Praise You in the Storm

I was sure by now, God you would have reached down
And wiped our tears away,
Stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say amen
That it's still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear your whisper through the rain
I'm with you
And as your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
The God who gives and takes away
And I'll praise you in this storm
And I will lift my hands
That you are who you are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise you in this storm

These are a few of the lyrics to the song Praise You in the Storm by Casting Crowns. I heard it on my way into work this morning. Although Casting Crowns is my favorite Christian band, I heard this song in a new way this morning. Although my brain is usually only functioning on autopilot at 6:00am, this morning, these words fired all cylindars.

The impact of COVID – still – on life in general and my work at the hospital;

All the loss I have experienced this year already – all non-COVID related – from four deaths in three weeks, ending in Brad’s death, to one of my closest friends moving away.

The political and social unrest – made worse by COVID?

Black Lives Matter

Before Wednesday, the Black Lives Matter protest was only an intellectual and spiritual pursuit – whtat is going on? Why? What should my spiritual response be? How?

Then . . .

At around 3am on Wednesday morning, there was a robbery at a gas station very close to home, a place that has been there my entire life, a place I visit frequently. The clerk was killed. Although I did not know her well, I knew her. We had talked of our shared love of animals, of their endearing and life-giving and healing love. We had that in common.

Before Wednesday morning, nothing like this had ever happened in my little town. Before Wednesday morning, such crimes happened to other people. Sure, it is always tragic, but something is different when it happens in my own backyard to someone I know which effects people I know.

The city Facebook page and Nextdoor site has blown up with comments – so many – too many about the need/want to arm themselves, take out this “bad guy” and be ready to take out anyone else who would dare to try again.

My heart is conflicted. It breaks for the victim’s family. It cries out for justice. It hurts for the community and understands their desire to react with retaliation and their need to do something to feel safe again.

On the flip side, my heart also breaks for the perpetrator. If this had happened a year ago, I doubt I would have felt anything close to empathy, concern, or love for him. However, our world today is nothing like it was one year ago. At least, my life is nothing today like it was one year ago. For many others, maybe even for this man, it may not be that different. This is a reality Black Lives Matter has taught me.

Add to the oppression of those black lives – the results of COVID – and what happened? What anger, fear, hurt, grief, loss could cause a man to rob a store and take a life? Was he desperate for money to feed his family? Had he been out of work because of COVID? Was he about to lose his unemployment because the powers that be could not come up with a solution before time ran out? Did he intend to kill the clerk?

After years of therapy – and renewed/deeper therapy after Brad died, I realize we do nothing without motive. Every action/reaction we make comes from somewhere/something. So, what led to the moment of the early morning hours of Wednesday July 29, 2020? What is going through the mind of the perpetrator now? What will become of him?


Another online complaint is the swiftness with which the business reopened. Most post their disgust, blaming monetary greed. I, however, was thankful for the swift reopening. I saw it as a way to honor the memory and work of the clerk and as a way to show the perpetrator and community that evil has not won. In addition, in today’s economic climate, the other employees most likely cannot afford much time off.

I chose to go yesterday as a way to show my solidarity with the with the community and other employees. I saw it as a way to honor the clerk who loved her job and to check on the welfare of the clerk on duty, let whoever was working know that they are all in my thoughts and prayers.

As I left, I saw a black man about to walk in. My heart broke for him as well. How will he be treated? A masked black man entering a store where a masked black man robbed and killed? What was going through his mind? How will he be/how is he being treated?

I think of my neighbors and how the husband and daughter shared with me how their experiences differ from mine – how people go out of their way to avoid them, either avoiding eye contact or looking at them suspiciously, just because of the color of their skin – how even the police treat him differently. He avoids as much as possible walking in the neighborhood alone – all because of the color of his skin – and he is retired military and Christian. He is a good man. His family are good people. Is he getting strange looks now? Does he need to worry about retaliation even though he had nothing to do with what happened at the gas station? All because of the color of his skin?

I am scared. I know the solution is simple – Jesus – but I cannot make the world choose him, to see their need for him. The hardest thing to break through is anger and fear – and that is the driving force in our world right now.

Trump cannot fix things. Neither is it the fault of the Republican party. Biden cannot make things better. Neither is it the fault of the Democratic party. This is not a political issue which can be fixed by politics – although they certainly have a role to play and I certainly do believe in the democratic process.

This is a heart problem and we each have a part to play.

For me, I know the most powerful weapon is prayer. As far as action goes, the only thing I know to do right now is to continue treating all my neighbors – regardless of skin color – with respect and dignity. I will continue to go to the gas station, walk inside, and speak love to the clerks. I will post my minority responses to the online forums, not to cause debate, but to speak another viewpoint. I have reached out to the city to offer my services as a pastor/chaplain for anyone who needs to process what has happened. For a long, long time I have thought about getting more involved in my community. I think now is the time to start.

