Prayer for Fibby

It's been a tough month at work - a tough few months, really. Lots of complicated social situations. Lots of sad stories. Lots of heavy loads to help people carry...

There's an ongoing situation right now that eats away at me. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. It makes me frustrated. I'm mostly able to leave it behind when the work day is over, but sometimes it takes the whole walk home to fully shake it. And of course, it's always waiting for me when I return to work in the morning.

I knew that I'd have a day that centered mostly around this situation when I headed to work yesterday morning. I had checked email throughout the weekend and was aware that there had been some issues that would need to be addressed when I returned. I got to work, took a deep breath and plunged right in.

The "water" was deep, and the situation upsetting. I met with one person, I met with another, I organized a meeting of the care team, and then I documented in multiple places the plan to move forward. I stayed an hour late to finish all of this and was exhausted by the time I began my walk home.

It was a full-body exhaustion: physical, mental, and emotional. As I turned down my street, I was mentally preparing to leave the day behind when I walked through my front door. I spent the last few blocks taking some deep breaths in an attempt to let go of the day, but it was still hanging on.

Two blocks from home, I looked up and saw a few adults in their early 20s walking towards me.

"Excuse me," one girl said, "Do you have a second?"

"I might," I responded cautiously.

"It's not for anything weird... I mean... Well, we're with the ______ Church and I'm wondering if there's anyone you'd like us to pray for - maybe for you or for someone you know who is having a hard time?" She and her friend both smiled and looked at me kindly. "My name is Meredith," she said.

I'm of the belief that given the line of work I'm in and the challenges I so often witness there, I'm in no position to turn down prayer. Whether it be to a Christian, Jewish, or Muslim God, whether the god be male or female or gender neutral, if someone offers to pray for me or the families I work with, I won't say no.

So I thought for a moment, wanting so much to request a prayer for this family that is causing me so much heartache but not wanting to violate any HIPAA regulations. "Could you pray for the families at my hospital?" I asked. I told her where I worked and the population I serve, and tears came to her eyes.

She asked if she could put her hand on my arm, and when I said yes she began to pray.

I don't remember all the words of her prayer, but I do remember how kind and earnest she was. It wasn't a cookie-cutter prayer. She said "um" and "uh" as she strung together her thoughts into words. But her simple, honest prayer carried a surprising depth and weight. She praised her God for wisdom and love, and acknowledged that God's heart can break just as ours can. She asked for strength and peace for the families in the hospital. And she asked for strength and peace for me.

She finished her prayer and I thanked her. We chatted for a bit and then parted ways.

I walked home feeling lighter, less anxious, and relieved. Relieved in the realization that I am not carrying these burdens alone. Relieved at the idea that there might be some larger power that will help me through these difficult days - if not by solving the complex social problems I witness at work, at least by sending people like Meredith to pray for me when I need it most.

I (still) Heart The Decemberists

Tonight I went to see The Decemberists perform at the Orpheum. I was supposed to have seen them in the spring, but they cancelled their tour the day before the Boston show and I missed out. I must say that it was worth the wait.

During "16 Military Wives" Colin did a call and response where he said "Yes we can!" and we shouted back "Yes we did!" There was so much positive energy in the air and so many people shouting with joy at the victory of this past week. Their encore tonight was "Sons & Daughters" and it was incredibly powerful to be with such a large group of people all singing hopefully together "hear all the bombs fade away..."

A Summer Story

When I was eleven, I went to summer camp for the second summer. There was a girl there named Amy who was a few years older and had a kind of junior counselor role at camp. She had a beautiful smile and the kind of personality that lit up a room. She was incredibly talented musically and would often sing or play piano with a small group of younger girls all gathered around, singing with her.

On one such day we all gathered around her at the piano to sing. We happily belted out song after song until it was time to leave. As we all headed to lunch, Amy pulled  me aside. I was nervous about being singled out and was concerned I had done something wrong.  

"I just wanted to tell you that you have a beautiful voice," she said to me, "so keep singing." I remember just staring up at her, my idol, the young woman I wanted so much to be like someday, and being completely at a loss for words. I had always liked to sing - it had always been a part of my life - but this person was telling me that I was good at it and was encouraging me to make sure to nurture that talent. 

A feeling washed over me - a feeling I had never felt before. I was so honored and proud to hear those words of encouragement from her, and yet also somewhat overwhelmed. At a time when I was starting to feel the awkward insecurities of my pre-teen years, those words meant so much to me, and I found myself getting choked up from the emotion of it all.

I walked back towards my friends with tears streaming down my cheeks. They saw my tears and asked with concern why I was crying, and I shrugged because I didn't know. They asked if I was sad, and I found myself laughing through my tears and telling them that I was pretty sure I was crying because I was happy. 

I never saw Amy again after that summer. And I never became a professional singer. But I did carry with me the memory of how significant it was to be reminded of talents and strengths that I didn't even know existed.

This morning I received an email appreciating me for my honesty and caring and willingness to speak and act openly when many others do not. These are traits that are so a part of me that, like singing, I forget sometimes that they are strengths. The email spoke of the beauty that comes from making oneself vulnerable and the rewards that can come from being open to possibility, and as I read it I found myself full of that same mysterious feeling I felt 19 summers ago, with tears in my eyes and joy in my heart. Full of gratitude for all that is good in this world, and for the people who help me remember to appreciate it all, I share this with you now:

Strength in Numbers

Rosalie was 21-months-old when she was diagnosed with medulloblastoma, a type of brain tumor. She had surgery to remove the tumor, then went through 14 months of chemo and radiation. Seven months ago, Rosie finished her treatment protocol, and she has had clear MRIs ever since. She has re-learned how to walk and talk and sing and dance, and has won over the hearts of many doctors, nurses, child life specialists, and all of her physical, occupational, and speech therapists in the proccess.

I lived in San Francisco when Rosie was diagnosed, and was volunteering at UCSF where Rosie was treated. Each week, I'd go early to volunteer and visit with Rosie and whichever parent was "on duty" that day. We'd play with Elmo and sing and giggle. Over the months that Rosie was in the hospital, I not only built a relationship with her, but also re-kindled my relationship with her mother (a friend from summer camp). I looked forward to those Wednesday afternoons, and was sad when it came time for me to move across the country to Boston.

Since then, I've managed to get back to San Francisco almost every six months, and I have been able to see Rosie and her family each time. Those visits have been highlights of my trips and I always look forward to seeing how many more things Rosie can do since my last visit (painting, standing, walking, talking...).

Yesterday, after a routine MRI, Rosie's family got the horrible news that there is a new tumor growing in her spine. I feel so overwhelmingly sad and frustrated, both at the news, and at the fact that I can only lend my support from afar this time, instead of being right there with them. So I'm keeping them in my thoughts and sending them lots of love and strength, and I'm begging all of you to do the same.

Rosie & Mommy & Miss Kitty Spring 2006

Singing with Mommy, Spring 2006

Rosie & Daddy, Spring 2006

Rosie & Mommy, Winter 2007












Susannah & Rosie, Spring 2007

Rosie & Susannah, Spring 2008

Swimming Rosie (no more tubies!)
Fall 2007

Dr. Rosie, Halloween 2006