There were no elevators in my routine before January. All the places I work are low to the ground, and stairs do the trick. But now that I frequent the hospital, and the Pastoral Care Office across the street, it is commonplace to zoom vertically with the ease of a button. I start from street level, or actually below that, since I arrive on a train that plows through an underground tunnel. Then the fun begins, as I respond to a page from the seventh floor. 

 

Between the first week and the second, a friend called to say that she knew someone who was also training to be a chaplain. She swims laps with him at the YMCA. Did I know him? Let me remind you that there are only five of us in the class, and the odds of such a connection seem rather obscure. But yes, Richard is a fellow intern. For me, this is like a personal message from God, saying that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

 

My first overnight shift as an intern was hard. The hospital floor plan felt like  a maze, and the procedure for logging visits confused me. I began to have doubts. While the part of this opportunity that involves listening to people plays to my strengths, the details around navigating protocols and Philly streets lean into my ineptitudes. Leans hard, such that I fall down. 

 

But on the second day of classes the director announced a treasure hunt. Could this be possible? This was exactly the strategy I used when I taught costuming. Each term I sent students around the theater in search of a blue hat, and a red button. Now I was the novice and it was exciting. Our group traipsed the halls and streets for two hours, to find the solace room, the storage closet where tissues are kept, and the snack cupboard where we could find crackers for a family that had been waiting a long time. 

 

It would have been an adventure all by itself, but smacked up against the discouragement of the week before, it was like pushing the button for the penthouse. 

 

Plus, I had a tissue to dry my eyes and a cracker for the overnight shift.