Broken Femurs

Margaret Mead, a noteable anthropologist, was once asked by a student to describe the earliest sign of civilization in a given culture. Expecting her professor's answer to deal with clay pots or primitive tools, the student was surprised when Dr. Mead answered, "a healed femur." She explained that a healed femur meant that somebody cared for the injured biped. Someone else had to do the injured person's hunting and gathering until the leg healed. Compassion, then, is the first evidence of civilization.

If you had only one word to summarize Jesus' ministry told in the Bible, you might choose the word: compassion.

The English word, "compassion," is from a Latin word meaning, "to bear or feel the suffering" of another. This goes beyond an intellectual connection but to that place inside us that hurts which doctors cannot fix. The Hebrew (and Aramaic) word for compassion is curiously the plural form of the noun: "womb." There's something about compassion that, like a mother's womb, is life-giving, safe and all embracing.

You might not think so, but compassion can sometimes get you into trouble. It sure did for Jesus. During the first century, some Jewish holiness laws had become so strict that they stifled compassion (good thing that never happens today). For example, Jesus and his friends were once seen plucking some heads of grain in a field on a Saturday (Sabbath) because they were hungry. Jewish law prohibits work of any kind on the Sabbath, so they were confronted. The law prohibited hungry people from eating?!?!

Another Saturday, in the synagogue, Jesus healed a man's deformed hand. Confronted again for working on the Sabbath by the mainstream pastors of the day, Jesus explained, "What if one of you has only one sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath; wouldn't you lift it out? How much more valuable is a human being than a sheep? Of course it's lawful to do good on the Sabbath."

Very simply, "our actions of love are more important that the expression of our beliefs or keeping of the law." I can think of a number of occasions in which this lesson is missed in today's world. Look at the way we often treat people who are gay, homeless people, women and migrant workers. The list goes on. If your first reaction to an illegal immigrant or a homosexual is judgment, then perhaps you have an area for learning and growing. Nobody ever said compassion is easy.

A while back, a man shot and badly injured a boy before turning the gun on himself. He wound up in the trauma bay at my hospital. Doctors in the trauma bay were cynical toward the man, and nurses were looking for their largest guage needles before inserting an IV. Though everyone remained professional, I must say, it was a hostile environment.

Later, in the ICU, my fellow chaplain had a chance to visit with the man and was faced with the delima of showing compassion to a man who shot a kid. (Love your enemies. Anyone?) As I listened to her recount the visit and procoess her feelings surrounding him I knew I had much to learn. Well, I got my chance.

Months later, after I had learned some things, I was called to visit with a woman who, hours earlier, had in a drunken stupor driven her car the wrong way down the interstate causing a head-on collision which killed one and badly injured an 8 year old girl. I will not try to replay the visit or describe my innards except to say that I was able to find a place in me that saw how broken this woman was. And it was from that place that I moved toward her and did my best to demonstrate that God still loves her. That's right, God still loves her, the driver of a car that killed and devestated lives.

Our civil laws and our social codes demand judgment upon this lady, and she deserved it. But she also deserved a bit of compassion. I hope I gave that to her. Jesus was not primarily a teacher of moral codes or correct belief systems. He was a teacher of authentic human relationships. For me, that's one reason why he's so worth following.

Thinking Straight

Thinking Striaght, by Robin Reardon, is a fictional novel telling the story of Taylor, an average high school kid, who is forced to attend a Christian camp by his parents in order to "fix" his homosexuality.

Our group recently read this book to help us gain perspective on caring for patients and family members who are gay/lesbian/bisex......whatever. With a clearer perspective our capacity for compassion is greater, and we are better suited to care for, advocate for and love patients who are also gay/lesbian/etc.

After one too many interrogations by his mother about dating, Taylor tells his parents about his sexual attraction toward men. Shocked and ignorantly disgusted they enroll Taylor in Straight to God, a 6 week program that helps troubled teens get back on the right (Godly) path.

The first 3 days for all students at Straight to God is spent in "safe zone," a period of silience. The inmates, I mean students, spend there days doing menial work tasks, writing in journals that will be read by a counselor and attending nightly prayer meeting. Rules are strict and secrets of any kind, written or spoken, are strictly forbidden. The scary part is, there are real places like this today.

