Short Term 12

OK, so I watched a Netflix movie last night called Short Term 12, which was really interesting but got me to thinking about a lot of pastoral care issues. My myopic focus these days is relating everything to pastoral care ever since I started this CPE internship. I walk around asking myself, “If I were engaging in pastoral care, what would I do in that situation?” “Am I creating an unhealthy triangle with the other two people?” “Am I being empathic or am I crossing a boundary?” Excessive, isn’t it?

But (OK, I can’t let it go) when I saw Short Term 12, which is an excellent movie, with the feel of a documentary, about the staff and residents of a short term care facility for youth with challenging family situations, I kept asking myself that last question—is it empathy or is it crossing a boundary? The staff, most of whom grew up in challenging family situations and bear the scars of their childhoods, care for the youth with a loving yet firm disciplinary style.   At the same time they are empathetic, the staff also creates family-like bonds with they youth by sharing their stories and giving appropriate affection.

In one scene, a staff member shows her cutting scars to a young woman who is also cutting, which can be a way of avoiding emotional pain by focusing on the wound rather than what is causing the pain—it is often a “safe” way for youth to express their emotions while at the same time not having to confront an abuser. In this situation, and granted it was a movie, this was an effective way for the staff member to get the youth to open up and share her pain. Despite being a movie, it does beg the question—how much does a pastoral care giver share?

In the pastoral care setting in which I currently work, we are asked to maintain a personal boundary between ourselves and residents and are encouraged to listen empathetically but not share our stories because this may be a distraction from the resident’s story. The contexts are different—youth versus adults—yet many of the characteristics were the same—long-term residents and short-term residents, people with extreme need for care, people dealing with physical and mental trauma. So, I’m not completely off base when comparing the situations, yet the type of care provided was so different. I wonder if this is typical in short term care facilities for youth or if they just made it up for the movie.

In another scene of the movie, we see two staff member accompany a youth to the hospital and wait while he is being treated. It seemed so natural for this to happen and didn’t seem to cross a boundary. In a similar situation, I volunteered to accompany a staff intern, from my CPE setting, to a clinic because she passed out. She chose a clinic rather than a hospital because she did not have adequate health care coverage. After making sure this adventure would not interfere with my care and my family’s care, I decided that I wanted to take her to the clinic where we sat for several hours talking about her life and her dreams for her career. Later, I was talked to by my supervisor who strongly suggested that I crossed a boundary by taking away the agency of the staff member to figure out how to care for herself. I was aghast! In the moment of confronted with taking her to the clinic all I asked myself was, “If this was my daughter, would I want someone like me to take her to the clinic?” My answer was a resounding, “Yes, of course.” That was the question that guided my decision. It felt like the most loving thing to do, and by engaging in the situation, I learned a whole lot about this person and we bonded. But it does beg the questions—what is empathy and when does empathy cross a boundary when it becomes physical action or when can empathy involve sharing one’s story?

Watching the movie, regardless of how real life it was, did ask me to reflect on these questions about empathy and care. I was also drawn to reflecting on Jesus’ care for the other/stranger/foreigner/vulnerable that I learn from Scripture. Jesus was engaged. I just read the story of Jesus at the well with the Samaritan woman and was struck by how Jesus did not maintain cultural boundaries but broke every one—he talked to a woman, AND he talked to a Samaritan, which were both forbidden in his culture. Given the choice again, I’d still choose to take the staff intern to the hospital and to sit with her like I did until her boyfriend showed up to care for her. It was the right thing to do—it was a good boundary to cross.

Movies and Pastoral Care

I’m trying to catch up on watching some of the movies from the past year that I wanted to see but didn’t have time to get myself to the movie theater. I did manage to see La La Land on the big screen, which I’m so happy about because all that singing and dancing needed the expansive space to do it justice. Last night I saw, on my little computer screen, Manchester by the Sea. Wow! Interesting film. I love seeing parallels in movies between what is going on with the characters and relating that to other situations I encounter like pastoral care, family dynamics, scripture readings, or current social issues. Manchester by the Sea is rife with real issues—the characters deal with addiction, family dysfunction, denial, tragedy, forgiveness, or lack or forgiveness, unconditional love, emotional growth, decision making, death, obligation versus willingness, and acceptance.

