The Help

Brian got me a Kindle for my birthday.  I put it on my birthday list after realizing how much reading I will be doing in my supervisory education process and thought it best to have all the books in one place.  Of course, the first moment I turned the Kindle on, I did not download books of clinical theorists.  Or theologians.  Or even anything work-related.  I downloaded The Help by Kathryn Stockett.

A book really has to catch my attention for me to finish it, as I am not an avid reader.  But friends, I could not put this book down.  At any free moment in the day, I would pick up where I left off and try to read a chapter.  I even found myself rebelliously staying up late with one little light on in the bedroom just so I could get a few more pages in.  Even though the book is ‘fiction,’ it is portraying the life and times of Jackson, Mississippi during the 1960s, particularly focusing on the stories of ‘the help’ (black maids) being hired to work in white, wealthy households.  Such emotions encompassed this book: I laughed, cried, was angered, rejoiced, got nervous, and felt relieved.

Skeeter, a white and somewhat rebellious woman of her day, worked to collect stories from the help.  Towards the end of the book, she writes these unforgettable words: ‘There is so much you don’t know about a person…We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought.’  Can I get an amen??  How many times every day I am reminded that I don’t know what others are going through.  Our minds sometimes tell us, “I am right and the other is wrong” or “I know the answer better than the other.”  Don’t we see that all the time in politics, in religion, in the media?  How wrong we are in that thinking.

I am reminded of this daily at work as I spend my days sitting with others and hearing about their journeys.  One of the most beautiful things about being a chaplain for me is hearing others’ stories.  Occasionally when I visit a patient, I will say to him/her, “Tell me your story.”  They seem puzzled at first, looking for deeper clarification.  I again simply say, “Tell me your story.”  With time, piece by piece, their story will begin unraveling to me.  Even in the most broken of stories, it is a beautiful thing to hear.  Because our stories are who we are.  I wish I could do this with every patient (the whole 1,000 beds, level 1 trauma center, 400 orders a week makes this long-time engagement complicated).

Anyways, back to the book.  The other line I adore comes from Constantine, Skeeter’s maid growing up.  Skeeter remembers back to the first time she was called ‘ugly.’  In response, Constantine says to her, “Every morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision: You gone have to ask yourself, ‘Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?”’  What a beautiful line to remember in life.  If life is about taking risks and make choices, then certainly there will be those who will not believe in you, want you to fail, or not approve of your doings.  When I first felt called into ministry, I remember one of my male friends telling me on the phone, “You know you’re going against God’s will?  Women can’t be ministers.”  Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?  No, I am going to follow my calling: move to a new state, be in a long-distance relationship with Brian, take 93 credits, complete three years of schooling, struggle to make ends meet financially, stay up many late nights cramming for exams and writing papers, and live through dorm life again – because that is what I felt called to do so.

Even though this book is set in a particular place and time, there are so many universal truths captured in the stories of these women.  As I finished the book, I realized that perhaps I was reading a book on theory…on theology…and on things that were not only related to work, but related to life.  Just because it’s fiction doesn’t mean it is without truth and wisdom.  What a theological concept: we are all bound together as one people in the fact that we are all in need of help.  When we pretend we’ve got it all figured out, we are lying to ourselves and others can see through that.  (For those who have read the book, Hilly is a wonderful reference of this).

People in all walks of life come into this hospital in need of help.  Some of the patients need physical help as they suffer from hip and knee replacements, kidney stones, and terminal illnesses.  Others are in need of emotional help as they try to cope with the death of a family member, learn about a new and unexpected diagnosis, or struggle to make ends meet with more children at home than there is money to feed them.  Some need psychological help as they struggle to live in a society that deems them as outcasts or as ‘the other.’  Others need spiritual help as they try to figure out where God is in the midst of their child dying, their newly diagnosed cancer, or the sudden loss of a life after a traumatic event.  The chaplains often come together to process the help we need in our own lives, too.

