Relatable

Today I am spending the day in bed – physical and emotional exhaustion. I planned this Sabbath rest last week, knowing how much I needed it, even if I did not feel like I needed it. In past posts, I related how members of “Team Renee” are teaching me, encouraging me, and holding me accountable in keeping my Sabbath day.  The past two weeks, however, I have failed to keep a day sacred. 

God knows what He is doing! He knew today would be needed more than most.

During my Sabbath days, I turn off electronic devices (excluding television). No access to social media. I spend the day in my pajamas and spend the entire day reading fiction or watching television. My sole goal is to deactivate my brain for one day so that it can recharge. Otherwise, I will fall into old habits of going until my battery runs out. Once the battery runs dry, I crash for at least one week, and nothing gets accomplished. 

I wonder how extroverts spend their Sabbaths, if they take a Sabbath. But, anyway, that is off topic. 

Today, I am torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. I cannot get into the details of why yesterday was so hard, but it began with the dreams (see blog “That Ain’t No Way to Go”), got messier with Sunday’s sermon which tied in a bit too well with the dream issue, and came to a drastic head at work. The incident at work affected me in a profound way – so much so that I had to call in reinforcements. And, it was not the usual things – death of a patient, family – which took its toll. It was the cumulative whole – how it affected everyone from the housekeeper to the charge doctor. 

Someone questioned how I do it. I knew if I tried to speak, I would cry, so I merely pointed my finger toward the ceiling. 

When it was all over, I went into the office to take a few minutes to switch gears so that I could resume my rounds. I texted my church’s leadership team for prayer – one of my decompressing techniques. This time, it was not enough. As soon as I sat down, I realized how labored my breathing had become. So, I began my best anti-anxiety routines – a breathing prayer – breathing in the Spirit of God and breathing out the anxiety. 

This time, instead of calming, I broke down into uncontrollable sobs. The tears did not last long, but one look in the mirror, and I knew that I could not resume my rounds – not until my bloodshot eyes cleared. 

I would debrief with my hospital manager/mentor eventually, but I knew, in this moment, I needed to speak with him now – if for no other reason than to explain why the “numbers” would not add up on my daily report.

By the time he called back, I had collected myself, and intended to resume my rounds. However, when he called back and I began debriefing with him and he asked questions, the tears resumed. He told me to hang tight and promised to call right back. When he did, he told me that another manager would be coming in to help me debrief with the staff and with me. 

When all was said and done, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. However, I was afraid of falling asleep. I was afraid of the dreams. I stayed up late binging on Bon Jovi videos and interviews on YouTube – after eating an entire pint of Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream. 

This morning, I woke up at the same time as normal, unable to sleep, the exhaustion remained. I am in a good place spiritually and emotionally, but I am just so dang tired. As my manager told me, I did the right thing in not waiting until today to debrief. I am convinced that I am where I am supposed to be – even and maybe especially – on the hard days. I learned so much by the manager who came in to help me with the aftermath.

What’s funny is that I was starting to feel like I had this job down already, secretly wishing a full-time job would open up and I would be the obvious and natural person to fill it, even though I have barely begun the classroom portion of my education. Can anyone say cocky? This taught me that I still have a lot to learn. But, how very lucky I am to be in this setting to be learning from these people who take great pride in training up chaplains right. 

Anyway, back to the story. I am torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. Back to the dreams and the interplay between the dreams, the sermon, and the job. 

I have Ellen Degeneres’ comedy, “Relatable,” save to my list on Netflix. I decided to begin with a comedy. My ex used to tease me because Ellen was the only person on the planet who could make me laugh. I remember watching her skit about calling God and just being so tickled. Since then, I have learned to laugh at a lot of things, but she is still one of those who just really gets me going. It’s her whole bit – the kinds of jokes, her expressions, demeanor – all of it. 

