Seek out the Light.

 I had a dream.

I found myself on concrete steps with a slow descent towards a beach. The sun was hiding behind gray clouds and the air was still. As I walked closer to the water, I noticed that I was the only person on this beach. The waves were calm and the stillness of this place settled into my soul as I stood alone.

My heart sank into the serenity of that space. I looked around with curious eyes and all at once, I realized that something was there in that place with me.

She was hovering above me and was clearly still, yet an air that I could not feel was flowing through her being. I could not see her face, if there even was a face to look upon. She came to me as a black substance that billowed and swirled like a dark cloak that moved like a full head of hair immersed in water. She was dark and unknown to me but I felt no fear in her presence.

She came to me but was silent; her presence changed nothing about the peace of this beach. I did not know her by sight but the feeling of her in my soul was familiar and soothing.

I asked her for her name so that I could know her. I asked and asked; I prodded. Every time I asked, she answered calmly. “Golgotha.” I continued to ask because this name made no sense to me; did I create this name for her or was this really her name? It is my dream after all, this is my own truth. But she answered every time in the same quiet, calm voice: “Golgotha. I am Golgotha.”

I told Golgotha about me. Everything I said to her she already knew; she had known me before I had ever known myself. But she was patient and listened. She listened to my probing questions about her and she heard my thoughts. I had a feeling that I had met her before but not in this way; I had never seen her billowing blackness before. There was something different about this space and time; I held no fear. I was enveloped in calm and curiosity; I was not holding my limbs tight around myself but my body was loose and free.

I spoke to Golgotha: “I want to hear what you have come to tell me. I am ready. Speak.”

Golgotha's voice flowed out of the sky: “I am a creature of the dark; I am the creature of the night. I am the creature of depth. You have depth. You will teach people about this depth.”

Yet as these words became understood by me, my eyelids became so heavy; my mind drifted into the great deep. Golgotha soothed me, saying, “There is time for speaking but now you need a rest. You are exhausted; close your eyes.”

I sank into the deep, rolling into unconsciousness. Yet rest did not come; my left ankle came alive with huge amounts of nerve activity. It felt a bit like pain but it wasn't; it was an awakening. The stabbing of awakening punctured through my unconsciousness in this deep. Energy that had been stuck in my body rushed out my ankle as if it was being pushed out by a current. I felt the pumping of release and I welcomed the change. I knew that this was what needed to happen. I let the energy move and rested once again.

As I lost my sense of self in deep rest, I was calm in the silence.

Suddenly, a huge burst of light came at me. It was a sunrise in my soul; it warmed my toes and set my heart on fire. My eyelids were closed but the light was there and brightened my being.

Golgotha spoke in this light; she spoke so strongly that it felt like she was shouting, even though it was the same quiet voice, “This is the Light. It is everywhere and out there. Go and find it. Seek it out, it will be there. Go now, always look for it. You will always find it.”

I lost any air that had been in my lungs; I gasped quickly for the breath of life. As I opened my lungs for air, I awoke to the room around me. I felt my body on the chair I had been resting on. I opened my eyes to this world. I remembered me. And I remembered Golgotha and what she told me. I remembered my task: Seek out the Light; it will always be there but you must look for it.

The Importants.

This past week I had a paper due. In a fit of anxiety and exhaustion whilst writing, I randomly picked up "The Courage to Change;" a daily devotional from Al-Anon that my mother gave to me quite a few years ago.  It's a devotional that I have found useful in accepting what life truly is: a mixture of joyous and dreadful moments.  So I thumbed my way to the correct day, read the first two sentences of the devotion:

"I read somewhere that the things that are urgent are rarely important, and the things that are important are rarely urgent.  I can get so caught up in the nagging, trivial matters of day-to-day life that I forget to make time for more important pursuits."

Soothing words for my brain that was full of worries about how to question the divinity of the Trinity in my History of Christianity paper.  That paper has since been turned in and is no longer the newest urgent thing; now there are 2 other urgents that I'm fretting about.  Yet my importants remain neglected.  This blog is one of my importants and if this blog could talk, it would be shouting a lament at me because I've left it so alone lately.

What else is lying over there in the corner while I scrabble to check off my urgents?  What importants are you letting slip by as you focus on your urgents?