Perhaps some of you have heard the popular scripture from Romans 3:23 stating, ‘We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.’  After reading The Help, I read that scripture as another way of saying we are all in need of help.  In one way or another, we could all use a little support…a little love…a little help in life.  As we try to offer this help to others, let us remember the words of Skeeter, “There is so much you don’t know about a person.”  But the good news is this: if we’re intentional, we might find moments in our lives when the world can stop and we can say to another, “Tell me your story.”  And we’ll realize we’re just two people – and not that much separates us.

Hands

One of the resident chaplains brought a wonderful idea to our pastoral care department.  She said we should provide a 'Blessing of the Hands' ritual for staff members.  We have offered blessings to some of the staff periodically, so it didn't seem like too much of a task.  But this idea was even crazier:  we should offer a 'Blessing of the Hands' ritual for staff in every unit of our 1,000-bed hospital.  Even if you are not good at math, you can imagine the strain of about 15 chaplains dividing and conquering every single unit in our hospital – from the operating rooms to the neonatal intensive care unit, from dialysis to the burn unit, from the trauma bay to the psychiatric unit.  The flyers were posted all around the hospital announcing our day of blessing.  We all joyfully arrived at the hospital on August 4th with our comfy shoes on, ready to round the hospital.

We rounded the hospital between 8:00am and 10:00pm.  At first, I was a little intimidated to walk up to staff members and ask, “Would you like to have your hands blessed?”  It reminded me of those people who walked around my college campus offering tracts to those who didn't yet know Jesus.  Our blessings were not tied to one particular faith – as we are an interfaith hospital – but it still made me feel that way at first.  Some staff didn’t know what the blessing was for and questioned it…some staff graciously declined…but the majority of staff welcomed the idea.  Nurses, PCTs, unit coordinators, environmental service workers, PTs, OTs, social workers, physicians, and other workers allowed us to place a small amount of oil on their hands and say a blessing over them.


One ICU nurse shared that she was an hour from shift change and the blessing gave her encouragement for her last hour.  One of the PCTs was pregnant and asked for a blessing over both her hands and her belly.  Another staff member said she wanted to give up her blessing and instead have me bless her hands on behalf of her sister who is battling leukemia.  One of the trauma nurses simultaneously smiled and teared up  as she proclaimed to the other nurses, “They're here, they're here!!  We've been waiting for this blessing all week.”  Staff members followed closely behind her as if we were the driving the ice cream truck through their unit.

I started off by saying the standard, typed blessings we had.  Things like: “Out of gratitude for your work, may you receive this blessing of thanks.”  “In ancient medicine, oil was used for healing, so through this oil, may your hands be healed and blessed.”  “May your hands be blessed so you will be a blessing to others.” But as I began to get more comfortable, I just went off script, offering a blessing that tailored to that staff member’s particular need.  (I wonder if my preaching professor from seminary would be proud that I was able to break away from my manuscript and just say what was on my heart in the moment).  Many staff members closed their eyes and breathed deeply as to create a holy space amidst the ringing phone, the beeping of monitors, and the chatter of other staff on the unit.  As blessings were made, I found such joy as the staff welcomed us with open arms.

It wasn’t until we provided the blessing that we realized how much the staff was in need of a blessing for all the work they do.  For once, they were not being questioned about the patient’s location, being told that the patient wanted pain meds, or being asked to work on the patient's discharge orders.  We were simply there to be with them.

We blessed hands that…

Give medication.

Change bed pans.

Answer endless phone calls.

Perform CPR.

Reach out a hand to anxious patients.

Empty trash cans.

Change the dressings of burn patients.

Provide life-saving procedures.

Provide feeding to babies in the NICU.

Draw blood.

Change IVs.

Provide consent for surgeries.

Deliver babies.

Like a hungry child reaching out for food, hand after hand reached out towards us.  With palms opened, people lined up for blessings.  Old hands, young hands, big hands, small hands, strong hands and withered hands.  The chaplains ended our day by offering a blessing to each other.  After all, hands that provide comfort, support, and encouragement also need some support and encouragement from time to time.

