Procrastination

You know how sometimes you just put things off...oh, things like writing sermons...for instance...and you do whatever you can to put off the inevitable Sunday morning pulpit-pounding? So, you sort of do anything else you can...like spreading 36 square feet of mulch in your front gardens? Or reorganizing your card-making supplies? Or taking your car to Ziebart to finally take care of that egg-souffle spilling incident? Or knitting several rows in an afghan? Or alphabetizing your sanitary napkin supply, I mean Stayfree shouldn't be by Kotex if there are Lightdays...(okay maybe that last one was a tiny exagerration...)?

No? You don't know how things get put off like that? Oh. Okay.

Seriously, though...thank you all for your on and off-line help with this first sermon. Perhaps I'll post it when it's done being preached (don't you think the past tense of "preach" should be "praught?" Sort of like "teach" is "taught?" My English major slows me down in regular life pursuits sometimes...I ponder these kinds of things...)

This morning I was part of an interview for CPE alums from my program, as the bigwigs in ACPE look at recertifying LH's program (for those non-chaplains, I just said that chaplains have training programs and they, as in the God posse types from the professional organization who have all the power, pay attention to whether we learn or not). CPE is such a powerful experience and LH has an amazing program with both extended-unit students (those who spread their education out over six months part-time), and intensive-students (more like twelve weeks full-time) and residents (of which I was last year). It felt like homecoming...and I got utterly homesick for my boot-camp days of CPE where our motto was, "I've been through CPE, I know my shit and I keep see yours." I told R. later that it was sort of like what those who have served in war together and reunite feel like...we pause and recount the old stories..."Remember that night that the woman in 304-1 got so mad at you that she bit you?" "Remember that trauma when the woman pulled through after 12 hours of surgery, you know, that night you had the stomach flu and were still on-call?" "Remember the accusatory man who yelled out to the staff in his dementia that 'The Chaplain Pulled Out My Catheter!!! ?" "Remember the day you got to tell the patient that the heart was available for his heart transplant?" "Remember that day I taught you how to cuss?" "Remember all the hot tamales we ate?" It was a good day for memories.

And now, I'm off to alphabetize my spice rack, and reorganize my underwear drawer, and count my cat's whiskers, and inventory my supply of canned soup, and...