Practicing Fearlessness

I don’t know if you have them, those fears that you know are completely unreasonable, but still you just can’t shake them. I have a couple, the biggest being a fear of going into open bodies of water, such as lakes or oceans. It’s not that I can’t swim, because I can. It is a fear that little (or not so little) fishes will come up and nibble on my toes. I know the chances of that happening are slim-to-none, yet it is still there.  I have a cousin to thank for this irrational thought.

            

Up until I had my daughter, I could safely stay away from going into bodies of water without any real consequences. However, once I had a child that changed, because I did not want her to be afraid as I was. This meant a journey of facing this fear and going into oceans and lakes.

           

Fast forward to our last trip to Hawaii. On Christmas Day afternoon we went to the beach. It was a gorgeous sunny day, perfect for the beach. The waves were big enough for safely playing, but not so big as to be scary. We had even decided to leave all cellphones and cameras back at the condo.

            

My dad and husband took CJ into the ocean and were trying to teach her how to body-surf. Mom and I watched from the beach. Then the dreaded words came: “Mom, when are you coming into the water to play with me. “ So beckoned, I summoned up my courage and went out into the water, but only up to my knees.  

            

As I stood there, I saw how much fun they were all having, and before I knew it, I was there out in the water above my waist, holding on to CJ’s hand and waiting for a wave. It was a big one.  We caught it and rode it in, and then it pulled me under. I knew I was safe because of knowing exactly where I was in relationship to the beach. Then came the next wave, and the next. You can probably imagine the picture. Me attempting to wipe water off my face so I can open my eyes, trying to hold on to CJ and getting knocked over two more times. By the third time, I was laughing so hard my husband had to come help me up. It was quite the humorous sight to behold, especially to my mother safely seated on the beach, watching in laughter.

            

Here is the thing: in the midst of all this I forgot to be afraid. I forgot my fear of the fish. Instead I felt alive and fearless. I was having fun, completely in the moment and creating one of the best memories with my family I have created in a while.

            

But there were exercises that I performed to get to this point of fearlessness. There were several ventures into the ocean with and without CJ on trips prior to this, and a conscious effort to engage my fear in healthy ways.  If I was not willing to do the work of practicing being less afraid, I would have missed out on something incredible.  It is a fine balance of having fear that keeps us aware and safe, and being fearful such that it keeps us from engaging in life experiences.

            

As I have reflected on the idea of practicing fearlessness, I have come to believe that an essential component of courage is faith.  It is my faith in God that helps me to step out into that great unknown of life and embrace some of the really hard stuff.  It is my faith that allows me to know that no matter what, God is ever- present even when I am standing on the precipice of trying something that scares the living daylights out of me.

            

It is this combination of faith and practice of facing my fears that has led me to some pretty amazing things, like the memories made on the beach, climbing a very high rock wall to see an amazing view and even writing and editing my first book with Tabatha, my friend and co-blogger.   I acknowledge that my fears probably pale in comparison to the fears of many other people.  For some, the idea of facing a fear may be all the fearlessness they can handle.  That’s okay.  Hey, it took me 20- plus-years to get to this point.

            

I have also found great freedom from this practice of fearlessness, and that is what I am celebrating: my fearlessness.  I have found a new type of strength and possibility. Now to tackle fresh water lakes (I still have a healthy respect, a.k.a. fear, of those.)

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.

  

Weary of Death

Photo courtesy of R. Zane Richards, used with permission

Not that long ago my husband pulled out the stash of cards we keep for sending on occasions of thanks, celebration and sympathy. We realized our sympathy cards were running low. It was at that point I realized just how many sympathy cards we sent out last year. It was a reality check of how many special people in our lives we said good-bye to. It was a sobering reminder of how many people we supported and prayed for through the difficult time of the death of a loved one we may not have known that well. Our little family of three has experienced death more than we would like. At the age of 38, still very young in my book, I have walked the journey of grief and death on a personal level more than my age would indicate. All of this to say, as I signed another sympathy card I felt weary.