I think so often about about the people in my life that have dramatically changed how I think, love, and live.  I appreciate these people in my heart yet I never get around to sharing that appreciation; a simple email/card could easily bump up my importants above the trivial urgents.  I've even written these emails in my head when I'm biking, walking, working, or any place where writing an email is impossible; it hasn't come to fruition.  Clearly I'm not placing any sort of urgency to my importants.

What about my spiritual connection to the divine?  I spend so much time reading, writing, discussing, and listening to lectures about theology and the ways that people connect with God.  A common worry/complaint I hear from seminarians/pastors is that they don't know where or how to feed themselves spiritually because of a few reasons: 1) Theological exhaustion; 2) Too much head thinking and not enough heart connecting; 3) No time; 4) Focusing on other people's spiritual well-being.

I find myself in this predicament often, though I can be pretty good at taking myself out of it with blues dancing, acupuncture, spiritual direction, and creative outlets.  That takes a lot of dedication on my part; I have placed a lot of value on my own spiritual and emotional well being this fall, and even so, I often get into cycles of time scarcity.

My time here on Earth will always include enough time to do exactly what my heart wants to do.  My heart does not want to spend that time procrastinating on Facebook or Huffington Post, getting up ridiculously early to finish a paper, and drowning out the voice of God with my anxious thoughts or constant stream of blasting music.

I want to sip my macchiatos slowly; I want to cook with gentle care.  I want to hug with no abandon and write kind words to people that are probably hungry for them.  I long to write because my fingers itch to write my thoughts down; I yearn for a moment when I hope that someone brings up spirituality and theology because my heart wants to connect on a deeper level and not from a space of exhaustion.

I want to rearrange the way I live out my importants; the urgents will get done but do not need to consume.  My energy withers when all I have to give myself is checking off of the lists of urgent; my soul glows when my importants are at the center of all actions.  It is important for me to be in graduate school but it's not important for it to suck the soul out of me, especially since the end goal is to minister to people and build up other leaders.  My goal is to glow. :)

Integration.

Here I am, halfway through my third semester in seminary.  I'm sipping a macchiato at Sisters Coffee Company in the Pearl district of Portland.

Is this real life?  I have literally pinched myself throughout these past weeks.

I leaked this whole summer; the tears seemed like they would continuously be present behind my hazel eyes (why yes that was a Kelly Clarkson quote).

I have only cried once in the last 1.5 months and it was because I am so deliciously satiated currently.  I wept for happiness; those tears felt so different than the pain of last spring and this summer.

I feel as if all the pieces are coming together for what it means to be Kaitlin.  I ask the questions that burn on my tongue when I'm class; I readily share my opinion.  I am learning to be authentically me in all situations, whether I'm chatting with a regular customer at Yali's cafe or puzzling over God's authority in my 8am systematic theology course.  When I alb up to be an assistant minister at my Teaching Parish congregation (Holy Trinity in San Carlos) or the PLTS Wednesday chapel service, I feel a smile tickling my lips rather than the familiar fear that had previously paralyzed me.

Each day no longer feels like a constant wrestling with God; I hadn't even realized that I was wrestling until I felt the calm of congruence.  Of course I am still exhausted now; the busy GO GO GO schedule that I have created for myself in Berkeley weighs on me as I try to find time to work on my studies while having time for myself and the people I care for.  I have plenty of worries and doubts that circle in my mind.  Yet I am comfortable in sharing the fears about theology that might break my resolution.  In telling my perspective of faith and doubt, I am calmed in the constant tension.  I am comfortable with the push/pull of not fully understanding anything in this world.

Last year, I tried to absorb the parts of the Lutheran tradition and Christianity fully, hoping that if I did so, I would feel as if I fit into this role of spiritual leader.  Doing so destroyed my soul.  Now I know that I am always going to be me; I am my best Kaitlin when I am honest with myself and my professors/peers about what I believe.  I am true to myself.  Now I continue to wrestle with God and the people around me, but I am bringing all of me to the table rather than who I thought I should be.

I am pulling all of the pieces of Kaitlin together and letting them fit or not fit together.  I find myself not worrying about being the bubbly, sociable Kaitlin but rather just being someone who genuinely cares about people yet doesn't need to be the center of attention.  I'm working on taking some of the pressure I put on myself to be liked by everyone and rather being healthy about my own time and focusing on my precious people.

I feel congruence in my bones; that feeling is so wonderful that I cannot even begin to express how joyful I am to be able to write that.