On that day, I realized we are indeed a people hungry for encouragement…for love...for appreciation.  So as you read this, I encourage you to take a moment and look at your hands.  Think about all the work you do with them in your job…in your home…in your life…in others’ lives.  Know that your work is appreciated.  May you continue to reach out your hands to this world that is in deep need of love and appreciation.  And may the One who created your hands bless them on this day and in all the days of your life.

Grace for Perfectionists

Today I wondered, ‘What does ‘perfectionism’ mean exactly?’  I looked up the definition of the word ‘perfectionism’ and learned that there are actually two types.  In a psychological sense, it is a belief that perfection can and should be obtained.  In a pathological sense, it is a belief that any work produced that is less than perfect is unacceptable.  I think both forms of perfectionism permeate in our society: the psychological perfection has spread like wildfire through the media, Hollywood, and magazines, always making the reader or viewer feel broken and imperfect, but offering a solution to how that person can improve.  New fashions, new diets, new plastic surgeries.  The pathological sense comes out in TV shows like Cake Boss when Buddy puts the finishing touches on his perfect cake creation; or on Dance Moms as instructor Abby Lee yells at her young students for not dancing perfectly.  I know these are extreme examples, but my point is that perfectionism can come out in many facets and cause harm if we’re not careful.


I will admit I can be a perfectionist sometimes (the pathological type, not the psychological).  In school, I would proofread a paper numerous times to make sure each comma was in its proper place…I would study every Greek and Hebrew word until I could recite them in my sleep…I would focus on the frustration of the questions I got wrong instead of rejoicing in the questions I got right.  Some of you may be reading this and thinking, “Get a life, Jenny,” but it feels like it is part of my DNA.  As I have written in prior blog posts, chaplaincy has taught me to break free of some of those tendencies, to be more spontaneous and in-the-moment, to embrace the messiness, and to give myself grace when I felt like I was failing as a chaplain.


This came out particularly in the last few weeks, which have been crazy for me.  Work was busy, full of meetings and end-of-unit assignments.  On my weekend off, I attended a friend’s wedding in Miami and on the drive to the wedding, found out my granddad died.  Therefore, I turned right around from the wedding to head to his funeral in Montgomery, Alabama.  I then turned around from his funeral, worked for 3 days, and then flew to St. Louis, Missouri for a family reunion with the other side of my family.  I came home from that trip exhausted from fun and activity and went right back to work.  I couldn’t find myself getting into any routine at work.  My visits felt casual and surface level, and no matter who I was talking to, my mind felt like it was somewhere else.  I became frustrated with myself and found myself close to tears on several occasions that day.  I like to keep my ducks in a row, and I felt like I had left some ducks quacking in Miami, Montgomery, and St. Louis.


As I was trying to piece together my thoughts for this blog, I received an email from my seminary friend, Melissa.  She, along with many other pastors (or so their facebook statuses have told me), are working on their sermons for Sunday, many of them using the text where Jacob struggles with God at Peniel.   She was asking if she could use me as sermon illustration with my calling to chaplaincy coming through fear and wrestling with God.  She wrote a paragraph about my struggle with God that brought me from fear to excitement about this new call in my life.  She states, “Because God blessed her, she had to do something about it.”  (Of course I emailed Melissa and asked if I could use her illustration in my blog).  Her words made me smile.


It was a beautiful moment of God reminding me that we do not go this journey alone.  We are called to be in relationship and to empower one another when we doubt ourselves.  I talk with patients about this all the time – finding support through friends, family and/or a church community.  I guess I needed to take a dose of my own medicine.  Melissa helped me to remember that we give God whatever we can and God will work through it to make something incredible.  And I am reminded that in our humanness, we can never be perfect.  No matter what reality shows, magazines, or advertisements try to tell us.  By our human nature, we will always fall short…we will always miss commas and misspell words…we will always lose faith in ourselves from time to time.  And that is why grace is such a beautiful thing.