I cannot do much, but I can do something - and in the words of Bon Jovi's newest song, "when you can't do what you do, do what you can."

Click HERE to watch Praise You in the Storm video by Casting Crowns

Click HERE to watch Do What You Can video by Bon Jovi

Waking Up Brave

He died two weeks ago today. My life stopped two weeks ago today. It began again with one step this morning.

The first week after he died, I felt numb. I could do nothing except cry and lay still.

Last week, every single thing I attempted to do outside of mind-numbing binge-watching movies and shows ignited a near panic attack. My counselor walked me through an exercise to try to bring on a panic attack and walk through it. So much anger and resentment and hurt came up, so much that I thought I had already dealt with or thought were not an issue – anger at Brad, myself, God, and others. 

Anger with myself for always needing to do the right thing for everyone else. Anger at Brad for forcing my hand. Anger for all of us never once considering my needs and wants. Doing the right thing cost me dearly and no one seemed to notice or care. The most shocking – anger at Brad for leaving me once again – and this time for good.

I had no idea we had had such a history of coming and going. I should have realized it, but it took his final leaving to make me see. I always said that when Brad was good, he was really good. After his death, his wife echoed a similar sentiment. When Brad was good, he had a heart and soul of gold. It was just that other guy. Yep. That other guy was evil, but it was the guy with the heart of gold who kept us all hanging on, staying close, hoping and waiting. Our lives truly did revolve around Brad and now that he is gone, where does that leave us? Where does that leave me?

This week, the anger is gone, but the fear is letting him go for good this time. I am afraid of losing him. The mantra that keeps replaying in my head is “Brad is dead. I am alive.” I cannot get him back and I cannot stop living because he is dead.

During one of my mind-numbing television watching, I saw a movie called Wake. It was about this woman who worked and lived in a mortuary. She had not left her house in three years – ever since her husband died. Every time she tried, she suffered a major panic attack and ran back inside. She couldn’t even leave the house to go on a date with James Denton!

I saw myself in this woman – what could become of me if I don’t get a grip on my life? COVID-19 has given me a wonderful excuse to isolate, but to isolate too much would be detrimental to my mental health. And besides, I never want to get so bad that I refuse a date with a man like James Denton!!!

Spoiler alert – toward the end of the movie, this woman’s mom dies, and her daughter runs away. The woman is sitting in her car, too petrified to go. Her dead mother comes to her in a vision and tells her that in order to overcome her fear, she is going to have to discover something that scares her even more. Losing her daughter scared her even more than leaving the house. 

Today, I took the first step toward living again. I went for a walk/jog. One of the songs that came on during my first venture out was one of my favorites – Sara Bareilles’ Brave. I thought to myself, it’s amazing how something that used to be so routine is now something brave.

I thought about what the dead mother told her daughter and I realized that, for me, the fear I have which is greater than letting go of Brad is to die while I am still alive.

When I returned home, I sat by my prayer garden for the first time in two weeks. I talked to God for the first time in two weeks. I felt Him with me every moment for the past two weeks, but I finally spoke. This has been the hardest thing I have ever had to walk through in my life – harder even than the divorce or cancer. Never once did I feel Him leave me. Two things occurred to me as I sat there:

1. I do have a heart. For all these years, I’ve been trying to find my heart, knowing that I am more of a head thinker. I have been working so diligently since the divorce to build my emotional intelligence.  I am like the tin man, coming to the wizard for a heart only to discover one was there all along.
2. This thing is rough enough with God by my side. How in the world does anyone do it without Him?

I have a tradition at my prayer garden whenever faced with something I cannot deal with alone, something too much for me to handle. I write it in one or two words on a piece of paper and then I burn it. I take the ashes and scatter them at the foot of the cross and then pour water on the ashes. The water started out as a safety measure but turned into a symbolic gesture of planting my prayers.

Today, I planted Brad. Today, I continue taking one small step at a time back to life.

Brave Video

The Final Goodbye

Before today, I never understood the tradition of the funeral. Today, I needed the closure that only attending Brad’s funeral and seeing his body could give me.

All week, I have had a deep, penetrating need to know that he is okay and that he knows I loved him and that we are okay.

There was never a doubt in my mind about the state of his soul, but until today, I could not have explained my need any better than this.

