What is your path?

I teach a practicum class for all doctoral marital and family therapy students in which we explore appropriate, ethical ways to address religio-spiritual issues in therapy. It's usually a really wonderful experience, what with all the religious diversity we have in our program. There is a richness that can only emerge when there are differences to compare your own beliefs against.

Our clinic was in the process of moving to a new location last week, so our practicum class site was in an uproar. we had no DVD player and there were boxes stacked up around the room. Students are required to share at least three videotapes of themselves doing therapy with clients, in which they explore or somehow address spiritual practices or beliefs of their clients. Well, it just wasn't going to happen in that mess of a place we had last week. So thinking quickly and creatively, I asked students if they would be willing to share their own spiritual journey up to that point. There were only six of us present, and it seems that everyone was in the mood for opening up.

One after another stammered through stories that included incredible pain and loss, confusion, family trauma and breakups, and uncertainty about organized religion. There were lots of tears. A student would confess, "I've never said this to anyone before--I've been so mixed up and ashamed..." only to have another student tag onto their comment with a similar story of their own. We all shed tears at one point or another. I found it incredibly moving. Students divulged beliefs that to me are heretical, but that have real meaning for them. Yet somehow, it was clear that they are all reaching forward toward God in one way or another. And everyone present was respectful and eager to hear their stories.

As we were ending class two students pointed out that I had not shared my spiritual journey. Would I be willing to talk about this to the class next week? How could I say no?

Surprisingly (to me), I cried all the way home. As I reflected on my spiritual journey, I could see that the times of the greatest spiritual learning were the times when I was suffering the most. I wonder if that is how it is with most people. There is something about feeling helpless and overwhelmed with pain that makes a person lean on God. Maybe, it makes us cling to God because there is no one else. The review of the losses and disappointments was quite painful.

Tonight on the way home from work, I talked aloud, preparing to tell the students my story tomorrow night. Pain is awful. Yet it is also the vehicle for God to become real to many people. I am grateful, even as I lick my wounds.

We Launch Away

Found here

I have rarely been so taken by song lyrics as I have by these:

There is a land of pure delight,Where saints immortal reign,

Infinite day excludes the night,And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,And never withering flowers:

Death, like a narrow sea, dividesThis heav’nly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling floodStand dressed in living green:

So to the Jews old Canaan stood,While Jordan rolled between.
But timorous mortals start and shrinkTo cross this narrow sea;

And linger, shivering on the brink,And fear to launch away.

O could we make our doubts remove,Those gloomy thoughts that rise,

And see the Canaan that we loveWith unbeclouded eyes!
Could we but climb where Moses stood,And view the landscape o’er,

Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood,Should fright us from the shore.

Written by Isaac Watt in 1707, this song captures the reliance on the forward-looking attitude of the settlers in America. Life expectancy was much shorter than it is today: 35 - 40 at the most. I would be dead by now, were I a Puritan.

Going back through the old cemeteries of New England, the focus of people on the heavenly realm was readily evident. Death was a daily experience. So many women died in childbirth. A simple cold could progress to pneumonia and death, without antibiotics. A puncture wound from a nail would turn into lockjaw and subsequent death. It was not infrequent to sit at the bedside of people who were dying, without the technology that we have today. It was a process of fever, delirium, coma, and death. People could just drift off to "eternal rest." Therefore, these individuals realized that it was important to focus on what came after death in order to survive emotionally.

This is the context of Isaac Watt's lyrics.

It is also quite possibly why I feel closer to God at a funeral than almost at any other time. The current chapter of the story is over. The little soul is resting until the Resurrection, when they shall stand in the sight of God. Or, as our Pilgrim parents believed, "launched away."

I've been driving around singing this along with the recording of Early American hymns that has this on it. Every day, my heart swells and I too, become future-oriented. What we experience here isn't the end of the story. While our Puritan parents were living in the most austere circumstances and dying quickly from now-treatable medical problems, they learned to look forward. We too, gain much for looking for that Great Day. May we not be timorous souls, but hearty lives, straining ahead for that perfect Land.

Say that again?

