Change Happens

You may have noticed that chaplainhood has been a bit quiet lately. This is not as much out of neglect as it is out of the simple fact that life has changed some and we needed some time to step back and reflect on these changes. We originally started chaplainhood as a shared venture into the world of blogging. We did it together because it seemed less intimidating to jump in together. At the time it made since because our ministry paths were very similar in the world of chaplaincy. Life since then has taken some interesting turns and we now find ourselves in different places in ministry. Our time writing here at chaplainhood has helped us to find our respective voices and while they complement each other they are also very different now.

One thing we have learned in this endeavor is that a healthy partnership is willing to embrace change. We are now choosing to embrace the need for change by spreading our wings and venturing forth into separate blogs. Our partnership is not dissolving, but rather expanding as we continue to support each other through guest blogging on and linking to each other’s blogs.

Joy:

 I will continue to blog here at chaplainhood, reflecting on themes of a pastoral care and chaplaincy nature, family life and the spiritual insights gained from these roles. Along side this familiar content, chaplainhood will also be a gathering place for my more contemplative writing and sharing of my love for my work with labyrinths. For now it is my hope that I will have something up every two to three weeks with additional nuggets of poetry and liturgy as inspiration strikes. The next months will be a time of me making chaplainhood more reflective of my contemplative and reflective nature not only in writing but also in the look of the blog.

Tabatha:

I'm very excited about this new adventure and continuing to develop my voice as a blogger! While a part of me will always have a chaplain perspective, I'm also at a place where I'm refining my pastoral identity--as a pastor and writer. My new blog will share some of those thoughts as well as continuing themes of family life and commentary on what's happening in the world in general, and, of course, an occasional post about my love (close obsession) with coffee. Check out my inaugural post at my new address www.brewedfaith.blogspot.com

We are excited about the opportunities that this will provide for us as well as the room this gives us to continue to grow and develop as individual writers. Thank you for journeying with us on this first part of the journey. We hope that you will continue to journey with us both at chaplainhood and brewed faith.

A Shadow Sisterhood

In 2003 I was a new, totally green, and yet very eager minister. And, it was, by far part of the worst year of my life.  In a year's span I had two miscarriages and was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Even now, writing a simple blog post reflecting on that time causes a flood of difficult emotions and memories.

I imagined the children that should have been. Children that should have been playmates to our son, that should have filled my arms with love, that should have been with us always...Instead I was left with an emptiness that threatened to engulf my very being.

There is no easy way or fast way to grieve the death of a child. It's hard, gritty and lonely work. And, it's a grief that never ends. Certainly my grief was complicated by my cancer, and I cannot think of one without remembering the other. It is a time that profoundly changed my innermost self, the trajectory of my ministry and my relationship with God.

I felt abandoned and punished by God. In response I became angry and depressed. In time healing overcame those wounds, but they remain tender spots for me. I looked in vain for resources that would 'fit' me and to my dismay I did not find what I needed for the care of my wounded spirit.

Many of us have experienced the death of a child--we are a shadow sisterhood, linked together by sorrow, whether we know each other or not. It is for this reason Joy and I co-edited and contributed to a resource for grieving mothers and those caring for them. It is a project born from our own heartache and desire to use those experiences for ministry.

Still A Mother: Journeys through Perinatal Bereavement will be released by Judson Press in February of 2016. It is a collection of narratives, of the tender-most experiences of seven women who also happen to be clergy. Together, Joy and I are in awe of those women who have exposed their most private thoughts of their own grief journey.

Joy and I will continue to provide updates about the book from time to time. We are quite excited about this project and are hopeful it can provide some help for those who have similar, though different, experiences.

This summer we were interviewed by Rev. Christine Smith, author and creator of the blog Shepastor. For the next few weeks she will write about Still A Mother and our conversation together. http://shepastor.blogspot.com/

Eharmony...for Ministers and Churches.