“Relatable” is a different sort of bit. She has nuggets of heart truth cloaked in comedy. I got teary-eyed a time or two, especially the way she chose to end the special. She told the story of a dream which changed her life. She said, “Before I had that dream, I didn’t realize I was in a cage . . . I had everything I thought was important, but I was hiding a part of myself . . . Everyone has a fear. Everyone is scared of something, but it isn’t until you face that fear head on that you realize your power and that’s when you grow . . . we are all the same and we are all relatable.” 

When the special ended, I just had to write. I had to get all this stuff inside of me out. Writing is my thing – my talent – my therapy – my ministry – my way of being relatable. 

During the course of the past few month of hospital chaplaincy internship, I was beginning to believe that I was suited so well for this job because I am emotionally stunted, able to disengage my head and my heart. I think I may be wrong. Like the tin man, I think a heart may have been there, beating strong all along. I think it may have simply been dormant. I think this is what my dreams have been about – not about Brad at all, but about me – my heart waking up.

All those years ago, when Brad remarked how Ellen was the only one capable of getting any sort of emotion out of me, he realized that her brand of comedy was able to penetrate a place where no one else had access. Granted, he thought my love for her meant something else, but I now think my love for her was just that – the fact that she was the only one able to inadvertently awaken my heart with her clean comedy. 

What has the past eight years been about? What did I realize all those years ago when Brad and I had that exchange about cheating? It has been about giving my heart room to grow and have equal space in my life with my head. Like the Grinch, I think my heart is growing, and what I am experiencing is growing pains. 

The night after I wrote my last blog about the scary dreams, the dreams morphed. Now, instead of me trying to get away from someone out to hurt me, I was trying to save someone else. In my dream, a friend who is physically vulnerable was being verbally and physically abused by her big brute of a husband. While he was asleep, I tried to get her out of the house. Once outside, I could not get her to my car fast enough. My legs became like lead and my movements slower than a turtle, as if half of my body were sinking into quicksand. 

The brute’s dog, raised to be a killer, was chained, but growling and barking, awakening the brute inside. He rushed out and was coming after his wife. Because of my lead-legs, I was not going to be able to get her to safety. In my dream, I cried out an apology to her, “I’m so sorry I could not save you.” (Cue the scene of Simon from the movie, Simon Birch - based on my favorite book, A Prayer for Owen Meany - Simon cries out "I'm sorry" after accidentally killing his best friend's mother. https://youtu.be/QE6mvTRykmE)

I had another similar dream later the same night. 

Yesterday, the hardest part for me was seeing the pain and guilt some of the staff carried and not being able to do anything to help them. My heart broke for them and there was nothing I could do to take away their pain. 

Ask me what my deepest, most secret fear is, and I used to say and believe that it was growing old and dying alone. I am not afraid of growing old or dying, but I have always been afraid of doing it alone. 

I don’t think that’s a fear anymore – not as long as I have my church family. 

I have never even admitted it myself, always choosing to lie to myself each time the thought popped into my head. My head would revert to old habits by telling my heart what to think and how to feel. But the truth is, (take a deep breath, Renee) the truth is that my biggest fear is trusting someone with my heart again. If I should let my heart out of its cage, it might break again. 

The dreams – of Brad chasing me – no one ever hurt me as bad as he did. It took a very long time to put those pieces back together (see blog Putting the Pieces Back Together). I don’t even feel comfortable letting others handle the actual broken pot – the piece of pottery. It took me a lot to glue those pieces together. It represents so much more to me than pieces of clay. How much harder would it be to hand over my pieced-back-together-live-beating-fragile-heart? The mere thought of that is making my heart race even as I type this. 

The dreams of not being able to protect myself from Brad or a friend from her abusive husband – or in real life, not being able to protect the medical staff – it’s a lack of control. I need to feel in control. I cannot protect my heart if I let it out of its cage where someone could take it and claim it as their own. 

Maybe that’s also the explanation for the sweet/loathing thoughts I started having about Valentine’s Day this year. I had this disturbing thought that maybe I don’t like Valentine’s Day (or romance) is because I have never experienced it. I hate the idea that there may be a romantic buried down deep somewhere. Ugh! Then again, I love Hallmark Christmas movies. There’s a sap in me somewhere. 

