bearing the unbearable

The day had been long, early it rose and late it continued on. Mornings are messengers in their newness. That morning brought the news that nothing could be done. That morning brought having to make decisions that no one ever wants to have to make. I was called to be with a family, who by the end of the day would say goodbye to their little one, removing support. When evening came, after an unbearable day of saying goodbye, of mourning what would never be, the family could bear no more- wanting to remember their little one alive- they gave their final goodbyes and asked me to hold their baby as the little one died.  The nurse and I sat together and told the little one it was okay to go now, as they cut the lines and removed the support. That’s all we could do. Hold, stay, and help bear the unbearable for that family.

There were no words for that day that could bring anyone any comfort. All we can do is not let each other go through those things alone. When in the garden of Gethsemane, before his death, Jesus asked the disciples that were with him to watch and wait- to just be present with him so that he didn’t have to be alone- to be present to the moment and all that was happening, to just be with him. The temptation is to try and do something in our watching and waiting, when there’s nothing that can be done. We feel so helpless that we attempt to fix things when sometimes things just can’t be fixed. It’s hard to bear this helpless feeling in ourselves and in the face of others. It breaks our hearts. It devastates. That night in the garden the disciples fell asleep in not being able to bear the moment. When I held the little one, I, too, knew that I was not magnificent- that I could do nothing for her, but simply remain. And yet the gift somehow is magnificent- when we are willing to be present, to be there, to show up and remain, even though it’s unbearable.

“And at once I knew I was not magnificent, but I could see for miles, miles, miles.” ~ Bon Iver Holocene

 

http://www.whispernthunder.org/You_are_Revered.html

We sat at her desk mulling over the words in the Navajo Times, a weekly publication of the Navajo Nation. The article detailed the recent tension in the long-standing racial strife between Anglo-Mormon Kirtland and Kirtland’s Navajo population. The recent tension has unfolded in regards to the place of Navajo cultural curriculum in schools, and whether or not it’s unfair to the Anglo student population. My friend, whose daughter is one of the Navajo students in the district and grateful for the tribe’s efforts to preserve the culture of their people, said in reflecting on the scope of Anglo-Native American relations in this country, “They can’t wish us away.” Immediately, I was grateful for these words and their simple, yet absolute truth. We can’t wish one another away. Instead of feeling threatened by one another, we should recognize our differences as the presence of beauty and start seeing each other for exactly who we are, what worth that holds and how we inevitably need each other.

These words also struck a deeper chord, as I reflected on how it feels to be a member of a marginalized group of people. Through the hospitality of my friends on the Rez, I was able to, as an Anglo-outsider who had never stepped foot on a reservation before, get near enough to get a taste of what life is like today for Native America. My time on the Rez also held my own reckoning with my sexuality. As I lived among a marginalized group of people, who were generous enough to let someone from the dominant culture of this country become family, I also came to realize my identity as a gay person, an identity that also made me a member of a marginalized group across many cultures.

I was only out to two of my Navajo friends on the Rez- the wise woman behind the words discussed above included. It’s not that there’s not homosexuality on theRez, of course there is, but more because the influence of Christianity on the Rez has created a more conservative climate towards the issue. I sensed this because it was not unfamiliar to my experiences in some rural churches in North Carolina, Virginia and Tennessee. I was also told to be wary of letting the news get out. It wouldn’t have been acceptable to the church community there or other leaders related to the ministry that the Anglo-woman missionary serving among them is gay. So my journey as a gay person on the Rez was more of an introspective one. However, I received many gifts from the Navajo worldview in sharing my sexual identity with two of my friends and had the reality of what it is to glean strength and understanding from the stories of others reinforced.

“You know, among some tribes you are revered as two-spirited.”

