Loving the Unlucky, Unloveable Characters

Last weekend, I was paged to a patient care unit to visit with M. M is a mid 50s, Caucasian female. M identifies religiously as a Messianic Jew. Upon a brief look at the patient's chart, I note that she had been brought in for an attempted suicide. I also see that M has already expressed to the social worker and several staff members that she is being abused at home -- mentally, physically and emotionally.

Breathe.

When I first arrived to M's room, she was laying in bed and one of the nurses was kneeling at her bedside, adjusting the wires attached to M's legs. I introduce myself by name and position. M and I lock eyes. She begins to weep. I softly ask M if I can pull up a chair and she nods in agreement. So, I do.

Breathe.

For the next half hour, M tells me in detail about her life. She tells me about feeling unloved, feeling unloveable. She tells me that her children found her unconscious after drinking four bottles of wine and taking "enough prescription pills to kill a horse". M says that she has been in the hospital for over a week and that not a single person from her family has come to visit her. M would like her children to feel sorry for her... she would like them to say, "Mom, we didn't realize that you were that unhappy. We love you. We're here for you." But, M says, "I'm not that lucky. I'm not that lovable."

Breathe.

M tells me that she is supposed to go home today, but that she is terrified. She says that it would be easier for her to jump in front of the El, than it would be for her to face her family. She tells me that she is considering it.

Breathe.

I tell M that I hear her pain. I tell her that I hear her anger, her hurt. I ask M what her experience is like. I ask M what she believes would come after life. I ask M who she is angry at.

Breathe.

"God."
--

M's story is not unfamiliar to me. M is just one person in a sea of people who walk around suffering, unable to put their finger on the who, what, where, when and why of their pain. But, the pain is not imaginary. The pain should not be ignored. As a person of faith, I can wind words in order to shame those who have a desire to self-harm. Or, I can be present with them in the midst of their reality. I chose to be present with M. I did not tell her that what she did was wrong. I did not tell her not to kill herself when she left the hospital. [[ Not an easy task.]] Instead, I reflected back to M the pain that she was expressing. I heard her. I held her in the midst of the pain, right where she was. I attempted to communicate to this "unlucky, unloveable" woman, that I love her and God loves her.

When people ask me why I do this work, I often tell them that when I was growing up, I collected bells. For me, each bell represented a different time, place and person. As an adult, I realize that the collection was never about the bells, it was about the stories attached to the bell. The bell was a simple, concrete reminder of where I've been, what I've done and who in my life was there to love me. I have since moved on from collecting bells, but I have never stopped collecting stories. Chaplaincy provides an excellent medium for collecting stories. Of course, there are other Divine inspired reasons for my involvement in this work. However, I believe that God uses my love of stories in order to keep me in love with what I do.

The hardest part of being a chaplain is that I am only allowed to read excerpts of people's stories. Often, I get the brief intro or the conclusion of their story. However, sometimes I am lucky enough to get the climax, or the epilogue.

M's story for me, is an epilogue. She shared with me the conclusion of her story -- drinking the wine, taking the pills, awaiting death to take her over. But, then she woke up. I asked M, "Why do you think you were woken up?" M replied, "Because it wasn't my time to go. God still has plans for me."

M's story is not over. This new normal, post-suicide attempt, is simply an epilogue, an act two, a sequel to what she had previously known. And, if there's anything that this story lover knows about epilogues, it's that they almost always set the ground work necessary for a peaceful resolution. I hope to not read the end of M's new story. But, if I do, I will continue to love this "unlucky, unloveable" character.

In the Grip of God's Grace, 

Pastor Anitta +♡

Standing at the Bedside

A few nights ago, I was paged to the hospital as a 'support person' for a particularly difficult case. The nurse told me that the patient had hung himself in the garage the morning before and had just been pronounced brain dead. She also told me that the mother was on her way to the hospital with their 10 year old daughter.

I got dressed, got in my car and Googled the whole way there... I Googled: what to tell a child about their dead parent, what to tell the surviving parent about child grief, how to make sense of suicide, what do pastors think about suicide, how to be present for suicide survivors, the list went on and on...

In many ways, I felt entirely underprepared to be entering into the room with the patient and his loved ones. This is not my first experience of suicide, it's not my first experience when a young child has been involved and its not my first case of parent suicide either. Yet, no matter how many of these cases happen... I'm put back in that place of being a novice in this field.

Standing at the bedside, I witnessed a grieving wife, mother, daughter, and parents. I heard stories about a beloved man, a gardener, Dr. Pepper lover, secret keeper, hide and go seek player and all around great dad. I heard a mother be completely honest with her 10 year old daughter about depression, about suicide and about how they were going to wake up tomorrow without this man because of it. They planned to spend all day writing letters to him, crying, watching movies and planting all of the new plants that dad had purchased. At one point, I too felt warm tears streaming down my face.

