Serpentine Belt

A friend once asked, “Once you commit, your all in, aren’t you?” I answered with a simple nod of my head. I admit, it takes a great deal of emotional effort on my part to commit, but once I do, as my friend suggested, I am ALL in. 

My vehicle is no exception to this personality quirk of mine. When my ex-husband and I went car shopping, I wanted this ugly blue thing simply because we could afford to pay cash and not have car payments looming over our heads. 

When we divorced, I wanted to pawn the car – and the payments – off on him. Unfortunately, the bank would not agree to our arrangement. I did all I could to get rid of her, but no one wanted her. Once I realized that we were stuck with one another (Rosie and I), I decided to see her as God’s gift and chose to love her and take good care of her. 

She is old in car years, and I have had more than one opportunity to trade up for free. I have turned down the offers, electing to remain faithful to the girl who has been through so much with me – and who has brought me home again. 

This past week, my dad and I discussed all the ways Rosie is beginning to show her age. Her shocks are squeaking. Sometimes it sounds like someone knocking on the door when I press on the brakes. And – last year, my trusted mechanic warned me that a belt would need to be replaced soon. He was surprised that she had as many miles on her without it ever having been replaced. I had just spent a lot of money fixing other things, and he knew I did not have the money for more repairs at that time. He told me the belt was okay for the time being, but I needed to seriously consider replacing it before too much longer. 

Since that time, she has taken me to Colorado, Nebraska, Tennessee, Arkansas, and countless miles in Texas.  However, I can now sense that before I ask her to take me on any more long-distance adventures, I need to take care of her needs. 

My dad informed me that this belt – something called a serpentine belt – is pretty darn important. Without it, she can’t run. That scared me. No one is offering me a new “free-for-me” vehicle, I cannot afford a car payment, and, I feared, I could not afford to fix something that important to her life. 

Either way I looked at it, I was screwed – or so I thought. 

At church the following Sunday morning, I asked a friend, who is a car guy, how expensive this fix would be. He said the part was very inexpensive and easy to replace. He offered to bless me by helping me if possible. 

Something that important being that cheap and easy? 

My Rosie and her needs got me to thinking about what Paul says in scripture about us being the hands and feet of Jesus. We all serve a different function in the body of Christ, but like a serpentine belt for a car, none of the parts matter – none of the parts can function properly (or at all) – without the resurrected Christ which holds us all together and gives us our power. 

I thought about the importance of the serpentine belt again last night at work during what is called a Donor Walk. There are so many things that are new to me in my chaplaincy and this, so far, has been the most rewarding and heart-wrenching experience yet. 

A donor patient is wheeled from the hospital room to the operating room. The family follows behind. I, as chaplain, brought up the rear of the procession. Hospital staff and any mobile patients and families line the halls to pay respects to the donor and the family. 

I could feel the solemnity immediately, but nothing anybody told me or could have told me could have prepared me for the walk. Staff – most of whom had never met the patient or the family – openly wept as they passed by, which made me weep. At first, I hung my head low, falling into old habits of ignoring the emotional triggers in order to hold myself together. 

Then, I remembered lessons from my class and ministry – sometimes showing my emotion says more to those I minister to/with than any words I could ever say. My tears matter. So, I picked up my head, looked the staff and others in the face, and openly wept right along with them. 

After the patient was wheeled into the OR, I had the honor of spending some time with the family – crying together, sharing, and praying. My tears mattered. 

All the parts of a donor body – useless on their own, without machines keeping it alive – serving in unison toward the same goal – life. Like my vehicle’s serpentine belt. Remove the belt, the entire car fails. Disconnect the machines keeping a donor patient alive, the body dies. 

One family mourns the loss of life – other families celebrate the gift of new life. One lives on through another. A new serpentine belt – a new body – new life. 

My friend told me replacing Rosie’s belt would be cheap and easy. The same is not necessarily true for the donor or the recipient. There is nothing cheap or easy about death, mourning, loss, surgery, transport, transplant, recovery, healing, new life. 

What made it easier (not easy) for this family was their faith. Their serpentine belt holding them together was Jesus. Their faith in their Savior, knowing where their loved one was going and who would be holding their loved one’s hand, kept them from completely shutting down and falling apart.  

In Love with a Broken, Lonely Mess

I met someone. I haven't met anyone so fascinating since Teddy came into my life more than ten years ago. His name is Johnny and he looks strikingly similar to a young Jon Bon Jovi minus the hair - although his scruffy golden brown locks sometimes curl below his eyes. 

