Most of you know this, but I went to Honduras for eleven days in January. I haven't been able to go more than about 20 hours without thinking about that experience and how much I want to go back. I might not get the opportunity to go back to Honduras, but I'm hoping to travel again this January.
The professor with whom I traveled takes a group to Haiti on the years he doesn't go to Honduras.
I am elated about Haiti.
I loved my experience in Honduras so much that I cannot even imagine how much fun I'll have in Haiti. I just want to hang out with kids again. Sweat in the sweet heat and giggle with some kids on the front porch of a school. I've been Googling things about Haiti for the last week in anticipation. 34% of the population is younger than fourteen. I couldn't be more excited.
Haiti intimidates me.
I don't know how to speak even a tiny bit of French. And French Creole sounds even more exhausting. How am I going to connect with people when I can't understand anything? When I can't speak anything? But if I learned anything while I was in Honduras, it's that laughter and silliness are languages without distinctions. I might be alright.
My heart breaks for Haiti.
Haiti was the first post-colonial black-led nation in the world. They endured so much persecution by the Spanish and French over the years that their government has been pretty unstable for its entire existence. It is currently the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Poorer than Honduras? I think to myself. How my heart breaks for the people there.
Haiti is hurting.
In 2010, an earthquake struck Haiti, killing over 300,000 people and leaving over 1.5 million people homeless. Four years later, they still haven't recovered. They may never fully recover. Their environment is subject to extensive deforestation and soil erosion. And there is barely enough potable water to provide everyone with enough throughout the year.
Haiti can teach me so much.
Over 95% of Haitian citizens are black. Over half of the population practices voodoo (although the census says that they are 80% Roman Catholic). I am so incredibly interested in the culture there. Not as a specimen of study, but as people I'd love to have relationships with.
I am so excited to meet my brothers and sisters in Haiti. I'm going to be hitting everyone up for money soon. It makes me ill to ask for money like this, but these trips are formational and completely priceless to the ministry for which God is calling me.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Give to everyone who asks
Give to everyone who asks.
Emphasis on the ask.
I must confess, this particular post was conceived after reading another seminarian's blog post from about a week ago. His point (which is obviously a very valid point) is that we are to give to everyone who asks. Period. The end. Not "give to everyone who asks and seems to have need," not "give to everyone who asks and is willing to repay you," not "give to everyone who asks and seems like they're telling the truth." We are called to give to everyone who asks.
Luke 6:30 says, "Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back."
Matthew 5:42 says, "Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."
But what if we are only called to give to those who ask. Not the people we see as having a need. Not the people we hope we can fix or help in order to get something out of it ourselves. Not the people who are high profile and the world presents as "needy."
One of my biggest flaws is that I think I can fix things that I simply cannot fix. Actually, I think I can and should fix things that people have no intention of fixing or don't want help in fixing. I'm a chronic fixer. A codependent fixer. I want people to fix me too.
But I rarely wait for people to ask. I never wait for "what do you think?" before giving my opinion. I rarely wait for "how should I do it?" before letting them know how I would do it. I barely ever wait for "can you help?" before I've offered three or four solutions to a problem.
What if this phrase is a commentary on our mission as a church? What if the author intentionally didn't write, "give to everyone?" What if we aren't supposed to walk into the impoverished part of town and declare their needs and hold out our hands for the "needy?"
I think it is especially an important self-care issue for caregivers. We aren't going to be able to help all of the people who we think need help. We aren't going to be able to help all of the people who we think deserve help or would benefit from help. But we are able to help the people who ask for help.
Think about it: how many times did Jesus roll up, diagnose people, and decide to solve their problems? Not too many times. In fact, in most of the time people are flocking to Jesus and asking for his help. Of course, he responds appropriately to every single person- he helps them. Even when he's in the middle of helping someone else. Then after he helps people, he oftentimes retreats to the mountainside, the lake, or the wilderness to take care of himself.
Maybe this blog post isn't really going anywhere. (Did it go anywhere?) But I'll leave you with this:
Give to everyone who asks you.
Emphasis on the ask.
I must confess, this particular post was conceived after reading another seminarian's blog post from about a week ago. His point (which is obviously a very valid point) is that we are to give to everyone who asks. Period. The end. Not "give to everyone who asks and seems to have need," not "give to everyone who asks and is willing to repay you," not "give to everyone who asks and seems like they're telling the truth." We are called to give to everyone who asks.
Luke 6:30 says, "Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back."
Matthew 5:42 says, "Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."
But what if we are only called to give to those who ask. Not the people we see as having a need. Not the people we hope we can fix or help in order to get something out of it ourselves. Not the people who are high profile and the world presents as "needy."
One of my biggest flaws is that I think I can fix things that I simply cannot fix. Actually, I think I can and should fix things that people have no intention of fixing or don't want help in fixing. I'm a chronic fixer. A codependent fixer. I want people to fix me too.
But I rarely wait for people to ask. I never wait for "what do you think?" before giving my opinion. I rarely wait for "how should I do it?" before letting them know how I would do it. I barely ever wait for "can you help?" before I've offered three or four solutions to a problem.
What if this phrase is a commentary on our mission as a church? What if the author intentionally didn't write, "give to everyone?" What if we aren't supposed to walk into the impoverished part of town and declare their needs and hold out our hands for the "needy?"
I think it is especially an important self-care issue for caregivers. We aren't going to be able to help all of the people who we think need help. We aren't going to be able to help all of the people who we think deserve help or would benefit from help. But we are able to help the people who ask for help.