While I was in Puerto Rico, I ended up having to grade papers for a couple days so I could get my grades turned in on time. As I was reading a paper for my child abuse and family violence course, I came across this gem that cracked me up:

"Doing the web search for news items about elderly persons who abuse children was difficult. I found an article that told about a man who was convicted for fondling his gentiles in front of a minor."

Imagine that!

Relaxation

The view from our 18th floor hotel room at the Caribe Hilton, San Juan

We have been in Puerto Rico these last 10 days or so. I have never needed a vacation like as badly as I did when we came. Can't remember when I've slept so much or so hard, and have been able to do anything or nothing. As I sit here on the balcony of the Rincon Beach Resort and Hotel, I am looking out onto a turquoise ocean, white sand, and beautiful palm trees lazily moving with the ocean breeze. There is an infinity pool, several cabanas, and acres of abandoned beaches stretching in either direction.

We spent six days with Sam's family over on the East side of the island, then three days at the Caribe Hilton in San Juan. I have never enjoyed a place like that hotel and Old San Juan. If you would like to see pictures of our trip, go to http://picasaweb.google.com/HernandezHouse08/PuertoRico2010# and double click on the first picture. You can look through and see where we've been and some of the sights so far. I am just far too lazy just now to try to upload these pictures here.

El Morro sentry tower at the gate of Puerto Rico, Old San Juan

I think that I'm even getting a hint of color in my cheeks and arms. It is rare to find someone more white than I am, so this is gratifying. When I left work at the last day before vacation, the Chair of my department intoned, "You need to be outside more, Barbara." Then Sam's auntie told me the same thing. Of course, the girls have always thought that I'm hilariously pasty-faced, so being outside in the sun may give me an advantage in more ways than I ever considered!
I think we're going kayaking in the ocean today, around the bends and over the backs of fish. The ocean is so clean here that one can look down about 4 feet and see fish swimming around, stones, shells, etc. It is truly beautiful.

One of the things that Sam told me when we bought our house is that he'd love to have it decorated like a Puerto Rican house. I had no idea of what that meant until I got here. But once here, and into several homes and lots of buildings, I am thinking of what would work with our space and belongings...the painting and redesign will really be fun for me. The observation tower in the Rain Forest Preserve

We will be leaving Rincon on Sunday morning, heading back to Levitown to have one last family bash before flying out on Monday morning from San Juan. We are getting weary of life away from the predictability of our own home environment, but it is doing us a world of good to be here. I will truly feel sad as I leave this magical place. We have helped the economy here considerably, and I feel as though I am leaving a pint of blood here--in the stomachs of mosquitoes and no-seeums that have fallen down my shirt and tortured my extremities since I've been here. There is just no lady-like way to rake at a patch of six bites over my "angel bone" on my back!

Porta Coeli, ca. 1609. Oldest church in the Western Hemisphere

The next few months will not be as vexing and stressful as the last few have been, so I hope to be more visible here after next week. Thanks for standing by.

A Sabbath day photo shoot

Here are some pictures that I took last week while I was out meandering about with Mother. I hope you enjoy the sights.

This is our city hall, framed by these lovely orange daisies, with Mount St. Bernardino in the background.

This calla lily is in my front garden, just outside the front door walkway.

These ranunculus were delicate and gorgeous, as are the following--all in one huge flowerbed outside our university athletic center.

Here is Mother looking up as she felt the first drops of rain that almost drowned us a few moments later.

Iceland poppies

These palms are famous in the Inland Valley region where I live. They were planted originally (probably a good 90 years ago) on the outside edges of orange groves, just to identify the end of one person's acerage and the beginning of another's. There are many of these rows of silent gians in our area--always aresting to look at, especially against the stormy sky.

Outside Mission Asistencia--one of the old California Missions.

The old mission.

It was a wonderful meander. I hope to go again soon.

Grand Rounds

I have been building a training program for marriage and family therapists who work with people in medical settings. There is a national trend to include mental health providers alongside physicians in clinics, hospitals, and follow up areas where medical patients are seen. This type of collaboration is still fairly new, but research shows that it pays for itself in reduction of unnecessary physician visits and waste of healthcare dollars. At a time when healthcare is a huge debate, it seems important to try to find ways to stretch these monies. Medical family therapy is one such way.

