One Wild and Precious Life

I am feeling reflective today. Yesterday, a faculty member from my high school passed away, only a few weeks after being hospitalized to be treated for bladder cancer. As far as I know, before that he was still teaching math and coaching. I never had him as a teacher, but his wife joined students in dance classes, and I performed with her. I grieve for her. Their daughters attended the school with me; one was a year ahead, the other, three years behind. I grieve for them. I also grieve for his students. We lost three faculty members my senior year, and one was like this--mid-term diagnosed with cancer, gone very quickly, most beloved.

As I walked my dog Lily this morning through the wooded country roads of the town where I have been serving at a new call since September, I couldn't help but think of poet Mary Oliver's famous question: "What do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Once again, Perspective has come and knocked me out of my procrastinating, lackadaisical meandering through life.

The other quote that was running through my head this morning was from an anti-drug commercial. Remember the ones where kids were listing what they wanted to be when they grew up, and the voice at the end says, "No one says they want to be a junkie when they grow up." Of course, it's different, but no one plans for cancer, either. No one says, "Ok, I'll graduate and get a job and get married and have kids and then I'll deal with cancer, and we'll just have to see after that."

Yesterday, I discovered the Facebook page of a family trying to bring everyone home. Sean was serving in Afghanistan. Heather was pregnant with a child they'd prayed 7 years for. Baby John was growing in her womb. Then, at 34 weeks, Heather had back pain and a headache, went to the hospital, and collapsed with a massive brain bleed. Baby John was delivered by emergency C-section. Sean spent 72 hours trying to get home. Heather slipped into a coma. Sean is home from war, Baby John is home after 20 days in the hospital, and Heather is still in a coma. I'm sure this is not the life they imagined when they found out they were finally expecting. In an instant, everything changed.

A woman I went to elementary school with is the mother of three beautiful girls. One January day, she took her youngest, then just 22 months old, to the ER with a swollen belly, thinking she was constipated. Instead, it was a tumor on her liver, that had basically appeared overnight. Neuroblastoma. No treatments were successful; little Rylie Hope died in April of the following year, a month after her third birthday. Not a day goes by that I don't think of that little girl, who I never had the chance to meet, but whose smile enchanted me through photos.

Shit happens when you least expect it. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. Forget plans. What ARE you DOING with your one wild and precious life?

Of course, it's hard to live like that. There are bills to pay, and the yard needs to be raked so that if you are indeed around for next spring, the lawn won't look like hell, and there is work to do, and savings to build because what if you do live to be 102?

But still. Today, anyway, I'm being mindful. I will go rake leaves not just because it's a chore to complete but because I love the colorful leaves and the sound of the dog racing through them and the smell of their damp earthiness. And I will wash the dishes, and clean the dining room and organize information for the worship bulletin because those things need to get done. But I blogged, which I've been meaning to do for months, and hope to do much more frequently. And if I don't get to sew today, at least I'll do some sketches.

See, Mary Oliver's question makes me nervous, makes me fearful of death, because right now, if I were asked what I did with my one wild and precious life, I don't think I'd like the answer. Right now, I'm wasting it, betting that I can do things tomorrow, next month, in a few years. No. I get one. ONE wild and precious life, and it's time to stop wasting it, and start singing, "No day but to-day!"

I'm off to rake leaves.

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Some happy and some sad

My day yesterday was quite a mix of emotions. First, we found out that a beloved alum of Union, Tim Fauvell, died of a heart attack Wednesday night, while in the company of two of his chaplain students (both of whom are friends of mine). They tried desperately to save him, but were unsuccessful. Tim had a great career on Broadway before going to seminary, and he absolutely loved his job as a pediatric chaplain. He was described yesterday as a shooting star, the one who enters a room and you think the lights came on, and as a chubby angel. In recognition of his love for the stage, and his love for God, we sang this song yesterday in chapel, in a special service remembering him:

Day by day. Day by day.
Oh dear Lord, three things I pray
To see thee more clearly
Love thee more dearly
Follow thee more nearly
Day by day

He will be missed.

And, on a more happy note, later that night I was unanimously approved to be received in care by my church, the first big step towards ordination. I'm sure Tim, who I met just a few times, was celebrating with me.

Blessed be.

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Expect the unexpected

Ok, first of all, I apologize to anyone who actually was trying to follow this blog, as it's been 6 mo and 14 days since I last posted. Whoops. I guess seminary studies and field education duties got in the way...

A quick update on my life in the past 6 mo: I completed my second year at Union Theological Seminary very well indeed, although really no closer to cementing my career direction. My field education experience was wonderful, although as my supervisor put it, "I"m not sure if this experience pushed Beth closer to parish ministry or further away from it." At the time I said closer, but as usual it's a day-to-day thing with me. I was part of Union's production of the Vagina Monologues (yay for Rev. Elsa Peters' "Prayer for My Pussy!") and played Sara Jane Moore in "Assassins" (also put on at Union). I also organized Union's very first prom--that's right--which was (a little surprisingly) a great success. I turned 28 in April. I was a bridesmaid in my friend Darlene's wedding. My little sister graduated from college. And now, dear readers, I am out of the City for the summer and back at home in NH doing Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE--doing chaplaincy in a hospital), which is where this post comes in.


One of the biggest things I have learned in my first three weeks here is that life can change in an instant. Intellectually, yes, I've known this, but here in a hospital that serves as the regional trauma center I've really internalized it. A boy gets hit with a bat at Little League, and the CT scan for injuries uncovers a brain tumor. A woman gets ready for a heart stress test and before they can do it dies in front of her family. Kids race from a relative's house to their home for bathing suits, and one ends up with a traumatic head injury and possible brain damage. A healthy pregnancy ends in a stillbirth. One thing I've heard many times already is how unexpected everything is.

It makes sense, right? I mean, no one in their five-year plan says, "I'm going to get a promotion, I'm going to buy a house, I'm going to get diagnosed with breast cancer." Our supervisor is always chiding us for "predicting the future"--saying that we know how someone will react or how we will feel in a certain situation. Of course, we don't know. But on a grander scale, we need to realize this as well, because we do tend to plan--our futures, our relationships, our retirements. Someday we'll go to Hawaii. Someday we'll start that business. When I'm old I'll be this way. When I'm a grandparent my life will be like this. Who knows what curves life will throw us, though.

I'm not saying that we should be worried all the time. Just the opposite, in fact. I believe we should enjoy every moment we can. And if that unexpected turn in the road appears, we'll know that we really have lived with what we had--and that we can continue to live, if differently--without a loved one, with reduced function, with a terminal illness.

There is (what I believe to be) a Jewish tradition of thanking God for little things, and often. For instance, if asked, "How are you today?" the response might be, "I'm well, God be thanked." Today I'm really reflecting on this gratitude. I've been tired and stressed and just generally run down. But I am alive, and healthy, as are my loved ones. By the grace of God go I...and thanks be to God for my blessings.

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