The Next Season

About a month ago, we had 11 new summer interns join our department to begin their journey through a summer intensive program.  I love teaching new students the ins and outs of the hospital – it is amazing to see how quickly they can learn.  There were lots of eager hearts ready to jump right in; however, even the most excited and driven interns still carried some anxiety about the unknown and their capacity to handle difficult situations.  I think that is the beauty and reality of CPE.  I shared with a few of them about my first week of my CPE internship in 2009: how I got physically sick, fainted twice, and cried in bathroom stalls out of fear of what I was going to see.  I couldn’t walk into the room of someone who was dead or even dying.  My heart jumped every time I saw a linen cart wheel by because the covering on it made me think there was a dead body inside.  When they heard these stories, they were shocked because they felt like I was able to be a calm, non-anxious presence for patients and families in all kinds of situations.  I reminded them that it takes patience and hard work, but that they, too, will be able to handle things that they never thought they would be able to handle.

I began this blog about 10 months ago as I journeyed through an unexpected year of a CPE residency.  I say ‘unexpected’ because most of you know I was planning to become a pastor in a church, not a chaplain in a hospital.  I felt God tugging me to face my fears of hospital ministry, and now 10 months later, it seems odd to think of myself as doing anything but chaplaincy.  I feel like this is what I was supposed to be doing all along, but just didn’t know that when I started.  I am an ‘ESTJ’ on the Myers-Briggs scale, therefore the high functioning ‘J’ in me makes *planning* a natural tendency of mine. (if you don’t know to which test I’m referring, you can test yourself for free at http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes1.htm).  Throughout this year, I feel I learned to let go of some of the planning and found myself being carried into a whole new field of work.  I won’t lie to you, I still love to plan, but this residency has taught me to embrace a little more of the spontaneity that comes with life.

This year has taught me more than I ever could have imagined.  I have learned about patients: how isolated they can feel as they journey through sickness and how unexpected tragedies can change an entire family in a mere second.  I have learned about protocol and procedures: Florida Statutes, the difficulty of ethics, and interdisciplinary approaches to healthcare.  I have learned to be a chaplain not only for patients, but also for staff.  I have traveled to many seminars and learned about a variety of topics: palliative care for children, the world of the traumatized, the road of professional chaplaincy and the process towards becoming a board certified chaplain.

Some of you may have seen my announcement on facebook about beginning the CPE supervisory process.  The supervisors with whom I have been in conversation have said this process feels like the equivalent of working towards a PhD.  This process takes several years and involves looking at yourself and exploring your ability to be an educator, observing and leading groups while meeting weekly with a supervisor, writing and defending several theory papers, and going in front of numerous committees who vote you through each step.  Some have asked me why I would want to put myself through all of that.  My answer is simple: I feel called to do this.  My heart comes alive in this work and I believe I am ready to take on the challenge.  I met for my first consultation in Orlando a few weeks ago and my next step will take place in Greenville, SC at the end of September.  I plan to continue blogging through this next season of my life.

In closing, I want to share a quick story.  In my 7^th grade literature class, each student had to memorize a ton of poetry and recite it to our teacher.  I thought it was stupid and pointless at the time (as was everything else in my 'tween worldview). But still today, my brother and I crack ourselves up at our continued ability to quote poetry that we learned over 10 years ago.  Cliché as it may be, out of all the poetry, I must say that Robert Frost’s ‘The Road Not Taken’ comes to mind more than anything as I begin this new season of my life.  So I will now leave you with his words…

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

When God Gives You More Than You Can Handle

“God will never give me more than I can handle.”  I constantly hear this quote at the hospital.  People are quick to say this to chaplains, and it has always made me curious why people say it.  The more I hear it, the more I think people say it to me because they think I’m secretly judging their ability to be a Christian and be one who struggles with sickness, suffering, or addiction…as though you can only be one or the other.  I think others say it because it keeps the conversation on a safe, surface level.