As I progress through the Search and Call process I’ve started calling comparing it to E-Harmony. (Although, really, I’ve never been on a dating website because Cory and I met and married just when those sites started to gather momentum.) Not long ago I had a phone interview with a church quite some distance from where I live now. I was just as excited, jittery, and nervous and felt just as awkward as I remember first dates being. It’s tough to interview over the phone. So much is lost in translation—so much communication depends upon unspoken expression. This process has of course got me thinking about how best to represent myself—but also how to do that in the most authentic way possible. How much of my quirky humor do I let shine through? Was I too confident? Not confident enough? Where is the line between being sure of myself and hubris? (Cory likes to tease-kindof-that I am not overburdened with humbleness).

Many years ago the first Senior Minister I worked with, Jan, made an offhand comment to someone about how one had to have a strong ego to be a minister. At the time I didn’t really understand, but that has stuck with me through the years—and really we do have to have a strong sense of self. A strong sense of who and where God is calling us to be and the strength of character to follow through with that call.

I think about my character a lot these days. As in, what are my best traits, my worst (groan). Just a couple of days ago I sought advice from my last senior minister and mentor, Gary, who suggested that each interview and contact in the search and call process is an opportunity to learn something about both myself and my call. I am trying to fully embrace this process…as awkward and exciting as it can be. I imagine this is just the beginning of the potential ups and downs of this process. And I continue I try to remember to ask… ‘what am I learning’…instead of ‘where am I going.’

And in the Meantime...

Recently I’ve been officiating funerals for families that do not have a connection to a faith community or minister. It’s an interesting way to be in ministry at the moment…I feel that in a small way I’m still providing ministry for folks who are in need of compassion and heartfelt presence. I’m looking for ways to be active in ministry while in the search process for a congregation, while not having an actual real honest to goodness ministry ‘job.’ It’s a strange space to be in, frankly. How can I continue to be in ministry while I’m in this period of transition? What good can I do and how can I grow?

A friend has suggested that I call this time my ‘sabbatical’ and I have to say that has really stuck with me…I do believe this is a time of renewal for my spirit, a time of reprioritizing goals and praying and contemplating what is next in ministry. That’s a tough thing to try and figure out…it seems as if I’m in an undefined space…what is next. There’s some pressure in that space. I feel that as a modern professional woman I need to be active in my called profession. And yet, there is value in waiting to see what happens next. Sometimes it doesn’t feel as if that’s ‘ambitious’ enough, while other times it makes sense. But, really, I’ve never been very patient…and so it’s a tug of war in my head between the two.

I have my ministerial profile in circulation, and that process can take quite awhile. Meanwhile, I continue to serve because if I don’t have even brief moments of ministry then I tend to have a bit of an identity crisis…I have preached a Sunday in a small congregation whose minister was ill. I’ve officiated a few funerals, Joy and I have finished up our manuscript on our book—clergy women and their personal experiences with miscarriage through infant death…so it remains a busy time and that makes me feel good about where I am.

Since I have my ministerial profile in circulation I’ve spent a lot of time in thought and prayer about where I’m to go next. I’ve been praying for that congregation, even though I don’t know who they are yet. And, I’ve been asking myself—what is my ministerial identity…am I a chaplain? Am I a congregational minister? Is it possible to serve as a chaplain within a congregation? Where do I fit in the broad scope of ministry? How can I use my pastoral care skills in a way that honors what I love about being a chaplain, but in a congregation where I feel called next?

And, in the meantime…it’s been nice to be useful.

  

Breaking the Rules

Have you ever been afraid of doing something that you think is a good idea in theory, but maybe not in real life? This coming Friday, January 30^th, 2015 is my last day as a Palliative Care Chaplain. I’ve spent the last two years in this wonderful ministry and have found it deeply profound, full of grace, mystery, heartache, forgiveness, sorrow and love. I have learned about peace, acceptance and courage from my patients and families. I have learned humor, perhaps even a twisted sort of humor, from my colleagues.  And, yet, I’m leaving. There is some grieving there. I have some amazing colleagues and friends.