There are now at least four universities nationwide who teach medical family therapy, one offering a doctoral degree in it. In 2001, the former chair of the department called me in Minnesota and asked if I would be willing to come to this university and head up a new medical family therapy program. In fact, I'd never been trained in it and was unprepared to do that, so I declined. My dissertation wasn't yet completed--another reason not to come out to California.

Little did I know that in 2008 I would be placed in the role to fill a vacancy of the woman hired to do this job. Over time this program has grown and through the grace of God, I have been able to set up a sexual dysfunction clinic (physician, physical therapist and medical family therapy intern). I have placed three students in the hospital where they work alongside the psychiatry residents, doing bedside individual, couple, and family therapy, and also with rehab patients. They negotiate issues between volatile couples whose children are dying, assist contentious family members come to decisions about whether or not to withdraw life support, and work with those who are depressed, anxious, or otherwise emotionally compromised.

I have two interns seeing liver/pancreas and kidney transplant candidates as they wait for organs and either get very sick, get an organ, or die. The stories they tell me each week are amazing--I do not know a more needed resource than family therapy for these folks. The stress on their families is beyond anything that I hope I will ever be called on to endure.

I've placed a student in the perinatal palliative care unit, working with high risk moms who recognize that when they give birth, their babies will die due to a number of pregnancy problems. This intern will also be making follow up home visits to try to help the parents negotiate and manage their (typically) very different grieving styles and needs.

Two interns are in our outreach primary care clinic, providing mental health services in exam rooms for the underserved in our region.

Last but not least, one student is now placed in the medical school simulation lab, working with medical students, residents, and specialty fellows, coaching them on death notification and general attending and communication skills.

All of these folks are practicing under the umbrella of my license and supervision (I pray a lot!)

It seems that my program is on the cusp of really taking off. Students are clamoring to get into it (it's just for doctoral students in our department), and physicians are now taking notice of how much improved their patients are after seeing our interns.

One of the things I've been doing is holding medical family therapy grand rounds once per month. Since my interns are largely from non-medical backgrounds, any exposure to medical equipment, language, or phenomena, are much appreciated. Last week we had a sort of medical tube petting zoo for my students. You can see here, that they really enjoyed working on the manikins in the simulation lab.

After they watched me insert a catheter in this manikin who supposedly had an abdominal incision ("eeeouw" all around), I asked them to get him up on a bedpan. It took the whole group several minutes to figure out how to accomplish this for the 250 lb. patient. It was a major production. Good thing it wasn't a real person trying to hold out!

What a lark! I am having more fun than I thought possible. But it has been all-consuming. This is why I haven't been online for almost a month. Thought you'd like to see what has been happening in my world.

Bleeping bleepity bleep

Found here

There were two things my parents might say that could make the hair stand up on my arms. One scenario involves Mother in the sewing room at the back of the house, hovering over her sewing machine. Perhaps she made a mistake in her sewing, or more likely, her old Singer machine had eaten up the thread, or the needle had broken. "Curses!" she would say with considerable vitriol. That would make me disappear from the room in a hurry. That is what Mother said when she was outraged. The other time she would do this was sometimes when she was trying to style her hair before going to church. Mother, poor Mother, has always been incredibly impatient with her hair. Typically, she would sleep on pink sponge curlers, then take them out after Sabbath breakfast. There she would be in the bathroom, after all of us had finished getting ready for church, trying to get her hair to behave. Since it wouldn't conform to the picture in her head of how she wanted to look, she'd begin raking through it with her hairbrush. Of course, that would make it bushy and wild. "Oh...curses!" she'd explode, slamming her hairbrush down on the counter top. We'd all head for the car to wait for her to come out, hair askew. It never crossed our minds to laugh--she was white hot.