I am in love with this youngish misfit. He came into my life quite unexpectedly and he truly is a hot mess - both in physical appearance and life circumstance. But I know he is an answer to prayer - a surprise - not the way I expected my prayer to be answered. In the words of Buddy the Elf, "I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!"

The past few weeks, I have grown increasingly fatigued and had no idea why. I sleep plenty, maybe too much. Is that the problem? Is my sleep indicative of a deeper psychological issue? Is it my diet? I am eating well and losing weight, but I still lack the nutrients from fruits and vegetables which I know my body needs. Is it my medication? Between the thyroid pills and antianxiety pills, I could be suffering from chemical lethargy. Is it the job? I love, love, love what I do at the hospital, but it is exhausting - the constant movement and interaction with people is energy consuming for this introvert. What is going on? Why am I so dang tired all the time? What's the resolution?

As I lay on the floor in dark silence, my go-to breathing prayer failing me, I plead with God, "Why? Why am I so freaking tired?" That is all I wanted to know. Why? No answer came. 

On my way home from work that same day, I cried out to God again. "I feel like I'm always on, even when I'm taking a day off, even when I have nothing to do." Sigh. How do I go about turning myself off? Getting rid of this constant tension in my neck and shoulders?

I feel the pressure of our church BELLS challenge. How do I live a questionable life? The things which relax me the most, the things I've always seen as my outlet, escape, AND ministry are my words - reading, writing. However, these activities do not challenge me to be in relationship with people. I feel like I am trying too hard, and at the same time, not trying hard enough. What is the solution?

Then, I met Johnny and it all began to make sense. My heart felt lighter. I woke up this morning feeling more refreshed than I have in quite a while. I felt happy - a renewed sense of purpose, drive, and motivation.

Today is April 1st - let me clarify that this is no April Fool's joke. However, Johnny is not real, at least, not in the flesh and blood - I can experience him with all my senses real. He is a figment of my imagination, but fully alive in my dreams. 

A missing piece of me, which has been dormant since Teddy's death, was brought back to life last night. I was beginning to think that I didn't have another story in me. Maybe this gift of fictional storytelling began with Andrea and Jessica and ended with Teddy and Abbey. I still have Aaron and Ellen, but that story is still too raw, too real, and neither one of them have spoken to me in over a year. Even when they did speak, their story still seemed forced. I think it is still too raw for them as well. 

When I woke up from my dream about Johnny, I knew it wasn't a typical dream. Sometimes, I dream what is on my conscious or subconscious mind. This dream was different. Sometimes, God speaks directly to me in dreams. This dream was not like that. It was real. It was alive. It is active even now that I am not dreaming. 

This is how my first two novels were born - as a larger than life, more real than real dreams. The main characters came to me in dreams and give me the basic outline. I get the fun job of fleshing out their stories with them. They even tell me their names. I tried to change Johnny's name. I mean, that's a little too on the nose - looks just like a young JBJ and has his name??? I tried on several names, including JBJ's real middle name. He didn't like it. He said his name is Johnny and that's that. 

Now, I do not have, nor have I ever had, a mental delusional disorder. I know perfectly well that these characters are not real. They are merely a figment of my imagination - a part of my creative process. I treat them like they are real while I am writing their story and, I must admit, I mourn their loss when the story is finished - but I digress . . . 

After the birth of my characters, they become a part of me, living inside of me, speaking to me until their story is complete and immortalized on paper. I never expected to meet anyone else. I surely never expected to fall in love again, but I did last night. Johnny is a mess - a broken, lonely mess, but I am head over heels in love with the man and I cannot wait to get to know him better. 

What is most exciting is that as tragic as his beginning is, I already know how his story will end. 

So, how does Johnny answer prayer? Simple. God reawakened a real piece of who I am - what makes me different - questionable. I was making the BELLS challenge too difficult. He wants nothing more than for me to use my gifts - whether at church, work, or sitting in solitude on my computer. He has not called me to be something I'm not. He simply wants me to be authentic in who He created me to be - wherever I am and whatever I am doing. 

Before the dream, the Steven Curtis Chapman song, Do Everything, has been stuck in my head:

"While I may not know you,
I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you, it all matters just as long

As you do everything you do
To the glory of the One who made you,
'Cause He made you,
To do
Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
Tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And every little thing you do."

That's the point - that's what matters. Thank you, Jesus, for Johnny, and what he means to and for me.

