WORLDS ARE FORMING

Blog Vulner-bility: My Open Letter to -d-m Cle-vel-nd.

De-r -d-m Cle-ker,

Bec-use of this post on his blog, from henceforth, I refuse to use the first letter of the -lph-bet.

Using -n -ddition-l "-" in one's spelling of the Cle-velnd n-me is so...well...extr-vg-nt, so 1998.  I prefer simplicity. 

-d-m, the bl-t-nt misspelling of my n-me on your little blog is offensive -nd hurtful.  You know th-t I -m just -bout to finish CPE, so I -m re-lly in touch with my emotions.  -d-m, I feel -ngry when you purposefully misspell my n-me.  I underst-nd th-t you h-ve - need to hold some sort of power over me, -nd I need you to never ever do th-t -g-in.  (Or I'll punch you in the neck.)

I -lso feel gl-d, though, th-t I won the Leigh N-sh CD f-ir -nd squ-re.  Through lots of investig-tion -nd persistence, I found -ll the needed inform-tion.  Th-nks, bro.

It feels good to be freed from the tyrr-ny of the first letter of the -lph-bet.  Everyone should try it.

T-ke th-t, Cle-ker.

W-rmest reg-rds,
Joshu- Clevel-nd

Too Perfect: Our Buddy Monty.

When watching the news in the morning, my parents and I often can not wait to see our buddy Monty Webb.  Old Man Cleve (me) does love his morning news (along with his oatmeal, cup of black coffee, crossword puzzle, bird feeding, and mid-morning nap, of course).  Not that we have to wait too long, he's on "every ten minutes with traffic and weather together." 

Why do we love Monty so much?  Well, come on, guys, what's not to love?  Perfect bleached teeth.  Perfectly coiffed hair.  Perfect mystic tan.  Perfect weatherman voice.  Perfect weatherman sense of "humor."  In essence, this guy is too perfect.  Monty makes us laugh.  And hey, get this, in recent days, our boy Monty has been on in the evening too.  Guy is movin' on up.

Anybody else have a newscaster/weatherperson they love to "love?" Or...is it just me?

And the Angels Rejoiced.

I am done with being on-call as chaplain.  Eight 24 hour shifts this summer.  Done.  I just did a victory lap and sung a song or two of alleluias.  My family thinks I am a little crazy.  I scared the cat, I was so excited.  P.S.  Done.

+++ + +++

This writing is on a wall on the outside of my hospital, in the garbage area. I've passed it several times this summer when the garbage gate has been open.  Somehow, it has felt a little ironic.  I wonder what the person meant when s/he wrote that.  Were those the words s/he just heard from the doctor?  Are they just a reminder to get over yourself and appreciate life?  Is it a threat?  I don't know. 

You have one day to live...written in the trash area.  Life is important, and life is beautiful.  I'm taking those words as a reminder to live well, live fully.  Scripture is all about that, I think, full of reminders about true, real, abundant, risky life. 

The flowers below the sign are from the gardens at the university across the street from the hospital.  I've made it my habit to walk around the gardens a few times a week during my lunch break.  The flowers seem to always draw me in, reminding me of beauty and life, especially in the midst of hard or crazy days at the hospital.   It has been a gift to me this summer.

You have one day to live, and God is with you...

Imogen and I. New Best Friends.

She's been part of my life for awhile.  I mean, she's been on my iPod for awhile, but I've neglected her.  The other day, she shuffled her way into my mix on my iPod, and I said, "Perfect." 

Imogen Heap has some crazy good music -- not necessarily my usual fare -- but unique.  Hers is the kind of music that  you want to listen to when you need to walk down the street confidently and don't care that you just may look a little stupid -- you know, like you are in a music video or an iPod commercial or something.  Or, she'll let you just sit and think and be, too.  It is good CPE-decompression music, for sure.

That's why we're friends.  I've been listening to her Speak for Yourself album.  She's been around awhile, I've been a little slow to get on her train, so you probably already know about her.  But if not, give old Imogen a try.

In Honor of A.M. Haughton, Lover of Montana.

Montana was beauuuuutiful.  I could seriously see myself moving there someday.  In light of my friend Andrea's comment earlier this day, here are a few (of my few) pictures from my recent voyage to Missoula.  Gimme some Big Sky any day.  Farmer's Market.  First Presbyterian Missoula.  Hike.  Dry weather.  Biiiig sky.  Good food.  Old friends.  Deep conversation.  Cool nine-month old babies.  Walks around neighborhoods.  Road tripping.  Spokane.  iPod = soundtrack for life.  I'd do it again.

One Week and Counting!

I have completed ten full weeks at the hospital.  One week to go.  Can I get an AMEN?  (If not, I'll provide a chorus of EM myself.  No joke.)  It has been an intense and good summer, I have learned so much about myself, about God, and about people.  I'm just ready for it to be complete.  Hospital Chaplaincy = an amazing calling...just not mine.

Today I Am Heading To...

Montana.  That is, "mountains," in Espanol.  Land of the Big Sky.  Quick trip... today through Sunday.  Road trip.  I-90.  Friends.  Missoula.  YES! 

Come Fall On Us.

This summer, my habit has been to read a psalm or two in the parking lot of the hospital, before I go in for the day.  You know, just to ground me.  Today I read Psalm 50, and read the words which were turned into a song a few years ago...whenever I read Psalm 50, I have to sing Come Fall On Us, by Waterdeep and 100 Portraits, on their Enter the Worship Circle album.  Scripture...put to music...who would have thought it would be so helpful? 

Anyways, this morning, and today, this song was in my head and heart.

The mighty One, the Lord
Calls to all the Earth
From the rising of the sun
To the place it makes its bed
He calls His people
And we will listen
We will not keep silent
'Till we feel the fire again

A thankful heart
Prepares the way
For You, my God
A thankful heart
Prepares the way
For You, my God
Come fall on us
We fall on You
A thankful heart
Will be our rhythm
Come fall on us
We fall on You
A thankful heart
Will be our song...

Name Calling.

Yesterday, a patient reminded me of the importance of being named.  When I visit patients at the hospital, I always try to call them by their first names, or when appropriate and out of respect, I'll call them Mrs. _____ or Mr. ______ .  The patient I visited yesterday had a unique name, and I had already been told how to say it by a nurse, so I was lucky.  The patient commented on how many people do not even try.  She believes that she is, to many people, a room number or a medical record number, and not a name, not a person.

I don't know that is completely true, but it was for her, and I do know that names are important. This patient, though I only said my name once, called me "Josh" throughout the conversation, and she offered that same to every person who came in and out of her room during the visit.  Names are important to her.

I love nicknames -- giving and getting them -- because there is something intimate communicated therein.  I love being called by name, so why shouldn't I offer the same gift to others?  I recognize that it can be easy for me to not take the time to try a person's 'hard' name, or to just get down to business without the sharing of names.  In our names, even our nicknames, there is something of our identity, something of our humanness.

As I read it in Scripture, I am called Friend, Child, Beloved, Saint, and many other things.  The Living God knows me and calls me by name.  Not just me, but that patient, and you too.