My friends shared with me that their Navajo medicine men have known for ages that each person holds both that which is masculine and feminine within them all at once and yet, in varying degrees, how it is thus natural that there would be varying sexual inclinations in regards to people of the same sex. It is recognized among many Native tribes that people who are gay hold more of a balance of the two gender constructions of masculinity and femininity within them. “This is part of who you are and makes you whole.” With these words, the Navajo affirmation of the worth of each being is clear, as well as the great importance of balance and wholeness within their worldview. I felt anything but wished away in their response to who I am; that to deny a part of me is to deny myself wholeness and balance and thus the means by which to walk in beauty in this life. We should remind each other of this more often – that each one of us in just being adds beauty and that we should set ourselves to being attentive to this, especially when we find ourselves wishing a group of people away.

 

what these hands can hold

sometimes these hands are bold

hopeful rare

a leaf fallen to the ground

waiting to be found

these hands are bold

and find in the lines, in the bleeding, blending bursts of hues

a beginning and an end

in the palm of a hand

 

and sometimes these hands are new

a touch, a taste

the first time

for so many things

thirsty and ready

to hold and fold

wrap around

carry, make a place

where nothing is too much

nothing is out of depth

 

sometimes these hands are foolish

empty and fallen to sides

where they sway

in the shaking of the ground

or maybe it’s just the heart breaking

that makes that sound

 

oh what these hands can hold

a leaf, a life

beauty torn and sworn

another’s joy, another’s strife

oh what they can betray

exactly what we fear

exactly who we love

 

oh these hands

that make a  meal

break and steal

wound and heal

they speak and wreak

in strokes a picture comes alive

in colors that form

a story unfolds, on canvass it lays

life portrayed

beauty conveyed

a gift all its own, from hands that guide

the telling of a moving brush

creating the planes of faces, stories, memories

what happens in between careens

 

these hands are yours

these hands of mine

intertwined

they’ll hold all there is

that there is to give

all that you have, carry and hold

all you want to set free

all you want to keep

all you want to let be

 

oh what these hands can hold

filled with so many things

it’s cold outside

stay warm with me

a bowl of beauty

when two hands they meet

all that exists in between

life, love actually happening

 

so they call me the grim reaper…

…it’s just part of the job. you’re forewarned about being the person who walks into the room and potentially freaks the parents out and you understand the reaction because a visit from the chaplain just sounds like things are bad and that the last rites are around the corner, but i wasn’t sure if i’d ever have a conversation with a parent about it.  after one of my first nights on call, i ran into a mother that i had visited with the night before when her daughter came into the ER as a trauma case (we’re paged for every trauma case no matter the severity).  i asked about the little one and we talked about how much better she was doing.  the conversation came to a close and we started to go our own ways when she called me back and said,  “i never expressed my appreciation last night. at first I was really mad that they sent the nurse chaplain to see us. i’m so sorry- i didn’t even want to look at you at first. i just kept thinking, ‘get out of here my daughter’s not dying!’ but after a while i was really glad you were there.”

i loved her honesty and how we could joke about it all. and most of all it was really humbling. it reminds me that every time i walk into a room it’s a privilege and gift to be there. and that i’m there to be present however needed.

things aren’t always grim reaper though- it’s a lot of coloring with my  kids  who have cystic fibrosis while they get vest treatments and giving them a congratulatory high five when they do an extra mighty huff cough afterwards. it’s a lot of listening to fears and sitting in silence. it’s a lot of not having the words to say. it’s a lot of laughter for the four year old who tells you she’s going to be okay getting stitches because she knows karate and for the three year old getting ready to have a cut glued and a brace placed on her thumb who asks the doctors “can i poop first?” and a lot of admiration for the six year old who tells her mom how it is and that she can’t keep arguing with “my nurses” all the time.

but everything, from the tense times in the ER to playing the patient and getting fake IVs and shots, conveys the same thing- that all life is spiritual no matter what we don’t believe or believe because each one of us feels a certain way about life and has ultimate concerns and considerations, we all feel a certain way about how we want to be in this world, how we want to treat others, how we want to live and love. sometimes i think being in the hospital is the ultimate equalizer. it reminds us that we’re all fragile and that we all bleed, celebrate and mourn. and that life at its root is a beautiful gift that we get to share with each other.