Uncovering My Heart Shaped Nesting Doll

I have been told that unexpected responses to a patient visit may signal some sort of personal baggage left unchecked, some buried emotion requiring healing. Ever since learning this lesson, I look for clues as to when my moment may come or what scenario will trigger this catastrophic learning encounter. Mine took me by surprise today.

But first, I want to take a step backwards. God works that way - as a line from Danny Gokey's new song, Haven't Seen It Yet, says, "[God] had the answer before [I] had the problem.” He knew this moment was coming and He began preparing me beforehand.

I start most of my shifts at the hospital with 5-15 minutes of solitude - centering myself and focusing on God, inviting Him into the shift, to walk before me into each room, to walk with me where He wants me, and to live in me to guide my actions and my words.

On this particular day, I was having difficulty centering myself. I lay on the floor in the dark and began again and again with my breathing prayer - breathing in the Holy Spirit and exhaling all the junk on my mind - until I was focused on Him. I asked the Holy Spirit to speak to me, to tell me what I needed to hear. He spoke, and although I heard, I did not understand.

He told me I am very much in tune with my head, but not my heart. What, exactly, does that mean?

I, like the thinker I am, over analyzed this revelation. Okay, I do know exactly what I think, but struggle with my emotions. Sometimes I'm unsure if what I feel is really what I feel or what my head is telling my heart to think. But I've come so far. I mean, I can cry now! I can hug now! I can share my story and be fully present with people now! Doesn't that count for something? I no longer shy away from emotionally hard situations.

Yet, the fact remains that when it comes to people or situations with the power to hurt me, my head still overrides my heart. This is when the waters get murky and I know I am not as familiar with my heart as I am with my head. Still, I recognize this, right? So what am I not getting? How do I change this? How do I become as acquainted with my heart as I am with my head?

I could have analyzed this to death, but I realized that doing so is wasted energy. If I ask, God will show me. So, I gave this quandary back to Him and forgot about it for a while - until this morning.

Shortly after arriving at work this morning, I received a vague page to go to one of the floors. I was told the patient has kidney failure and the names of the patient's nurses. Did they want me to see the patient? Did the patient die? Did the nurses need the chaplain?

I found out what I could about the patient on the network then went to talk to the nurses. The nurses informed me that the patient just found out that the condition was terminal and was waiting for the doctor to come talk about hospice care options. I asked why the patient did not qualify for a transplant. I was told it was because a patient must be sober for at least six months to qualify.

Armed with all the initial information I needed, I made my visit. However, the patient did not want to talk with me. After our brief visit, I relayed what I could to the nurses, and returned to the office to prepare for the day.

As I thought about the yellow tint of the patient's skin, I saw Brad sitting in that hospital room, wearing that hospital gown, face and eyes turned yellow, knowing he was going to die and why. I felt a panic attack coming on.

For the first time ever, I managed to stop the attack before it took full force. I immediately set my self-care plan into motion by texting my church leadership team for prayer. I then made an appointment to see my hospital mentor to talk through what I experienced. I also prayed for myself and prayed for Brad.

As I prayed, I realized what I had texted the leadership - how, although I am not in love with him, I still care about Brad and feel somewhat responsible for him. I know full well that I am not responsible for him - not now after eight years divorced - not even when we were married. Still, that feeling lingers.

My head fully and completely realizes that I am not responsible for Brad. Should he ever find himself in this scenario - should he give into his addiction rather than doing what is necessary to save his own life - that is not on me.

My head gets it. My head believes it. My heart, on the other hand, still feels the weight of responsibility for the vows I made to him.

Now I know what one of my hospital visit triggers is, but I have no idea what to do with this information. I hope this is where my class and my mentor can help.

In the meantime, I know I need to sit with this for a while instead of sweeping it under the rug. I will trust that God will continue revealing things to me, bit by bit, layer by layer.

It's like the song says,  "It's like the brightest sunrise waiting on the other side of the darkest night . . . [I] just haven't seen it yet." Danny Gokey - Haven't Seen It Yet

Hello, Renee, it's your heart here. Thank you for taking me out of the box, but just like your Russian nesting doll, there's more of me hidden inside. Keep opening me up!

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. 

An Overnight Sensation

This afternoon, a friend complimented the significant progression of my spiritual and personal growth this past year. Considering where I was, emotionally speaking, exactly one year ago, it amazes me how far I have come. 

