T Bones

March 12, 2011

When a drunk driver comes out of nowhere and hits the side of your car, the saying is “I was t-boned!” I think it means I was the steak and you were the knife. A patient of Sr. Wantabee’s was t-boned. The drunk driver died instantly but the lady, the receiver, was pried out of her car two and a half hours later. She cried because now, two years later, she is still having operations to repair her broken body and her head has never been the same. She shared about her many injuries, her many operations, and the despair that her life was a burden to her husband. Sr. Wantabee cried in her heart to hear the story. Would this woman ever know her value even if she cannot achieve her potential? She goes to psychiatrists and yet her mind does not work. Sr. Wantabee encouraged the woman to find a spiritual director. Healing is a complicated process and knowing God’s perspective is crutial. Lord, lay your healing hand on my friend.

Little Boy vs. Ole Lady

March 5, 2011

Sr. Wantabee sat down to breakfast with her 3, almost 4 year old grandson. All five people were playing out their agendas through Sr. Wantabee’s mental space. “Oh my gosh, the kid is jumping shadows! I have to get my breakfast and get downstairs before the sun triggers a migraine!” “Oh, is that MY breakfast! (and there went her French toast)” “Mom, I’m almost ready to leave, are you ready?” Sr. Wantabee colapsed in her chair to eat her cold cereal. The grandson asked, “What’s wrong Grandma?” She replied as the real answer was to hard to explain, “Nothing. I’m just a little ole lady.” The grandson recognizing the lie, replied, “No Grandma, you’re not little. You’re big.” Sr. Wantabee sighed, looked at him and said, “You’re right. I’m big, you’re a little boy.” Grandson is sheer three year old honest responded, “No Grandma, I’m not a little boy! I’m a big boy. I don’t pee in my pants!”
Sr. Wantabee laughed and reflected on the incongruities of life. An old woman calling herself “little” and a “little” boy calling himself “big”. In the spectrum of life, is there ever a point where we admit reality? Or do we always talk past each other in our attempts to be who we want to be


March 4, 2011

Sr. Wantabee was at the hospital today. During the morning “huddle” with the other chaplains, it so happened that only women were present. The conversation turned to feminism as one of the women had been confronted by a man the day before about her “feminist” approach to life. The man, himself studying to be a chaplain, refuses to read all those labels that define a person on their charts. She, with us, pondered how anyone can engage with another human without applying labels. One woman decided that the man must be white and male and hence has never experienced being an oppressed minority. We chewed the topic for awhile and realized how deeply our feminism impacts our interpretation of life.
Sr. Wantabee headed to the floor. Her last visit was an eighty year old woman who had been in a car accident. The driver of the other car had tail lights covered with mud and snow and so by the time the woman realized he was not moving, it was too late. She lifted her gown to show her bruised body that matched her bruised face. But then her face turned to smile about her family that was supporting her. She had been married 58 years, and in 24 of them had twelve children, all living, and two that have passed. She now has over twenty grandchildren and about ten great grandkids. The physical therapist walked in so Sr. Wantabee begged time for a quick prayer. The woman, a Catholic, only had one wish. She now attends Mass two or three times a week and would love to receive the host. Sr. Wantabee prayed and found the Eucharistic minister and informed him.
A man who refuses to define her as female. A faith that sees her only as female. A family that calls her “mom.”