People often tell me it is scriptural, but they don’t remember where it is in the Bible.  Well, I am here to dispel that rumor: that quote is not from the Bible.  Sure, there are scriptures that talk about trials and temptations, but the quote “God will never give me more than I can handle” just simply isn’t there.  I jokingly say it is from 2nd Hezekiah (in case you were wondering, there is no 2nd Hezekiah).

I find it ironic that so many people who are suffering from illness or grief would turn to this quote.  Perhaps it is a comfort to them.  Perhaps they have heard it said to them by friends or family.  Perhaps it’s just another way of saying, “God will see me through this.”  And I can certainly respect that.  I just struggle to envision God with my life story in one hand and a calculator in the other, stating, “Jenny, I know you can handle ‘X’ amount of grief, so I have decided to give you ‘X-1’ so that you will be able to handle it.”

Mother Theresa played with that quote when she said, “I know God will never give me more than I can handle - I just wish he didn’t trust me so much.” I think what she is saying and what I, too, am trying to say is that sometimes it sure feels like our lives are crashing in around us.  I remember standing with a physician when he shared with a mother and father that their 5 year old daughter was brain dead.  Could you imagine me saying to them in that moment, ‘God will never give you more than you can handle’?  How about when a mother has to pick between her life and her child’s life because only one of the two is guaranteed survival…or a woman's mother dies after a long bout of cancer…or a woman in her 30s becomes a widow after her perfectly healthy husband drops dead while going for a morning run.  For some, it’s not just physical death that feels overwhelming: it’s an addiction to alcohol or drugs, a family broken apart by deceit and mistrust, or the threat of divorce when there are young children involved.

I think there are a lot of scriptures that speak to the threshold of one’s being and God’s response to it.  In Isaiah 54:7, God says, “For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great compassion I will gather you.  In overflowing wrath for a moment I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you, says the Lord.”  This certainly isn’t one of the more commonly quoted scriptures, but it’s there.  In Psalm 88:6-7, the psalmist cries out to God, “You have put me in the depth of the Pit, in the regions dark and deep.  Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and you overwhelm me with all your waves.” Human suffering goes deep, my friends.

I suppose I stand here today to make the case that we aren’t always kept safe from our ‘threshold of suffering’; rather, our threshold continues to stretch as life deals us more and more grief and pain.  In my own life, there recently have been instances both with my family and friends that show me how deeply we can suffer (I won’t share them on this blog because they aren’t my stories to tell).  I’m sure many times in my life, I have told people, “God will never give you more than you can handle.”  Well, I am here today to say I am officially retiring that statement.

My hope is that even if you use that quote, then you will also say to the one who is suffering, "I am here to listen...and I will share with you in your suffering.”  Let the patient, the friend, or the family member decide if it is more than they can handle.  And if it is, be the shoulder for them to cry on...the ear to let them be heard...and the tears to let them know you share in the sting of their suffering.

Perhaps this saying should be re-written.  I would re-write it to say, “I will never give God more than God can handle.”  So cry out, my friends…for God is listening.

Alleluia

Often at the hospital, I meet with patients who have a common thread among them: questions of forgiveness.  People hear very different things when they hear the word ‘forgiveness.’  For some, it is a word used after a fight among family or friends.  People seek apologies and forgiveness to bring peace to a situation.  In my Presbyterian tradition, we hear a Declaration of Forgiveness each Sunday after we confess our sins.  But still for others, forgiveness is something with which they struggle.

At the hospital, I have heard questions like, How will I ever forgive him for cheating on me? How will I forgive her for driving recklessly and killing my father? God, how might I ever forgive you for taking my baby away before she even had a chance at life?  Many people are in the hospital because they are at the end of their lives and still have family turmoil or messy relationships.  And then there are those who think that the things they have done in their lives are so despicable that they wonder if God will be able to forgive them.

