May 2007

These last few weeks the roller coaster I found myself whipping around on lacked any thrill or fun. My emotions all over the place–think Jackson Pollock–and the chocolate consumption has been at an all-time high. Hormones, regrets, dead people, poverty–take your pick–all had me feeling the crunch. I kept wondering to myself, “When will I get to the last of it?”

I can remember being in therapy at twenty-one and thinking, “all the pain of the abuse of my childhood will be worth it if my going through this helps it to happen less from now on in the world.” Then I realized by listening to other survivors’ stories, just how naive my thinking was. Total devastation at the time. I could find no line in the sand to draw…no bearing it so others would not have to…no end in sight. I found myself only one of many.

This realization touched off another more important understanding in me. I questioned my therapist, “I will never be over this, will I?” She told me, “No. And yes. Yes, right now you will find a way through towards life and wholeness. Yes, you can learn healthy ways of coping. Yes, you can get to a place where you are not terrified all of the time. You will also grow up and circumstances will change. One day you will no longer be afraid of someone touching you here (taking my hands and placing them in my crotch), but you will want them to touch you. You cannot face every piece of this at once, and life will bring the other pieces to you. As it does, you will have to look at them and deal with them, but you cannot prepare now for having a seven-year-old daughter and seeing yourself at that age. Just make a deal with yourself now that when those moments come, you will get the help you need. Don’t be afraid Jacqueline of needing to look at all of this again and again. Each time will be hard for its own reasons, but your emotional muscles to deal with what is coming up will be stronger too.”

I can remember after a good $100k of therapy (one three-week hospitalization helped propel the figure), my mother asked me when would I be”done.” Done? Damn! I was livid. I screamed back at her, “How the hell does a person who was molested almost every day for five years–and who had to try and commit suicide for it to stop–ever get DONE with dealing with that shit?!?” At the time, I sat in the mire and filth of my life. I owned it. I needed it. I wore my Girl Scout Survivor Badge with the neon lettering of MOLESTED emblazoned upon it. I held my head up high as I went to the Rape Support Group.

Over time, gentle imperceptible shifts occurred. I took off my badge. I stopped going to the group. I no longer needed to think about everything in my past in order to know life existed for me in my future. I did not find the last of it, but I found “the last of it for right now.” The shifts came again and again, and my therapist from the past was right. When something big reared its ugly head, if I got the help I needed I found my way. When John died. When I did my Advanced Bereavement Facilitator certification. When I decided to drop the walls of weight. When I found myself deeply loving The Bean and opening up all these magical rooms in my spirit I thought did not exist for me because of the molestation.

And then there is now; this terrifying place where I struggle to trust myself in the wake of The Bean’s shit. I get that he is not trustworthy, but I still cannot understand how I got him so wrong sometimes. This makes me question my ability to judge who is trustworthy in my life and to trust those I already love. I took a big hit to my own compass. I read the tea leaves wrong. I put emphasis where there was none out of my own desire to believe not only in love, but in love for me.

I have three personal holy days: my birthday, June 6th and June 28th. June 6th is holy because on that day my parents married in 1970, I was conceived–also in 1970–and my niece, The Older One, was born. I first connected with The Bean on June 6th last year, meeting him face-to-face the next day. Meeting him on my holy day gave our meeting greater import, I must admit. Fate. Destiny. Whatever. Not on that day, of course, but in the days, weeks and months to come. When I looked out five months later at my ordination and saw him there in the church–knowing in my heart what courage and love for me it took for him to be there–I felt like he was my “reward” for all the shit that ever happened in my life. He took on the role of being my “line in the sand.” My life before him somehow making sense because (at the time, of course) having him in my life connected so many dots, filled so many places of emptiness.

Now, I feel I must explain the emptiness. I need to protect my honor! My life has be characterized by a particular loneliness due to seeing the world in a particular way, being “scary smart,”and willing to question anything or anyone–including authority–right from the womb. No one “gets me” and usually people fall into one of two categories: 1) They love me as I am, but do not understand me; or 2) They feel the need to put me down for being who I am. With The Bean, I thought I found someone who not only cared about me but who also actually understood me and where I was coming from. I felt trusted for all of the ways I am such a complete “weirdo”–leaned into in those places instead of pulled away from.

Fast forward to this last Saturday. I stood in my living room crying my eyes out to Bubbie. As I cried, Bubbie gave me a big ol’ hug and said, “It is okay, you are just crying out the last of it now. It has been almost six months. It is the right time.”

I did not realize until Sunday night, while talking to Paparazzo, that the tears had his name on them, not The Bean’s.