Maybe these conflicting V-Day emotions is a battle between my heart and my head. The heart is growing, becoming too big for its cage, but my head is not taking too kindly to losing some of its control. I can see them with their boxing gloves on, in the ring fighting for the title. The goal is for them to have equal space, but the heart has to fight in order to get the head to give up space. The head is used to being in control. Giving up even a millimeter is asking a lot of it. After all, downsizing is hard, especially for someone who has been hording space for so long. 

"That Ain't No Way To Go"

On the way home this evening, I tuned my radio into a classic country station. The songs took me back – my friends, Johnnie and Scott, teaching me to two-step at the Bluebonnet Palace – hearing Garth Brooks for the first time in the back of a school bus on the way to a Friday night football game – weekends listening to local bands and dancing at small town Texas dancehalls – dancing with my dad – my one and only paid gig at that club in San Marcos. All wonderful memories. 

I thought about how much I hate modern country music. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that it’s not simply a matter of disliking the new style. It’s deeper than that. I get down right angry when I hear anything which has come out in the last ten years or so. Strange?

Several weeks ago, I met a friend for breakfast. She told me her story of why she used to dislike coffee. The smell reminded her of a bad memory from her past. Once she made the connection, she began to drink coffee as a means to overcome this issue. 

This past week, I attended my first CPE (clinical pastoral education) class. Toward the end of our time together, one of the students asked for advice from the more experienced chaplains on how to maintain emotional distance when a situation with a patient or client is particularly tough. 

We were taught that it is okay to be moved by a certain situation. We are bound to at some point. We were told that it is even okay to cry. The problem is when we either attempt to deny the patient the right to react a certain (healthy) way by trying to redirect the conversation or when we become so overcome that the patient now must console us. 

Our instructor shared a story of a patient who remembered nothing about the chaplain’s visit except to say that she knew the chaplain cared because he or she cried. 

Some situation is bound to remind us of something or someone from our past. How we react will tell us a lot about our own emotional health concerning that situation. If we are able to continue to minister without unhealthy or unhelpful redirection, anger, or other emotional breakdowns, it shows that we have grown through our own experiences. If we are not, a red flag should go up and bells should go off, letting us know there is something we have to work on within ourselves., and we MUST deal with it – whether we see a counselor, talk to a mentor, whatever. We cannot be effective in our ministry if we refuse to face our own issues. 

This past week, I met a patient who had just gotten some rough news. Her experience reminded me of my own experience in the hospital when I learned that I had cancer – all the unknowns and fear. The patient’s spouse reminded me of my mom – how she tried so hard to be strong for me while with me at the hospital but would break down and cry the moment she left me for the night.  I cried with the patient but was able to minister in a productive (and I hope) helpful way. I even gave the spouse permission to express emotion, even if that meant crying. The patient thanked me and believed God sent me to that room at just that time for just that reason. I think so, too. I had to go to the restroom after that visit to check my eyes and makeup before going to the next room, but I felt assured that this is exactly why I was allowed to go through what I went through and I am doing exactly what I am meant to do. 

Healthy healing.

Back to the country music – old stuff makes me happy, modern stuff makes me angry. 

I recently began having dreams about my ex again. These dreams are different than they used to be. In the old dreams, we got back together, as much as I still loved him, I always woke up (in my dream) the next morning and knew I had made a terrible mistake, but I had no way out. I was stuck. I have worked through those issues, and those dreams have stopped. 

Lately, these dreams are more frightening. He is either just coming out of or just going into a manic episode. We haven’t been together in a long time, but in each version, he is angry with me and coming after me. No matter where I hide, he finds me. I always wake up before he finds me, but I wake up scared. 

I haven’t quite figured this one out yet. I haven’t seen my counselor since these dreams started. However, something is there – something I have not gotten past yet. He was a country artist. His life involved the country music industry. The music which makes me angry is stuff that came out just before and since our divorce. 

