Sr. Wantabee lives on the edge of the tornado “disaster zone” in N. Minneapolis.. Blue tarped roofs greet her eyes and crumpled garages, blown out windows and reorganized lives. But the big victim in the zone is the thousands of trees that lay crumpled, blocking roads, fallen on houses, snapped, broken, delimbed, uprooted, roots exposed for the world to see. One or two human lives were lost but thousands of trees gave their lives protecting their homes that they shade from the heat of the day, that they adorn with colorful leaves in the Fall, that they silently stand guard over. How like the “war zones.” She thought of the children who’s lives are changed, innocent victims of violence they don’t understand. She thought of the ripples and reprocussions from our greed and lust that go out and affect the innocent people that stand around us. Sr. Wantabee is very, very, very sad.
Trees and Tornadoes
June 5, 2011
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He Made Me Feel Beautiful
May 20, 2011Sr. Wantabee had her last day at the hospital for awhile yesterday. She had one request for a chaplain. A lady with some sort of joint problem, operation, and now sitting in a wheel chair was wanting to talk. Her story touched Sr. Wantabee’s heart. She, at age 56, had been married 8 years. She had two step children and a son whom she had at age 29 and raised with the aid of her parents. She met her now husband on-line when such things were first coming in and finally summoned the courage to fly to our city to meet him. You see, she was 300 pounds at that time. He had been widowed after 17 years of marriage and left with two children. It was ‘love at first sight.” And then she reflected and said “He made me feel beautiful.”
Lord, may all the encounters I have make the other feel beautiful! Amen.
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For Good
April 14, 2011 Sr. Wantabee is having to do reading for her chaplaincy program. She finished The Healing Connection which is a sociological approach to counseling focusing on connections, disconnections, and the relational images or rules that frame our interactions – excellent even if a feminist. Now she is on to Forgiveness for Good by Dr. Fred Luskin of Stanford. It too is an excellent book talking about all our pet grumps, grievances, and wounds as planes circling our control tower and taking up too much air space in our minds. Something goes wrong, we take it personally, we blame that for other things in our lives and then create a grievance story. Sadly true and she stands convicted. We all have little rules about how we think life ought to work and when it doesn’t work the way we think it should, we have problems. Some rules we have no power to enforce.
Can Sr. Wantabee develop a habit of forgiveness? She had an opportunity yesterday to try it out. She was in a patient’s room chatting away and getting ready to pray and leave as she had to be at class. As the husband and wife started to bow their heads, the wife said, “Oh, here’s our pastor.” and indeed there was the visitation pastor, looking all spiff, seniorly and male. Sr. Wantabee immediately deferred to his relationship with the family and started to scoot on her way. He graciously, declined and asked Sr. Wantabee to pray which she did. As the wife reached for Sr. Wantabee’s hand, she heard the male voice start to boom forth with the closing prayer.
Immediately the doubts rose. I’m a woman and not good enough. My prayer was insufficient. I’m outclassed. As she wrestled with herself all the way to the elevator, well, actually all the way to the car, she had to reflect. Was he intending to insult me personally? Of course not. He doesn’t even know me. Does he have the right to pray? Of course. Are two prayers ok? Of course. Is he a male chauvinist? On what basis would I say that? Was my prayer honest, genuine and a reflection of how I understand reality? Yes. It is not within my power to control who prays. Prayer is good. I was true to myself and my God. Move on.
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“I Want My Mother”
April 12, 2011 Sr. Wantabee was paged to ICU right after the death of an 86 year old lady who passed with congestive heart failure. The daughter was there and had come racing down the hall at the alert that her mother was in crisis. Sr. Wantabee entered the room to sit with the daughter who was distraut. Her husband was on the way. What do can be said in the face of death? Many things, of course, but they all stand hallow. Your mother is no longer suffering. Your mother loves you. Your mother… All are hallow. The woman wailed from the bottom of her heart, “I want my mother.”
It is true. Death is never welcome. Death is seldom welcome. Death leaves relationships unfinished. During Lent we reflect on the death on the cross, the need for it, the pain surrounding it, and the promise of the cross that death does not have the final say. Thank you Lord.
