Tuesday, April 16, 2013
And I'm sick with guilt, and afraid of what my colleagues (who don't normally do this sort of thing, at least to the best of my knowledge) might be thinking of their first year Cantor, taking off when she doesn't really need to.
This day is good for my sanity. After all, I have plenty of unused vacation days stored up. I've already tackled one of the two mountains of laundry that have been staring me in the face for weeks, and I'll tackle the next one later today. I'm heading out for a walk in a bit, something I haven't done in a long time. I'm sipping coffee and attempting to come to peace with yesterday's tragedy. I'm initiating conversations with my aunt and mom about wedding planning and hoping to get on the ball. I'm thinking ahead to tonight's board meeting, which I have every intention of attending. I'm allowing myself the day to rest and recharge and reconnect with myself. I know that come tomorrow, I'll work harder and be a better Cantor because of what I did today.
And then...the guilt pops in.
The guilt that I won't see my 4th graders today and someone else will.
The guilt that my co-clergy and other staff are working today and I'm not.
The guilt that I don't have children at home who demand attention whenever I'm not working.
The guilt that I'm not in St Louis and have no legitimate reason for taking the day off.
The guilt that I could be working harder today than I am.
It's amazing how I can delegitimize my life because my responsibilities and roles are different from that of my colleagues'. My life is still my own, full of complications and stresses and difficulties, even though I don't have a family or an overabundant workload. As much as I try to remind myself that it's unnecessary and unhelpful to compare my life to others, I can't help but carry the guilt of having it relatively easy--even if, to me, it's isn't always.
It's days like today when I realize how many growing edges I still possess in realms both personal and professional. Maybe someday I'll learn to set aside the guilt and just enjoy this peaceful day off, without fear that anyone is looking down on me for taking it. Or maybe not.
Since September 11, 2011, I have: Finished school. Accepted a position as Cantor at a congregation in Nashville, TN. Said goodbye to my student life in NYC and hello to my professional life in Nashville. Found an apartment free of rodents and ridiculous rent, with a gym, swimming pools, and loads of glorious space (not to mention a DISHWASHER and WASHER AND DRYER!!!). Entered a new decade. Fell in love with a wonderful man, happily allowed him to move into my apartment, and even more happily agreed to marry him. Begun to figure out the intricacies of being a clergy person and working in a professional environment. Transitioned in more ways than I could ever imagine in the space of 18 months.
Lots of change, indeed. All of it good and exactly as it should be, but not without challenges and my fair share of struggle. As I reflect upon the past year, I've had to wrestle as I attempt to figure out who the hell I'm meant to be in many aspects of my life, once again. Perhaps it's this inner fight that's bringing me back to this place that, even 18 months later, still feels like the one constant home I've had all along the journey of the last 6 years of my life.
Who knows how often I'll post, if ever again. But for now, I can say with absolute certainty that I'm glad to be home. And I hope to take my coat off and stay awhile.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Friday, July 23, 2010
Prior to stepping into the Health Care Chaplaincy building on June 3, I honestly believed that CPE would be a program geared solely towards helping patients in a hospital. I came in prepared to deal with the emotions that are connected to the illnesses of my patients. I had no idea that the program would actually be focused on me as the Chaplain—my past experiences, my transference and/or counter-transference, my feelings in the present moment, and my own growth as both a Chaplain and a member of the clergy. As I sat in the chapel during that first hour of the program, I realized this summer was going to turn my life around in ways I never could have expected; I realized that in order to be the best, most effective Chaplain I could be towards others, I would have to come to terms with the hardships in my own life. I also came to learn that much of my relationship with God, which I’d worked so hard to foster since my troubling high school years, was going to be questioned all over again. The comfort and peace I’d found through singing God’s praises were both stripped away as I walked into the rooms of my patients, using only my words, experiences, and skills that I’m just now learning I really do possess.
As a cantorial student, I’ve always found my relationship to God to be most evident when Jewish texts are juxtaposed with melodies sung in a heartfelt, meaningful manner. I believe that through my own singing, or by listening to others sing around me, that God hears my truest, most deeply hidden thoughts and prayers. The music creates a pathway that connects my soul to God, and vice-versa. On the first day of CPE, when Bonita’s (our supervisor) very first sentence to me was that I would not be allowed to sing with my patients, I worried that I could not create the same sacred, important connections between the people in the hospital rooms and God. Bonita said to us later that day that “you are enough” and while I believed her, a part of me felt concerned that by cutting off such a deeply rooted part of my spirituality, I would not be able to be me—and therefore—I would not be enough. My own insecurities were thrust into the limelight by taking away the one thing that has always made me the feel most comfortable around people. My sense of authority—clerical, pastoral or otherwise—was challenged in a way it had never been challenged before, and my fears led me to believe I was not the Chaplain I wanted to be.
Along with the insecurities derived from turning off my inner music box, I was also hit hard by the harsh realities of life as a pastoral care giver. In listening to my patients’ stories, I had a difficult time setting aside the personal issues that these stories brought up in me. It became clear from the beginning that the inner conflicts I had worked so hard to either resolve or put on the shelf were not going to stay put so easily. These issues were made even clearer because of the loneliness I so often experience living alone in
It was only a couple of weeks ago when I had 2 major revelations that changed my chaplaincy and relationship with God for the better. First, I began finding time everyday to pray to God on behalf of myself. Despite my anger, I tried to keep the lines of communication open, asking the Divine to grant me the calm presence and peace of mind I was desperately needing. I found that praying for myself allowed me to feel less angry, to more easily leave my problems in a “box” by the patients’ door, and to listen with greater intent and ability to the stories and meta-stories of my patients. Second, I realized the gift that comes with negative experiences in the life of the Chaplain. By living through a vast array of painful occurrences, I had a wealth of spiritual and intellectual commonalities with my patients. While I can not exactly understand what they themselves are going through in their hospital bed, I can understand some of the feelings and spiritual dynamics involved with serious medical conditions. By allowing myself to use my past experiences in “use of self” moments with patients, a whole new world of personal and spiritual connection was created. By exploring and utilizing these revelations, I have been able to more clearly see how my baggage is, in part at least, God’s gift to me as a Chaplain. My personal struggles allow my patients and I to feel comfortable around each other, and give me the ability to bring God into the room and (hopefully) keep God’s presence in the room once I’ve left. These revelations also, somewhat strangely, help me to feel a bit less alone in
Throughout the summer, there has been one text that has run through my mind over and over again in relation to my work as a Chaplain. The following words sum up the evolution of my relationship with God, and with Chaplaincy, this summer:
I wait for God, I seek God’s presence, hoping for an answer to prayer. In the midst of the people, O God, I extol Your might and celebrate Your deeds in joyous song.
We must purify our hearts, and the Eternal One will answer our prayer.
Eternal God, open my lips, and my mouth shall declare Your glory. May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart, be acceptable to You, O God, my Rock and my Redeemer.
-Ochila La’El, Gates of Repentence page 411
As I began this process, I believed that the best way I could pray to God on behalf of both the people I serve AND myself was to pray through song. Through the song, I sought and felt God’s presence with me. I have learned, however, that in order to be an efficient and genuine Chaplain, I need to wrestle with God on occasion, questioning and even doubting God’s role in the events of my life. Through my struggles this summer, I have become more in touch with myself and my role as a pastoral care giver. I have opened myself up to new relationships with others, which have led to new and exciting pathways to the Divine. Now, as I slowly gain confidence in my pastoral skills, I pray that the words we speak together reach God in the way I feel they do. I pray that God continue to give both myself and the patients I work with the courage to say what is true, and the ability to continue to realize God’s presence within human connections.