The plot of the book moved slowly and had the interest of a poorly written high school soap opera. It did pick up at the end as Taylor joins a secret group which meets to support students like himself. There is a moderate level of character development, mostly apart from the main character, which often happens abruptly instead of gradually.

By the end, however, some enemies have reconciled, and some bonds have been broken. A scandal is uncovered at the facility by Taylor much in the way Harry Potter always seemed to unearth the long-hidden secrets at Hogwarts Castle.

The prose are amature seeming, or at best feel rushed. Sprinkled throughout are text messaging abbreviations to keep the reader in the modern day high schooler's mind set. I never found myself attached to the main character; however, I was happy for him by the end. IMO (in my opinion) one could read only the second half of the book and get the point.

I can easily critique and criticize a movie, but it is new for me to down talk a book. Nevertheless, by the end, Reardon's message is clear and hits home in many ways. She does a good job at painting the plight of young gay Christians so wrapped up in self-hatred due to abusive religious dogma that they're driven to suicide. At an age in life where stability of character is most needed, gay teens are told that there is something inherently wrong with them, that God is displeased with them, and that they need to change who they are down to the center of their being. And this does considerable psychological damage to these fragile children.

Personally, I'm pretty sure that I couldn't force upon myself a sexual attraction toward men. I like women, and that's just the way it is. I am very sympathetic to people who are labeled homosexual when they're told to alter their sexual preference. I'm pretty sure it ain't gon' happen.

The church has had a rough history of rejecting those not like the majority. First is was black ministers. Then it was women that the church shunned from authority, and we're still fighting that stupid battle. Now, I've heard of crowds applauding when a church kicked out a gay man. This is disgusting to me. Honestly, I can't imagine Jesus telling a social outcast to go away. NO! Jesus welcomed the outcasts, spoke to women (and kindly), and hugged leppers!

There's a part of me that is envious of older generations that got to watch our culture shift to a place of much more equality during the Civil Rights Movement. I also would have loved to be alive to watch our society radically begin treating women as equals in the home and work place (Equal Rights). (I'm also aware we still have work to do on these two issues.) But I am eager and hopeful to witness a change in our cultural conscience to a place of acceptance and equality for people with alternative sexual preferences (is this an acceptable phrase?).

Sorry, I've gone on a tangent. -- Reardon's book, Thinking Straight, was not written well. It's slow to get through and mildly captivating. However, it makes a needed point for those willing to read it. There may be better written books on the topic; however, I this is one that will get you thinking and may still be used for book clubs and group discussions as a way to gently prod us in the right direction.

Valentine's Day

Saturday evening went to see the anticipated chick-flick of the season, Valentine's Day, directed by Gary Marshall.

Though it falls within the Chick-Flick genre, the film does not follow the long held chick flick formula (guy meets girl; they fall in love; something comes between them; the make up right at the end). No, this movie follows a more rare but attractive format similar to that of "Love Actually," "Crash," or "He's just not that into you."

This plot approach intertwines a number of different stories that seemingly have no connection. Of these four, Crash is definitely the best at this.

Valentine's Day shows the stories of half a dozen or more couples' expereinces during one February 14th. From a young teenage couple wrestling with whether or not to take their relationship to "the next level," to a V-Day proposal, to strained homosexual love, the movie shows a variety of relationships. However, one criticism I have for the film is the lack of interconnectedness of the stories.

I praise the movie for the cast. Though the acting never progresses beyond semi-serious and spends a lot of time in the 'just plain silly' category (thinking of Taylor Swift), the variety of recognizable cast members makes it lots of fun for the audience. Julia Roberts, Jamie Foxx, Ashton Kutcher, Patrick Dempsey, Jacob Black (I mean, Taylor Lautner), Jessica Biel and Alba, and George Lopez all share screen time with a number of name-able others.

I appreciated the short history of V-Day that was included in the movie.

One legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. Then Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men — his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl — who may have been his jailor's daughter — who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed 'From your Valentine,' an expression that is still in use today.