Brad and I have always had this psychic connection. I hate to use that word because I don’t believe in that hocus pocus and that’s not exactly what it was, but that is the best way I know to describe it. It was this pull that no matter how much time lapsed between us or how bad things ever got between us, no matter that we've been divorced almost 10 years and he's been happily remarried half of that time, there was always this something, this unexplained connection. He was always just kind of with me. I suppose that’s why I was never able to fully move on.

After his death, I lost that connection. I couldn’t feel him at all and that is what troubled me. How could I know if he was okay if I could no longer feel him?

I know it sounds kooky, but every time a loved one has died, I have received some kind of indication that they were thriving. It gave me peace. Until I received the same from Brad, I could get no peace, no matter what I believed about the afterlife and his salvation.

The funeral made me feel better – hearing confirmation from loved ones about some of their last conversations with him about his soul and the afterlife. Ira made me smile picturing Brad being different in heaven. The overwhelming love from his family and wife were balm. I said goodbye to his body and gave him one last kiss goodbye, but still, I could not feel him.

On the way home, I pulled into a drive thru and then my window would not roll all the way back up. At first I was annoyed, but then came to think of it as God’s way of telling me to turn off the radio and drive in silence. So, I did just that.

As I reflected on the funeral and all my good memories of Brad, I could picture him as Ira described him and I could glimpse his smile and the gleam in his eyes. I knew he was okay. Still, I was sad that I had not actually felt him. I consoled myself thinking that he had to be enjoying his party still and comforting his immediate family as he should. I knew he loved me and I knew he knew I loved him. I knew all was right between us and I knew he was okay. That needed to be enough.

Further on down the road, I felt him. It lasted less than a split second, but there is no mistaking the feeling. I felt him and he was happy. I felt his joy and I knew I would be okay, too.

There's Something About Brad - and Grief

Grief is a strange thing. My world stops, but the lives of others just keep on going as if nothing happened. How is that?

My mom took me to breakfast this morning. I watched the girls in the booth in front of us, on their phones, chatting, laughing. Do they not realize the world stopped turning for me Monday night?

A few booths over, a couple fed a happy, curious baby. Bringing life into this world? My world which stopped spinning?

Conversations, clinking of metal forks against glass plates, the cadence of life as normal. But nothing is normal about life – not mine. Not right now.

Grief – she is fair, and she is sly. She changes shape and slithers and sneaks, catching unlucky prey by the neck.

I realize now the different faces of grief. The grief for my cousin and grandma were empathetic grief. I could not stop thinking about the family and what they were feeling. I could not stand the stillness and silence.

With Brad, everything, every memory, has come back center stage, flooding all my senses. I spend long stretches in silence. This grief is different. It is MY grief – MY pain – MY memories.

I want to feel something for his family, and although I love them and know the heartache they must be experiencing, there is no room in my heart to both empathetically grieve and to personally grieve. This pain is selfishly all mine.

Today, I listened to the song he wrote for our wedding. Not many people can say they have a love song written for/about them. I can – and this will be something I will cherish for as long as I live. This song reminds me of the good that once was and it helps me hold onto the joy we once shared.

Thank you, Brad, for sharing your gift with me.

I have been listening over and over again. I even found the ring and a part of the written lyrics, a treasure I forgot I still had.

Brad, hearing your voice over and over again, reading your handwritten lyrics, and seeing the ring you picked reminds me of the good times. We loved each other well once upon a time, you and I, and we never ceased, not really. It turns out that love alone could not sustain us. We did the best we could for where we were and who we were back then. I miss you. I have always missed you. Now I am thankful that we can both let go of the painful past and that I can simply hold onto the sweet memories of you – and although I mourn you now, I will smile again. You will always be with me - who we were once upon a time. Have fun jamming with Joe Diffie up there!

Click HERE to listen to Something about Renee by Brad Ruthven
supported by Google Drive

hand written lyrics and the ring

Brad singing the song during the ceremony 

Brain Dumping with the Good Witch

First day back at work since May 31 – technically since May 30. On May 31 I had a panic attack after my car had a flat tire – the final blow which paralyzed me in grief.

We said goodbye to my cousin the following Thursday and then to my grandma this past Monday. I initially took time off because of COVID and my lack of social distancing at the funerals. It turns out, I needed this break – both mentally and emotionally.

While I was off, I checked out of my life. No work, no church, no ministry whatsoever. The only thing I kept up was school and the only reason I kept up with this is because that temporary grief paralysis kept me from being able to figure out how to drop the class. Then, I found the class to be a good distraction.

As long as I kept myself checked out of my life, I could breathe. I went jogging, cleaned the house, did school work, and binge watched, again, the Good Witch. I found comfort in a beloved, safe, and familiar story. I had/have trouble sleeping because as soon as the television is off and the lights are out, the panic creeps back in. Then, as soon as Bailey wakes me in the morning, the panic returns if I try to go back to sleep in the silence.

