Here's an update of sorts, for all you people who are following our journey. The end of 2017 also marks the 1/3 mark for my CPE Residency year. It feels altogether to be dragging on and disappearing. Such is life, looking both forward and backward. I find myself holding a lot of tension, which maybe is the norm for getting older and stuff, but, I feel this liminal space is creating a desire to savor and soak it in, and also to get it over with so I can get a job and restore some stability to our life.
The last couple months have been good and difficult. We most recently had a minor issue when our car was towed. It is okay, but it does push our finances for the month to the limit, so that is frustrating. In further investigation it seems like a city strategy for a cash grab, so we are challenging it. Urban perils. We are still learning a little more every day what it means to live in the city.
We really enjoyed some time with our Riverside Community and Cristin's family over the winter holidays and then a getaway to Palm Springs. The top highlights for me were celebrating Cristin's birthday! She is amazing, one of a kind and lovely. I'm so lucky to have her in my life. Also taking a day up the Arial tramway to the Mt. San Jacinto recreation area. It's so peaceful, beautiful, full of wonder, trees, views (you can see all the way to the Salton Sea). The whole time there was a lot of fun, good food and drink, Christmas spirit.
I had to come back to SF early to be on call Dec 29th and it was actually quite peaceful in the hospital, not a single call in 24 hours (Which is an oddity, I probably won't have another on call night that quiet). After that, Cristin returned and we celebrated New Years in the city! it was a pretty amazing night. Although change is constant, I really like our cultural observation of the new year and the many changes it may bring. It is important to feel whelmed by a sense of potential.
Honestly it has been a slow start to 2018; As much fun as was had over the holiday, it really took me out of my routine, and that has left me feeling a little slow to get back into it. Momentum can be a huge aspect of my life, and I am still getting in touch with the starting mechanism for life's challenges. My program and fellow chaplains have been a distinct blessing in this regard, listening and encouraging as we are all finding new sources for endurance, rest and faithful service.
Speaking of challenges, our peaceful apartment has hit a snag as our new neighbors have turned out to be college-age frat party types. Our walls are thin, and they are pretty inconsiderate, despite many neighborly engagements. As it continues to get worse, we are doing all that we can, going through the landlord and so forth. While it has provided a lot of learning in duality and tension for me (trying to empathize with the enemy, etc), Cristin mainly just loses sleep and is unjustly afflicted. If you think of us, pray for us in this regard; moving away and breaking the lease would be costly and damaging; in the same breath, it seems like a long 8 months ahead with the routine disruption, so we will continue to take action until our choices become more clear.
Cristin is staying busy, we've found a new MD that is very empathetic and she continues to learn and grow in her journey with her PT. She's thoroughly enjoying her discipleship group, making connections with folks, continues to seek direction and healing.
Fun things on the Horizon include a conference I was accepted to attend! in February I'll be going to Washington DC for a conference about Diversity and Spiritual Care; I'm very stoked, but also a little bummed as it's my first time going to DC and there'll be no time for tourism. 2 weeks after that will be the official end of the 2nd unit, and halfway mark for the program (madness!). Cristin will be going on her own getaway while I'm at the conference, participating in a contemplative spiritual retreat through our SF Church, 1st Mennonite. We will both come back together with greater learning to share with one another and our communities.
That's about it, Happy New Year! Happy MLK Day! Hopefully we will update again before Lincoln's birthday!
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Friday, January 12, 2018
No Teacher's Edition
For several months in 2011 I worked as a substitute teacher in Louisiana public and charter schools in New Orleans and the surrounding metro area. It was difficult to say the least. I actually wrote on my resume that I worked in the "toughest schools" and it was no joke. One day the students actually revolted and bum rushed out 10 minutes before the bell rang. Another teacher came in to ask me if I was okay. I was not.
It wasn't all gloom and doom; some of my favorite experiences came in arts and humanities classes where students could do their work unsupervised, welcoming conversation. I also enjoyed the younger, unspoiled classes, and I have to say that substitute teaching 1st grade was really fun. I had a drill sergeant demeanor and those kids got in line, and were also very sweet and fun. I also knew the material, which made it easier to feel comfortable (unlike the time I had to sub for AP Math class, I haven't thought about that stuff in a loooong time, and was little help to the honor students).