See, Paparazzo does the Ft. Lauderdale Street Ride on Wednesdays. So does The Bean. When Paparazzo and I talked on Friday about all the ways the Ride fell apart with break-downs last week, his bike included, he mentioned how The Bean gave him a fucking bolt. Just a bolt mind you, and I had a world class melt down. I did posses enough presence of mind to get off the phone as quickly as possible on Friday. But the next day when I got a bit of shit for not being that into the sublime invite to maybe go to the movies, I lost it. Figuring out why proved hard. Why did Paparazzo mentioning The Bean make me flush with burning panic?

The tears with Bubbie were over losing my cool and falling apart (again! fuck!) with Paparazzo on the receiving end. I felt threatened. That horrible insecure place where my sick fantasy (or is it a nightmare?) saw The Bean and Paparazzo sitting around having one Mojito and one girly fruity drink with an umbrella (you get to decide who drinks what) and laughing about what a total nut-job I am. Maybe they would even talk about how I never seem to get over the whole being molested thing and the subsequent abandonment fears and how ugly I am and not that funny or cute or…or…or…?

I love Paparazzo. No friend has ever been more true to me–even if he is a total G.U.Y. and keeps his cards so close–or been more game to make me play even when I wanted to lie down and curl up in a ball. I just cannot bear the thought of losing him too.

The last of it had nothing to do with losing The Bean. He is long gone, which is good. The last of it–for now of course–had to do with being scared shitless that the losing won’t stop and finding my way back towards trusting my heart again. The same heart that knows without a doubt Paparazzo would never speak ill of me to The Bean.

There are all sorts of things I never think about any longer. Pain healed, forgiven, let go of, and forgotten. I would tell you about them, but I just do not remember. I do, however, know all about pain getting into those deep sacred places I rarely show anyone or even admit to possessing because they are so vulnerable to both love and loss. The Bean and his loss are in there, but so is all the love I have in me for Paparazzo.

As those of you who follow my blog already know, I have not posted in a bit. No block, just lack of time to edit and post. Here is my sermon from Mother’s Day 2007 that I preached at Church By The Sea, Miami Beach, Florida. The texts for the sermon are Isaiah 54:1-8 and I Thessalonians 2:5-8. I will say that this sermon came from my own current season of barrenness that I continue to work through.

I can still remember the first time our passage in Isaiah grabbed my attention. The year was 1998, and I was finishing up my last semester before getting my Bachelor’s at St. Thomas University. I already knew I would be going to Duke Divinity in the fall, and the only word to describe how I felt about my “calling” and imminent graduate schooling would be “terrified.” I bought a new “Sweet Honey in the Rock” CD and sat at my desk in Dr. Holland’s office—I worked for him—and unwrapped it. I put the disc in my computer and began playing it while reading the liner notes. I became transfixed when I came upon their song “Sing O Barren One.” The song had been written for a friend of Bernice Johnson Reagon for her Ordination service…a service I could not even begin to imagine for myself. I forwarded the disc to the song and heard these words…

Empty and lonely I was
Worthless and useless I felt
Bounded and closed, I wandered
Empty and useless I was

Then I heard the voice
Sing O Barren One
Sing out and cry aloud
Sing O Barren One
Sing out and cry aloud

Have you ever had a moment where you just got it? A moment where you understood? A moment where the Whispering God boomed in your heart and mind and you knew…just knew the most amazing thing?

What did you know? Did you know that you mattered? Did you know love’s sweet kiss for the first time? Did you know you were not alone? Did you know you were doing exactly what you were supposed to do? Did you know that you were going to make it?

In that moment of hearing the song, I heard a promise from God to me. A promise that I would forget the shame of my youth. A promise that my own barrenness(the terrible losses of my father and sisters when I was six; the ugly and awkward years of my youth; the feeling of being a misfit; the failures—for some reason they fail you if you only show up to Oceanography once)—those places where life just seemed to never want to grow—would find new life because “God is my husband.” I knew I would be ordained. I knew I would sing…sing…sing. I remember calling my mother and told her, “God knows me and has called me by name.”

So here we are these many years later, and the moment of discovery of this passage continues to be a moment of promise for me. I began a love affair with it. In my Hebrew Scripture class in seminary, I wrote my final exegesis—just a big fancy word for “studying the heck out of it”—all about these precious eight verses. When leading an adult Advent class, I used them. Again and again, these verses weave themselves into the fabric of my life. They are a part of my own personal “Sacred Text.” They mean so much to me because barrenness is a theme in my life, and honestly, I keep revisiting these places of emptiness…even now.