The Good Witch – oh what a blessing and a curse that show has turned out to be. I am in love with Sam and he is not even real. Most of the time, sappy romances repulse me. With the exception of the Hallmark Christmas movies, I am not into love stories. I find them unreal and way too sappy for my taste. What is it about Sam and Cassie that captures my heart and longing so much and leaves me feeling that sense of ambivalent ambiguity?

I see a lot of myself in Sam. He is a very practical man and extremely gun shy about relationships. He has been through a very bad divorce and vowed to never fall in love again or get married. Then, he meets his neighbor. In the first three seasons, we see him struggle within himself – the contradiction between his developing feelings for her and his beliefs about himself and relationships. Cassie comments that one thing she loves about him is that he is not quick to come to any conclusion. When he says something, he means it. So, when he finally tells Cassie he loves her, we see him struggle, but we know it’s true. We knew it was true before he even said it, but him saying it out loud to her is a huge deal.

No matter what he feels for her, he remains adamant against marriage. When he and Cassie finally have that talk, he explains his thoughts – he was bad at it and afraid he will be no better with her and will end up ruining a good thing. We see him work through his doubts and fears until he comes to the moment when he spontaneously asks Cassie to marry him. We can see his brain working through what it means to marry her and how it is a lot more simple than he has made it out to be. We see his trepidation and absolute assurance that this is right. Oh, it is such a beautiful moment. Precious and heartwarming.

I am just like Sam in this way. It makes me wonder if there is hope for me -  if there is a great love out there waiting for me. I used to say the perfect man would be someone I loved like Brad and liked like Mike. Does that man actually exist? Is there still hope?

Then the flipside of these thoughts – I DO NOT WANT A RELATIONSHIP. I have come to terms with my singleness and actually embrace it. I see my life going the Pauline route. I have plans and a relationship does not fit into that whatsoever. Before May 31, I was absolutely content with my Pauline choice.

In the almost 10 years since my divorce, I have had feelings for people in the past and I have thanked God for them not working out. One turned out to be quite the jerk, another never knew how I felt about him, and the third simply was not into me. Had any of these worked out, that would have put me in a quandary I do not want to be in. That would have complicated my plans. I have since overcome those crushes and have been eternally grateful to God for getting me past these.

As a matter of fact, when I am not in Sam and Cassie fantasy land, I am repulsed by the idea of relationships. In fact, it took COVID to convince me of the reality of my situation and to find healing, wholeness, confidence, and contentment in who I am and where I thought God was leading me.

Then, there’s Cassie. She is so different, so put together, so sure of herself and the world around her, and so beloved by so many. As anyone who has watched the Good Witch from the beginning would know, this was not always the case. In fact, when she first arrived in Middleton, she was suspect and people tried to run her out of town. Over time, however, the town grew to appreciate her uniqueness and to adore her. I want to be like Cassie.

Here's the confusion – post COVID, I felt like I have simply been going through the motions, quite unsure about most things. During the first few months of COVID, I discovered a voice and strength I did not know I had or had been buried for a very long time. Now, in the midst of undefined grief, I feel lost – that horrible sense of lost footing, wading through quicksand, wondering which way is forward, which way is up, who I am and where I belong. I am in a fog and none of my usual coping techniques have helped.

Jogging helps a little. At least for the duration, my breathing is regulated, but afterwards, if I fail to switch gears fast enough, the sense of a pending panic attack returns.

Ice cream, which usually gives me the warm fuzzies, makes me feel nauseated just thinking about it.

Not even writing has helped. Until today, whenever I sit down to write, nothing comes out. All these thoughts race inside my head, but as soon as I sit down to give them organization and voice, nothing comes. I sit staring at a blank screen.

So, I elect to take my own advice – the advice I give to patients and families – the advice I gave to my own family – I am trying to be patient with myself and allow myself to feel what I feel – or in this case, to not feel what I do not want to feel – thus, taking time to disconnect from my normal life and responsibilities and turn off my head and my heart – to not allow myself to be needed because I have nothing to give.

Ever since this past autumn, every aspect of my life – my classes, my job, my ministry, COVID – has been training me to pay more attention to my heart, get in touch with my emotions, learn how to read mine and others emotions – in essence, to open the heart as well as the head. It has been overwhelming at times, and after the events of the past few weeks, it has become too much. I have needed a break from feeling and I finally took that break.

But, being at home, out of my routine, fighting to keep the head and heart turned off proved to be a painful and tedious process. I wanted to come back to work and they let me come back – with the contingency that I check in with myself and with my manager, knowing that this job is not just any job. Being a chaplain can create triggers.