This was the way we felt the few times when we heard Daddy say with the strongest passion, "Jew-dass pa-reest!" We'd freeze, then try to disappear just to get away from his fury. He wouldn't hurt us, just explode and stomp around. But he only did that when he was at the height of his element. The other thing he'd say that made me hold my breath was, "What the Sam Hill?" or his incredulous, "What in the cat hair?!"

I ask you, who is Judas Priest and where is Sam Hill, and of what significance is cat hair? I don't know the origin of these sayings, but country folk used to say some pretty funny things. If this was as bad as the language got, it really wasn't that bad at all. But it was funny.

There were other things that I heard people say when they were angry. Nana used to exclaim, "By Cramp!" when she was upset. Great-grandfather used to say, "Gee Rudney!" when something of note happened.
"Gads!" "Gah!" or "Guy!" were other comments that always make me chuckle. My friend, who grew up on a farm in Tennessee drawls out, "Hwhat in tar?!" while others say, "what in tarnashun?" And a shirt-tail relative used to say, "Great Day in the mornin!" An elderly man whom I used to care for used to say, "Good night shirt!" if he saw something that defied explanation.
Mother tells of an old boyfriend she had in New York City back in the 40s who used to say, "Holy jump up and sit down!" Mother would go to pieces laughing. "Jumping Jehoshaphat!" conjures up a hilarious mental image, as does "Holy Nellie!" and "Great Scott!" My sister's, "What the blazes?!" cracks me up.
The British say things that to our American ears are quite hilarious, but to them mean really bad things. Sometimes it makes one laugh just to hear anger expressed with an accent. My friend Betty used to say with exasperation, "My giddy auhnt!" with great effect. And my cousin's grandmother used to exclaim, "Mercy me, I do pray!"
My Australian friend used to use the qualifier, "flogging" in front of anything that he wanted to emphasize: "The flogging door was locked!" This used to double me up with laughter, which annoyed him more.
Then there is my dear cousin who exclaims, "Oh, forevermore!" Daddy's description of an irksome element as being "consarned" or his hasty comment, "Confound it!" used to make me want to laugh. But he said these in the heat of the moment, when a laugh would be seen as defiance. So I have chortled to myself for years over his, and other such euphemistic expletives.
I wonder where some of these hilarious comments come from. For now, they are a mix of warm memories and laughter.

Waiting for babies

Found here

Sam and I have wanted to get a dog for a long time now. The house is just too quiet without having little wiggly, furry bodies buzzing around us. Otis is good but only so far as his feline dignity allows him to move past proper decorum. So we thought maybe we'd get a puppy. After sifting through all the breeds available, and trying to decide what our miniscule yard could provide for exercise opportunities, we ruled out Great Danes (very sadly, I might add) or any other large breed of dog. But we came across Cockapoo dogs: a cross between a Cocker Spaniel and a small size poodle. Poodles, as you may know, are the most intelligent of all dog breeds. They also do not shed and are lovely little dogs. But a bit too fru fru for me. I will not be the type of pet owner that buys little matching sweaters for dog and owner, or who paints their nails pink. I would like an intelligent yet loyal and fun-loving dog. I've always wanted to have a schnauzer, but Sam thinks they look like mean little, yappy dogs. He's turned off by their eyebrows and beards. What about a schnoodle? He doesn't like that, either. Then we came across these little dogs.

Found here

One of my students has a 3-month old cockapoo that is all black and had been enjoying long sleepy naps in her satchel (in my class!) I didn't even know she had this puppy until one day it whimpered and her cover was blown. I called Sam right away at work and asked him to drop by my class on his way home. If I could just get him to hold one, it would be all over. I did, and it was.

That very night he called the same breeder that my student's dog came from and put our name on the list to be notified when they arrived.

But how could we get a puppy only to leave it alone for 9 hours at a time? One of my concerned students suggested that we do what she did: buy two of them and they will keep each other company. Terrific idea. So we are on the waiting list for a copper colored puppy and a black or brindle puppy. We hear that the females are possessive and temperamental, so both will be male. Sam's girls are ecstatic that they will have puppies to cuddle when they visit, and we are too. Especially when the breeder called to tell us that they will begin the breeding process next month and we should have our puppy ready to bring home no later than mid-July. These dogs make excellent therapy animals. Perhaps I will get mine and put them through obedience training for a year, as is required, and then have them join me in therapy. My student took her puppy to a school (with the principle's permission) and worked with a little boy who had quit talking due to some kind of distress at home. When Meli climbed into his lap, he started talking to her and petting her, even asking questions about what kind of dog she was, etc. He was an entirely different child. I think this might be a great use for a dog, in addition to cheering our hearts.