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I Never Thought It Would End This Way
April 11, 2011 Yesterday Sr. Wantabee was on a 24 hour call at the hospital. That means 8-5 going from room to room to hear stories of woe asking for prayer, coming home to collapse and watch Amelia, and then mindless knitting to the Oldies. Mingled among the visits in the ICU to comfort the grieving of age-mates whose parent just died or an age-mate whose wife was intubated, came visits with what felt like more than my fair share of visits with 89, 87, 91 ish little ole people who had been married for 60 plus years who were in the hospital with failing bodies while their spouse of the same age was on a different floor or in a different insititution dying. “We never thought it would end this way.” The humiliation of living in a body that doesn’t respond like it did even thirty years ago and now such basic things as eating, pooping, peeing are being inspected by an entourage of people coming through. “I have no dignity left,” said one little old lady as she raised her gown for the aid to check whether her various bags were emptied.
We all at some level cry, “I never thought it would end like this.” I did not plan to be fat. I did not plan to have arthritis. I did not plan for my child to struggle with migraines. I did not plan… or want… The list does not end.
The text for this Sunday was the raising of Lazarus. One sister, Martha, meets Jesus and says, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Do I detect a note of anger, frustration and pain. Jesus, you are my friend and I thought it wouldn’t end this way. The other sister, Mary, meets Jesus and cries, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Do her tears present the despair that she feels when faced with death. She too did not think it would end this way. We join Mary and Martha somewhere along the spectrum of their cries going from anger, frustration to despair with our cry, Lord, we didn’t think it would end this way.
We all rather envision a Notebook ending. Maybe we have Alzheimers but we will be beautiful and loved. Maybe our spouse will have Alzheimers but we will be handsome, charmin, reading the story of love and adventure. And we will die in each other’s arms, quietly, together, in the night, grieved by a crying audience at the beauty of our passing. Sigh. Now back to reality.
Jesus meets Martha’s anger, not with rejection because we know that “Jesus loved Martha” but with a challenge. “Do you believe that I am the resurrection?” Jesus meets Mary’s despair not with condemnation but with tears, “Jesus wept.” I never thought it would end this way, we cry. And Jesus responds, “I am the ressurection and the life. He who believes in me will never die”
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T Bones
March 12, 2011When 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.
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Little Boy vs. Ole Lady
March 5, 2011Sr. 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
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Feminism
March 4, 2011Sr. 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.”
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The Past
February 27, 2011“The past does hurt, but the way I see it, you either learn from it or run from it,” says Rafiki in Lion King. This is one of Sr. Wantabee’s favorite lines. She met a patient this week who was turning 90 years old, a darling little ole person. The woman shared of her fifty year marriage to a marveleous man she met on the dance floor and who helped her raised her son and their four grandchildren. She had worked faithfully in three or four companies but now was struggling with a body that is beginning to give out. As the story unfolded there was mention of an earlier marriage. In fact the first short marriage that produced the son, kept circling through the conversation. She finally shared that her first husband’s mother was of a different country and that he was actually a wrestler. Sr. Wantabee thought it funny that the past was so present and looked at the patient, “Did he beat you?” The woman teared, “Not really but he did slap me in the face and across the ear.” She left the man to protect herself and her son back in an age when divorce and single parenthood marked a woman. But in God’s grace, she met a wonderful man who enfolded her and her son in his love and honored her faith and family. Yet, now, over 55 years later, the tears still flow. The past does hurt and forgiveness is hard to believe all the time. Perhaps that is why there needs to be a cross to remind us symbolically of God’s love.
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Suicide
February 26, 2011 Sr. Wantabee is back at the hospital again and busy. She met a little ole couple who processed with her the grief about the suicide of their beloved son not so long ago. The father shared that the Bible does not say anything about suicide and Sr. Wantabee had to reflect. Is that true?
Sr. Wantabee went to her concordance and suicide is indeed not listed as a specific word used in translation. But the reality of suicide is not denied. Saul fell on his sword. Elijah prayed that God would take his life. Judas hung himself. Stephen shared his faith knowing he would be killed. The fate of none of these men is talked about.
Saul did not want to be alive to see his body played with by the enemy. Women today after ravaged by the “enemy” will commit suicide rather than live with the shame and humiliation and memories of what the “conqueror” did or might do to them.
Elijah just ran out of steam. He had done the great miracle of Mt. Carmel, praying for fire on his offering, praying for rain, but in the face of the threat of Jezebel, he ran and caved in. How many of us “cave in” in the face of threats. God was there.
Judas could not live with the guilt of his actions. Different cultures have different names for the taking of a life in the face of failure. It is expected.
Stephen, the martyr for the good of the cause, is another very famous cultural theme. We honor our soldiers and policemen who put their lives on the line for our safety and for their belief in what they represent.
Suicide is indeed a complicated topic. I pray I am never guilty of judging another’s motives or diminishing the pain for their survivors who loved them.
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On the Way to Wonder 