Think about it: how many times did Jesus roll up, diagnose people, and decide to solve their problems? Not too many times. In fact, in most of the time people are flocking to Jesus and asking for his help. Of course, he responds appropriately to every single person- he helps them. Even when he's in the middle of helping someone else. Then after he helps people, he oftentimes retreats to the mountainside, the lake, or the wilderness to take care of himself.
Maybe this blog post isn't really going anywhere. (Did it go anywhere?) But I'll leave you with this:
Give to everyone who asks you.
Monday, July 14, 2014
CPE
CPE stands for Crazy People Emoting.
CPE stands for Creating Proper Empathy.
CPE stands for Crummy Perspectives on Everything.
CPE stands for Cram-Packed Emotions.
CPE stands for Constantly Praying for the Eschaton.
CPE stands for Clinical Pastoral Education.
I'm a chaplain at a hospital here in Columbia for eleven weeks this summer. CPE is the infamous horror story told by every middler to every incoming junior at seminary. The tales are tall and sometimes exaggerated.
But when I first started CPE I had all of those stories in my head. And I was terrified. I was furious. I didn't want to be there. I didn't know what would happen when I started orientation six weeks ago. I thought about fighting "the man" (who in this case in my candidacy committee and the entire ELCA) and throwing a fit until I didn't have to do CPE. Because I thought that would work. Ha.
I just thought it was pointless. I had a normal childhood. I have a good relationship with my parents. My brother is weird but functional. I have good friendships that go back for years. I'm now in a relationship that is most definitely the most healthy romantic relationship I've ever been a part of. I didn't need this CPE thing and all the crap that came with it.
I also didn't think I had any authority to walk into someone's hospital room and ask them to share their shit with me. Who do I think I am that I might make a tiny bit of difference for anyone ever? Psh. That's some wishful thinking that I'll "touch" someone or that I'd actually benefit from delving into my own shit during group sessions.
But look at me. The girl who wanted so badly to hate chaplaincy is loving it and constantly talking about it. Weird.
I learned a few things these past few weeks:
1. No matter how you were raised or what kind of family you come from, it's really nice to talk to someone who is paid to listen to you.
2. If you look for disaster and depressing situations, you're going to find them.
3. If you look for miracles and small joys throughout the day, you're going to find them.
4. Music can pretty much explain any sort of emotion you're feeling at any given moment.
5. "Talking through" things isn't something annoying people do, it's something healthy people do.
6. Community is insanely important because of #5.
7. You're never going to be perfect, so you might as well take some risks.
I can't share any of my awesome stories yet because of HIPAA stuff, but I have some awesome stories. I have fallen in love with ministry. I have fallen in love with caring for people. I have fallen in love with the helplessness of crises. I have fallen in love with what God is doing through the people here at the hospital and through me.
I'm still learning and I'm still pretty much scared to death, but I'm here. I'm in it and I'm not hating it. Actually half of me wants to recommend it to everyone who plans to care for another human being anytime during their life. Half of me wants to run away from trauma pages and Code Blue's and half of me wants to run toward the families with open arms and an open heart.
I'm torn and broken and so in love.
CPE stands for Creating Proper Empathy.
CPE stands for Crummy Perspectives on Everything.
CPE stands for Cram-Packed Emotions.
CPE stands for Constantly Praying for the Eschaton.
CPE stands for Clinical Pastoral Education.
I'm a chaplain at a hospital here in Columbia for eleven weeks this summer. CPE is the infamous horror story told by every middler to every incoming junior at seminary. The tales are tall and sometimes exaggerated.
But when I first started CPE I had all of those stories in my head. And I was terrified. I was furious. I didn't want to be there. I didn't know what would happen when I started orientation six weeks ago. I thought about fighting "the man" (who in this case in my candidacy committee and the entire ELCA) and throwing a fit until I didn't have to do CPE. Because I thought that would work. Ha.
I just thought it was pointless. I had a normal childhood. I have a good relationship with my parents. My brother is weird but functional. I have good friendships that go back for years. I'm now in a relationship that is most definitely the most healthy romantic relationship I've ever been a part of. I didn't need this CPE thing and all the crap that came with it.
I also didn't think I had any authority to walk into someone's hospital room and ask them to share their shit with me. Who do I think I am that I might make a tiny bit of difference for anyone ever? Psh. That's some wishful thinking that I'll "touch" someone or that I'd actually benefit from delving into my own shit during group sessions.
But look at me. The girl who wanted so badly to hate chaplaincy is loving it and constantly talking about it. Weird.
I learned a few things these past few weeks:
1. No matter how you were raised or what kind of family you come from, it's really nice to talk to someone who is paid to listen to you.
2. If you look for disaster and depressing situations, you're going to find them.
3. If you look for miracles and small joys throughout the day, you're going to find them.
4. Music can pretty much explain any sort of emotion you're feeling at any given moment.
5. "Talking through" things isn't something annoying people do, it's something healthy people do.
6. Community is insanely important because of #5.
7. You're never going to be perfect, so you might as well take some risks.
I can't share any of my awesome stories yet because of HIPAA stuff, but I have some awesome stories. I have fallen in love with ministry. I have fallen in love with caring for people. I have fallen in love with the helplessness of crises. I have fallen in love with what God is doing through the people here at the hospital and through me.
I'm still learning and I'm still pretty much scared to death, but I'm here. I'm in it and I'm not hating it. Actually half of me wants to recommend it to everyone who plans to care for another human being anytime during their life. Half of me wants to run away from trauma pages and Code Blue's and half of me wants to run toward the families with open arms and an open heart.
I'm torn and broken and so in love.
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