All-in-all, I give the movie a 6.5 out of 10. It you're looking for make-your-wife/girlfriend/other-happy with mindless feel good love stories, this is your movie. But otherwise, I'm guessing the movie was an easy throw-together to make Hollywood some quick bucks during this "holiday." I wouldn't recommend paying theater prices, but it is definitely recommended for a cozy Friday evening by the fireplace with your sweety.

Intimate Strangers

Forrest Gump's momma used to always say it about life, and I think it's fair to say it about visiting in the hospital: "...[it] is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get."

This statement has always been true for me each time I rap on the door of a new patient on the kidney floor, or the heart center, the ICU or of those fighting cancer. I never know what I'm walking in on.

Most South Carolinians are good ol' southern country folk of which many are even Baptist. This is no curve ball for me. But again everyone it different. They have different assumptions about clergy or religion, and I can never be ready for what they're going to project onto me.

I have been invited, after knocking, into rooms where patients are all but naked, getting some air, with no regard that the chaplain is not doctors and might feel a bit uncomfortable. I have walked in on a patient who speaks no English and was forced to regurgitate my old Spanish days trying to convey that "estoy el capayan, el pastor," and that I'll return with a translator.

Yesterday's visiting hours were no more or less diverse than any other days, but the cast of characters which I encountered was so diverse it couldn't be made up.

Room 1: A sweet older grandmother-type lady who absolutley loves young strapping ministers. We get along. She has been given 6 months to live, and the last thing she wants to do is to meet her grandson. She has Skyped with him many times, because he lives across the globe in the Repblic of Georgia. At 2.5 years old he already speaks two languages!

Room 2: The patient is intubated, and therefore unconscious, but the nurses inform me that they had to call security earlier on a man who, claiming to be family, insisted beligerantly on taking control of the medical decisions. The other family denied his affiliation, and security had to physically remove him as he resisted.

Room 3: A victim of a rare disorder known as Dubowitz Syndrome, this 30 year old patient looked half that age except for his 5 o'clock shadow. Only approximately 200 cases of this diagnisis have been reported...ever. So, very little is known for treatment. On top of things, he was also deaf and mute. Parents stayed with him at all times.

Room 4: The last time I peaked in on this man he was intubated after going through a risky 20-hour long open heart valve replacement surgery. This time he's sitting up in a chair reading his Bible, and he happens to be a prominent doctor who works in our system. Surprisingly, doctors do not walk on water. I found this out as we chatted, and the conversation was strikingly like those I've had with countless other heart surgery patients. This was a delight.

Because of this great diversity, the plight of a chaplain is not to learn what is a good thing to say in all possible scenarios. No. My task is to become comfortable in my own skin so that whatever room in which I find myself I can be authentic.

So, project onto me whatever assumptions you want. Try and sway my theology to come and mimic yours. Presume that I'm going to agree with your every belief. Do your worst. And what I will do in response is my best to put you at ease, find ways to calm your spirits and find light in the darkest places of your fears. For, after only 8 months of this kind of work, there is little left that can shock me.

Talking with patients I am mostly a stranger, yet I am privy to some of most intimate details of people's lives. Truly, as Robert C. Dykstra put it, this work is about learning to be an intimate stranger.

Birthday Toes

Heather loves getting pedacures. Everytime, along with getting her toes painted, she comes home raving about the lower-leg massage which is part of the process. I, myself, have never been interested.


However, one of my recent birthday presents from her was in fact a trip to Hands on Spa for a pedicure. And she was right, the leg massage and little foot hot tub were quite soothing to my over-walked, often neglected feet and calves. The tiny Asian lady clipped and cleaned my toe nails, scrubbed my feet smooth and took great care doing it.


But I didn't want to just stop there, no, I wanted the full experience. So, I picked out my favorite color of toe nail polish and gave it to her to go to work.


As you can see, my toes are now Carolina blue in support of my Alma-mater, the Tar Heels. And because it was my birthday, she hand painted a flower design on my big toes just to add a bit of flare!

Don't be jealous!


