Dia de los Muertos

Dia de los Muertos. Day of the Dead. It has a different ring to it than All Souls’ Day.

Growing up, I had never heard of Day of the Dead, but I remember praying for people who had died and not really knowing what that meant. Dying was something that happened away from real life, to other people. Remembering the departed was a matter of prayer in church, a list of names. They weren’t even dead, they were “departed.”

But there is something heartwarming and emotional about a colorful altar covered with mementos of an earthy, earthly life that was intimately connected to others. A friend of mine always leaves a beer bottle on the altar for his father, because that is something they enjoyed together. So, on my first Dia observance a few years ago I left a bottle of Tabasco for my dad. And chocolate for my grandmother. It was better than seeing their names on a list; I relived moments we had together and told those stories to the people who are around me today. And I heard other people’s stories.

Dia de los Muertos, with all its skeletons and sculls, reminds us that death really happens. It isn’t the sanitized, distant event we tend to shy away from in modern American life. In places where Dia de los Muertos (or similar observance) is observed around the world, death is much more present. And because it is more present, perhaps the victory over death we celebrate in Christianity takes on a different meaning as well. All that color says that we are not in mourning, we are celebrating those we love. Dia de los Muertos is like a family reunion that crosses ALL the generations.

Call the Chaplain!

One of the things I am learning is that you can never tell who wants to talk to a chaplain. Or why. When I started CPE, I assumed that most people who wanted to talk to me would have religious reasons (even if they were subtle). And although I was prepared and happy to talk to people with different faiths or no faith at all, I assumed they probably would not want to talk to me.

This is emphatically not the case! The reasons people want to talk to me are varied and I’d say that at least half the conversations I have are not only not about faith, they are with people who have no religious preference or no faith at all. What they do have is a need to talk and for someone to listen. When you are in the hospital, you will almost always be inundated with information and procedures that are stressful and worrying. Plenty of people will talk to you about the facts – but who will let you talk about what it all means? What if your best friends and closest family are also worried and don’t know how to help you process what is going on?

What I’ve done more than anything all summer long is listen. Almost no one asks me to come pray with them; if we pray it is an extension of the listening. I’ve heard the biography of an illness from beginning to end, as well as the names and stories of each and every child/grandchild. People have told me about their marriages, professions, food preferences, legal problems, and the absolute boredom of being stuck in bed. I’ve been included in discussions of everything from the sacred (helping families plan funerals) to the mundane (the history of the California gold rush). All of it is holy ground.

So now, I am no longer surprised at what people will bring to me. And you shouldn’t be either. You can tell me anything!

Washing up

Starting this week, I will be spending every weekday in two areas of the hospital: antepartum and NICU. Those are my floors, my peeps, my rounds. Unlike some floors, the folks I see are likely to be around for a while, so I might get the chance to form some relationships – unlike, say, someone admitted for surgery who might leave in a day.

In preparation for this I have purchased a large vat of lotion. Because, as anyone who has spent time in NICU will tell you, there is a lot of very thorough hand washing involved. Very. Thorough. Not just soap and hot water (controlled by foot pedals so you don’t get your filthy hands on the handles) but special picks for cleaning under every fingernail. But you have to save the lotion for the end of the day – none of that is allowed in NICU. No jewelry either. Just bare, scrubbed hands. But also amazingly strong babies who don’t know any better than to keep trying.

Being a woman in Texas

It has been a hard week for women and girls in Texas. As I told a friend, I love living here, but sometimes it is like being on the frontier of rational thought. My evidence:

1)   In Austin, where the new city council now has a majority of women, the city manager hired a consultant to provide a two-hour training on how to work with women in government. Because apparently women are so incredibly different to work with – especially when they come in flocks – that it requires special training. The presenter got his insights from a conversation with his 11-year-old daughter. And he helpfully taught our city staffers that women are not that great at numbers and ask a lot of annoying questions. You can read more about it here.

Lesson: Women are like children and in order to work with them, you need special training and a lot of patience.

2)   In Houston, they are making sure girls know their second-class status early – that way they won’t have to provide remedial training to their city government! The high school health curriculum for Houston Independent School District includes slut shaming. Think I am kidding, check it out for yourself. So, girls, if a guy is trying to pimp you out, there is clearly something wrong with you, not him. Because, even if we ask too many questions and have no idea how to deal with finances, we are responsible for all sexual thoughts and actions – our own and others.

