A Day in the Life

"Get out! Or else I'm calling the police!"

Some days are better than others working for the Visiting Nurse Association. We get used to odd requests or upset patients but this day was something else.

Betty had built up quite an infamous reputation in the last week. In a matter of days she requested five visits from various service technicians regarding issues with her wheelchair. Frustration builds when she has a reoccurring problem with different parts of the chair that could not be resolved on one or two trips. Customer Service now recognizes her voice by the second syllable. And not to mention she told Brad she would call the police if he did not leave immediately.

So you can imagine how I felt when I found Betty's paperwork next to my name tag. I remember whispering to myself, "This will be good experience for the chaplain job you want." I recently received a job offer to work as a part-time chaplain for a small hospice agency in Milwaukee. I chalked this challenge up to some circumstances I might find with hospice care. I also honestly wondered in what manner I would become the next service technician victim. In front of her house I crossed myself to build up the courage to leave the security of my van.

One hour and forty minutes later I returned to the van.

I wish, at times like these, I was given the gift of quick wit or bright insight or uplifting humor. I figured that's what people appreciated most in problematic times. Yet it seems more often than not it is the response I downplay the most that somehow makes a difference. All I'm able to do in the face of violent storms is to nod slowly and to listen hard.

And how often do we hear this, but Betty needed to tell her story. She has so much pent up anger against her daughters for being absent, her caregivers for not giving her excellent service, her husband for leaving this world without her, and her God for allowing this all to happen. Somehow telling her story is therapeutic. I could tell by the tears she cried, the smile that surfaced near the end, and the hug she gave me when we said goodbye. No matter how badly I want to, I cannot give peace. I can only invite it to emerge.

Betty still calls the office every so often. And when I go out to see her I know that it really is not about the complaint concerning the wheelchair I need to focus on, it is allowing and accepting her to be herself. I wish could pick up her spirits with a good joke, or show off some quick wit, or provide deep breakthrough insight. But I am there oversimplified or not, to let her tell her own story.

These Boots Were Made for Blogging

The phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Veronica from Our Lady of Guadalupe." (that's the parish I was youth minister at)

"Oh hey, what's up?"

"It's been a year and a half but your boots finally came in."

"Um, what?"

"Your boots......from Mexico." (I never ordered any boots when I was in Mexico)

"Ohhhh, okay." (having no idea what's going on I pretend to know what's going on)

So Veronica and I set up a time to come over to her house dinner. Forgetting for a moment, I looked lost when they reminded me of the boots. Out they came in their leathery glory. Regretfully, I thought for a fleeting second they might not fit. With every eye in the room on me I silently placed each boot on. To my surprise they were cushy and comfortable...and fit perfectly. The family cheered.

It had been a year and a half since I visited their grandmother in Leon, Mexico, the leather and shoe capital of Mexico. So during my visit I thought since I needed dress shoes, that I might find a great souvenir. I'll repeat that. I was looking for brown dress shoes. But here's where things get a little fuzzy. I don't remember saying a word or talking about cowboy boots. I don't know how they got my shoe size unless it was while I was looking for dress shoes. However I did not find literally any shoe my size. Maybe that's why the boots order took a year and a half. I ended up settling on a pair of sandals, of which I was quite content. Or so I thought.

Hesitant at first to accept the boots, now they've really grown on me. I wore them the rest of the afternoon with the family. And now every time I go to mass it will be in style like many of the others in the Guadalupe congregation sporting their own boots. Outside of that I am still unsure of when to wear them...unless of course there is a western themed party. Huh, I may have to throw one of those.

I am open to ideas, though :)

And to assure the doubters like my brother I do know it is not chic to wear the boots with shorts. I think I deserve a little more style credibility than that.

But that my friends is the story of my boots. They were made for blogging. Don't you think so?