One person said that I'm engaging in a bit of "gender bending." I thought I was just enjoying my birthday. I am hoping, however, to connect with my basically-a-brother-in-law, Lance, who similarly painted his toe nails at Christmas (only his were, I think, in support of the Buckeyes).

Raving Over the 2010 Super Bowl

Allow me to introduce you to my good friend and fellow resident chaplain, Cathie. Without Cathie in our group my year in this program would contain less life, diversity, and spirit. We sometimes jokingly refer to Cathie as The Queen of our group, but in all seriousness her poise and confidence are a model for me.

Now, Cathie has not been a blogger (What did you call me?!). However, after months of gentle nudging and near-violent lambasting, we have convinced her to come out of the perverbial blogging closet. What follows is her first blog post, and she has graced my website to be able to publish it. If this keeps up, she'll have her own site and the largest readership of all three of the rest of us combined. I hope she does.

Enjoy.


__________________

I’m not truly a sports fan but I can get into a game if it is live and/or if I am around hyped up fans. If the spirit of the encounter is moving enough to latch on to me, it will happen. Yesterday, I found myself listening to the words of love, camaraderie, and loyalty expressed for the New Orleans Saints. It was the kind of love that transcends, gender, race, religion, and preferences. It draws you in even if you do not know a thing about what a wide receiver, quarterback, or tight end is or does. I watched and listened to the narratives about the history of the team and the much revered players who made the team great. I heard of their struggles and their tenaciousness to gain that comeuppance that would help them to win the NFL on Sunday 7, 2010.

I realized what a huge coming together of so many human beings that shared a common bond in the name of football. Wow! This is like a religion and football is the god of these participants. The yelling, screaming, the height of emotions displayed were mesmerizing and I wondered how players could concentrate on their appointed tasks. So, they must be really good to be able to maintain such concentration in the midst of the exhilaration. I marvel at their strength mentally, emotionally, and physically.........All of them are Saints.

I wonder if football will ever become another world religion. Could it turn this world around if all of us communed together for the sake of the game and uttered its praises? I thought how wonderful it would be if we all worshipped God the way we do Superbowl. What does God think of all of this? Is it God’s way of bringing us together in fun to enjoy each other? I believe that God wants us to be happy and have fun. All good parents want happiness for their children. God is no less concerned.

Another aspect to this is that I am in awe at the bonding, love, and friendship of the players, all championing one common good, to beat the other guys. The team is made up of guys! Guys already get along with each other pretty well and then here is this "NFL" football thing. I realized that guys have almost everything to keep them glued to just the guys. Will they need women in the future? Wow Gals, this is something to think about. Why can’t we have such togetherness? Oh, we can share the games with the guys as they come to our homes to watch the games. We can go to the stadium but…… are we really in? I don’t know. It is scary but I admire the team the fans, and the dedication to the game. Now, I’m sure that women besides me have contemplated and pondered my concerns. Not being a sports person, this is hitting me for the first time. Be lenient with me. Just how these trains of thought could shift, I do not know. For now, I rest my case!

Blog Alert!

Okay folks, here's the deal. I'm about to unleash one of the best kept secrets in the blogosphere.

Of the four residents, three of us have blogs. I'd like to take a moment and introduce to you the other two bloggers and their words of reflection on this crazy year of residency.

Vicki's blog is a contemplative look at her expereinces this year and how they contrast her many years spent in the business world. If I could choose only one word for Vicki it would be "thoughtful." When you speak to her you know she's listening and actively intersted in what you're saying, even when it's not that interesting. Therefore, I think she has adequately titled her blog, "Showing up to the moment." One thing I appreciate about Vicki is that she does just that - she shows up.

When perusing her page be sure to read "Beauty Tips," "Demon Be Gone," "Your Delivery Has Arrived," and "See me feel me" (one of her favorites).

________________


On Call - The Spartanburg Year is the title of Erin's blog. A tenured pastor in the 7th Day Adventist tradition, Erin is expanding her talents for pastoral care and cataloging her notable encounters on this blog. Sprinkled with humor and spunk she has kept this blog restricted to only approved readers for too long. So this is my call to all you out there reading this who could form half of a football team; it's time to make Erin's blog open to all readers so you too can enjoy her whitty writing and gift for story-telling.