One thing that troubled me and still does to this day was in teaching the first grade lesson plan for the day which included spelling and writing, reading, coloring, and basic arithmetic. The dismay came at the presence of a teacher's edition. For first grade. The basic arithmetic answers spelled out, answers in a different font and color. Who is teaching this class?
I think of this now because my work place is an educational environment. I work in a teaching hospital, my supervisors official titles are "Educator", and I am here to demonstrate learning. But unlike even our earliest formal learning, apparently, there is no teacher's edition, there are no easy answers. Sometimes there are no answers at all. I get asked why suffering happens, and even if the words are unspoken, I see the question on their faces. I often say, "That's a tough question"...or "I wish I could answer that"...There is a sacred dialogue with those who suffer, or who's loved ones suffer, and it has little to do with me telling them why or how I think this is possible and unpacking years of philosophy in a cold monotone.
But even if there were a teacher's edition, a magic book with all the answers filled in for us (spoiler alert, the Bible does not have all the answers, nor does any other sacred text), it would not be satisfying. I believe that what is meant by asking the questions is not the wish for an easy or simple answer, like we received in first grade. It is the desire to struggle with someone. It is the desire to know that the search for meaning, though veiled, is not fruitless in and of itself, and that we are not alone in it. It is our way of wrestling with our own despair and of finding hope in the relentless uncertainty of life. Any platitude is just a form of bargaining with our grief, trying to tell ourselves we don't need to feel the feelings we feel when we suffer, or witness suffering.
What our "teacher's edition" does offer is that simple hope in the midst of the difficult journey. We might not know why we experience things, or why we feel the way we do about our experiences, but it is okay for us to be fully human in the midst of the catastrophic and the heart-rending. There is reassurance that we are part of a greater mystery, and that in the trillions of lives played out in our planets history, many have felt as we do, and that in our shared experiences and natures we are truly one and the same. We are not alone, and life will go on. God have mercy, Christ have mercy, God have mercy. For everyone. May we be here and now, for one another, and trust that life will go on.
It wasn't all gloom and doom; some of my favorite experiences came in arts and humanities classes where students could do their work unsupervised, welcoming conversation. I also enjoyed the younger, unspoiled classes, and I have to say that substitute teaching 1st grade was really fun. I had a drill sergeant demeanor and those kids got in line, and were also very sweet and fun. I also knew the material, which made it easier to feel comfortable (unlike the time I had to sub for AP Math class, I haven't thought about that stuff in a loooong time, and was little help to the honor students).
One thing that troubled me and still does to this day was in teaching the first grade lesson plan for the day which included spelling and writing, reading, coloring, and basic arithmetic. The dismay came at the presence of a teacher's edition. For first grade. The basic arithmetic answers spelled out, answers in a different font and color. Who is teaching this class?
I think of this now because my work place is an educational environment. I work in a teaching hospital, my supervisors official titles are "Educator", and I am here to demonstrate learning. But unlike even our earliest formal learning, apparently, there is no teacher's edition, there are no easy answers. Sometimes there are no answers at all. I get asked why suffering happens, and even if the words are unspoken, I see the question on their faces. I often say, "That's a tough question"...or "I wish I could answer that"...There is a sacred dialogue with those who suffer, or who's loved ones suffer, and it has little to do with me telling them why or how I think this is possible and unpacking years of philosophy in a cold monotone.
But even if there were a teacher's edition, a magic book with all the answers filled in for us (spoiler alert, the Bible does not have all the answers, nor does any other sacred text), it would not be satisfying. I believe that what is meant by asking the questions is not the wish for an easy or simple answer, like we received in first grade. It is the desire to struggle with someone. It is the desire to know that the search for meaning, though veiled, is not fruitless in and of itself, and that we are not alone in it. It is our way of wrestling with our own despair and of finding hope in the relentless uncertainty of life. Any platitude is just a form of bargaining with our grief, trying to tell ourselves we don't need to feel the feelings we feel when we suffer, or witness suffering.
What our "teacher's edition" does offer is that simple hope in the midst of the difficult journey. We might not know why we experience things, or why we feel the way we do about our experiences, but it is okay for us to be fully human in the midst of the catastrophic and the heart-rending. There is reassurance that we are part of a greater mystery, and that in the trillions of lives played out in our planets history, many have felt as we do, and that in our shared experiences and natures we are truly one and the same. We are not alone, and life will go on. God have mercy, Christ have mercy, God have mercy. For everyone. May we be here and now, for one another, and trust that life will go on.
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