I offer them up to us today because I think we are in desperate need for their testimony to what our response to barrenness ought to be…

All of my studying these eight verses taught me that the identity of the “Barren One” is Jerusalem. The Israelites freed again from bondage journey back to their holy land, but instead of flowing with milk and honey, she was just a shambled and desolate place. Her children had scattered to the winds of occupation, slavery and brutality. Jerusalem could not be more bare. So our prophet writes to Jerusalem’s scattered refugees calling them home with the promise God will be present to them, no longer abandoning them, and will satisfy their barren longings.

Our sacred texts are full of stories of barren women: Sarah, Hannah, Naomi, Elisabeth and Mary. The imagery central to our understanding of what it means to have hope in the midst of desperate times: Life is possible even where it is not. God will not be discouraged by the death of promises or dreams. Life will find a way. You cannot get more barren than a virgin, so the story of Mary and Jesus became the ultimate retelling of this narrative.

Now we must be careful to not get caught up on technicalities. As I said, I taught from this passage in an adult education class during Advent. The whole first class I listened to quite the debate about the real age of so-called “barrenness” at the time of Jesus! Fortunately for us, the metaphor does not rely on whether or not Elisabeth was 23 or 53, but what does matter is the imagery itself. I offer this to you because I do not want you to sit there and think, “I am a man; what do I know of being barren?” or “I have three kids; I cannot even imagine what that looks like, but I do dream it involves more sleep than I get.” In other words, this barrenness has nothing to do with sperm or eggs or zygotes.

No, this barrenness is about the pain that desolates our lives. It is about abandonment, fear, anger, jealousy, disappointment, loneliness, loss and grief. This is about just plain being a human being hurling through space and feeling it. When were you the most barren?

Did a dream die? Did you find yourself with a regret or two along the way? Did you stop believing in God? Did you feel worthless, empty and alone? Did your friends abandon you? Did your family reject you? Did you lose a job? Did you get your heart broken? Did you have a creative impasse? Did you lose your status, wealth or significance? Did you feel you were just existing?

I know barrenness because I have been fired, broken-up with, a poor seminary student, living with my parents as an adult, and been lost, even after finding my way. Barrenness is not rare, but it is unique in each of our lives. As a hospice chaplain, again and again I hear of the barrenness of being old and slowly dying. I held the hand of a woman 100 years old not too long ago, who expected to die shortly after her 100th birthday. Three months later and she wanted to know of God, “What am I doing here? Why do you let me linger? I should be dead already? What good am I? What purpose is there?” She echoed a sentiment I hear too often, and I said to her what I always say (out of compassion), “I do not know why you have not died yet. I do not know, but I do hear your pain.”

Now some of you might be saying to yourselves, “It just was not her time yet.” Or maybe even, “God must still have had a purpose for her, which is why she was still alive.” The truly brave might even think, “She lived that long so you could talk about her in this sermon!” Don’t get me wrong, I do value the interaction with her, and when she died a few short days later I went to the house afterwards and whispered in her ear, “I am so happy for you.” But being with so many as they die has not given me the secret to why we die when we do or what the full purpose in those “lingering” moments truly is. I only know mystery in that place, but I can clearly see the barrenness hurts us all regardless of gender, age, status or education. Everybody hurts.

Now this is an extreme example, but I highlight it for us because I think part of the natural and normal reaction to barrenness is to ask “WHY?” We feel shame when we are barren, and we feel the need to stand before God and ask why we have been abandoned yet again.

So here we are, full of barrenness and Isaiah calls upon us to do what? Sing and enlarge the place of our tents. Huh? Now in reality Isaiah is making a call to those rebuilding Jerusalem to not be narrow-minded or prejudice. The only way to rebuild is to accept the “mixed multitude” into her gates. The strict boundaries of who was an “innie” versus an “outie” had to be abandoned in order for the city—for life—to flourish. We must abandon the lie of “blood being thicker than water.” As Isaiah tells Israel’s scattered children: We must be open to all in order to flourish, even those we might have rejected before.

For us, the response to barrenness is to be the same: We must open up and prepare for abundance to come to us in people, places and ways we may not be familiar with.

I do not know about you, but when I feel at my utmost worst, preparing for loving in a new way is not exactly what I am planning on (I shut down.)…no, I am planning on a good old fashioned pity party. I will be serving macaroni and cheese and Bryer’s Mint Chip Ice Cream at my pity party. Depending on how bad it is, I will also break out the movies Black Widow, Steel Magnolias, and Die Hard…or if it is really really bad: Titanic. I will buy a moisturizer that promises me that I will look closer to 26 than 36 and new underwear (don’t ask). I will smoke a cigarette—one single cigarette—just to prove that I can do whatever I want! (Pouting included at no extra charge) And I will cry to anyone willing to listen that my life as I know it is over, that God has completely forgotten my name and for that matter is probably dead or never existed. And to think, these are some of the more positive responses to my own barrenness. Worst case scenario? I start wondering why I even exist.

