CPE a.k.a Personal Reflection Bootcamp

**It's a long one...**

This blog is a long time coming. I finished CPE about 3 weeks ago, yet it feels like so much longer. After blasting myself with time at the hospital, 3 weeks without it is an eternity.

I left a part of myself at Good Samaritan this summer. I shed old skin. I’ve spent a large part of my life assuming responsibility for myself and for the people around me. I’ve carried a weight that tells me I have not only the ability, but also the responsibility, to make the lives of the people around me better than when I entered. While this can be a generally good rule to follow, I somehow learned to take it to the extreme. For those of you who know me well, this is probably no surprise. I’ve never really been one to do things in a small fashion.

There are many reasons I developed this sense of responsibility: Christian theology, my subconscious need to work out my own salvation, my personality, my family environment, and blatant lies that were spoken into my soul at a young age. As if I wasn’t already very reflective, CPE encouraged and pushed me to reflect even more. From the beginning of the summer, I learned that it wouldn’t be enough to simply acknowledge where my tendencies came from, I would actually have to do something about them; I would actually have to find a way to become emotionally healthy; I would actually have to learn how to trust people.

This value of trust came up like a little sneak attack.  It wasn’t until about halfway through the program I realized that I’d only been superficially trusting my cohorts. You see, I’d been pretty sick throughout the summer, yet I refused to confide in the people working alongside me. I began withholding myself emotionally and spiritually. As a fairly honest person already, they had very little suspicion that I was withholding until I officially brought all of myself to group and apologized for treating them with manipulation and distrust. It was mild behavior. I barely even recognized I was doing it, but I recognized and shifted behavior. From that point on, I was completely honest about my physical and emotional health. I described the guilt I felt on a daily basis for not being able to do as much work as I felt responsible for doing. I described the loneliness in sitting in the uncertainty of being sick. I described the solidarity I felt with patients when they would tell me of their own physical plights. My cohort provided a place for me to finally express my deep emotions as I move through the world and to not then face traumatic backlash for my vulnerability. Not once did they betray my trust. They stuck by me when I could only express my heavy emotions on my face. They sat with me; they waited patiently; they never gave up. They were willing to take the time I needed to fully allow them into my circle. They did not take this gift for granted.

As a group, we accomplished the impossible. Six random people were thrown together to work in a high intensity situation for 11 weeks and I experienced nothing but authentic love. Love that can only be describe as the love that comes from Jesus Christ: love that is inherent to who we are because we are made in the image of God and because we are disciples and apostles of a radically loving, forgiving, transforming savior. They gave me hope that I would continue to find people with such radical love and understanding throughout my life. They may be few and far between, but they are out there. My trust will not always end in vain.

I experienced deep generosity with this group. We ebbed and flowed like a natural tide. It becomes choppy and rugged at points but it never ceases to be beautiful or connected to its purpose as a large body of water. It swells and overwhelms, but it is calming, peaceful, and welcoming. We moved together in generous ways. We listened to one another in our emotional and spiritual struggles. We had fruitful discussions of differing theologies. We affirmed one another as we sought to find our own convictions. We pushed each other to grow without being caddy. We began to embody a deep sense of the divine, of the body of Christ, of the Kingdom of God. I saw the church blossom in my CPE cohort and I will forever be grateful.

I’m sure you opened this blog thinking I would talk about all the patients I saw and how they impacted my life. Honestly, that’s what I intended to give you, but there are simply too many people to talk about, too many images to describe. I saw it all.

I saw a person wake up from being in a coma for weeks.

I had wonderful conversations with a person who had a tube down their throat, a person who had very limited time with people who could simply give them the gift of time and patience.

I saw people begin to walk again after a major surgery.

I saw people with massive anxiety. I walked with them through their anxiety and would return the next day, and the day after, and the day after, to watch their anxiety dissipate.

I saw lonely people; people without family to visit them.

I saw large and small families alike lose loved ones, from young to old, expected to unexpected.

I saw staff cry because of losing a patient. I saw them rejoice when patients got better and could go home.

I listened as people shared spiritual fears, fears about forgiveness and salvation.

I saw the lifeless look in people’s eyes as they began to lose hope in their time of uncertainty.

I sat with someone who could communicate very little because of constant seizures; we built a relationship over weeks of persistence and patience.

I watched a mom grieve as she stayed in the hospital while her children were grieving the loss of their father.

I had patients pray for me.

I had patients ask me to stay in contact with them.

I leaned over a bed to hug a patient for minutes so we could hold onto each other while she sobbed and finally expressed her deep grief and sorrow.

I prayed. I prayed so much: silently, out loud, with patients, by myself, with my cohort, through my actions; I prayed without ceasing.

I saw the heights of joy and depths of sorrow.

I could not explain my summer in a blog; it just can’t be done. My summer was wonderful and glorious. I want to sit down with you. I want you to see my face. I want you to see how I’ve changed. I am radiant. I have shed my timid skin. I am grounded in the world. I sweep through the world as I walk. I better understand the space God created for me, specifically for me. I understand the space God created for us all. We are not called to be shrinking violets. We are called to receive love and delight from our Creator.

