Clinical Pastoral Education

Hello, friends -

It is finished. My clinical pastoral education (CPE) experience this fall semester has come to it's conclusion. I thought I would post a poem that I wrote specifically for inclusion in my final evaluation.

This is the first piece I've written since I graduated college. I wrote this to hopefully capture some of the poignant and difficult moments that summed up the experience.

The road was flanked in green that day

as I drove in anxiety. I was missing things.

My dog, the way the corn stalks waved

in the hazy midafternoon light. I wanted

I wanted nothing more than a cup of coffee

on the porch and to listen to my brother’s laughter

as he says you bastard.

I don’t know what I have left, you know, to live for

she told me. Machines whirring, air hot and too stuffy.

I say something, what, I don’t remember.

I leave that day, shutting the door, face warm.

I’m not made for this.

How are things?

They were really shitty this week.

Yeah?

Yeah. Sat with a man who had chronic pancreatitis said his world was crashing

down around him and he doesn’t know what else to do and there’s nothing but

silence.

I’ve never known grace, at least not like this woman does:

I’ve got a year left. I wanna go plant a garden and sit in the sun

and be with my grandchildren because they can’t be without me

and I want them and my husband and we bought a house

and I have all these questions about God but in the end

I know that God does love us. Loves me.

A garden. Sun. Family. Despair. Liver cirrhosis. Grace.

The woman struggles to breathe.

Thank you for your presence.

I see her five more times. I’m joyful.

I guess I’m thankful you wanna be my friend.

Yeah, me too.

The road was flanked in orange that day,

as I went to class. Listen to voices on suffering,

Psalms. Lament. Crucifixion. My mind,

it wanders. I want to go home, to the cows

and fields and dusty hay.

They don’t carry sorrow.

Do you have any fresh words for us, chaplain?

Ragged breathing stopped, expectant eyes gaze.

I speak words of promise and hope and grief

but in the moment I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.

I stay later. Give more hugs. Drive the way home, in tears.

The road was flanked in brown that day,

a sign that winter is here but not yet.

I leave, I breathe, I rejoice. It’s all becoming clear:

I’m made for this. 

In other news - I've bought 10 pounds of flour and a giant jar of yeast. Time to begin Christmas break bread baking! 

God's peace, friends - 

Dean