Now while we wait, I'm thinking about puppy names. I always wanted a Great Dane named Fiona, (roll your eyes, Sam!) but that will not happen until we have a house in the country at retirement. For now, Baxter, Buoso, and Fritz sound like good possibilities. What do you think?

Moto perpetuo

This quarter has been almost more than I could bear. Honestly, as I look back, I wonder how I've managed.
It all began when some students whom I am supervising decided that they weren't going to teach an online course at another university. They decided not to do it on the morning the class began. Guess who got caught holding the bag and is teaching it now? I was beside myself for about 10 minutes, before I realized that if I didn't get with it, I'd be behind. So far, so good.
But that is only the beginning. A couple months ago I was asked to write two chapters for a book that is coming out of Andrews University Press. It is about social issues and the way the church can respond to them. I chose two topics that I have some clinical interest in: female circumcision, and prostitution. The goal was to have them written by the end of December. However, it was soon apparent that I wouldn't have time to get to it during December, even though I only took 2 days off during Christmas break (which was no break at all).
You guessed it: I got an extension from the editor until January 31st. One chapter was co-authored, so I cranked out the changes and got it sent in right away. The other chapter though, had one week in which it had to be written. I wrote from 6:30 Sunday morning until 4:45 a.m. on Monday morning. I hope not to do that again anytime soon. I'm sure that I'll have to revise some of it after the editor reads it. Then I spoke Wednesday evening at the church for an hour and a half, about relationships and longevity. I was so exhausted that all inhibition slipped away and I acted like a wind up clown. People were roaring with laughter and shouting out answers to me as we went along. I think it went okay but I didn't recognize myself in my delivery. I think it was that I was just so very tired.
Today I hosted Medical Family Therapy Grand Rounds, and provided breakfast for everyone who attended. Then I had a conference with my research team at another university before taking a student to lunch so we could talk about a paper she's written and plan another one that we're co-authoring. Then I rushed home to clean up and cook for our company tonight.
On Wednesday I will address the university body at our weekly chapel. Do I know what I'm going to say? No. So I will have to work on that this week.
On top of all of this, I have been really having a hard time teaching one of my classes about health and illness in families. Why? Because three clinical psychology doctoral students sit in the class and they stare at me unflinchingly through the entire 3 hour course. I've never had anything like it! They rarely write any notes, and they don't look bored or engaged. It is disconcerting, and has put me in knots. So I've had trouble trying to do the mind over matter thing and just teach as if they aren't staring at me. (The learning culture is quite different in their department. We tend to be warm and personable and they are more remote and formal. I'm just not used to it). So I've put all kinds of extra time into developing lectures that might move them to respond more. I'm not convinced that I have figured it out, but at this point I'm planning just to teach and they can take it or leave it (I hear through the grapevine that they like it, so that is a relief).
Oh, and did I mention that my computer is trying to crash? The university ordered a new one for me, but in the meantime I'm enduring bouts of pinkish coloration, a jiggly screen, blotchy black blobs, and wavy wrinkles zipping across the screen. I've been using a loaner computer from the department but I quickly found that I can't access wireless with it. My documents are on my crashing computer, so I have to keep that one nearby. Then, in order to show slides for class I have had to use Sam's computer. So off I go to school with three computers in tow. Ridiculous.
With all of this going on I feel like I'm ready to drift into a coma. Is it any wonder that I am thrilled to welcome the Sabbath to our home? I thank God that I've been able to keep up with all of this. Thankfully, it won't be for much longer.

Smells

Found here

I remember sitting on my hotel bed in Dublin watching a BBC special program about the sense of smell, and how it regulates so many aspects of life. This is a scene from that special and it cracks me up, just like it did then. And you thought your job stinks! Just try this for a couple days!

