Prayer

Oh, God! Where has my calm gone?
I fall on my knees shouting
WHO AM I???
Who am I, my God??
Am I touch? Kiss? An ear?
Am I a pulpit? A letter? A word?
Am I a heart, broken and whole?
God, I lose my form sometimes and don't know who I am.
I feel lost with nothing to hold onto.
Who am I, my God? Who am I?

The door

The door shut.
tightly.
and I cried.
Falling to the ground,
I moved my fingers along the floor,
desperately wanting, seeking
any light, any sign
of space
between the edges of door and earth

none.
no air
no opening
just dark, solid wood.
I lean up against it,
touch it's smooth surface.
pound.
why???
"why are you shut so tightly?" I cry
A part of me was behind that door.
My love, my eyes, my lips and tongue and words and peace.
My body, touch, attention.
How can it suddenly be shut when it was open so wide
so much love.
that felt mutual.
And yet, this door is not mine.
it is his and I must touch it. face it. wear it and then lay it down.
He could not, no. He would not know me completely.
And I knew it, even as I felt he knew my deepest pieces.
hot
cool
blue
green
bright red
tears adorn the edges of this door shut so tightly.

Lessons on Intimacy

To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
To love what is mortal;
to hold is against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Mary Oliver

I write on a day of mild temperature and soft, passing clouds. I am on-call at the hospital- the day shift on Saturday which keeps me here from 8:30 am till 8:30 pm. I sit outside (always close to a door to the hospital or a phone) soaking in all that this first unit has been for me. We just completed our final evaluations of our first (of four) units that will make my full year as a chaplain resident. Feeling number one: exhaustion.
(oh! I hear sirens! May have to stop to attend to the incoming medical alert)
Back to exhaustion. The pace this year is incredibly demanding. I am on-call over night at the hospital once a week at least and also here on-call once a week during the day (sometimes on the weekend days). Our on-call schedule is on-top of our regular work hours which are supposed to be from 8:30 am to 5 pm, but I usually manage to leave around 4 or 4:30 and notice the other residents do too . Then we have weekly reflection papers and verbatim papers (analyzing an interaction with a patient/ family.
So, it’s a lot of time at work and a lot of intense experiences in that time. One good thing is I’m learning how I deal with such a crazy/ emotionally intense schedule. Meditation and prayer has become much more important for me. I notice when I haven’t meditated for several days. I feel out of touch with myself and with the Divine. Sleep is important (although that is often what I am lacking). And running. I live close to a little park that hosts big, old oak trees that have gifted me with vibrant yellows and oranges this fall. The little pond with ducks floating around and the little over-grown trails on which I run are a respite to my tired soul. There is nothing like dirt to sooth a weary soul.
Another thing I am learning is about emotional intimacy. One of the biggest lessons on being a chaplain is learning how you are with yourself in times of anger or grief, or any emotion that isn’t comfortable or familiar to you. How you are with yourself impacts how you are with others. You can see this in families- when a Grandmother, for example, is telling her daughter that it is God’s will that her child just died, you wonder how she is with accepting her own grief. Because grief for her is uncomfortable, she doesn’t know how to deal with the grief of her daughter and wants to “fix” it through a simple explanation.
As a chaplain, I am learning about my “base” self- what is most familiar to me- feeling stable and strong; feeling happy and wanting to help others feel happy and safe. Sometimes I am so attached to my “base self” that I neglect the unfamiliar, uncomfortable and unknown parts of my being that need attention and care. I tend to pass over uncomfortable feelings or “get them out” with a good run. I am so used to being the “happy and cheerful” person, I don’t know how I will be accepted by others (or myself) in times of sadness. Chaplaincy is helping me to grow other parts of myself (listening, serious parts) that connect more with people’s grief and anger.
Intimacy is paying attention to the whole of who we are- to the uncomfortable and comfortable, frightened and confident, weary and strong. It is being present with oneself and also risking sharing these things with other people.