I have learned about this, too, over the past year. What is in play now is the knowledge that it is okay to cry with a patient. It can also be great for them or their families to see me cry. The problem becomes when the visit becomes about me and not them, when they have to console me. This has not been an issue, and since I have this head awareness, I hope that my heart pays close attention. Hence, their concern for me to stay in touch with my own emotions, well-being, and triggers.

Being back at work has not been easy. I knew there would be no going back to the way things were. Today was not going to be a typical Friday. This ambivalent ambiguity would be right there at the surface. Can I handle it?

Most Fridays are a slow start, beginning at 7am with prayer and meetings. Easing back was good although the panic started almost immediately. First, the simple realization during my prayer time that there was no hiding away today. If I chose to work, I must face myself and all of the emotional baggage that comes with it. I must arm myself for whatever may come.

I took more of my own advice by practicing the breathing prayer – focus on a deep breath through my nose, imagining that I am breathing in the Holy Spirit. Then, breathing out through my mouth, as much as I  can, fully emptying my lungs and imagining that I am breathing out all the negative, even naming it if I can.

This helped, and I was as ready as I could be, knowing that I was still in a fog and just on the edge of okay.

Then, I began as I usually do by rounding in the ER. I could not get out of there fast enough. All the beeping of the machines transported me back to the Saturday in the ER with my cousin. All I could hear were those machines. All I could see were his wide eyes bugging out as if in pain and overcome by fear. His eyes were briefly replaced by images of my aunt and my cousin’s wife. I could feel their pain as if it were my own.

I had to return to the chapel to breathe. I had to remove the mask we have to wear at the hospital so that I could breathe better. Finally, the words came. I sat and wrote in my emotions journal, trying to name every emotion I was feeling and why. All the faces swimming before my eyes – Sam, Cassie, - and Michelle.

In the episode when Sam proposes to Cassie, Sam’s sister is visiting. She questions Sam’s insistence on not getting married. She never married herself and tells Sam that she never married because she never found someone like Cassie. They were good together and if she had ever found what he had, she would never let it get away.

In that same episode, Cassie was tasked with finding a reading for a friend’s wedding. From the season 3 finale:

“They are about to say 'I do', three little letters, two little words.

Its the simplest part of the day; but there is nothing simple about the things that will remain unsaid.

'I do' means I do know I could be hurt, but I am ready to be healed with you.

It means I do want to try, even when the fear of failure holds me back.

And I do not know the future, but I am ready to be surprised along the way.

'I do' means I do want your love & I do give you mine.

And nothing we do will ever be the same, because we will be doing it all together.”

Hearing these words is what really gets Sam thinking beyond his own fears. Those words rang true with me as well - at least the reasons I shy away from any notion of ever saying 'I do' again.

We are doing a 40 day fast in my church. I elected to fast from ice cream and most social media. When temptation strikes, we are supposed to echo the words of Samuel, “Here I am. I’m listening.” I have tried my best to participate in spite of my current state.

Giving up ice cream and social media has been easy. As I stated earlier, I am nauseated by the thought of ice cream and it is very easy to disconnect from the pedantic fluff of social media. My only peace right now is the predictability of my make believe shows which I have already seen.

What is challenging is to be still and tell God, “I’m here. I’m listening.” I do try, though, at least once a day. One day, while jogging, I realized my biggest reason for never putting myself “out there” is my paralyzing fear of romantic relationships. Like Sam, I was bad at it and don’t know if I am capable of doing better in different circumstances with someone else. Like Sam, I don’t want to chance hurting someone I care about by messing it up again.

The good news is that there is no Cassie in my life to force such a decision upon me. As a matter of fact, when I am not getting lost in the unfolding story of my favorite couple, the idea of being in a romantic relationship like that repulses me more than the idea of ice cream.

But, if a Cassie were to suddenly appear, would/could I be brave enough to take a chance? It would appear that the only fear I have in my life right now (with the exception of snakes, heights, and enclosed spaces) is a romantic relationship.

Then there is Michelle, my cousin’s wife. Her grief is more intense than I could ever imagine. Before giving my grandma’s eulogy, I felt the need to address my family. I improvised and shared with them something I often share with grieving families – about pain and suffering:

We are often told that God will not give us more than we can handle. This is a lie. All we have to do is look within our own hearts to know that is a lie. What is true, what I can promise, is that God will never give us more than HE can handle. So, when the grief gets to be too much, look up, hold on, allow yourself to feel what you feel and be patient with yourself.