While I’m grateful to be not just any chaplain, but a Palliative Care Chaplain, I long for something different. I’ve been in worship the last two years as a participant in the church, but not as a minister. I accept now that the church calls my name. I miss the relationships, the creativity, joys and even the frustrations of being a congregational minister. I miss the rhythm of the church, from Advent through Ordinary Time. I miss the excitement of waking on a Sunday morning knowing that worship is today, when the doors are thrown wide open and folks come in looking for something, needing something that they can’t find anywhere else…

I left the church looking for ways to minister in pastoral care, and I’ve found them, in abundance. But, I also know I need more balance with other areas of ministry. And, I’m finally at a place where I accept that where I’m at right now isn’t where I need to be in the future.

So, what’s so scary about that? I broke all the rules. I gave my two weeks’ notice before I had anything else lined up. Crazy, right? What’s it mean to be a minister and not have an actual ministry job? Except, I think right now, it can mean anything. It can (and I hope) it means I’m open to wherever I’m called. Here’s the thing. Once I said the words out loud I felt free. A burden had been lifted from my being and it felt so right and good.  I feel like I’ve taken a risk in life and in ministry and instead of being afraid, I feel at peace. And, it’s wonderful.  


Photos courtesy of Joy Freeman

The Ordinary & the Sacred...One in the Same

Chaplains talk, live and breathe ‘ministry of presence.’ It’s the idea that we are present in the moment with someone in their need, put all of our own stuff aside and focus on right now. It’s the idea that walking with someone, even for a moment in their journey, is sacred time. And I believe that, I truly do. And, it’s not always easy because I live in the real world—where my time and what happens in it is not truly within my control. My ideal is to ‘be present’ wherever and whenever I am needed and this includes the ‘working me’ as well as the ‘home me.’

Here’s the reality: I work full time, I’m a wife and I’m a mother to three kids. It’s usually go-go-go and some days there is simply not enough of me to go around. And on those days I don’t really like how that feels. I want to be present with my patients and families who need that presence, and then I want to be present at home too…not as a chaplain, but as the wife and mom I’d like to think I am. Sometimes, it works great…and sometimes not so much. 

This past week was a ‘not so much.’ I was a little ill.  Not life threatening, turn my world upside down, everything around me changes forever, make my heart skip a beat it’s so awful kind of sick. Rather, run of the mill, crummy, miss a few days of work, lay around in my pj’s and feel sorry for myself kind of sick. It wasn’t very much fun, obviously, because it’s never fun to be sick. Not the end of the world, but certainly not how I would choose to spend my time. 

Instead of being at work during the day—where I felt I belonged—I had to take a deep breath, remember that being sick was beyond my control and stay home.  And, instead of our crazy and regular tag team routine each night—dinner, homework, playtime, kiddos bedtime snuggles, cuddles and giggles…it was “Dad gets to everything for everyone because it’s seven o’clock and Mom’s already in bed.” (‘drooling and snoring’ as my husband likes kindly say). Not so much the kind of wife, mom or chaplain I want to be.  And there was not a thing I could do about it.  It was frustrating to say the least.

Then, last night, Grace.  Beautiful, wonderful, Grace. The kind of moment where the sacred and the ordinary rub thin, where there’s no room between the two.  That moment in my house was sitting alongside my thirteen year old as he read a bedtime story to his two year old sister and six year old brother. Ordinary. Sacred. There was no difference because they were one and the same.  And it brought tears to my eyes (which I held back because the thirteen year old would be HORRIFIED!)

In that moment I remembered it’s okay that I’m not always the kind of mom or wife or chaplain I envision for myself. It’s okay to not be perfect.  Really.  It’s okay that I can’t do everything all of the time. Really. It’s okay that we’re raising kids who, at the end of the day (sometimes), snuggle up and show that they do love each other after all.  Holy Ground…through a simple bedtime story…and a big lesson for mom.

Love is...Bright Red Toenails

Once during my ministry I was privileged to know a family consisting of an elderly gentleman, elderly woman and their children. The man and woman had been married for over 60 years and he had been her primary caregiver in their home for many years. During one of several visits with them I noticed that the woman’s toenails were painted bright red. Knowing that she was in the last stage of dementia and was therefore unable to care for herself in this way, I asked her husband who had painted her toenails. I thought, perhaps, that a female member of their family had done this. His matter of fact and gentle reply was, “Well I did, because she always did like to look nice.” He then smiled and patted her hand. To him this was not a big deal. It was one, of many, practical declarations of his love for her and his way of honoring who she has been throughout their lifetime together.