I remember meeting with a man several months ago who was a nightmare for the staff.  One by one, they went in, got yelled at, and left.  I was asked to come see him…and I stood there as he screamed at me, ripped his gown off, threw it at me, and tried to kick me out of his room.  I did not leave – I didn’t think he actually wanted me to leave.  I stood in his room and eventually said to him, “I can see you are upset.  There must be a lot on your mind.”  He eventually broke down in tears, asking me if God’s grace could reach as far as someone like him.  He saw himself as worthless and therefore could not find a place for God’s grace in his life.

So how might one answer this patient?  A strapping and eager Reformed Christian might say something like, “But we live by grace alone, and God’s grace has no limits.”  A person well-versed in scripture and evangelism might quote Ephesians 2:8 and say, “But scripture says, ‘For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this is not from yourselves, it is a gift from God.’”  A listener who is quick to fix and slow to explore might say, “Oh no, I can’t believe you’d ever think that – of course God’s grace stretches to you. You are special.”  Are any of these answers wrong?  No, I don’t think so.

But as a chaplain, I was slow to offer words of grace and forgiveness to this man.  It sounds counterintuitive, but hear me out.  I believed there was something much deeper going on, so I explored what it is about himself that causes him to feel this way.  Was there something in his past that he has suppressed because it was too hurtful to think about?  Did enough people in his life tell him he was worth nothing, causing him to start believing it?  Does he have a psych issue that could be addressed through a trained psychologist and maybe even medication?  There are many layers to a statement like his.  But I thought in the long run, it would be a lot better for him to find the grace and forgiveness within himself rather than hear it from someone else…kind of like letting a young child struggle through simple addition when the answer seems so simple to the trained mind.

Perhaps in some ways, I have lived a sheltered life and have not seen the yearning for forgiveness that some people face in their lives: that deep desire to be loved and forgiven again.  But last Sunday, at the Easter service at my home church in Daytona Beach, I saw forgiveness in a new light.  I want to share that story with you.

To give you a little background, we have a huge banner that sits in the front of our sanctuary during Lent.  This banner has the twelve apostles’ names listed on them, and underneath their name is a symbol that represents them.  One of those apostles is Judas Iscariot, the one who betrays Jesus and turns him over to the chief priests.  The symbol underneath Judas’ name is an image of several coins, symbolizing the 30 pieces of silver he receives for turning Jesus over to the arresting soldiers.  At our Maundy Thursday service, as the lights are turned out and the haunting hymn ‘Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?’ rings throughout the sanctuary, a black piece of felt is placed over Judas’ symbol.  Complete betrayal – turning Jesus over to be crucified.  What could be worse than that?

But on Easter Sunday, as the announcement is made that the tomb is empty, the lights turn on and the congregation sings the hymn ‘Jesus Christ is Risen Today.”  As we were singing, the choir processed; the Bible was carried in and placed on the pulpit; the organist went to full organ, causing the balcony to shake.  We were singing the last verse: “Sing we to our God above, Alleluia!”  I watched my father walked over to the banner and reach towards the black felt.  “Praise eternal as God’s love, Alleluia!”  The felt was pulled off – Judas’ name and symbol reappeared with the other 11 apostles.  “Praise him, all you heavenly host, Alleluia!”  Forgiveness, I thought.  That is forgiveness.  I surprised myself as I began to cry.  “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Alleluia!”  How incredibly beautiful is forgiveness, I thought.  (I know there are differing ideas about what happened to Judas after Christ’s death and resurrection, but it sure painted a beautiful picture of forgiveness for me.)

I thought of the patient I met with who wondered how God’s grace and forgiveness could stretch as far as him.  Or perhaps as far as someone like Judas.  Or even as far as a sinner like you and me.  But this Easter morning, I grasped the word 'forgiveness' in a whole new light.  And my understanding didn't involve any new definitions or teachings...just tears.  Praise him, all you heavenly host; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Alleluia!

