The One Sheep

"So he told them this parable: ‘Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance." Luke 15

I had a conversation with a young girl in the hospital yesterday. While hearing the Godly Play story of the Great Family, she was very drawn to the idea of God being everywhere and in every thing. She said to me, "I wonder what God looks like?" and I wondered with her, "What does God look like to you?" I asked. She thought for a moment, then said to me, "A protector."

It was a short conversation, a few sentences exchanged as we sat on a piano bench together. It was short, but powerful. The idea that this girl imagines God as her protector, even though she was hurt, even though she was in the hospital, continues to be powerful to me. God was with her then, is with her now, will be with her in the future, always. 

 
More often, I feel like my job as a chaplain is to witness. It isn't that I say just the right thing that will change a life. The life that is changed most often is mine. I see. I hear. I witness. I am there for moments, short or long, that are pivotal in that person's life. A moment where a family gathers around a beloved child before surgery. A moment where two girls play Just Dance together in a room. A moment where a grandpa just needs someone to talk to while waiting for his granddaughter to get out of surgery. I am not present at these moments to change them. I am present to witness them.
I was reminded yesterday of the parable Jesus tells to his disciples about the lost sheep. It is a parable I frequently tell my kids. When one of his sheep goes missing, the shepherd leaves the other sheep to find the one that has gone missing. He takes the time to step away from the ninety-nine sheep to be with the one. It is a powerful message not only about Jesus the shepherd, but also about the importance of ministering to the one, not only the ninety-nine.

It is easy to get caught up and lost in chaplaincy, in ministry in general. There are so many things happening constantly, and it is easy to look at a list of twenty patients you failed to see, and feel downhearted because of the missed opportunities. But I believe it is important to recognize the one patient you did see. It is vital to recognize the importance of that one visit, of that one moment you witnessed. 

 
On days when the hospital is busy and I only see two or three patients, I try to stop the negative thoughts and think about those two patients. What did we talk about? What did we say? Did we smile? Laugh? Cry? Did they share? Did I listen? What happened in the moments we were together? It is a successful day if I am able to be present for that one sheep who is in need of someone to sit by her side and be a witness to that one moment. 

 
The next time I tell a child the parable of the Good Shepherd, I will remember that girl and our conversation when I talk about the one sheep the shepherd went in search of. I will remember that girl and recall the honor of being witness to that moment in her life. 

 

I Believe in Miracles

"Everything's going to be okay."

"Don't worry, it'll all work out."

"It'll get better, just be patient."

"Just trust in God and it'll all be okay."

I hear these phrases all the time.  They are what you say when something terrible has happened.  They're what automatically comes out of your mouth when you don't know what to say.  They are meant to comfort, to support.  Maybe you believe them; maybe you don't.  Until I worked at as a hospital chaplain, these were the phrases that fell from my mouth when things went wrong for friends.  "It'll be okay," I said.  "It'll all work out."  And I think I believed those words.  After all, there were very few times that I'd seen things not work out for my friends.  Why wouldn't I trust that things would work out this time? 

After a few weeks as a chaplain, my thoughts on this changed.  Suddenly, I stopped saying "It'll be okay," to the patients and their families.  I stopped promising that "Everything will work out."  Because I didn't know.  I couldn't make a promise like that.  Telling these things to families was not comforting them or supporting them.  It was lying.  It was ignoring the problem.  It was ignoring the reality of the world we live in, which is that things do not always work out.  People get hurt and do not recover.  Children get sick and do not get better.  Families break apart.  Pregnancies end in loss.  Sometimes, things do not get better.

I didn't really believe in miracles before I became a chaplain.  I subscribed to the "every tree/puppy/baby is a miracle" belief.  I read about "miracles" in the news and thought "Well, that's pretty amazing...but is it a miracle?"  It didn't seem like the miracles of the Bible. 

My thoughts on miracles have changed, too.  I've met parents of a child born at 24 weeks who was happy and healthy.  I've met babies who weren't supposed to last a week, but who have gotten stronger and stronger as the months have passed.  I've met parents who haven't lost hope after months of living in the hospital with their child.  I've met children who, despite scoliosis, spina bifida, amputated limbs, etc. are smiling and happy.  They are the ones who make me happy when I go into their room.  These are miracles. 

Families ask me to pray for miracles.  Some are simply asking - and why not?  There is no harm in asking God for a miracle.  Others sit, refusing to believe that their child will not recover because God will provide a miracle.  I admire the faith of these people, but I mourn for them. 

A year into life as a chaplain, my beliefs and my words have changed.  When I see a family struggling through their child's illness or traumatic injury, I reach out and pray with them.  I pray for strength, for guidance, for healing.  I thank God for the care given to the child by the hospital staff.  I thank God for the child, for the joy he or she brings to their family.  But I do not promise the family that everything will be okay, because it is a promise I cannot keep.  It is a promise that only God can make, for only God can keep it. 

I believe in miracles. I do not expect them. If we expected them, they would not be miracles. 

I wonder...

I've been doing a lot of wondering lately.

I blame Godly Play.  I was introduced to this amazing storytelling technique earlier this year as part of my chaplaincy program at Children's.  In it, children (and adults) are invited to "wonder" about the story, allowing them to step into the world of the story and find ways to connect it with their own lives.  (You can learn more about Godly Play here if you're interested.)

When telling parables, we wonder with the kids about what things really are.  We wonder how things connect.  We wonder where we are in the story.  In telling these stories, I have heard some amazing responses from children that make me wonder why I had never seen it that way before.

In my own life, I have been wondering.  I wonder...how do I connect the pieces of my calling?  It seems they have all been falling in front of me lately, but I am still struggling with how to fit them together.  It's as if I have a hundred puzzle pieces in front of me, but no picture on a box to show me what it should look like.  Is this green a tree, or grass?  Is this a bird, a fish, a flower?  I wonder what the puzzle will look like when it is finished.  I wonder if I will ever finish it.

Like with the parables, it is helpful to look at each piece of the puzzle and wonder what they mean.  What are the pieces of my calling?  I know that I am called to work with children and their families.  I know I am called to be an advocate for those children.  I know that I am called to share God's Word with them.  I know that I am called to teach.  I know that I am called to help those in need.  I know that I am called to share my story and to help others share theirs.  I know that I am called to help children find the Holy Spirit in their lives through the art of creation.

Right now, it seems like I am constantly trying to put the pieces together, only to realize that they don't fit.  Am I missing pieces?  Do I have two puzzles mixed up together?

There is no immediate answer for these questions, for these wonderings.  I don't have a simple solution.  I just don't know yet.  But I suppose that is why we wonder.  When we wonder with children in Godly Play, we aren't seeking a RIGHT answer.  We are simply wondering, playing with ideas to see how they fit.  But as an adult, it is so hard to wonder!  I pray for the ability of a child to wonder without seeking an answer, to wonder simply in search of understanding.  That's all I can do.

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