To me, this is a wonderful illustration of what love is. Love is being together and caring for each other in ways that are unique to that person. Love is the tenderness of an eighty-something man painting his wife’s toenails bright red. Love is honoring and respecting who someone is and has been, even though the ravages of dementia have stolen that person away. Love is continuing to walk beside someone, because of who you and they are together, not because of what they can do for you now.

It was a privilege to be knowledgeable about this moment of tenderness between them. It reminded me of a time when I was pregnant and my husband painted my toenails because I no longer could and it was one practical way for him to show he loved me. For us, it was full of laughter and joy, for the reason I could not do that for myself was one of excited anticipation. (He did a GREAT job by the way!) For this man and woman, it was one more indication that their time together was coming to an end.

Not to be maudlin, but, one day the journey my husband and I share will also come to an end. We feel as if we have a lifetime to live between now and then, that we are still in the beginning of our journey (yes, 17 years is still the beginning!) but the reality is, that day will arrive. It is my hope that our children will be able to tell stories like that about us. About how we loved each other, cared for each other, how we did crazy, sweet, beautiful things for each other. How through our example they learned to love others, that they learned compassion, and how to honor those they love through little, but important acts.

“Sit Still, You’re Fidgeting!” Reforming my Pastoral Identity

About a year and a half ago I ended a congregational ministry position and began a new ministry in palliative care chaplaincy. While I am sure I made the right decision, and working as a chaplain had been a goal of mine for several years, the transition was still challenging and surprising.

To say that these are vastly different would be underestimating how my ministry has changed.  But, that isn’t what has made me the most uncomfortable.  Becoming a congregant has been what’s most uncomfortable. 

The church we left was my first ministry position and we were there for ten years. It is the only church my three children have ever known.  Two of three were born into and dedicated into that community.  My oldest was baptized in the small concrete baptismal in the basement (by me).  It’s the community that supported my journey through seminary, watched my children grow, and wholeheartedly participated in their formative Christian education.  It’s the community that helped me when I had cancer.  It’s the community that held its breath and lifted its prayers through a very difficult, dangerous and joyful pregnancy. 

We belonged there—all of us.  Everyone knew who we were and they welcomed us in a way that only those that belong somewhere understand. Was it perfect? No, but it was home. 

So, I was anticipating that of course we would all grieve what we had known.  What I was not anticipating was how difficult it would be for me to begin somewhere new. I never have difficulty “chatting people up” as my husband says.  But this new church felt so different, so unfamiliar, so…new.  And newness is uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act, what to say (quite a change for this extrovert!)

Everything felt out of place and all wrong. The sermon was in the wrong place, communion was different, the songs were strange…and they sang the doxology all wrong. I didn’t know when to stand or sit, I had to shake hands with folks I didn’t know. I’d try to look like I belonged, but really I felt glaringly out of place.  AND, eventually at some point in the service, I’d have to sit still. In the pew.  Like everyone else. As if there was nothing else I could do. One Sunday my husband looked at me and whispered “sit still!” “What?” I said.  “Sit still, you’re fidgeting.” I didn’t even realize it.  I didn’t know what to do, so unfamiliar was I of being in a pew.

I’ve realized, after some time has passed, that I’m reforming my pastoral identity. What does it mean for me to be an ordained minister who is a congregant…who does not have an active staff role? Who am I among them? Where do I belong? What can I offer my new community that will fill both the need for me to minister and their need for my skill set?

Because it’s not easy to figure out…I’ve had to re-learn what it means to be a participant in the life of the church in an entirely new way.  And, I’m getting there. After a year and a half it’s better than it was, the songs are more familiar, I’ve found a few niches, and know a few names.  I’m beginning to feel that I belong.  But, it’s still hard to sit still…and I’ve learned that it’s good to be uncomfortable sometimes…