 

autumn’s brewing

   autumn’s brewing, steeping in the clouds

does something to me still, we aren’t far off now…

 river bike trail

“it was cold you hid your hands inside your sleeve

as we walked i heard the laughter in the leaves…”

the river knows as it goes 

time makes everything rare, amber, it’s in the air

it all starts over bare…

  i really wanted there to be a rope swing off this branch 

in the crook of your branches

it can’t help but be…

it was chilly, the wind and the sun played in your hair

the trees leaned in to be our shade

the river coursed alongside

taking our laughter along

we lingered there

our lips were brave…

   first leaves of fall!

“see the shadows lying now where once we stood, 

and i would lie down with them if i only could…”

~poem with lyrics from Crinan Wood

 such a great tree

  i think there needs to be a giant beer at the end of every bike ride

german food welcome buckeye from the fudge guy in german village

 

aw shit, you’ve got more speed than me…

…and other things that made me laugh this week…

like when i took my bike off the rack in front of kroger and this guy rode right into the spot- glad i was leaving because the rest of the racks were full and then struck up a conversation with me about how many gears my bike has and then said, “awww shit, you’ve got more speed than me”

when i was hanging out with muriel and lauren- two folks i work with who have developmental disabilities- at the state fair and lauren (who randomly busts out an italian accent) said “i’m ready to spend my paycheck- you don’t work, you don’t get paid- but i’ve been working hard at pushing those kids around so they pay me for that” she’s super cool and works as a foster grandparent at one of the schools and indeed does push kids around in their wheelchairs

when we spotted a chipmunk and lauren screamed “alvin”

when bill, another guy i work with at st. luke’s, amazed us with his birthday memorizing savant skills and rambled off everyone’s birthday in the room without mistake

 an epic exhibit of pigs carved out of 500 lbs of chocolate

 

bon iver induced poetry.

some things remain
the way the red earth stains
lingering
in longing
we’ll laugh until we think we’ll die

i’ve said too much
i’ve set it up
only love is on the move
is it enough?

fallen far behind
or is it already there
that i find
what i’ve known all along
only lined
only more beautiful
only more kind

be there?

would you really rush out?

soft and slow it starts
beauty and rage dance it out
i’m a fool
but a fool for
beauty’s sake
would we have it any other way?

come on
whisper now
oh creature fear
and meet me there
distance near
is anything clear?

surprise is constant
pour a little salt
my, my, my

by night i’ll know
in memory
by day i’ll recall
in reverie

so ready
we wait
and it means the world
absolutely the world
to know
to have
to rest in
what it is
to say friend

 

durango days.

your friendly medical marijuana dispensary in Durango also, the coolest chess set after the one in harry potter.

this kid was HILARIOUS. she had a bunch of balloons tied to her stuffed animal and she kept launching it into the air hoping for it to take flight.

two cookies. ice cream filling. covered in chocolate. delicious.

fallen angels

epic shirts. some girls like it rough.

greek chicken wrap.

aviary backpack? they do exist.

badass shirts.

i want this chess set.

owning the sidewalk.

shouldn’t all chocolate chip cookies be the size of your face?

who’s your farmer?

i love murals.

i want to try this with wine and beer bottles!

 

 

who said we had to have it all figured out anyway?

eu preciso um jeitinho. i need a little way.

my beloved friends in Brazil taught me about um jeitinho- a little way that makes a way forward when it seems that there is no way forward or no way around the rules or what’s expected or the boundaries that have been built.  there is a sense, there in Brazil, that nothing is impossible. that when we come up to an obstacle or challenge that there is always um jeitinho that someone can help us find or make. the little way is the beauty of their culture- worked out for those who need a ride on crowded buses or  booked flights, for those who need help for their sister or brother, for those who are willing to ask and for those who are willing to listen.