I said a little more than that and used my “preacher” tone, but as I spoke, I watched certain family members and could see what was connecting with them. Michelle was crying a lot when I explained how our grief can be too much for us to handle. We had just said goodbye to her husband days before and now here we were saying goodbye to another family member. It was too much.

I have been thinking about Michelle and Andy since then – the words she spoke at his funeral, watching her grief throughout the entire hospital stay and death and funerals. To grieve much is to have loved much and Michelle loved much.

Grief – right now, it is all simply too much. I cannot understand the why of any of it. At my aunt’s house after my cousin’s funeral, when we found out that a third family member had just died, the question of why came up again. We human beings want answers. We long to know some kind of reason to explain away our pain. As I told my family, sometimes, there simply is no explainable reason. Please do not ever tell a grieving person any of the horrible clichés: God needed them, they are in a better place, etc. It is all a load of garbage and does nothing to help the one grieving. Instead,, admit when you do not have the answers. Be honest. Say little. Love much. (another piece of advice from me, the chaplain)

I don’t quite understand it all. As has been told to me many times over the past year, crisis comes for me when my head cannot explain away my heart or circumstances. I cannot make sense of anything right now.

When Cassie found out that Sam never intended to get married again, Cassie went to Chicago to visit a friend. During tea, the friend commented on Cassie’s ability to sense when things were going to happen. She said that sometimes, Cassie should just live in the moment and let the future surprise her. So, that is what she did.

I have no idea why all these ambiguous feelings about a love that is not even on the horizon is causing me so much turmoil, but I’m betting it has something to do with Andy and Michelle and seeing so much of myself in a fictional character. I’m sure the ambiguity of feeling lonely but not wanting anyone around has added to it all - and a longing for an unknown something that is just out of reach.

What I do know is that I could not work a full day today. I was scheduled to work until 3pm, but I asked to leave when another chaplain came in at 1pm. The ER triggers and the extreme difficulty in simply pasting on a fake smile and pretending to be happy and praying for others when I felt lost in a fog was too much. I felt the tension build in my shoulders and the heat rise in my chest.

The wonderful thing of being present for half the shift, at least, was that it helped me to be able to sit down and write when I got home. Coming home to my baby girls and getting this jumble of a mess out of my head has brought me some much needed therapy and peace. I still cannot make sense out of it all, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t feel a need to make sense of it all. Emotions are messy – even my own – maybe especially my own. Things do not always fit nicely into a box. Sometimes the bottom falls out and the contents spill all over the place.

Yesterday, I took a break from Sam and Cassie to watch a video by Tony Evans. I had seen part of it, but missed the end. The end was the best.

He compared the junk of life to a treadmill. He says that every morning, he has to have a heart to heart to heart with “me, myself, and I.” He wants to be healthy and lose weight, but he does not want to get out of bed. He finally does and finally gets on the treadmill. He watches the news to distract him while he runs. Watching the news does not keep him from sweating and huffing and puffing. What it does, though, is distract him. If he only focused on the sweat and breathing and pain, he would never get through the workout. He would probably never even get out of bed. 

So it is with life. We have to keep our focus on Jesus. Our circumstances will not change, but if we look only to our circumstances, we will never get through to the other side. Our only hope is to keep looking up and we keep walking through the fire.

I have no idea how long this journey of grief will last. What I do know is that I have more tools in my toolbox to help me get through it than I did the last time I went through a dark period. My education and training prepared me for this. One of my dear friends recently reminded me that simply because he does not tell me all the time, and years can go by between visits, he thinks about me often. Being reminded of this reminds me that I am not alone no matter how lonely I may feel. I know people who will come running if I call. I know who I can count on for support. Most of all, I know whose I am. I know, as long as I keep looking up, I will get through this.

I hold onto the truth that the Holy Spirit lives in me and prays for me on my behalf when I do not know what to say. I know I am held. I know there is a season for everything and that one day soon, I will walk into a patient’s room, smile, laugh, pray, and mean it!

A Reflection on Priorities

I am currently reading a book called Britt-Marie Was Here by one of my favorite authors, Fredrik Backman. The main character makes me chuckle because I see a lot of myself in her - namely, her obsessive need to make and keep to a list. This may be a common and quirky habit, but if not kept in perspective, it can be detrimental.

Very recently, a friend asked me to join her and a few other friends on a girl's road trip to Oregon. She will be moving there in August. As much fun as the trip would be, I originally said no because it did not conveniently fit into my plan. The trip is planned for the last week of my summer class.

I changed my mind about the trip because of my father. He rarely gives me unsolicited advise. I mean, I can count on one hand how many times in 44 years that he has told me what I should do.