Click on the link above to see her blog, and if access is still denied email her by clicking here. So you don't have to draft a new message to a stranger, copy and paste this message, and just add your name.

Dear Erin,

Reading Nathan's mediocre blog becomes tiresome. Please open your blog to the public so I may enjoy some quality blogging, and so that I don't have to get your address from Nathan and begin sending you gospel tracks from every Baptist church in the state. Your compliance will make this easier on both of us.

Sincerely,

On her site, be sure to read, "Bear Hunting," "Cheese Pastor," "Chaplain Down," and "Wading In" (one of her favorites).

So, there you have it folks. Two quality blogs full of wonderful, heart-warming and wrentching, sad, hilarious and whitty stories about life and chaplaincy. Don't pass this opportunity up!

Birthday Ramblings

As of January 30th I am no longer in my mid-20s. Yep, that's right, I entered my late twenties a few days ago when I turned 27. However, it does give me some joy to imagine the reactions of my older brother and sister who must face the fact that their baby brother is two years into cheap car rental age.

Last year I posted a list of 26 random things about me. But this year, i'm afraid I'm too tired to conjure up 27 new and interesting things to say. So, you're going to be subjected to a blog of my somewhat aimless birthday ramblings. Really, what follows is probably more like a list of blog ideas that never made it to the print room and are now condensed into little tid-bits for your enjoyment. There's no connection between them.

You might ask yourself, "How can he get away with posting a bunch of random gibber-jabber?" Answer: Because it's my blog, and it's my birthday, so "ha!"

1. Learning to be a chaplain is at one level learning how to listen. There are 4 basic methods of communication: speaking, reading, writing and listening. In school we are formally taught 3 of these. And since I have become a chaplain I have learned that 99% of people DON'T KNOW HOW TO LISTEN! People interrupt often, or simply don't hear you and just say what they want to say. Listen up people: it's time to start listening better.

2. Here's an interesting segment I found in a SC journal recently:

The most significant finding was the discover of mirror neurons, a widely dispersed class of brain cells that operate like neural WiFi. Mirror neurons track the emotional flow, movement and even intentions of the person we are with, and replicate this sensed state in our own brain by stirring in our brain the same areas active in the other person. Mirror neurons offer a neural mechanism that explains emotional contagion, the tendency of one person to catch the feelings of another, particularly if strongly expressed.

3. My sister and I have been having a riveting theological discussion, which would be cool to turn into a book one day. It's an honest conversation between a Christian and an "atheist/agnostic/humanist/whatever." Anyone who suggests a great book title gets 10 points. So far, it is up to 50 pages, single spaced! Click here for a better overview of it.

4. I was born during the third quarter of the Super Bowl, and the TV was never turned off. I never knew why. Countless times I have visited with patients who never turn off the TV unless I ask. I'm always a bit surprised to hear Jay Leno in the back ground during a Code Blue (CPR on a patient who's dying in the hospital), because no one has time to worry about the TV. Though, I often walk in an turn it off now.

5. My wife was in a car accident recently (not her fault). She was ran off the road by an 18-wheeler and now has whiplash. Luckily, it wasn't any worse. The insurance aduster for the trucker's company is a jerk; so, we wanted to seek some legal counsel, and then I remembered that lots of attorneys are jerks. Dang it.

6. On my birthday we stopped at a friend's house to celebrate their daughter's 1st birthday. It was loads of fun though we couldn't stay long. The picture is of the two birthday kids. Our ages add up to 28! Lydia put cake on my nose.

7. I've been keeping a list of words that are fun to say. Here's a few: Asclepion, Bamboozle, Discombobulate, Flabbergasted, Hippopotamus, Nincompoop, Schnitzel, Tchochtke, Tomfoolery, Zamboni.