Does that mean I'm done growing? Uh, FUCK THAT. I've got plenty of insecurities, vulnerabilities, and stumbling blocks ahead of me.  But I'm certainly relishing in the imperfect beauty of contentment with myself.

I've been rereading my journal from these past 9 months and I steep in the pervasive loneliness that permeates from my previous entries.  I glanced at my writing from this semester and the transformation is deeper than I ever could have imagined.  I'm glad for a step back during this reading week vacation in Portland to soak in all of the ways that I have morphed through all of the self-reflection and leaking that has occurred for me during these past 9 months.

I am Kaitlin and I am a minister in many aspects of my life, but that does not mean that the things that defines me is the word minister. I am spiritual when I overuse the word fuck; I am a woman who asserts my faith and theological perspective; I am strong in my vulnerability; I am adventurous and I am precious. And so are you, dear reader; you are adored and loved because you are you.

Pieces.

Collaging. If you know me at all, you know that this is something that I loooove to do.  I've probably mooched some magazines off of you at some point in time (and if I haven't, feel like sending some old magazines to Berkeley?? I'd totally take them! Or better yet, come visit me and bring them!).

Collaging is fun because it essentially is organizing pieces of paper together to make something new.  I oh so enjoy organization.  I also love finding ways to creatively put things together; I like to think that I am able to capture feelings in my collages.  I especially like to collage for my friends because then I get to attempt to capture their personality (try combining a teenage-like dirty humor and extreme thoughtfulness/melancholy on an 8x10 piece of paper....yea my brother is hard to pin down).  I've made some collages that I've been really proud of and some that I cringe at; some take over three hours while others take fifteen minutes.  But mostly I enjoy doing it because it's cathartic and helps me get through the every day stresses.

I was talking with a lovely, talented artist friend (shout out to Celestie!) and she urged me to post my collages.  Truth is, I don't consider them art pieces because they seem simplistic to me (I mean, I've had four year olds make collages at church camp and they were pretty damn good at it).  But that's my own limitation and judgement talking; collaging is one of my mediums as an artist.  Because I am an artist. (Maybe if I say it enough times I'll believe it....)

The first page of my journal

Individuality

Calling

Being chic

The Long Wait

I love Ohio pt. 1

I love Ohio pt. 2

My Theology board

My Theology pt. 1 close up

My Theology pt. 2 close up

California Love pt. 1

California love pt. 2

I Cannot See

I Cannot See

I cannot see my eyes,
Yet I know what they behold;
I cannot see my ears,
Yet I am not deaf to the music
of the spheres;
I cannot se my heart,
Yet I know when it has touched another;
To understand is not necessary
When one has mastered the beauty
of the unseen.

-Donna Rogers

Turns out cancer jokes are funny.

When I was in high school, I worked at a local coffeeshop called Deja Vu.  One of my co-workers wore a button that loudly stated "CANCER SUCKS." We would talk about it and how there seems to be no one who is thinking, "Yea, cancer has redeemable qualities!"  Cancer is seen as this big huge blob of unknown that seems to eat away at the people we love.  Cancer feels foreign and evil and ubiquitous.

But really, what is cancer? It's cells in our bodies that continue to replicate and can't stop.  Each of these cells are our own and are not foreign to our body.  It's a process that occurs naturally and yet it is so unnatural because the cells are unable to stop replicating.  These cells somehow become this huge cloud of worry and fear; the fear seems almost as destructive as the cancer itself.

This summer, my father had his thyroid taken out because there were cancerous cells in it.  My dad says this summer has been like being initiated into a club that he never wanted to be a part of; part of my life story now includes my papa being diagnosed with cancer.  The label of cancer seems to loom over bigger than it needs to; it was particularly hard to give support to people that were dealing with a cancer diagnosis while in CPE because I had my dad's story on my tongue.

For me, there has been a shift in seeing cancer as this dangerous, deadly monster to see it as something that people are living with.  Life continues on; a new sense of normalcy begins to emerge as the storm of diagnosis settles down.  It's been helpful to be back here in Colorado for a bit to experience the life post-diagnosis for my parents.  As it turns out, cancer jokes are hilarious.  It's much easier to belly laugh about it than wring my hands and shout out frustrations.

Does cancer suck? Yes, it totally does.  It includes a shift in lifestyle, adds plenty of medical bills, and forces in new perspectives about the world and our bodies.  I'm still soaking it in and I think my whole family is.  All I know is that I'm glad to be able to laugh about it with my dad and enjoy some moments with my parents this week. Love you Papa and Mama!