One day, he confronted me about the trip and was adamant that I reconsider. At first, I laughed, thinking my friend had put him up to it. Then, I realized she did not. He wouldn't let it go, no matter how much I protested that it simply would not work out with my schedule.

Because of his insistence, I could not let it go, either. Because of his insistence, I was able to see things in a new light - the proper light - the light of love. She is a dear friend and confidant and she will soon be moving far away. Not only should I embrace this time with her, but I needed to embrace this time with friends in general. I get so caught up in work and school and ministry that I forget that actual human connection and interaction is vital. What is my work or school or ministry for or about if I neglect the greatest of these - the purpose for work and school and ministry - love.

The very next day, I said yes to the trip. This morning, I booked my flight home and made arrangements for my mom to babysit my fur-kids.

My dad's insistence came back to me this past Saturday. I work a split shift on Saturdays - two different hospitals. As I was driving from one hospital to the next, I received a call from my mom informing me that my cousin had been found unresponsive and was at the main Methodist in the medical center. She wanted to know where I was working. Not at main Methodist.

When we hung up, I continued driving toward my original destination - the place on my list - my calendar - the place I was previously scheduled to be. Then, I remembered my dad's insistence that I reconsider. And just like that, I knew where I needed to be.

Love.

I called my boss and told her about my cousin and asked permission to re-route my destination.

To be honest, I expected to go in, show love and support for my family, pray for them and my cousin, and then return to my original plan, but as soon as I saw them - and him - I knew I couldn't go anywhere anytime soon. I also knew I could not be their chaplain. Seeing my cousin was so different from seeing a stranger in the same setting, something I should have realized, but didn't.

I stayed with them until they got him situated in the ICU. My usual Monday is also a split shift. This time, however, half of the shift would be at the main Methodist where my cousin was. I still wanted to work, but I also wanted to be close by so that I could be there whenever the doctor met with them. I know just enough about these situations to know what the likely outcome was going to be. I never said a word about my suspicions to my family for obvious reasons, but I knew I wanted to be nearby  whenever the inevitable moment happened. So, I called my boss and asked if she could change my schedule so that I would be at the main Methodist all day. She graciously changed my schedule.

One of my assigned units was the unit where my cousin was, which made it convenient for me to periodically check in. I was able to be present when the palliative care doctor arrived to talk with my aunt and cousin's wife. When my shift was over, I was able to remain there for several more hours until he was fully transitioned to comfort care.

Today, I got ready for work, but as I sat in the parking lot, I could not bring myself to get out of the car. I was spent - physically, emotionally, spiritually. I had nothing left to give. There was no way I could be an effective chaplain for anyone else today. So, I walked into my manager's office and we talked. He gave me his blessing to go back home. My boss and the big boss man both reached out to check on me.

This grief is not about me, although I am grieving. I know, whereas I will recover in a few days, my cousin's wife and mom have a much longer and tougher road ahead of them.

What I realize today is how blessed I am for my father. Because he doesn't frequently give me unsolicited advise, when he does, it causes me to pause and reconsider. Because of his insistence that I make this girl's trip a priority over and above work and school, his words helped me to see where my priorities needed to be on Saturday afternoon.

Love won out over my list thanks to my dad. I am thankful for the depletion I feel today because it meant I loved well yesterday. That is something no list can give me.

In Christianese, we call this kind of thing prevenient grace - the grace that goes before. God graced me with my dad's insistence knowing that his words would help me to veer off course - down the dirt road - the road less traveled - the road to love.

Thanks, Dad (capital -D, what I call God), for intervening before I knew I would need an intervention.

My favorite Bon Jovi song - Love's the Only Rule - dedicated to God, my dad, my entire family, and most of all - today - to my cousin, Andrew Guzman.

YouTube - Love's the Only Rule

Andrew and Michelle

Escaping the Wanderlust

A few weeks ago, before COVID-19 forced social distancing upon us, I shared with my counselor my growing feelings for wanderlust.

My grandma's recent death challenged my theology. Last semester, a professor warned me that a day would come when my emotions did not match my theology, and when that day happened, I needed to sit with it. Well, I had been saying goodbye to my grandma for two years before she died at the age of 95. I did not expect to experience the level of grief I felt. My theology told me death was normal and there is nothing more stabilizing than a peaceful death in old age - and death in this life is not the end. My emotions grieved for the loss of her and my sweet Nebraska childhood which seemed to die with her.

A man at the hospital where I worked asked me out. That may not be unusual for most, but it was for me on many levels. First of all, he had to tell me several times that I was not hearing him. It turns out that I am quite perceptive when it comes to sensing the needs and emotions of others, but completely inept when it comes to myself. Had he not pushed the issue, I would have remained completely oblivious to the fact that he was asking me out, making me wonder if others have asked me out and I have totally missed it. What made this worse is that I thought I had this impenetrable wall built around me which told men "Stop", "Wrong Way", "Do Not Enter". I was/am not interested, and I assume that somehow showed. This incident shattered that and completely knocked me off my game.