i’ve been thinking a lot lately about um jeitinho- because i think we all need a little way. it’s that little way that gives us the space we all need to take a deep breath, put one foot in front of the other and know that nothing is final and that we don’t have to have everything figured out. that there is a root steeped deep in the earth to possibility. and a little way is something we all need to give- it’s that extension to another that makes our world expand, that lets our love embrace, accept and affirm. a little way gives us the space to know that it’s okay to not have it all figured out anyway- it gives us the space to just be exactly who we are in the moments we are in and to let others inhabit that place to.

who ever said we had to have it all figured out anyway? what we believe? what we’re going to do? what’s next? how we feel? what we think? what we need? what we want?

i keep thinking about my time here on the rez. how it’s been one big experience of people being in relationship with me in a way that has said without any words at all, “here’s my life, be a part of it.” it’s made me know all the more that everyone’s life holds truth. that the truth is the same, no matter what we believe or don’t believe- it’s the truth that everyone belongs. that all lives are beautiful. that no life is better than any other. that we are all filled with worth and beauty and deserve for that to be noticed by others.

i’ve read some words recently that resonate deeply with me and have given me a little way to think and share.

the story of Jose Antonio Vargas, an undocumented immigrant is beautiful and like everyone’s story needs to be heard.

“Later that school year, my history class watched a documentary on Harvey Milk, the openly gay San Francisco city official who was assassinated. This was 1999, just six months after Matthew Shepard’s body was found tied to a fence in Wyoming. During the discussion, I raised my hand and said something like: “I’m sorry Harvey Milk got killed for being gay. . . . I’ve been meaning to say this. . . . I’m gay.”

“But when I finally told Pat and Rich about my immigration “problem” — as we called it from then on — they helped me look for a solution.”

 ”This was devastating. What good was college if I couldn’t then pursue the career I wanted? I decided then that if I was to succeed in a profession that is all about truth-telling, I couldn’t tell the truth about myself.”

 ”It was an odd sort of dance: I was trying to stand out in a highly competitive newsroom, yet I was terrified that if I stood out too much, I’d invite unwanted scrutiny. I tried to compartmentalize my fears, distract myself by reporting on the lives of other people, but there was no escaping the central conflict in my life. Maintaining a deception for so long distorts your sense of self. You start wondering who you’ve become, and why. “

“All the while, Lola’s question was stuck in my head: What will happen if people find out?”

i read these words and was filled with understanding. and i was challenged by them. they brought to mind conversations i’ve had recently, when i’ve shared that i’m gay and it gets quiet immediately. and i know that others wrestle with this knowledge for different reasons, and want to extend love to them even if they can’t extend it back, but it doesn’t make it any easier to reckon with how sharing this sometimes changes everything in a way that doesn’t feel so comfortable. that leaves me wondering if i should have shared at all. that leaves me wondering at how i can process these things and reckon with things in a healthy way when society stifles in their unacceptance. it’s hard to be discouraged from sharing because of the risk of losing a job (i’m more grateful than i can say that hospital chaplaincy is absolutely accepting). or to know that some cannot reconcile with this part of who i am because of their beliefs, when the root of those beliefs are loving one another, not judging and affirming the beauty of everyone’s life.  i mourn that jose has had to hide for so long. and think he is amazing for sharing his story.

“show me how’s the way to be. show me how’s the way to go.”

Not long ago, I called my mother. I wanted to fill the gaps in my memory about that August morning so many years ago. We had never discussed it. Part of me wanted to shove the memory aside, but to write this article and face the facts of my life, I needed more details. Did I cry? Did she? Did we kiss goodbye?

i love these words. it’s about being caught in between. simultaneously not wanting to let the pain become fresh again and wanting to be grateful and soak up all of it because it is beautiful and i’d do it all over again.

the other words i’ve read are those that my beloved friend Amy Laura has shared so honestly with so many. they are a salve.

“ But, all told, if I had to choose again, I would stand out in front of the chapel with giant checks again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and . . . Well, it was totally worth it. Totally. We live in a very strange world. Peace.”