Valentine’s Day is approaching. I have never cared for Valentine’s Day. There are only two things I have ever liked about V-Day: 

1) dad always got us girls our own box of chocolates and

2) being able to carry on grandpa’s tradition of bringing my grandma flowers. 

Other than that, I think this stupid holiday is a sham. I’m no romantic. If a person wants to say “I love you,” why does he or she need to be told on one day a year? Why not pick a random Tuesday? Or on several random Tuesdays?

Anyway, this year has been a little off-putting. I’m still not a fan of flowers which will die in a few days, but there’s something about those giant teddy bears that I see at Walmart. I think how romantic it would be for some guy to show up at his girlfriend’s door with that big ole’ teddy bear in front of his face. I can even imagine that big ole’ bear on my bed and me using it as a prop pillow, be all snuggly with my bear, reading a book or binging on Netflix. 

Yuck! I don’t want to have those types of thoughts. However, these strange, new, random, icky sweet thoughts are quickly replaced by a sense of anger and revulsion. Why? Whatever it is, I am certain it is still some unresolved issues about my ex. But what? I have absolutely no idea. 

Do I start listening to country music like my friend started drinking coffee? Whatever the resolution, I know I have to work through it before it negatively effects my ministry. Lucky for me, I have an appointment with my therapist this week. We'll have a grand ole' time dissecting this one!

So, here’s to working through the anger and making more happy (or at least useful) memories!

The Silent Warrior

This past week, I attended a four-day orientation retreat for my new CPE (clinical pastoral education) program as part of a requirement for my new hospital chaplaincy program. During the event, we discussed the need to develop measurable learning goals – one of which is a spiritual learning goal. Mine is to be more intentional about being silent in prayer. 

Today, the message from both our small group and the sermon centered on being intentional in our faith and, not simply facing, but chasing our fears. All this combined has convicted me. 

Being silent in prayer is not something foreign to me. I am, after all, a natural-born introvert. I thrive on the silence. However, I know that silence (or my lack-there-of) in prayer is often a loud indicator that something is wrong internally – there is some thought or emotion I have buried and do not want to face. Being silent in prayer would mean risking God speaking truth to me, uncovering and facing whatever is hidden. 

The hard part is when I am unaware of anything I am intentionally trying to bury. Yes – there are some things I would rather not think about – but these issues I have discussed ad nauseum with my therapist. In renewing the silence in prayer, am I willing to uncover that which my subconscious has buried for a reason? Am I ready to chase that lion, whatever that lion may be?

I believe I am. I set off on a journey over eight years ago now to do the hard work – whatever it takes – to fix me. I have come a long way, but I still have a lifetime of learning and growing to do. There are still some things that terrify me about relationships, and although the same issues I had about relationships even one year ago are not the same issues which terrify me now, there are still some issues which keep me from allowing anyone to get too close to me. Case in point – my therapist and my dog are the only two on the planet (other than God) who know my deepest fears, longings, dreams, etc. 

As open as I have become in the course of a decade, I am still, in many ways, that frightened little girl trying so hard to be tough so that no one can hurt me. 

Day two of the retreat:

After dinner, we gathered to watch a video about all the areas available to chaplaincy. Did you know Nascar has their own chaplains who travel with them? There is also a retirement community in Hollywood specifically catering to retired Hollywood workers, and they have chaplains! One of the other students and I decided we were going to become chaplains for NFL teams – him for the Raiders and me for the Texans!

Anyway, to get back to the point, while watching the video, I got so excited and energized and passionate about the idea of becoming a military chaplain. Ever since Top Gun came out, I wanted to be a pilot in the Air Force. (I know, I know. Maverick was a Navy man, but I wanted to be based on land, not water.) Because of my hearing deficit, the military was never an option. 

After 9/11, I was told the requirements for some branches of the military were now less stringent, and I may be able to get in. However, by this point, I was happily married and didn’t think Brad would follow me wherever the military would send me. I never even discussed the possibility with him. 