Yet, at the same time, I cannot help but to compare myself to so-called “overnight sensations”. Ever pay attention to the so-called “overnight sensation’s” response to being called an “overnight sensation”? It is usually some version of sarcastic reference to “overnight” taking (fill in the blank) number of years. 

I am no celebrity, but I do understand the sentiment. I have been making a conscious effort at improving myself for eight years and six months. However, it does seem as if the distance between progressive steps has gotten shorter and shorter in the past year. It feels like I stepped on an escalator three months ago and have been rising higher, faster ever since. I feel like an “overnight sensation” who has been working toward this goal for years and years and years.

I used an illustration of the journey of a Christmas ornament during my last sermon entitled, “Think About Joseph.” I am beginning to see myself and my own journey in this illustration. 

1.      The Firmly Routed Tree:

Imagine walking through a forest. What do you see? Everywhere you look, you are surrounded by big, majestic, firmly rooted trees. They are breathtakingly beautiful to behold. Their roots run deep. They are the glory of the forest. 

What happens when an ax swings its claws into the tree’s trunk? Chunk after chunk is carved out until the tree can no longer stand, and gracelessly topples over. 

That is what happened to me when my marriage unraveled. Who I thought I was – who I thought I wanted to be – came tumbling down with a giant thud. 

Joke – if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound? 

If you are that tree, it doesn’t matter what anybody did or did not hear. You felt the ax. You felt the impact of the fall. 

2.      The Piece of Wood:

Now, imagine becoming cut down from a majestic tree to a small piece of lumber or limb. Imagine resting in a pile with other lumber in a workshop or barn.

You think you have found a new purpose. Smaller, yes, but content, comfortable. Then, you are pulled down from your perch. You hear a saw whine in the distance. The sound grows louder and louder until the blade’s teeth bite through you, splitting you in two. Other tools, sharp, consistent beat you and chisel you and pound you and sand you. Over and over and over again. No relief in sight. No obvious purpose for the pain. 

For me, this constant and consistent beating was cancer, what happened between me and my best friend, losing two girls I loved like daughters, four years of looking for work and finding nothing permanent or sustainable, being called to ministry without being given direction – I can go on and on with all the seemingly pointless hurts and failures. The vulnerability. The shattered dreams. Feeling lost and alone and worthless. 

3.      The Wooden Ornament:

Finally, the woodworker lays down his tools. The project is complete. You, the once majestic tree with deep routs have been reduced to an object which can fit in the palm of a hand. But, one look in the mirror and you know all that pain and suffering was worth it. You see what you were destined to become. You see the reason for the ax and saw and all those other tools of the master woodworker. You have a new purpose. You will now decorate another tree. You have a new purpose, and you may no longer be what you once were, but you are once again majestic. 

Before my fateful phone call inviting me to begin the process of becoming a hospital chaplain, I consoled myself by reminding myself that I may never know my purpose. I took my cue from Abraham. God promised to make him a great nation, but he never lived to see the outcome of that promise. He simply believed. 

Sometimes, however, we are fortunate enough to be able to see the end result. Sometimes, God allows us to see the purpose of the axes and chisels in our lives. The phone call which set my new life in motion is not the end. I know that. There will be other axes and chisels in my life. There is still a lifetime of improvement and growth to be done, more “ornaments” to be made. 

However, I am fortunate to have been able to see the purpose of this particular journey – all the whys – I can look back at it all and almost all of it makes sense. I see its purpose in shaping me to be ready for that life changing phone call. 

I had a very hard day the other day. After work, I went to the store. As I was checking out, I thought to myself how much easier life would be if I just took a job at that store. The thought was fleeting because even before the thought was complete, I knew I would never be satisfied. The day was hard and I am sure harder days are in my future, but I am even more certain that I am where I belong. 

I am where I belong. Hmph . . . what a beautiful realization. 

I have spent most of my life searching for a place to belong. I cannot describe how wonderful it feels to finally be certain that I know my purpose – at least one of my purposes (I still have other hopes and dreams) – and to no longer feel lost. 

Hello. My name is Renee. I am a Christian and have loved Jesus for as long as I remember. Still, I have spent most of my life feeling lost. That dilemma, my friend, is not reserved for those who are spiritually lost. We God-fearing folk have our struggles, too! 

And, I think it’s okay to feel lost as long as we keep moving forward and don’t give up or give in. As my friend-mentor-father figure once told me, and I paraphrase, “Even when you can't see where you are going, keep putting one foot in front of the other and trust that the Rock is there.” 

Inspirational ornament courtesy of my very talented friend, Jimmy Lewis.