Now, I do not wish to dazzle you with some kind of positive thinking, reverse psychology, actualization voodoo here, although they do have their place. Nor is this about spiritual gymnastics to get God’s favour or intervention. You know? I will enlarge my tents—meaning “I will keep trying God, so you can do your part too.” No. The cost of this kind of discipleship is much much more difficult, and bargaining is not allowed.

Let me read to you again our text from I Thessalonians:

But we were gentle among you, like a nurse tenderly caring for her own children. So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become very dear to us.

The link I see between these two texts is this: Enlarging our tents in the face of unspeakable barrenness is about being willing to share our very selves…like a mother nursing her baby…even when we are starving for love and wholeness. The cure to worthlessness and uselessness is letting another nurse at your very breast, and this is ultimately our Gospel…our “good news.” For what good is it that Jesus suffers with us, if we cannot mix it with the milk of our own lives and offer it to the one who is starving. Much like the old allegory on the difference between heaven and hell: In both, we sit at the banquet table laid out with every possible culinary delight. In both, we sit with our arms in splints unable to feed ourselves. In hell, we sit and starve. In heaven, we feed the one across from us. It is for this reason I selected the line from the Black Eyed Peas’ song “Where Is The Love?;” we live in an age of barrenness.

When we enlarge our tents we open ourselves up to being used by God to tend to others in the very ways we are so desperate to be tended to. Enlarging our tents is about being the very thing we find so lacking in the world. If you look back to the opening passages for your meditation, you will see that I chose the two complimentary passages from Rabbi Hillel and Jesus. One states “do not do” to others what you would not want done to you, and the other “do to others” as you would want for yourself. I must say, I love Jesus’ spin on the commandment because it requires us to be proactive. There is a physicality to “enlarging our tents” not just a mental exercise. This spiritual practice requires preparation and action.

Do you wish you did not have to always eat alone? Set another place at the table and keep inviting until someone accepts. Start a Supper Club. Feed the homeless.

Do you wish traffic was better in Miami? Stop cussing out the guy who cuts you off, listen to your favourite music or ride your bike more.

Do you wish there was more peace in the world? Make-up with your family member you just cannot stand, refuse to gossip, or join Amnesty International.

Do you need love? Mix the milk of your own life with the Good News of God’s unending love for us.

In other words, be the very change you feel is lacking in the world. Enlarge your tent first. For me, these words from Isaiah have served as a panacea to my pain in a way that all the mint chip ice cream in the world just can’t, maybe that is why I am so in-love with them.

Enlarge the site of your tent,
and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out;
do not hold back; lengthen your cords
and strengthen your stakes.
Do not fear, for you will not be ashamed;
do not be discouraged, for you will not suffer disgrace;

You know I have another patient, also a woman, who is nearing her own 100th birthday. This last Christmas Eve she and her husband celebrated their 70th Wedding Anniversary. They survived the War, when so many of their family died in the concentration camps. They too were refugees trying to rebuild their lives in countries so unlike their own. I never hear her ask why she is still alive or say that she is just lingering. In part, I know this is due to the love affair she has with her husband. Their only fear is what will happen when the first one dies—worry for the one left behind. There are pictures on her wall of the dinner with their son and his wife and one other couple from the night of the special anniversary. I asked her recently how they came to be friends with this other couple, thinking they had known each other for a very long time. She told me that a couple of years ago the two couples met in the building where they live, and that in spite of a good 20 year age difference, they quickly became their very best friends. Imagine that…she made a new best friend in her nineties.

She refuses to see herself as “all dried up” and continues to offer the sweet milk of her life to those around her. She is not afraid to enlarge her tent, regardless of her age or disease. What a beautiful example to us all. Amen.

Last week I gave my Hospice Team the Holmes Rahe Stress Scale as a quiz of sorts. Basically, if you score over 300 points you are in danger of being totally stressed out and having health problems. The scale gives a point value to major life events experienced over the last year. Now, you may need to assign a close value to something not exactly put in their terms. For instance, I gave myself a “60″ for my break-up with The Bean. I made this number up given you get 63 for the death of a close family member, and he is still alive to others, but pretty much dead to me (seemed only fitting). Feel free to go out and score yourself, but for fun (trust me–you are going to feel SO good about your life), let’s look at why I scored a whooping 862:

Breaking-up with The Bean: 60

Personal Injury or Illness: 159 (53 x Lyme Disease, Mono, & the Chicken Pox)

Change in the Health of a Family Member: 44 (Aunt Charlyne’s Cancer)

Sexual Difficulties: 39 (I am 36, was a virgin until 31, and keep dating men whose emotional issues impact their libido. In other words, I have not had nearly enough sex.)