Little snippets of my year thus far:
• Being present to the parents of a two year old who was a “roll over” (suffocated in sleep.) When they arrived at the hospital, the doctors tried five times to revive the pt, to no avail. The devastation was uncontainable. There was nothing- absolutely nothing- I could do to help sooth or make the situation any better.
• Jumping every time the pager goes off (this has happened a couple times in this writing). And the words “thank you!” exiting my mouth when “ortho-eval” reads across the pager (one of the pages we chaplains don’t have to respond to!)
• Finally at home and grateful for tears running down my cheeks after being on-call tending to a large Amish family whose ten year old son had gotten hit by a car. They had learned that his preliminary tests showed brain death.
• Talking with teens on the psych ward- sometimes feeling like I am making a difference and other times being frustrated at the insurmountable wall some of my patients have to climb to get to a place of stability and healing.
• Talking with my uncle Sandy and feeling my own grief. Sandy is one of my closest relatives who will be with us in this land of the living for only another few days, possibly weeks. I try to talk with him every day and find great comfort in hearing his voice and sensing his calm for his own death.
• Friends and kitchens. Making new friends from the swim team I joined and through my roommate Becky. Conversations floating on the wings of savory aromas in this beloved room. Kitchens are harbors for intimacy. Laughter and tears, delicious and spoiled food, warmth (ovens) and cold (freezers)- all found in this one room. Everything falls apart and comes together in kitchens.
• Vegan baked goods! The joys of living with a friend who is vegan and loves to bake! Chocolate cupcakes with frosting stacked so high the cupcakes fall over…perfectly moist zucchini bread… chocolate molasses cookies… YUM!
Well, that is all for me! Signing off before the pager scares the living day lights out of me again! Love, Cassie

Cincinnati

Cincinnati is proving itself to be a good home for me thus far. My life consists of walking to and from Cincinnati Children's Hospital (only 2 miles from my house!), trying to make midwest parks more into runner friendly places than they were meant to be (story below), picking and eating tomatoes from my roommate's garden (more on that too!), and petting my cat (trying to make myself feel better after leaving her alone most of the day as I'm at work), and plunking away at our new (antique) piano.
The cultural transitions I've experienced so far:
PARKS-after running circles around picnic tables and grills for half an hour, I finally exclaimed to Becky (my roommate), and she confirmed, that in the midwest, you go to a park to "have a good time." You go to party, hang out, grill up some good meat. Trails are short and overgrown, if they even exist. In the northwest, "park" is synonymous with trees and trails for walking, running, galloping or rolling. I am learning to like sidewalk runs all the more...
Cultural transition no. 2: RAIN.
This is weird, because when you think of Seattle, you think... rain, right? But it's not actually rain like the rain here. It's mist. or cloud that is really wet and drips down sometimes. When it rains here, you can't actually do much. And if you are driving 70 mph on the highway, then, well, let's just say I was praying.
Cultural transition no. 3: TOMATOES.
If you aren't ready to talk about tomatoes, or eat tomatoes for that matter, at least three times a day, then you will have a hard time living here. People here not only love their tomatoes, but, after seeing splattered tomatoes in the road, use them for such things as pranks or decorations.

I have met my chaplain resident team and feel good about them and my supervisor, all of whom I will be getting to know in fairly intense ways this year. My feeling right now (work really starts on Tuesday) is actually quite a bit of nervousness. I am scared I won't be a good chaplain. Afraid I won't grow, won't be able to find/ harness the skills I need to be a good spiritual carer for someone dealing with tremendous loss and change.
I've also noticed that it's been hard for me to really rest since coming. Its been fun to move in with a good friend, set up my room, explore new places. But it's been hard for me to relax. Maybe because I have so many unknowns, and have yet to make this place home. I am really really hoping that will change. I know that if I am going to survive this year, it will be at least because I have learned how to find deep rest in this city.