I started the summer by reflecting on Ephesians 1:7, and it stuck with me as the weeks went on “In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us.” At the heart of the Gospel is a message that I have been brought into reconciliation with my God through my savior. I have been restored to a community. This restoration became a fuller part of my being this summer. I watched myself slowly transform and change in the midst of sorrow and suffering, my own and that of people around me. It wasn’t some fancy theology that changed my life this summer, it was the nitty- gritty reminders of the Gospel and the acting out of the transformation experienced in embracing the message of this good news. At the root of it all, I had to be reminded that I am forgiven and loved not out of my own accord. It is out of the immensity of God’s love for the world. For me.

I will now leave you with a couple stories.

1) It’s the middle of the summer; I am halfway through my unit of CPE; I am sitting in supervision. I share my admissions of guilt from being sick and not having the physical capacity to do the amount of work I thought I needed to be doing. At this point, I didn’t fully know why I squelched this confession as long as I did, my supervisor had not given me any reason to believe I couldn’t trust him with this information. He invited me to explore where the guilt was coming from. I began to explain deeply engrained behaviors of responsibility and guilt stemming from my youth. I shared that I gravitate towards second place. I love second place. I am the best at coming in at second place. I shared that I walk a fine line of needing to be exceptional and needing people to see that I am exceptional, and having a desire to not make any interruptions in someone’s life, to not be intrusive. On the one hand, I need to have my accomplishments recognized in some way. I need to know that people see I am capable to handle whatever is thrown my way. But on the flip side of that, I should be so good that I don’t make any waves when I enter into a situation. It should be like I was never there but somehow things are better. I should be able to do my work, leave, and not receive any acknowledgement. Like magic. I acknowledged that this is the absolute worst position I could put myself in, yet I still do it. My supervisor very frankly responds, “That’s sounds like bondage.” So simple, but so true. I felt emotions rise in me. That’s exactly what I was experiencing. Bondage. Physical, spiritual, and emotional bondage. In that moment, he grabbed the anointing oil from his closet and moved to the chair beside me so we could pray together and so he could anoint my wrist. I don’t remember the words that were spoken that day, but I do remember the tears. I remember the feeling of bonds falling off my body and spirit. I remember the smell of the frankincense and myrrh. I remember the shape of the cross drawn onto my wrist. That is the moment my summer truly changed. All the outcomes I’ve spoken of in this blog, stem from the patience of my cohorts in the first few weeks and the power of the prayer and anointing I received in this time of supervision. It’s a moment for the books. A spiritual experience that will be shared and talked about for years to come.

2) “You could be like a little Monika.” It’s my last day of CPE. I saw this patient yesterday and she is one of my last for the day. She is talking to me about the impact of my visit the day before. She and her husband were deeply moved by my care and kindness. Towards the end of our conversation, she brought up the show Touched by an Angel. I, of course, remember the show well. My mom and grandma used to watch it, but I’d forgotten the main character’s name. When this patient told me I could be a little Monika, I knew what she thought she was talking about, but I knew what other message God was sending me.

For those of you who don’t know, Monika is the name of both my mother and my grandmother.  My grandmother actually wanted me to be the third Monika Maria in the family. This lady had no idea that I’ve spent my whole life aspiring to be just like my mom and grandma, full of grace, compassion, justice, and kindness. These are the women I look up to. These are the women that passed down my family and personal values of strength, integrity, and graciousness. This woman had no idea that my only tattoo is in memory of my grandma so I always have her with me, and so I always remember to live my life in the wake of the legacy she left for me. She had no idea that I’ve been dreaming of becoming this woman my whole life. She had no idea that she would be the conduit for encouraging my endeavors to become like the most wonderful women I know. She had no idea just how much her words would mean to me. When she spoke those words, I almost started crying.

I was amazed that 45 minutes with this woman and her husband had affected their lives so deeply and that 45 minutes with other patients throughout the summer had the opportunity to do the same, and I was deeply touched that this particular person was willing to pay me a high compliment. I walked out of that room with confidence in my summer transformation. I walked out of that room knowing that I’d somehow “arrived” even though I had so far to go. I’d finally become the person I’d always dreamed of and now it was time to keep her alive and thriving. Now it would be time to really get to work.

I still look down at my left wrist and see the cross placed there by my Brother, my fellow believer who took on the mantle of faith so I could once again begin to believe, so my summer could take a sharp turn for the positive. I still think of the warm exchange between the patient and I described above. These are the things that stay with you. It’s not the words exchanged that we remember from chaplaincy; it’s the spirit of the moment, the support in times of grief, and the celebration in times of joy. It’s the faces of the people and their trust in a complete stranger.

This summer, I was provided the greatest honor I have ever received: sitting with people in their most vulnerable moments. We faced the world together. For me, there is no greater service, and no greater honor.

Thank you for making it to the end of my summer summary.