It might even be fair to say I am really tired of death. Wait, what did she just say? Yes, I, a critical care hospital chaplain, said I am tired of death. I know death is a part of life. It is something we all have to deal with. I know what to avoid saying. I know how to just be quiet and in the presence of death. I know what to do. But I am tired of doing it. I need a break. Because you see, no matter how many times I sit with a family saying their goodbyes at the hospital or spend 5 minutes crafting the best most personal words I can on a sympathy card, it never gets easier. Over time, I have learned how to step away emotionally, how to care for my tired spirit, how to do the hard work of death without having a part of me die under the heaviness of death. It does not change the fact that being present to death is hard work and there are times that even with the best self-care I get weary.

This is where I find myself now. My weariness is not that of the heavy work of personal grief, although I do quietly grieve the loss of some pretty incredible people in my life. My weariness is that of hearing of death. Of wondering when I open my e-mail or face book am I going to hear of yet another person who has died. I wonder when am I going to get space to recover this soul weariness. I know that time will come. I hope and pray it will come soon.

I have spent time over the last several days hoping and praying for the relief I sought.  In this time I have realized there are times when you cannot just keep pressing on, hoping for a break. Sometimes you have to create your own.  So weary from being present to death and some of the more heart wrenching situations of life, I took a mental health day with the blessing of my boss and ministry colleagues. I turned off the news and the radio; I did only the things I wanted to do.  I spent a good part of the day in a book completely unrelated to anything dealing with reality.  It felt good to escape.  It felt good to not be bombarded with the noise of life. I did not once feel guilty about this time away.

The result has been the start of a renewed spirit, and a lesson learned.  As much as I would like to think otherwise, I am not able to make myself keep going in the face of grief and death.  And I don’t have too. I am human just like everyone else, and I too need time let my weary soul have space to breath and rest. It is only in doing this that I can stay equipped to once again be ready to be present to death when it comes strutting back into my life and across my path. And hopefully next time I will recognize the weariness earlier and tend to my own soul more intentionally and tenderly.

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 Blessing of Personhood

Beginning Again – New Connections

Besides being a hospital chaplain, mother and wife, I am also a labyrinth enthusiast. For those who may not know what a labyrinth is, it is a singular winding path that has the same way in as out and is used as a prayer and meditation tool. It is found in many religions, including Christianity. The labyrinth I am most familiar with is called a Chartres Patterned labyrinth based off the labyrinth found in the Chartres Cathedral in France.

My journey with the labyrinth has been on going for 15 years now. I use it in my own personal devotional time, as well as guiding others on labyrinth experiences as a certified labyrinth facilitator. It is my journey with the labyrinth that healed my family after the death of our second child, Hope, at 14 weeks gestation. A year after Hope’s death I found myself in desperate need of completing my dream of building a labyrinth in my back yard, so as a family, we built that labyrinth.  We named it Hope’s Labyrinth in memory of our child/sibling and found healing as a family. Four years later, I was sought out by a woman writing a book about women who built labyrinths and asked me to tell her the story of Hope’s labyrinth for the book. She took the time to connect each one of the women in her book, creating a group of women connected not only by words on a page, but also in a shared spirit.

Fast forward to this past December and my trip to Hawaii. It just so happened that one of the women in this group lived on Maui, one of the islands we were to visit. I realized I could not visit Maui without meeting this woman to whom I was connected. So on our last day in Hawaii, we drove out to visit her and her labyrinth. We were graciously greeted with hugs.  Genuine excitement and pleasure of meeting us and sharing stories of labyrinths came through our meeting. That welcome of me, mostly a stranger, was a blessing, as was my time in her garden.

I walked her labyrinths, the sound of a nearby rushing stream surrounding me. Lush green trees and plants, exotic to this Colorado/Kansas girl, a vision of serenity. As I approached the labyrinth, camera in hand, I noticed a rock with the words Begin Again, carved into it. With our trip coming to an end and the New Year just on the horizon, I contemplated those words. The trip was not ending.  It was sending back into my life renewed in body, mind and spirit, to have the opportunity to begin my daily life again energized and rested.  The New Year was on the horizon.  Those words pushed me to consider how I wanted to begin again in a new year, living a life that acknowledges the way we are connected. As I pondered these thoughts, I noticed some vines that had grown woven together.  Once again reinforcing for me the importance of being connected. 

