “Father into your hands I commend my Spirit.” Dying is trusting in the catcher. To care for the dying is to say, “Don’t be afraid. Remember that you are the beloved child of God. He will be there when you make your long jump. Don’t try to grab him; he will grab you. Just stretch out your arms and hands and trust, trust, trust."


Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.  Psalm 31:5

da

I was 40 minutes into my Sunday on-call when I was paged to the Chest Pain consult room.  By now I know just what that means.  Sure enough, once inside I found a man, head in hands, trying to absorb the unexpected death of his mother.  


I just wanted to be a comforting presence and support.  But it was more challenging than that.  


First of all there was a bit of a language barrier. Peter introduced himself, then struggled to find English words to describe the morning's events. Later Peter called his 7 brothers and sisters and I sat quietly beside him and enjoyed a river of beautiful Ukrainian words.  The only one I recognized was Da.


Then there was the matter of grieving.  Though Peter was weeping when I walked in, he immediately stopped. When I asked, he told me he was fine.  When I told him he didn't have to be fine, he told me "This is time will be strong." And he was strong as we went to see his mother, but when I stepped out of the room to talk to the nurse, he broke down.  As much as I wanted to help, I realized that my presence halted his grieving.  So I stood outside the room, willing him strength as he sobbed alone.


I did get to help later when Peter's last sibling in Russia needed documentation for the embassy to come to the funeral.  I wrote a letter to accompany the doctor's form and waited with him as they got sent.  When every thing was done, I put my hand on his shoulder and told him how sorry I was.  He shook my hand and said "Thanks to come here with me."


I'm reminded again that grief and compassion are universal languages.  Both speak louder than gender, age, culture and tradition.


Я так сожалею о вашей боли. Мое сердце болит для Вас.


Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.  2 Corinthians 1:3 and 4

off call -christmas

As long as you hold me so...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.





"the people I love is, in fact, you."  Love Actually






Happy Solstice! 














.





My winter road rescuers save their momma.











Fad snuggies to keep us warm.

 

The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.  We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, Generous inside and out, true from start to finish.  John 1:14

cheese pastor

I was in the middle of a heart wrenching scene in the Chest Pain Center waiting room.  I was sitting with a wife of 65 years and her two daughter and their families.  The doctor came in with the sentence "I'm so sorry I have to tell you this......" The room erupted.  It was the day before Christmas Eve.


I began passing kleenex and patting backs and murmuring how sorry I was, when the door swung open and cheese pastor bounded in.  "Such a shame,  such a shame.  But he's in a better place.  A much better place. God needed him.  Yes oh yes, God needed him.  Grace of God, sister, Grace of God.  Make us strong, Jesus.  Reunion will be fantastic, won't it?  Hallelujah!  Grace of God, sister. Heaven is so close......"


I thought about killing him.  I thought about killing myself so I didn't have to listen to him.  I thought about how much work it must have taken for him to memorize the entire "Bad Pastor Cliche" book.  I thought about how my coworkers would shake their heads when hearing these phrases again.


After about 15 minutes, cheese pastor insisted we pray.  We had to hold him off a couple minutes as more family arrived and the doctor came to speak to the family again.  Then cheese pastor rounded us up into a circle, instructed us to hold hands and launched into the holy talk with God again.


But in the middle of the prayer cheese pastor said these words.  "God, we don't know what to do right now.  This isn't fair.  All we know is that when we fall apart You are big enough to catch us."  Wow. I didn't hear anything else.  I was too busy awing his wisdom.


It's a crazy world -where sometimes heros combust before our eyes, and villains save the day.  A world where cheese pastors say the most profound thing available while everyone else is speechless.  Go figure.


But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Philippians 1:18

gross people

Today I spent over an hour in a tiny consult room with a family of gross people.  I'm writing that in the nicest way possible.  They were smelly and smokey and hysterical and dysfunctional.  I tried to focus on their grief and be compassionate.  I tried to see them in the ways God might see them.  I tried only breathing out of my mouth.  I tried to BE there til it was all over.  Then I limped back to the office knowing that because this is CPE it wasn't over.

Why did they bother you so much?
Where did you see yourself in that room?
Who were you to them?
How does this quote address this situation?  If you hate a person, you hate something in them that is part of yourself.  What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.  Herman Hesse


I don't know yet.  I know it isn't Christ-like, or tender, or even human.  But it is totally honest.  I will keep digging at that obstinate thing we like to call our growing edge.  And Jesus, if that was you in that room, I'll try harder to see you next time.


He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.  He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces, he was despised, and we esteemed him not.  Isaiah 53:2 and 3

known

Today is the official start of winter solstice, the first day of winter and the shortest day of the year.  It's also my birthday!  So even though I was driving down the mountain at 7:00 am as usual, it was a special day full of hugs and presents, texts and calls, silly songs and good wishes.


I've been pondering the phenomenon of being known.  I started thinking about this around the end of July when, one morning, our supervisor, Carson laughed at something I said and replied "that is such an Erin thing to say."  I rolled my eyes that he could say that with such certainty after only knowing me 6 weeks.


I noticed it when I was struggling with answers for the Enneagram test about my personality and Steve easily answered them for me.  Or when Jenn told me about a movie that "I would totally love".  Or when my Mom again sent me something to wear that immediately was my very favorite.  They really know me!


Two weeks ago one of our evaluators mentioned that he found me to be very quiet and hesitant.  Stifling their smirks, all three of my fellow residents quickly spoke up that that was not how they experienced me.  After six months of IPR's and working, reading, laughing, crying, eating and learning together, they pretty much know me.  


Being known is scary and satisfying.  I just saw the quote that says "True friends are those who really know you but love you anyway."  Agreed!  But being known is more then a nice treat.  It's a necessity.  I read recently that "we were created with the spiritual hunger to know and be known. That no matter what else you do with your life, no matter how high you climb or how much you achieve, nothing will satisfy that hunger--nothing else."


This next year I want to be more aware of this spiritual need inside me.  I want to know myself better, and be more open to being known by others.  And I want to celebrate the realization that I am surrounded by people who really do know me and still love me!

Know me God.  Investigate my life, O God, find out everything about me; Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I'm about; See for yourself whether I've done anything wrong— then guide me on the road to eternal life. Psalms 139:23, 24 The Message

prayer ramblings

a few random thoughts on prayer started on September 8, 2009. 


Prayer is an unusual currency with chaplains. We give it. We share it. We offer it. We try to make it meaningful. We fret when it isn't wanted. We are supposed to be the experts of it, yet no one tastes it's mystery more than we do. 


My first day in behavioral health, I walked into a room with two elderly gentlemen. When I introduced myself, they immediately welcomed me and asked me to pray with them. I had to slow them down to catch their first names before we started praying together. It was a sweet and unpredictable way to start a visit. 


The Chaplain department starts the day gathered together. Whoever was on call the night before leads in the prayer time. I've grown to love the prayers of my fellow residents lifted each morning. -Vicki's eloquent and thoughtful words, Cathie's stately cadence, Nathan's relaxed and personal petitions. Each inspiring and comforting at the same time. It's not hard to picture God listening intently with a smile. 


Isaac Bashevis Singer said something like "I only pray when I'm in trouble. But I'm in trouble all the time, so I pray all the time." I think he wrote that during his year of CPE! 


O LORD, I call to you; come quickly to me. Hear my voice when I call to you. May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice. Set a guard over my mouth, O LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips. Psalms 141:1-3