This man continues to flirt, but at least now I know I am not interested and why and so does he, but this made me confront a lot of issues I thought were buried or inconsequential.

I experienced an unusual death at the hospital. Well, there was nothing unusual about the death itself, but the reaction of the emergency contact ignited a fire in me. I heard the doctor's side of the conversation, and, knowing his loved one was dying and would die if CPR ceased, still refused to come to the hospital. His lack of empathy enraged me.

Both in class and counseling, the question of why was addressed. What do you mean why? We were all bewildered and angry. "But why did it make you angry?" The more this question was asked, the more I began to realize that I was angry because it made me feel alone again and reminded me of my old fear of dying old alone - and grandma - and something my pastor once told me.

Grandma died surrounded by family. My pastor reminded me that no one ever died alone (referring to God) and that I had a church family. Sure, but I know it's not the same. I cannot think of a single person who would drop everything to spend the last hours and days with me, who would curl up with me in the bed like my aunt did with grandma, who would hold my hand until the end like grandpa did with grandma. I will be lucky to die in a hospital with caring staff like this woman, with a chaplain praying over her.  But we were all strangers.

I told my counselor the last time I felt that alone was New Year's. I got called into work that night. I was fine before, spending the new year much like many years before, watching television, curled up with Bailey, falling asleep shortly after the New York new year. I was perfectly content with that. This year, however, when it struck midnight, I was alone in my car pulling up to the hospital. Fireworks were blazing in the distance. Lights danced in windows of the hospital as shadows moved across the rooms. Everywhere, people were together as I sat alone in my car.

I've been obsessed with Tiny House trailers lately, dreaming of building one and taking it out on the road. A road trip, I told my counselor, is what I want. On top of all this, my class this semester is about loss and grief. I cannot escape it. My CPE supervisor this semester is pushing me to not just know my emotions, but discover the why behind them. It's too much. I need an emotional break. A road trip would be just the thing.

Then, she asked, "what would you do if you could not outrun or escape something?" I have no idea.

Honestly, I didn't think there was anything a good road trip couldn't solve. A trip to the beach, or a cabin in the woods, or Humphrey, Nebraska. Hit the road and go. The road works for me - brings me back to center.

Not even a week after this last counseling appointment, COVID-19 struck hard in San Antonio. The first documented case caused widespread pandemonium and it has just gotten worse. Not even Humphrey, Nebraska is immune.

I am fortunate enough to still have a job, but the problem now is that there is not stability, no normalcy, no predictability. Everything in changing so fast. And I have no control of any of it.

I was off work for two days. When I went back, so much had changed. The ER was virtually empty. Patients who did not absolutely have to be there were being discharged. Elective surgeries were cancelled. When I was leaving for the day, all the chairs were being cleared out of waiting rooms.

My job is secure for now, but new safety procedures are now in place. My heart breaks when I think of how lonely patients are going to be now that loved ones can't visit. The tension with staff is palpable. There is more need than I can give. We are needed, but we are not enough.

At the same time, I do see the wonderful hand of God in all this. It is exciting knowing and believing that He is at work in this chaos. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is in answer to prayer for revival. What kind of good, lasting, change ever happened when things were status quo? People don't change when their worlds are smooth. I know it took divorce and cancer to change me.

Still, believing this does not remove the tension from my shoulders and unsettling in my gut. I thought I had a hard time focusing when grandma died. I'm struggling to focus on any one task even worse now.

As this all has been whirling in my mind, I think, too of my gifts and how to use them. Mostly, I have been thinking of the chaplaincy world. Those who can sing or play instruments are using their gifts - have been using them even before COVID-19. I cannot sing or play. Everything I like to do and am good at requires little or no outside influence or help - reading, writing. There is a piano in the chapel. I stare at it and daydream about how I would sit there and play for people right now if I had the ability.

Then, I thought of what I do have. I do have two books I have already written. I have never written for money - just for myself. So, I decided to bring my blog back to life - at least for however long this COVID-19 thing lasts.

This is the first (and probably only) rant. From here on out, I plan to post one chapter a day of my second novel - Life Before Me. I hope, that since I am not publishing it for profit, I will not have to worry about copyright issues (which is the big reason I have not self-published).

So, look for my book blog LIFE BEFORE ME to begin tomorrow afternoon and continue with one chapter per day - my way to give back during this season and give myself some stability.