8. I also keep a list called "Quotable Quotes:" anything I hear or read worth writing down. Here's a few highlights.

“My phone ringer just told me it was on medium high which reminded me it was the best way to order New York Strip steaks!” - Erin Miller (the vegetarian)

“You know what they say, ‘It’s better to be fast then half-assed.’” -Jerry Toth

“I hate when they try to make you think, and you’re just trying to read through a book.” -Heather Keyes

"I’m really glad we have clothes now." -Vicki Hesse

Here ends the birthday ramblings for this year. I hope you enjoyed, learned something new or just got a chuckle out of it .

Miracle? You Tell Me

The New Testament gives accounts of a number of events which we typcially call miracles. Jesus is credited with healing numerous people, commanding the climate, walking on water and even raising the dead. There are even passages which state that Jesus did many more miracles than we have record of. Whatever you believe about that stuff, it is remarkable that all these stories are credited to the one man, Jesus.

While many fantastical televised 'ministers' claim to preform miracles (for a nominal fee) and plenty of churches hold healing services during which people fall down, shake and quake, and speak in jibber-jabber which is supporsed to be tounges, I just can't buy into the notion that these magic-seeming miracles still happen at the drop of a prayer today. Call me a cynic, or say that I just don't have enough faith (as if faith is something that can be measured and quantified), but I'm just not into that stuff.

I will admit that the advances in medical health care often seem like modern day miracles. I know they would to someone from the ancient world. The fact that we can open a person's chest, remove his heart and replace it with a different heart is unbelievably astounding. I'd call that a miracle.

Some have a different approach to the topic. For instance, my family has two claims to fame in the miracle department. My parents were in a terrible car accident when I was in high school. My dad was ejected from the rear windsheild of their Explorer and landed some 60 feet away. Initial reports say he suffered a broken neck and severe lacerations to some vital organs. Once moved to a larger hospital, scans revealed what appeared to be an old yet healed football injury to the neck (dad never played football) and scars on the same vital organs. In the end, he was and is fine, though 99% of the time people die from such accidents.

Two years ago my cousin had a low-level sky diving accident and wound up in some trees and then the ground badly injured. I love my cousin and was scared. Early prognoses were grim; however, she surprised the medical staff and took turns for the better. Her recovery has taken this long, and she'll always have some lasting effects, but she's mostly back to normal.

Evangelical Christians use stories like these everyday in an attempt to prove God's existence and activity in our world to non-Christians. As if God could be proven.

I am skeptical of such stories serving as proof of God (and especially such techniques of evangelism) even when they happen within my own family. This is partially because I see many families everyday at the hospital praying, hoping, needing a miracle who don't get one. Why would my family get two and others none?

However, there was this one time...

A woman collapsed at home in typical heart failure fashion. "A cardiac arrest is coming in," I am told over the phone. EMS did what they could, but quickly told the family that Sue was gone. Once at the hospital, Sue was taken to "the room." The Room is where they take patients that don't make it. Medical staff worked on her with vigor but little hope. At the very same moment the physician stopped everything in order to note the time of death her pulse returned. In 7 months as a chaplain I've never seen someone come out of "the room" alive...until now. She was moved to an ICU but still with a dreadful prognosis. "She won't make it through the night," said the doc to the fam.

But she did make through the night. In fact, when I checked on her the next morning her vitals had improved. The next day, I saw her and though she was intubated and couldn't speak, her eyes were open and she smiled at me as I talked to her. One more day passed, and I popped my head through her door and was greeted with, "Hey Nathan!" OMG, she was awake, alert and talking as if just fine. In my experience, even patients who come in with less severe heart problems don't recover this quickly.

So we chatted, I shook her hand and heard her story. "Do you have any memories from when you went down?" I asked. "Nope," she replied, "no bright lights. But last night I did have a dream about my daughter who died a few years ago." "What was that like?" I said.

This is what Sue's daughter said: "Hey momma, you know how you love bright colors? You aint seen nothing yet! Hey momma, wait till you see my new house! Hey momma, wait till you see Jesus, ooh just you wait!"

Sue was full of energy and full of life. In a way, she seemed like a miracle. Now again, I don't know if miracles happen today like we read about in the pages of the New Testament, but when I shook her hand I was tickled (to death!). By all accounts she shouldn't be alive, and if alive then not this healthy. Was this a miracle? You tell me.