When I felt the call to ministry, I was told there may be a backdoor option for me as a military chaplain. This time, I did try to get in, but the Air Force still would not take me. They had no need for a 40-something-year-old-female-Nazarene. They needed Rabbis and Priests. There is only one reason I did not try other branches, and her name is Bailey. I could not leave her. She is not just a dog. She is my baby, my heart, the love of my life. 

Watching this video stirred up those old emotions. 

The next morning, I ended my time of prayer with a time of silence, asking specifically about the military chaplaincy option. I love what I am doing in the hospital, but why did the video stir up so much emotion? Could I still be a military chaplain? Could I leave my church and the hospital (and Bailey) behind? 

As I sat in contemplative silence, I knew the answer. I was not meant to be in the military then or now. 

In that case, what is it about being in the military that still gets me so dang fired up?

It is what the military represents to me, and what I feel like it could give me that I do not think I already have:

•  A greater sense of purpose
•  A sense of belonging to something bigger than myself
•  Escape
  

Escape – it is my pattern. When faced with my fears (even subconscious fear), my instinct is to run. Even though I can never outrun myself, my circumstances, or my emotions, the idea of running is still intriguing. In this instance, if I run, no one can hurt me. If I leave the ones with the power to hurt me, then I maintain all the power. It’s my lifelong battle of feeling too much and being terrified by these feelings – keeping people at bay. Someone or something is getting too close to my feelers!

A sense of belonging to something bigger than myself – I do not need a uniform or the recognition of the United States government to belong. I have always felt like an outsider. Even amongst friends, I often feel like an outsider. However, I have never felt such a sense of belonging as I have felt in my church and at the hospital. Am I afraid of finally feeling like I belong? Is the pessimist in me waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I already have a uniform. It is the armor of God. Ephesians 6:10-17 says:

“Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

I already work for the most powerful government. A multitude of places in both the Old and New Testaments speak of the Kingdom of God. Psalm 47:7 is one of many verses which proclaim that “God is the King of all the earth.”

A greater sense of purpose – I do not have to face life-and-death situations, travel to war-ravaged countries in order to have a greater purpose. 

In 2 Timothy 2, Paul likens Timothy to a soldier in God’s army. He encourages him to “be strong through the grace that God gives you in Christ Jesus. You have heard me teach things that have been confirmed by many reliable witnesses. Now teach these truths to other trustworthy people who will be able to pass them on to others. Endure suffering along with me, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. Soldiers don’t get tied up in the affairs of civilian life, for then they cannot please the officer who enlisted them.” (vs 1-4)

And Joshua 1:9, one of my favorite verses says “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

I must work on reframing my idea of what I need with what I already have. I am already blessed beyond measure. I am already enlisted in God’s Army. 

Yesterday:

As I concluded my morning prayer time, I was reminded by last Sunday’s suggestion: enlist at least fifteen minutes a week of uninterrupted time of silence – no distractions – no electronics – no pets. This got my attention because my girls often snuggle with me or near me during my prayer time. Sometimes, they are a distraction. Yesterday morning, they were both very disruptive. 

I felt antsy. Not only was my prayer time interrupted by my girls, but this would be my first time back at work after the orientation retreat. I wanted to be able to put into practice some of the wonderful advice the more seasoned chaplains offered. 

So, I left for work a little early and spent fifteen minutes in the chaplain manager’s office. The office is small and has no windows. I kept the lights out and sat with my eyes closed in silence. When I first turned out the lights, the room was almost pitch black. The only light I could see shone from the edges of the door. 

During my time in silence, I felt compelled to open my eyes. Now, even though nothing had changed in the room, my eyes began to focus. The book case and other items in the room began to take shape. The Holy Spirit reminded me of John 1:5 “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” He whispered, “we must sit in the darkness before we can see the light.”

I left that brief time in silence feeling more relaxed than I ever have before making my rounds. What is most amazing to me is that I saw a record number of patients but feel like I experienced more quality time with them. 