Gain a New Family Member: 39 (God love Emma, but a new puppy is w.o.r.k.)

Change in Financial State: 76 (Went from poor to making it back to poor again with my recent move and new puppy.)

Change in Frequency of Arguments: 35 (I feel M.A.D. about the “business” of chaplaincy at work and get all feisty about it all the time.)

Change in Responsibilities at Work: 29 (I should get more given my new job changes our requirements all the time.) 58 (One time for the bull-shit requirement to spend 60% of my week in direct alive patient care, with another 20% minimum working on bereavement. I am not listening to anyone after awhile with over 30 hours required per week, plus four hours of Team Meeting, and driving around over an hour a day, and making appointments, and having to work from home but go to the office to chase paperwork in triplicate, and…well, that is why I gave myself the other 29 points. Constant failure.)

Outstanding Personal Achievement: 56 (Once for being approved for Ordination, and once for the Ordination itself.)

Change in Living Conditions: 50 (Lived with Parental Elements, lived with Biker Girl, living on my own–THANK YOU JESUS!)

Revision of Personal Habits: 24 (I have lost, gained, lost, gained, and now am losing the same fucking 10 pounds.)

Trouble with Boss: 23 (I just know I will be fired any day now for being out of compliance at work–see above–and dread seeing the Supervisors as a result. I just cannot physically keep up, let alone emotionally, so I decided to give myself these points too.)

Change in Working Hours of Conditions: 20 (Wow! What changes!)

Change in Residence: 40 (Moved twice in six months this last year.)

Change in Recreation: 19 (Got back on a bike after 20 years and loved it!)

Change in Church Activities: 19 (The move north has taken me further away from church.)

Minor Loan: 17 (Refinanced with the Bank of Mom.)

Change in Sleeping Habits: 16 (Back to waking up to go see dead people in the middle of the night.)

Change in Eating Habits: 45 (see above personal habits)

Minor Law Violation: 11 (I bumped into a car parked illegally behind mine, but the damage to my insurance has been worse than the $804 in damages to his car.)

Christmas: 12 (Although, I did not celebrate it this year. I just worked and cried my eyes out missing The Bean.)

So, in summary, it is amazing that I am not dead. Plus, they did not factor in being shot at or having to call 911 on your roommate’s ex while he beat some guy at the house. Maybe we should just round my score up to an even 1000? And to think my score would have been under 100 prior to August 2006. In other words, all these life changes happened in the last nine months! Yet here I am, still funny and everything! (At least I think so.)

Yesterday I attended the death of a patient whom I really cared deeply for. Now there is no code at work to put down for when you just feel sad some days because people you care about and care for always die. Shit! This is Hospice after-all. I see how I need time to mourn all these deaths so I can go on to the next ones. So, yesterday I mourned a bit for the patient who died in the morning and for two others I really loved who died last week. I know part of what makes me good at what I do centers on letting people in my heart. I would not have it any other way, but I also must let them back out a bit when they die.

Funny…I did not intend to write any of this aspect, but now seeing it in black and white I realize how much I needed to say I do not work unscathed.

What I started to say was that the family of the woman who died commented to me about what a peace and glow I seem to project. Now yesterday I KNOW “glowing” did not get checked off in my beauty regime. I woke up late, felt like shit, had paperwork from the day before, and found myself with wet hair, no make-up, and still in my pjs when I received the call to attend the death. I walked out of the house within 10 minutes. The dog taken out, clothed, in my right mind, with blow-dried bangs (only) and make-up, but I looked less than my best! And I still glowed? How can that be?

I really do believe the reason I walk upright–even though these last months required some major lie down and cry time–centers on my attitude towards the shit of my life. Yes, I currently may be a stressed out mess in some respects, but I choose to be a funny, sarcastic, horny, wicked, kind one at that. I know recently I have been bitching about not wanting to always have to be resilient, but maybe there is just no other way to be in this life. Otherwise, I might end up with the shit of my life–much of which I have no fucking control over–weighing me down completely. Stubbornness possess gifts too. I try to focus on those elements I feel powerful over, and my reactions always are within my control. Do I get all Snappy Bitch sometimes? Hell yeah! Can I almost always be talked off my limb? Yes. Mostly, I know Love never leaves me and will always be stronger than death. (See Song of Solomon 8:6-7)

I look back at all of this and think to myself: “Damn girl! I am so fucking proud of you!”