It is not a movie with a Hollywood ending. Some might call it a sad ending, but I’d call it a wise ending—one that requires me to ponder the decisions made and if they were the most loving for all involved parties. It has an ending that is lacking in many movies today—it depicts real life. Many of the issues I listed above are ones that I encounter in my pastoral care settings. As I watched the movie, I found myself imagining how I might interact with the characters, especially one of whom seemed hopeless. How does one, as a pastoral care giver (or any caring person) deal with hopelessness? Do we accept someone’s desire to be hopeless knowing that we cannot change that person? Why is it that we want happy endings when we know that life is rarely a series of neat, tidy endings, but a series of hopefully wise decisions that involves considering how to best love everyone involved? I know that God never gives up on us, but how do I convey that to the hopeless? Prayer, prayer, prayer is the only thing coming to mind at the moment…

Cara’s Cabin

I’m on retreat. In my twenties, I always found that a funny word—retreat—and didn’t really understand what it meant. Now I get it!  Sometimes I want to run away—to retreat from my life.  This time, I’m retreating from the everyday demands of my time—studying incessantly, driving children around for hours at a time, caring for dying residents at my pastoral care internship (CPE), cooking, technology, the cats wanting constant attention, and all those other little things that seem to eat up endless amounts of time. As I type this list, I realize that my life is really pretty good and that anyone in their right mind would love to have a life like mine—full of love and friendship, happy kids and joyful animals, the chance to be in school. I think what I’m really retreating from is death. Ironic, huh, because it is something we can not escape from—we are in a constant state of dying the moment we are born. So what is it that I am REALLY retreating from? Maybe I’m really fleeing from something else.

Maybe I’m retreating from the emotional energy it requires to nurture others. I’m a nurturer—I like taking care of people. As a matter of fact Dreamer is staring at me right now because she wants to go out for a walk and I want to take care of her. I feel guilty because I am not walking her. Guilt. Such a strange emotion. I think it has become such a part of my fabric that I wouldn’t know what it felt like if it bit me in the nose. Guilt—this is another huge topic for another time.

I take care of others so I need to retreat to relearn how to take care of myself. Focus on my needs and relearn how to take care of them. I’m at a friend’s cabin. This is not a fancy retreat that I paid for. Except for the groceries I bought, this is a free retreat in a little cabin in the woods on a lake. Cara lets me use it when it is available—she is incredibly generous with sharing her cabin. The cabin is small but the perfect size and it feels like I’m sitting in someone’s cozy, well-decorated living room. Cara has put care into arranging the furniture and the soothing colors and the comfy pillows. I feel cared for by the cabin—if that is possible—when I’m here. Some invisible person (not so invisible because it is really Cara behind all this) has taken great strides to make sure I’m comfortable and well cared for. I am reminded of the hospitality that is emphasized in scripture—the angels of God visiting Abraham and his care of the stranger, and Martha welcoming Jesus (John’s gospel) and waiting on him (Luke’s gospel). Hospitality is a lost art in our culture.

Don’t get me wrong; no one is here waiting on me. It’s just me and Dreamer. I cook my meals, take long walks, sit and look at the lake, knit, read books, and generally learn how to listen to myself calling myself in each moment—Julie, this is what you feel like doing right now. No demands other than that still small voice of the Holy Spirit screaming hard to be heard over the demands of my time that rattle around in my head. When there is no one else around, I begin to listen to myself again. To really listen to what the Holy Spirit is calling me to do. Now, the real trick is—how do I do that once I get home again?   I am comforted knowing that I am learning and I can retreat again and again as many times as I need until I’ve figured it out. Thanks be to God!