This Morning:

We have been challenged to bless, spend time with, and pray for our unbelieving friends. I am reading and studying, for the second time, a book called Organic Outreach for Ordinary People: Sharing the Good News Naturally. 

I struggle with this because when I am not at church or at work (both places where I am surrounded by people like me or who I can easily pray with/for), I am at home. All my hobbies are introverted hobbies. I do not need others to read or write or watch movies. The challenge to free up my time to be available to unbelievers is quite a perplexing challenge – at least it was until I realized that I have been successful at this in the past. 

I, like so many others, hate the term “evangelism,” and saw this as someone else’s gift. I thought being in ministry was my way of getting into evangelism. Now I learn that this is flawed thinking? Okay, but how do I change? How do I free up time when I struggle to pay the bills? (my fear)

While sitting in small group this morning, with my head already throbbing, the truth hit me smack between the eyes. Before I answered the call to ministry, I made the time for evangelism, even though I had no real knowledge of what I was doing at the time. 

I wrote about my idea of evangelism in my first novel. It was based on a real experience I had in college. During Holy Week one year, I hung out downtown with some of the homeless population. Anyone who knows me knows I am most comfortable in jeans, a t-shirt, and ball cap. Wearing my comfort gear, sitting next to homeless men and women, it was easy for others to mistake me for one of them. 

I got a bird’s eye view, along with real-life commentary, on evangelism done wrong. On Sunday afternoons, buses would pull up next to our rag-tag gang. Out came a bunch of well dressed “Christians.” They stood in a tightly knit group, walked closely behind their pastor, handing our tracts and singing at the top of their lungs – never once making eye contact with any of us. Then, they got back into their vans and drove away. I got an earful about what these individuals believed about “their” Jesus. 

Another unmarked van pulled up. No one got out. Someone inside simply threw open the doors. Many of the homeless climbed inside without a word. The ghost inside the van shut the doors and drove off. I asked someone else what that was all about. That van belonged to the mission. They picked them up, took them to lunch, then brought them back. No “evangelism” done. Just a meal. 

A few years later, I drove for a nonprofit called Mobile Loaves and Fishes. It was a favor for a friend who needed a legal driver for her sociology students to fulfill a course requirement. One of our stops was tent city. It was there that I met my friend, Cowboy. He convinced me to stop with the “roach coach,” as he called it, and come down into Tent City for a cookout. 

I didn’t realize it until this morning, but what those early exchanges amounted to was Cowboy calling me out – challenging my faith. In essence, he was telling me that spending a few minutes handing out sandwiches was a way for me (Christians) to feel good about myself (ourselves). If I really wanted to make a difference, I should invest in them – go spend quality time with them on their turf. 

Without realizing what I was doing, I took him up on his invitation. We spent one Saturday a month grilling hotdogs and burgers. The only “religion” we brought was our prayer before we ate. No other agenda. In my mind, I wanted to stay as far away from that van group as I possibly could. I wanted to live Jesus without trying to “evangelize” anyone. 

I remember one day, one of the men, who used to just get his food and wander back into the woods to his tent, hung back. After a while of watching us, he asked to speak with me in private. He asked us why we were there, what we were trying to do. I told him nothing. We were simply enjoying a meal together. He asked me why again. I said, “Because we have the same Daddy, and our Daddy told me to.” That day, he asked me to pray with him. 

I didn’t realize it then, but I was “evangelizing” – not as that horrible bus group, but in my own way. Man, I loved that ministry. We did it until the great flood of 2010 wiped out the camp. 

So, why was I convicted today? Because I used to be a workaholic, busier than I am these days. Still, somehow, I managed to spend time getting to know a bunch of strangers who became close friends – some I still maintain relationships with today. 

This challenge for Organic Outreach is not out of my reach. Like the reality of where I am, and where I am not called to serve as a chaplain, there is a way I can serve the unchurched community today. 

As we discussed this morning, uncovering the where begins with prayer – and the prayer must include the silent space for God to speak.