Dear Death

I am in the process of becoming an ELNEC certified trainer.  ELNEC stands for “End-of-Life Nursing Education Consortium.”  With this title, I will become a PCRP, "Palliative Care Resource Professional."  As you can imagine, it is predominantly nurses who go through this training; however, at our hospital, we find it very important for chaplains to go through this training, too.  There is focus on palliative care, pain and symptom management, active listening, honest engagement about death, and the fulfillment of patients’ wishes as they face the end of their life.  One of the activities we did at the training was explained as follows:

"Write death a letter.  Begin with the line 'Dear Death,' and write whatever comes to mind."  There were close to 50 of us in the room: 40+ nurses, 6 chaplains, and 1 occupational therapist.  We wrote our letters in silence.  After 10 minutes, our leader allowed us to share out loud.  Examples included light-hearted answers like “Dear Death, bite me.”  Some claimed their hope in Christ and said things like, “Dear Death, you do not have control over me.  Only God does.  If it is God’s time, then it can be yours, too.”  One nurse fought back the tears as she read something along the lines of, “Dear Death, you have already taken so many of my family members. Why do you keep showing up in our lives without us inviting you??”  I realized how death looked different to each person in the room.  Same greeting: "Dear Death," yet totally different paths emerging from each person's heart.  I know I’ve seen a lot of death lately…I am often reminded of my own mortality, especially when the young ones die.  Part of my letter included, “I thought I was too young for this…silly me, thinking I was invincible.  But since you’re here, I’ll put on my best dress and high heels.  I’m ready to dance.”

Sometimes death is the uninvited guest.  Other times death is an answer to prayers after a long and hard journey of suffering.  Death can be the last word for some families; for others, death can be the first time grief and true feelings are expressed.  Death can be the end of suffering for many people, but can also be the beginning of suffering for families who have never had to talk about their emotions before.  I have seen patients die at the hospital and seen many outcomes: watched family fall to their knees at their bedside...kiss the hands and forehead of their loved one…embrace one another…walk out of the room, never to return…smile as they imagine their loved one pain-free in heaven…shake the body, hoping to wake it from the dead…kiss the tiny fingers and toes of a child or baby who has died...watched families crumble, realizing the deceased loved one was the glue holding a fragile, broken family together.


In many ways, I have prepared for my own death.  One of my seminary classes required that I write my own obituary and plan my funeral service.  I already have my Living Will and Healthcare Surrogate forms completed.  I told my family I want to be cremated, not buried.  I am only 26.  But with all that in order, it still was eye-opening to write Death a letter.  What would you say?  How might you welcome death?  Or run from it?  Or pray that it stays far away?  Or ask God that death meet you before death meets your spouse…or your child…or your parent? 

Sure, we all imagine how we might die.  We plan it in our head, many of us hoping for the least pain possible.  To die in our sleep, to not be a financial burden to our family, to be surrounded by our loved ones.  But sometimes death sneaks up on us.  Sometimes our heart stops without any warning signs.  Some die way too young.  Some die suddenly in accidents.  Some become diagnosed with cancer and die weeks later.  Some babies die before they even leave their mother’s womb.

I know this is heavy stuff, but it is on my heart this week.  And of all the weeks to write about it, I thought Holy Week would be an appropriate time as those of us who are Christian journey with Christ through the palm branches…to the table with his disciples…to the cross…to the tomb.  But we know the Easter story doesn’t end there.  We know on Sunday we will awaken to an empty tomb.  That is the hope we have as we talk about the difficulty of facing death.  For me, writing this letter to Death invited me to sit in the ‘Friday and Saturday’ of the Easter story, yet knowing that 'Sunday' would soon be there to welcome me.  And as I told Death, 'Sunday' too should know that I'll be in my best dress and high heels, ready to dance.


I remember learning my first important life lesson when I was about 6 years old.  While sitting around the dinner table, a close family friend taught me, “There are only 2 things in life you have to do: pay taxes and die.”  Well, it’s tax day…and I’m not getting any younger.