There is a beauty in all God touches.

This summer of spending my days and some nights at Nationwide Children's Hospital has come to an end. A lot of people told me what this summer of clinical pastoral education would be like: draining, breaking, and full of moments where I was in conflict or unsure of what to do.

All of that happened. But every moment holds an undercurrent of affirmation for me.

When you watch parents cry over their child's body or be with a mother as she wrings her hands in worry about her son in surgery, you see it. The love. It's heavy in the air and it doesn't dissipate; the love in the grief and worry is strong. It doesn't make the emotions easier to deal with; in fact, love makes the pain worse.

Love carries people to the ugliest moments, to the places where there is not enough anger in the world to blind the pain. Love stirs up our vulnerabilities and leave us feeling ragged, torn, and exhausted. But love does not leave us weak; we are strong in our compassion and reaching out to the other to adore, argue with, tease, worry for, and hug them. This summer I have seen this love between patients and their families as well as seen how emotionally and spiritually hungry people are when they have not experienced love in their close relationships.  Humans have the ability to take a pure love and mangle it into something that is unrecognizable.  Having seen the pain of this summer,  I treasure the love I have with my family and friends and look forward to people that will be very important to me throughout my life.  I am affirmed in how vital it is to continue working on how I express my love for others and my role in mangling the love I've received and give out to the world.

My eyes have seen things that made me cringe and my ears have heard cries of grief and worry.  It has been a heavy summer of feeling lonely and overthinking situations, while it has also been a light summer of connecting with friends/family and exploring beloved as well as new parts of Columbus.

What have I learned from this summer of CPE?  There are so many things that I cannot even begin to cover it all, but here are the things that stand out currently.

1.  Everyone is searching for a sense of normal.  There is nothing more bitter than perceiving that you are different than others or being pushed into a traumatic/shocking situation that gets out of your typical life.  But what is normal?  It's at completely different levels for any given person.

2.  Emotions trump situations.  I've spoken with parents waiting to for their child to get through a 10-hour brain surgery that were feeling quite calm. I've been with a crying parent while they waited for their child to get through a 10-minute ear surgery.  It doesn't matter what they are going through but rather how they are handling their emotions and the state that they are in.

3.  The little things count.  Hospitality is one of the skills that I most treasure; people will not be thinking about their tired feet or parched throat when they are watching a loved one poked by 10 doctors.  It's my job to anticipate how they feel and any little things I can get for them.  Just as important are the simple conversations that establish some normalcy; I've spoken about One Direction, hair cuts, Game of Thrones, traffic, gardening, and etc. for hours because people needed a little time to rest their worried heart.

4. A chaplain's job is to feel clueless.  I don't need to know any medical details to be present for people.  I don't need to know what a person does or any past history in order to reflect back their present emotions.  The stories pour out on their own and the details are a treasure that I receive by staying in the present for the person I am with.

5. I am supposed to be doing this.  Does chaplaincy terrify me? Yes, every day I quiver in fear because this job has little certainty.  I do it for the moments when someone opens up about a past trauma or lets their tears spill out.  I do it for the moments of connection (especially when patients or family members tell me I look like Emma Watson--what up!), even when the conversation is as simple as how it was raining that day.  I get empathy, I understand emotions, I am filled with exhaustion and joy when I am a chaplain.  I wear that label like a badge of honor.  Is chaplaincy the only thing I will do as a spiritual leader? No; I will wear the pastor badge and someday I am going to be a CPE supervisor. I have a lot of time do all of this and I am dreading and looking forward to all of those moments.

I left Ohio two days ago; I spent half of the summer wishing that I was back in Berkeley and my heart was aching for the Bay Area culture.  Yet I left the MidWest with a heavy heart and feeling how odd it is that I don't know the next time I will be back.  I hear one of my fellow CPE-ers in my ear, who told me over and over these past weeks, "Transfer! Transfer! Transfer!"  I'm thinking of how precious the Short North, Innis Woods, Hocking Hills, Bexley, and German Village are to me.  I'm remembering the late nights out with friends and hikes with my aunt.  This summer has been a bittersweet one, with the pain and joy of the unknowns that come with being in my mid-20's.  One of my friends told me that there is a beauty in all that God touches; there is a beauty in the grief of this summer.  I have fingerprints of God all over my skin and I take the people I've met this summer in my heart as I continue back to Berkeley.

Affirmed and Striving.