Reclaiming Self/ Spring Cleaning

As I sit alone in my room full of sunshine,
I love the world as myself.
I love this love- it is new
A choice to love myself for all that I am:
shy, honest, timid, deep, loud, trusting, sensitive, oblivious, daring, trusting, serious, slow...
I choose me. Other's perceptions matter a fraction to what I can carry in love and compassion, knowledge and quest.
It is good to be alone and I breathe a deep sigh of relief to feel this way again.

The Burden of a Heart

The burden of a heart
is love breaking and love making
is to open even when opening has betrayed you
is to care for things larger than yourself for no rational reason
is to learn the hard hard lesson over and over again of letting go

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