After the family left, the patient was taken off of life support and he died moments later. Shortly after, the nurse handed me what appeared to be a large, fancy watch. I inquired about the watch and was informed that it was an ankle bracelet. I found out that the patient had been on house arrest for child pornography charges. I was shocked. And then, I was relieved that I did not have that information prior to being present with the family in the midst of their grief. It brought up a lot of questions for me, questions that I'm embarrassed to share.

When I first began working in this ministry, I was amazed by the fact that most patients could care less about who I am,  my background or what my qualifications are. The only qualification that I need is to bear the title of Chaplain, to be kind, compassionate, empathetic and willing to listen. In many ways, I think this is true of the patient as well. I once had a professor of Pastoral Care inform me that as a Parish minister, it would be part of my responsibility to a congregation to 'invite people to leave the church'. I was horrified. While I understand the need, I cannot imagine being able to ask someone to leave the church.

As a hospital chaplain, I will never be asked to turn my back on someone. I have the privilege of interacting with those who have left the church for a million and one reasons. At the end of the day, my patient's story is no more important than my own. While I am often invited into the deep, dark, secretive places... I never carry that expectation. The only thing that matters is this chance conversations, in which God does what She does best.

So, yes. I am a pastor for pedophiles, murderers, convicts, felons, aunts, uncles, children, moms, dads, doctors, nurses, the wealthy and the poor. I am a pastor for the people.

In the Grip of God's Grace,

Pastor Anitta +♡

Orison Over Omelets

This morning, as Tony was making my omelet, he said to me, "No one wants to be working on a Sunday. If I wasn't here, I'd probably be in church." I replied, "Yea, me too." He looked a bit shocked. I went on to explain to him that I am one of the chaplains in the hospital and that I spend my days wandering the halls of the hospital worshipping, praying and visiting with patients. Tony asked me to offer a prayer for him. In front of the line of patrons, I reached over the sneeze guard to take Tony's hands and offered prayer for him. He thanked me, boxed my food and I went on my way.

I am often surprised by these chance conversations and don't think I would/could want to do anything else with my life.

In the grip of God's Grace,
Pastor Anitta +♡

Amusing Musing

Thoughts of a Chaplain: I hate to say it this way, but I'm a bit of a grief junkie. There is nothing more special than being right up close with strangers when they are at the crux of life shattering experiences. It is beautiful and awful and Sacred and terrible and Divine all at once.




I'm beyond privileged to be present. ♡

In the Grips of God's Grace,
Pastor Anitta +♡

Elevated Spirits

After being stuck in an elevator at the hospital, I was rescued by an 89-year-old woman. As the doors opened, I greeted her with a mix of tears and joy. She gave me a grandma hug and told me, "God's watching over you." Thanks, lady. I needed to hear that.

In the Grip of God's Grace,
Pastor Anitta +♡

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Blackberry Winter: Chaplaincy and Dementia

This week for my Psychopathology course, we were required to read the play Blackberry Winter. I felt as if it was well constructed and gave me an interesting insight into the inside life of what happens to the family system when the aging parent reverts to a form of infancy – as it was stated in the play. Throughout the play, I continued to wonder, “How would I pastor Vivienne and would it be different than how I would be a chaplain for her?” My gut instinct tells me that they would be pretty similar. In the clinical setting, more often than not, people are verbalizing a desire to know the “why” to explain what they are going through. However, I find that something within my presence at the bedside allows them to move into another space. It becomes less about the “why” and more about the sharing of stories. With a disorder like dementia, I find that there is less of a ‘why’ attitude and more of a task orientation. I believe that the character in Blackberry Winter embodied this disposition, as well. In some ways, it seems to be easier – safer, maybe? – to stay within the logic of what needs to happen. This strikes me as interesting, given the disorder in and of itself is illogical. I’m also hyper-aware of the term used in Ministry with Persons with Mental Illness and Their Families to describe someone in Vivienne’s position – the ‘sandwich generation’. These are the folks who are simultaneously caring for the aging parent and the coming to age child. As pastor/chaplain, I’m wondering how to be fully present with Vivienne? How do I remain fully present with someone who doesn’t seem to be able to be fully present with themselves?

Secondly, how does one be pastor to the declining parent in this scenario? In Ministry with Persons, dementia is referred to as a “disease of old age”. As this is increasingly true, what is the pastoral response to bring with these folks? In my experience of being present with patient’s experiencing these symptoms, I find that I often question what makes my visit different than any other visit within the hospital and/or a social visit. I’m reflecting here on the time that I spent in a nursing home with my parent (who was an employee). I would regularly visit several ladies who told me the same stories, thought I was a grandchild or could recall just enough to remember that I was a stranger they enjoyed meeting. In both Ministry with Persons and Blackberry Winter, I am struck by the concept of complementary therapies. What is the current model for how we care for these patients? Does it vary across facility? Are there best practices? As someone who does not imagine being in a diagnostic setting – what is my role as pastor? As advocate? Is there a way to ritualize this type of decline in a worship setting?