Green in my Soul

Green in my soul
savor this color
easy to desire wholeness
completeness
certainty
fog kisses the mountain tops
shades of gray kiss my soul

On top of Blue Mountain
we are surrounded by cloud
white and blue and gray move in and out,
breathing as the ocean breathes
glimpses of the land come and go
a dance of vision
a breath of senses

Something so holy hidden in a cloud
fog with stone,
smooth, sharp, purposeful stone

One moment clarity abides
the next, a mystery

Savor the green in your soul
the places of unknowing
with every breath, mountain loving fog
fog changing mountain

From the top of Blue Mountain
I arrive at another trail junction
now walls, not fog, surround me
But mystery awaits
in rooms and hallways,
in hearts and bodies and minds and longings
In prayers and diagnoses
In birth and death

I want to be a chaplain already perfect, confident, sure
But let me cradle my green
My own fog of sacred youth
and wander these halls with stone and fog together

Trail Magic

One of the gifts that I came to appreciate while hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail for 12 days (and carrying food and supplies for 12 days as well) is floating in water. What an incredible thing. For hours we go around, holding our own weight or a thirty-five pound back-pack on your hips and shoulders. And then, given a couple feet of water, you learn release. Suddenly you don't even have to carry the weight of your own head. Tilt your head back and let the water hold you. Spin, gently, and feel your heart open to the sky.
Lakes and rivers deep enough to float in were such a treasure on the PCT. While swimming in Pike Lake near White Pass, I came across two little purple flower blossoms, floating out from shore. A beautiful blue dragonfly chose my arm to be its landing spot. A family of ducks quacked their way to a humorous landing in the lake.
With sore feet and longing heart, these gifts mean the world to me.

When you backpack, you learn about a thing called "trail magic." Trail magic is when you are given food freely. You may have asked for it, or it was just offered, but either way, you end up with more food because of the generosity of another hiker, known as a trail angel. Sometimes, when hikers are the benefactors of trail magic, they want to, shall we say, pay it forward. One such couple set up a five gallon bucket on the PCT and filled it with everything hikers dream of- snickers, pay days, nutter butter cookies, goldfish crackers, recees peanut butter cups, and more. They keep it maintained and have a little log book for hikers to sign. You would not believe the joy this little bucket of goodies gives hikers (myself included)!!!

There is something so special about unexpected gifts. Within the first few days of our trip, Tamara and I came across an early huckleberry patch. Ripe huckleberries in July!!! Gifts unexpected make you pause. They help you remember where you and and what you love. They remind us that productivity is not the sole purpose of our days, but that joy and thanksgiving are part of the breath by which we live.

The PCT

There is nothing like hiking for 12 days to make you appreciate the little conveniences in life. Not only flush toilets, but the absence of biting mosquitos while pooping. Chairs. Running water that is not only relatively easy to access but ready to drink (no filtering required!). Water is a big one, as my friend Tamara and I hiked during the record-breaking heat of Seattle's summer. The experience sure made me not take for granted the sacred significance of running water, and the incredibly resting feeling of being able to wash oneself in cool, clean water.
We hiked from Cascade Locks on the Columbia River to Chinook Pass near Mt Rainier. 187 miles in 12 days. That rounds to about 15-18 miles a day. While it was nice to be able move all day, I am glad to not be spending the entirety of my day walking.
The trip was gorgeous. We passed through Mt. Adams Wilderness and the Goat Rocks (just South of Mt. Rainier.) I miss the rhythm I felt I was just beginning to unite with- of waking and reclining with the sun, filtering water, opening my senses to nature's surprises, and sitting in the dirt. It was exhilarating to be able pass mountains. We would see Mt. Adams and Rainier so far in the distance, and then, after a couple days of hiking in the valley, the trail would lead us up, and we would suddenly be resting at the base of such an enormous creation. A creation alive with lava and melting snow (and glaciers- let's lighten our carbon footprints, folks!!) and moving rock. And the wildflowers... we must have hit them at their peak, for not only were they a treasure for our eyes, but also our nose. With the lupin abounding, we were in flower fragrance heaven.
Having never been backpacking for longer than five days, the sheer length of our trip was new to me. Thoughts of food and few other things filled my mind as we walked. I was amused by what became important to my hiking partner and me, in comparison to what many people are concerned about in Western culture.
What hikers care about:
- their poops
- their pee (color, frequency)
- water access
- copyright date of the trail guide book
- trail signs!
- of course, food
- going to bed before dark

What hikers don't care about:
- their odor
- being caught naked
- asking people for food
- privacy
- sweating in front of others

Well, that wraps up my very enlightening, I'm sure, entry! Yay for rain in Seattle!! (it is so weird to be writing that!)