“PS, worth it because nurses and surgeons and bus drivers and librarians and secretaries still thank me for this. It was fun, and brave, and I loved wearing an apron for a cause. It doesn’t get much better than that, right?”

damn. we sure do live in a very strange world. amy laura is brave. and shows up in the places she doesn’t have to-the places that are risky and she could stay quiet, but she sticks up for others in ways she doesn’t have to because it’s worth it to her to be mistaken for her neighbors who face injustice because she knows injustice for any one of us is injustice for us all. and she’s simply badass like fred and george weasely. we must manage some mischief because power dynamics SUCK. the powers that be and take advantage and exploit power, the worth of others, money, and manipulate concerned with perceptions and credibility when it is not authentic, the face that is shown, and is in fact the means of self-preservation rather than sharing and being fair to others-these powers do absolutely need to be exposed for the sake of nurses, surgeons, bus drivers and librarians. we have to solemnly swear to be up to no good for the sake of our life together. thanks amy laura for living that. and for loving harry potter

“Damn. Yep. …Totally. I want PROGRESS and CHANGE and THE NEXT STEP.”

“And, maybe, having listened to Loganon the issue of forgiveness, I am healing through naming the crapola a bit more bravely.”

“But the hardest shift for me has been to listen to sad music, truly melancholy music. That has been my one DO NOT GO THERE OR YOU WILL FALL INTO THE ABYSS genre.”

and thanks for speaking to the fact that we just have to be where we are and name it. that we might need to be angry. that we might not be able to listen to sad music. that we might want to skip over the hard stuff, the stuff that hurts too much. thanks for reminding me its a process.

who said we had to have it all figured out anyway?

 

the small things, when we didn’t have to be

It’s the small things, when we didn’t have to be, but we were

it’s the small or random, or unexpected things

The things that make you laugh and for a brief second remember or forget,  or the things that catch you off guard, or the things that matter most because they didn’t have to be said, they didn’t have to be done, those moments when we didn’t have to be, but we were, that let us know it’s different, it’s more than, that let us remember and know how good it is or was and how anything is possible inside of that. anything.

The things that make us smile, or breathe more deeply or the things that make us sigh with relief or fall asleep easier.

The little things over the past couple days…

Stumbling across some snickerdoodle cookies the size of my face. Getting to hang out at a farmers’ market and listen to music. Sketching in Durango. Finding chocolate covered raisins on the topping bar at the frozen yogurt place. Finding queso at Tequilas in Durango!

Meeting two hikers who came by while franklin and I were at the dorm going over the construction projects for next week. I was kitten and puppy sitting at the time and one of the hikers held the kitten the entire time they visited. At one point she told me about how she packs well with animals and she knew just what that kitten needed- a mother’s meow. She meowed several times, but that wasn’t good enough- she wanted to make sure that when she left that that little kitten was going to be well cared for. That’s when Brenda the hiker asked me to meow so she could be the judge of my skills, and you better believe she wouldn’t take no for an answer.  She finally approved of my skills. Ha. And then she told me i have a great nose.  one of the most random conversations ever

 

i found this little one (who brenda made me meow for  in the irrigation ditch, which also functions as an excellent garden gnome defense trench  near the trailer i used to live in. she’s so tiny, but has the loudest meow- that’s how i found her tucked inside the roots of a tree

cyanna cracked me up when we hung out to play soccer. the time was filled with small moments that made me laugh…when she kept saying “i want to be the gold!”  (her word for goalie …when she said “cha-ching!” when i scored…when she showed me how her bottom tooth fell out and said, “i look like a punkin” or when she said after eating five pieces of pizza (i could only eat three- she totally showed me up) “when i taste pizza it just tastes so good so i just keep eating and eating”

ridiculously adorable.

epic sign.

i want a beer garden.

 i kept trying to keep her head in the crook of my arm, but this was her favorite sleeping position.