That’s all I have for now.

In the Grip of God's Grace, 

Pastor Anitta +

10 Things I Wish You Knew About Being A Chaplain

In case you haven't read elsewhere, I have officially accepted a resident chaplaincy position for the 2016-17 year. I have also been reaffirmed and recommended for Local Pastor Licensure and placed in the appointment pool of the United Methodist Church. I am seeking appointment, as a local pastor, to my residency position. What this would mean for me is that, while in this place, I will be granted all of the authority necessary to perform all of the duties of Pastor within the hospital community. For those of you who are unaware, this means that I will have the authority to lead worship, preach, teach, bless communion, perform weddings as well as funerals. BUT, before I get there, I still need to finish out the next few weeks of school and work.

After a long and eventful on-call shift, I woke up and composed the following list. I am sure that I could come up with many more, but for now... my emotional, sleep deprived, exhausted brain could only come up with these 10 things that I wish you all knew. Without further ado, I present:

10 Things I Wish You Knew About Being A Chaplain

1.     I cry. Since becoming a chaplain, I have become incredibly more in touch with my own feelings. When I see someone suffering, I cannot help but cry right alongside of them.

2.     It's hard. You don't have to ask me if it's hard. It is. In no other sphere are you welcomed into someone else's deep pits of shame, sadness, fear, anxiety and depression. This pit is full of secrets that  people have never shared with children, spouses or other family members. And, somehow, they trust me with all of them.

3.     I am available. My college Stanley Hauerwas has accused contemporary pastors of being little more than a "quivering mass of availability". While, I do think healthy boundaries in a pastoral relationship are necessary. I am lucky enough to work for a Health System that believes spiritual support, especially at times of crisis, is important and goes out of their way to call chaplains in at 2am. However, when I've dragged by butt out of bed at 2am, I should NEVER hear your parishioner's say that they don't want to call you because they believe you "won't come anyway".

4.     I sleep a lot. In a typical 8-4 job, you have a predictable schedule. I, on the other hand, must ritualize my on-call shifts. I'm sorry that I can't get lunch with you. Instead, I'm taking a nap to prepare myself for the possibility of needing to be awake from 5pm - 830am. In my experience, the shifts I start tired are the ones where I truly am awake all night.

5.     I'm exhausted. Perhaps this is related to the last point. Although I am on-call from home, what little rest that I can get, is not optimal. Try sleeping deep enough that you get rest and light enough to be woken up by a screaming pager in the middle of the night. And, if I get more than two calls a night -- forget sleep altogether! My Friday shift bleeds over into my Saturday morning and then devours my entire Saturday day as I stumble between fits of sleep and wandering aimlessly around my house because I know if I sleep all day, I will be awake all night. But, I'm exhausted.

6.     I get frustrated. I get frustrated when families don't act the way that 'I want them to act'. I get frustrated when patient's only see hopelessness. I get frustrated with God. I get frustrated with other hospital disciplines for walking in and out of the room when I am trying to have an encounter with a patient or their family. I know that all of this is more about me, then them. I am working on this.

7.     I consider everything I do a sacrament. Wesley talks about sacrament as being the outward sign of an inward grace. If I didn't truly believe that God has gifted all people with grace and was working within them at all times, I could not be a chaplain. In some ways, the chaplain’s presence in the world is an outward sign of the grace that is bestowed upon all of creation.

8.     I value my relationships more. It feels like every time that I am on-call, I come face to face with death, with strained relationships and with fear of last words, last impressions and last 'I love you's'. Because of my experience as a chaplain, I have learned that the relationships that I maintain are delicate and they deserve my attention. I don't want anyone ever to feel unloved or unwanted. And, when they do, I feel the heartbreak of losing friendships significantly deeper than I use to.

9.     I have learned how to have 'hard' conversations. Again, related to the last point, it is never easy to talk to your loved ones about the true desires that you have for yourself, let alone broach the subject of health care power of attorney, 'what if' scenarios and conversations around advanced directives. Chaplaincy has shown me what happens when these conversations fail to happen. At 25, I have a healthcare power of attorney, I have decided to be DNR in certain circumstances and I know, for the most part, what those closest to me want for themselves. These conversations are difficult, but they are necessary.

10. Death is a beautiful mystery. I am always amazed at the different responses to how people handle death. Sometimes, I cry alongside of families. Sometimes, I stay in my head because the family can't quite move to the emotional space of the loss. And, sometimes, I go back after the family has left, to pray privately with a patient's body. Not because the prayer I offered in front of the family wasn't genuine, but because the prayer that I offer in private helps me ritualize my own experience.

In the Grip of God’s Grace,
Pastor Anitta +♡