There are still so many things that one sniff can initiate. Just this morning I drove in to work the back way, out through the orange groves, through town on an historic "old money" street, then back down behind a community hospital to a historic wagon trail that is now a meandering road through a canyon, then around through another orange grove and into town where the university is. I love going that way--so much to look at. This morning there were more than sights to attend to. A skunk had been wandering across campus and left a trail of eye-watering stench behind him. Since my office had been closed up all night, the air from the vents had no place to go. Yes, my office reeked this morning and there I was, just a few moments before doing a telephone interview for my research and my eyes were swimming with the smell. I'm sure my voice sounded full of empathy as I choked and blew my nose from time to time. My African student thought it was hilarious, especially since there are no skunks in Kenya and this was an entirely new experience for her.

My older brother has a nose like a hound dog. He can detect anything. If he were not a teetotaler, he would be a wine taster. He actually has been hired in his job at a bakery to be a food technician, largely due to his sense of smell. If a product doesn't sell very well they bring it to my brother. He will taste a cookie or muffin and thoughtfully chew for a moment or two before saying, "You can't package this in styrofoam. I taste the styrofoam. It's not good." So they change it to a cardboard box and celophane and the sales go up exponentially. What a discriminating nose! He has also been known to be driving the car in a downpour, when he will scrunch up his nose and say, "Someone up ahead of us is smoking a really nasty cigar." He speeds up and sure enough, we pass a car with their windows rolled up and a man is puffing away on a big old cigar. Amazing!

There are many smells that bring me back to memories of my early life. For example, my Nana's kitchen smelled like stale coffee and kitty litter. I can still see the milk bottles from the dairy sitting at the top of the steps into the kitchen.

There is also a scent that I smell whenever I go into my mother's apartment. I can smell the old glue in the antiques that she has in addition to a musty old cedar scent--I don't know what that is, but it's strong. Mother's glaucoma eye drops have robbed her of most of her sense of smell, so she often asks me if I will come over to "smell my sweaters." She can't tell if they need to be washed. I've asked her, "Why don't you just wash them every time you wear them?" but that somehow goes against the grain, since frequent washing will ruin them. So sometimes when I drop her off at the Villa, she says impishly, "Hey...want to come up to my room and sniff my sweaters?" I roll my eyes and she throws her head back in laughter.

I well remember sitting in church next to Mother on more than one occasion when she leaned over to my father before the service started, and in a stern whisper discreetly asked, "Does this dress smell bad?" Daddy would get a glimmer in his eyes, lean into Mother and inhale deeply, choking and snorting loudly. He would sometimes fan the air or go into a fake coughing spasm. Mother's eyes would twinkle then, and she would say to me out of the corner of her mouth, "Give me strength!" and to Daddy, "Raiford! Please! Contain yourself." That would set all four of us children--and often Daddy--into fits of laughter.

I appreciate Mother's concern about how she smelled. We once attended a small church in the country. The strong body odor of one of the men would hit us in the face like a wall when we stepped inside the door of the church. One would think he would consider bathing before the Sabbath an important task. Someone tried to tactfully speak to him about it and most unfortunately, he was deeply offended and never came back. Perhaps another congregation will have more success than we had with him on this matter.

The other day I was looking through some clothes that I had tucked away for the winter, and came across a sweater of my fathers. It was sealed in a plastic bag, with a little twistee around the opening--a sign that Mother had carefully stored it away for him. For a few heavenly moments I could smell the scent of Daddy when I closed my eyes and buried my face in his sweater. It was the same scent that I noticed the last time I hugged him.

Someone once asked, "Do you know why people clink their wine glasses together?" It's because drinking wine should include all five senses: with the eye we see the color, we taste the fruity flavor, we feel it as we drink it, we hear it as we clink the glasses together. Yes, and we smell it in the glass first (that is usually what turns me off of wine, however.)

It would be difficult to live without a sense of smell. On some days, it would be a blessing to be without it. On other days, we go back to earlier times and the dearness of wonderful memories.