Lesson: When boys are jerks, it is always the girl’s fault. We don’t have any power at all – except the complete and total responsibility for other people’s sexual thoughts, feelings, and actions.

3)   Maybe at this point you are feeling relived you don’t live in Austin or Houston. Sorry, there is bad news at the state level, too. This week, the Texas House of Representatives passed a bill that makes it incredibly difficult for minors seeking abortion to get a judicial bypass  – that is the procedure available for girls who feel they cannot safely get parental consent. There are no exceptions for rape or incest. The new rules also make judges in these cases targets for protest. And, just to make sure women know their place, all women seeking abortion must show a state-issued ID – or else they will be assumed to be minor children and have to get permission. That’s right, unless you have an ID, you are officially a child. I’ve worked with poor and homeless women –getting an ID is often a problem, even for grown-ups. Here, read more if you can stomach it.

Lesson: I am not even sure what the lesson is here.

So, women are children who are completely responsible for male sexuality, but even with all that power they are terrible at math and can’t be trusted to control their own bodies.

What. The. F@$k.

There will always be people in power who want to control women by limiting our choices or treating us like pets or babies. Fine. Diversity. Whatever. But when the year is 2015 and those people actually have political power…I can’t even.

At the same time as these political assaults on women’s “personhood” (because, let’s face it that is what it is) were happening there was an amazing outcry in another area of civil and human rights. A bill to prevent marriage equality – even if the Supreme Court allows it – was challenged by businesses across the state. Apparently, discriminating against people based on their sexual orientation is bad for business – as it should be.

What I want to know is when discriminating against women will be considered bad for business. Or just plain bad.

Texas has one of the highest teen pregnancy and teen birth rates in the country. We also lead the nation in the percentage of uninsured – and it probably didn’t help that our state government tried to make it more difficult for those folks to get coverage thru the Affordable Care Act. I have scoured the Internet and can find absolutely no evidence that this is good for Texans. Even and especially baby Texans and girl Texans and women Texans. The only people it seems to be good for are politicians.

Two years ago, there was a brief uprising in Texas. A sea of orange-clad women and men raised our voices to counter the push to close access to reproductive health care. It was exhilarating and discouraging at the same time. But it might be time to get out those marching shoes again. As a women, I am apparently not that good at math (at least according to a well-paid consultant) but I have a lot of questions and a strong, independent daughter to raise.

Who’s with me?

 

 

Prickly

 

There are memories that seem impossible to touch without feeling a sting.
They warn me to stand clear…but then lure me in with beauty and longing.
That which produces the sharp spines also makes a lush flower and a sweet fruit.
They spring from the same root, are nourished from the same soil.
I’d rather have them both than have neither.

Life with a Rock Star

A team of comedy writers has taken over my life. This happened today:

My daughter had a screaming fit because she had nothing to wear. Nothing. No, not those!! They are regular clothes!!! She needed something stylish. Because she is in a band and they are singing today. She is 7. The band is performing at recess.

We finally settled on this:

Taylor Swift has nuthin’ on this girl’s style.

Rain in the Desert

The landscape in West Texas doesn’t hide much. During the day you can see just about everything between the bright blue sky and the hard brown earth for miles around. Plains give way to rolling hills, then steep mountains. Jagged volcanic rocks pierce soft grasslands. Trees grow where there is no soil. And you can certainly see how dry it is; this is the only place where I have seen rainfall evaporate before it reached the ground.

But today the rain touches the ground and, paradoxically, the mist that covers the hills reveals life in the rocks and grasses that the clear sunny days had hidden. Purple, yellow, and white flowers dot the roadsides and peek out from under the cacti and boulders. On a day like this, the rain is like a like a message from a long lost love, softening the parched earth as friendship softens the heart.

Soon, the dry weather will return. There will still be great beauty in the desert. Trees will still grow where there is no soil. Beneath the rocks and grasses, prairie verbena and star cloak fern wait; when their memory is stirred, they will bloom again. This earth is hard, but it is not barren.

So ready

The laundry isn’t done and the younger kids won’t go to sleep and I can’t find that One Thing I really need and a prescription is about to run out and the house is filthy and the older kids don’t agree on who sleeps where and I have work to do and a sermon to write and my husband is exhausted and that’s how we know.

It is time to get the heck out of Dodge!

If it’s not here, it’s not going.