I was deeply grateful for camera in hand as I stopped my walking to take a picture.  Some might argue that having the camera on this prayer experience was a distraction.  But for me it was different.  Having the camera gave my eyes and heart a different perspective to see and ponder simple things I might have other wise missed. 

I am pretty sure I have not even begun to delve into the depths of everything the morning at The Sacred Garden gave me.  I know the experience has given me food for thought and food for my soul that will nourish my quiet moments.  I am beginning again, renewed and grateful for the entire experience, including the half dozen mosquito bites gained.  And that truly is a new perspective for me.

A Portable Christmas

Seeing as how we have not yet reached Epiphany, another Christmas post seems very appropriate to me right now. We have traveled to Hawaii several times, but have always wanted to travel there at Christmas time. So this year we packed up the family – mom, dad, kiddo and grandparents – and went to Hawaii for Christmas.  In order to do this some things had to be different. Most different was that there were no under the tree presents, the trip was the present. 

           

When one is taking your family Christmas celebration on the road, it takes quite a bit of planning and thoughtfulness. I found myself sorting through all our traditions and saying is this is a tradition because it is truly important to how we celebrate Christmas, or is it a tradition because we have always done it this way. This thought pattern helped me determine what was truly important to our celebration this year.  So the “stuff” of Christmas we took with us was our Christmas stockings (an important tradition four generations old), a picture of the nativity that my daughter colored on the airplane and our version of a portable Advent Wreath, once again colored by my daughter. There was no tree, no lights, no extra trappings. It was our most important traditions, our Bible on the iPad with the Christmas Story and us together as family.

Attending Christmas Eve services is an important ritual in our family, but being unfamiliar with churches in the area we decided to do our own. Easy to do when you are a chaplain and grandpa is a retired pastor. We cooked dinner in our condo and ate it on the lanai with colored nativity and Advent Wreath with electric candles adorning the center of the table. After dinner we read the Christmas story, talked about the word for the day from the Advent devotional we were following and “lit” the wreath. We ended by singing “Silent Night” and Joy to the World.” My father reflected how to him our service was reminiscent of the Jewish tradition of family worship at the table after a meal.  It struck me as a very appropriate way to celebrate the birth of a Jewish child that was the Christ Child. I have been at many Christmas Eve services, many of them very moving and special. But this in its bare bones simplicity that focused on the Christ child due to lack of trappings held a deep, deep meaning to me.

Christmas morning we got up early (3 am) to drive up Haleakala (the volcano on Maui) to watch the sunrise. There is only one way to describe the experience of watching the sunrise on Christmas morning from the top of the world. Holy Amazement. The whole time as I was fighting to stand upright in the bitterly cold wind (we were above 10,000 feet) all I could think of was the first two verses of Genesis; “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters (Genesis 1:1-3, NIV). And also John 1: 1-2, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.  He was with God in the beginning” (NIV). On the top of that volcano with about 200 – 300 of the closest strangers, as the sun rose, it became reverently quiet. To see such beauty of Christmas morning breaking with the words of scripture echoing in my head was humbling to say the least and deeply holy at the heart of the experience. It was worth every hour of lost sleep and is an experience that will forever more shape my experience of why it is that I, as a Christian, celebrate Christmas.

That afternoon we spent playing in the water on the beach. The gift of fun and laughter was very much at the center of the afternoon.  As was the gift of humility as I attempted to bodysurf and provided great entertainment to my family and any watching from the beach.   

We may have spent Christmas in a very exotic location, but it was actually far from exotic. Instead it was beautifully simple giving me something much more profound than I could have ever expected. Christmas this year was something so much more long lasting than the few special trinkets I received in my stocking. It gave me a deeper connection to my appreciation of the Christmas story and the gifts of Advent of Love, Hope, Peace and Joy. It gave me time to deeply connect with my family, away from the distractions of the busyness of a home Christmas. I experienced Christ in a whole new way through those that choose to serve us weary travelers on the blessed day of Christmas. This portable Christmas in many ways, gave the spirituality of Christmas back to me in a whole new way. For this I am deeply grateful.