Why Me?

I was driving home late on a Sunday night, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. I had survived my first weekend of on-call as a hospital chaplain intern, and the 60 hours had been jam-packed and intense.

I had attended my first death and felt as helpful as a department store mannequin. The physician had shown up at a good time, introduced me to the family and somehow led me through my duties before he disappeared.

A teenager had tried to kill himself, and I spent a couple hours with him, not talking much but connecting nevertheless. When I was called back to the same hospital the next day, I heard that he had escaped detention and left against medical advice. I was heartsick.

A woman who had had a dangerous abdominal surgery became agitated, angry at the hospital and wanted to leave. I was called to help out, and whatever we talked about had the desired affect. I got her some extra service to mollify her, and she decided that it was in her best interest to rest and heal.

God was very busy that weekend as well. Several other dramatic situations occurred without my knowing the final outcome. They felt like loose ends to me: the doctor I hadn’t had a chance to thank, the boy who ran away, a trauma victim who had to be flown out to a larger hospital.

Miraculously, by Sunday night the loose ends were re-attached. I saw the doctor in the hall and thanked him. The daughter of the trauma victim called to give me an update and thank me for being there. And the boy turned himself in, voluntarily committing himself because he’d “thought about what we said.”

I hadn’t known what to expect when I got into this program known as Clinical Pastoral Education. If I’d known, I probably would never have done it. But even after this amazingly stressful weekend, I had never felt more satisfied. The words “Why me, Lord?” were on my mind. Just then a car passed me, and its license plate read: WHY ME. The top of the frame holding the plate was muddy and I couldn’t make it out; but the bottom said, INQUIRE WITHIN.

That was the turning point, but it isn’t the end of the story.

Four years later I was ordained and wondering where I’d find a chaplain’s position any place near where I lived. I interviewed at a Catholic hospital 50 miles away, and although they had never before hired a Protestant for that position, everything felt right. I walked out the front door, and on the ramp was parked a car with a license plate that read, WHY NOT.

I worked there for seventeen years.