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.

A little E and D.

The countdown has begun and the end seems so close.  I feel it in my fingers; I feel it in my toes (No, Christmas is not all around but I couldn't resist quoting one of my favorite movies).

What do I feel? CPE is a constant beratement of that question.  I've gotten pretty good at being honest with myself  and hazarding a guess at the feelings that are coursing through my body at any given time.

The feeling right now? Excitement and Dread.  E and D.

Excitement?
1. No more verbatims! (It's surprisingly quite difficult to retain and write down conversations that I've had with patients/family members at the hospital).
2. I can't wait to visit with my family and friends in Colorado! It will be especially great to spend time with my parents, whom I have been particularly wishing I could be with.  They have both been through a lot this past month, since my father had surgery to remove cancer that was localized to his thyroid. Looking forward to mountain adventures, sitting out on the deck, thrifting with my mom, and nights out in Old Town.
3. I GET TO GO HOME. Berkeley feels like a bright little piece of my heart that is longing for me.  Maybe it doesn't actually miss me, but I certainly miss it.  It will only be my home for two more years and I intend on savoring every last minute of that time.
4. I have recognized quite a few gifts within myself this summer and I am thrilled to discover the ways that what I have learned will transform my experience as a seminarian in class.

Dread?
1. Finishing CPE means that I have to work on and finish my endorsement essay for candidacy. BIG DEAL=bundle of nerves.
2. I have loved getting to know the staff at Nationwide Children's and part of me will be left in that hospital as I leave.  I have been touched by the huge hearts of the patients, family members, nurses, doctors, and support staff.  What a wonderful place to be and it is hard to leave.
3. This summer has really affirmed my calling to be a leader in ministry, whether that means being a chaplain, a pastor, a CPE supervisor, etc.  I feel grounded and secure in the path of seminary.  Yet I remember quite clearly the feeling of being lost last spring.  Being in class fogged up the connection between my head and heart.  I dread that I will forget the calling that I feel so deep in my soul; the calling that brought me to PLTS in the first place.  I want to find a balance in the action of helping others and learning the theology and doctrine so that I am most equipped to be a spiritual leader.

I hold the E and the D dearly as I prepare my heart and head to continue on to the next part of this journey.  What a transition this will be; PLTS is going to be a brand new community.  I am forever changed by this summer.  I will leave here armed with confidence in my voice and perspective, knowledge of my judgements and growing edges, and empathy that goes beyond my understanding.

Now to keep focused in present as I have 7 more days to talk with people on my units, 2 more on calls, 1 verbatim, 1 theological reflection, and a few evaluations to get through.  Whew. Oh, and be immersed in an abundant social life here in Columbus. And.....GO!

The Secret Keeper.

Ever feel like your head and heart are just so full of stories and secrets that it feels impossible to let anymore information in?

Oh, just me?.....haha, I know I'm not alone in the overwhelmed feeling.

Jillien gave me a beautiful leatherbound book for my birthday (it smells wonderful...mmm...alright done with that small tangent) and told me that it would be my place to write down the stories and let them go.

You cannot imagine how amazing it feels to write the pain, the unknowns, the worries unto those pages.  I had previously been infiltrating my journal with these images but felt wrong about bulking up my journal with feelings that were not my own.

Stories live on, but they are held inside that book and stay there.  I need them to stay there in the book instead of soaking up all the emotions inside of me and letting them reside there.

I'm glad to have people to listen to my stories after my long days and grateful for all of you readers who supposedly enjoy my writings.

Appreciative of the great, big, everlasting hug that connects us all--the love of God (to quote one of my Dad's songs).

The Greatest of These is Love.

This is a reflection I wrote for the weekly worship at Nationwide Children's Hospital.  I had originally tried writing it in a Word document and then realized that I write so much better when I pretend that I'm blogging it, so I wrote it in Blogger.  Therefore it makes sense to share it with you all. :)

1 Corinthians 13:8-13

Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

I've been thinking lately about love as the deepest emotion that grows and multiplies into different facets of itself. This is quite useful when encountering people that might not seem like they are showing any type of love.  Which is odd, because if love isn't just a lovey-dovey paradise, what does love look like? Sometimes you have to look for the love that lies hidden behind the surface.

 Love looks like the indents that a father made when he punched his angry, grieving fists through a wall.

 Love looks like clenched, white knuckles in a mother's hand as she watches her child struggle to breathe.

Love is a nurse carefully placing a soft puppy in the arms of an injured and scared child.  Love is a teenage girl shouting insults from her hospital bed in a struggle for attention.

 We are all fighting for love, whether we need love for ourselves or are in a whirlwind of worry and fear for the people we adore.

It is easy to watch all of the pain in this world and want to shrink away from love.  Why connect with other people when there is the potential of anger that blinds us, grief that paralyzes us, and fear that spins our hearts much too fast?  The fear and agony of grief stings too much for us to bear, and we long to curl up in our comfort zone and hold fast to our wordly bearings.

Yet, we are entangled too closely to love to fully comprehend how much it saturates our being.  There is love in our ability to push back against it. To paraphrase Corinthians, when we were young, we reasoned in childish ways, and resisted the love that we were given. That resistance is not the end of the love that God gives.  This is because we are not the ones holding the true Light; God was, is, and will be the love that shines throughout our lives.

Using Paul's words, as we reason like children, the childish act that we fall into is denying the deep connection that we have with each other as sacred beings.  We spend time attempting to figure out life by gazing at ourselves in a mirror, though we are called to understand life and love by encountering each other face to face.  Together, we are whole in our brokenness.

When we bare ourselves, flaws and strengths all together, to one another and look truly into the pain and joy of another person, we learn once more how to love.  We practice this over and over again because we stumble and even flee from this mission.  In our struggle towards perfection, we forget that we are beautiful and whole, including our sins and sharp edges. The setbacks and misery that seem to crop up in this calling to love are just as much a part of this journey as the merciful and passionate moments.  God is holding us in love throughout all of our time in darkness, even when we feel most alone.  God is constantly pulling us towards one another, in order that we might grow with each other and be forever changed.

In this hospital, we are surrounded by new faces every day.  We could be a patient or a family member that spends a days or months here.  We could be a staff member who spends years here.  I am a student that will spend merely weeks here.  We all encounter an endless stream of faces, names, and unique stories that bring a new perspective to our lives.  I sit down with many different people who speak the truth of their experience and the weight of the details overwhelms me at points.

But each of these stories adds to the current of emotions that I see flowing through this hospital and beyond.  The faces blur, not because I remember them less, but because they are all jumbled together into a kaleidoscope of love.  Each day, we face each other with deep emotions and vulnerabilities: anger, fear, despair, joy, grief, and relief.  And the undercurrent of all these is love.

Today and every day we come to one another with love. Paul says that we find ourselves looking into a mirror dimly; we at first are searching out for our role in this world by focusing only on ourselves. The real treasure is turning from ourselves to look at another person's face. When we connect with another person, we are picking up the broken pieces of humanity and together creating a community.

 Love can show itself in many different ways; we are called to give Light to all of the  facets of love.  We are called to strip ourselves and embrace the emotions that we hide or run from.  When we strip ourselves down to the core of our being, we find Light.  God calls us to see the Light in ourselves and in others.  That Light includes the rawness and pain of exposure and grief.  We come into this hospital and see so many people each day.  New faces but the same emotions.  The same beautiful loving Light of God. We are called to recognize the Light in others and to be the embodiment of light for people in pain.