March 15th

Today is March 15th, 2014.

One year ago, I had an eventful Friday at work.

I work as a Resident Service Coordinator at an Affordable Housing apartment building for older adults.    Our seniors are very independent, and they walk everywhere.  Due to poor city planning, the main street outside the apartment only has one accessible crosswalk.  Most of our residents don't bother to use it; instead, they jaywalk.

That morning, one of our residents was killed by a car while crossing the street.  Staff spent the entire day dealing with the coroner, police, confused/curious residents, shocked and saddened family members, and--last but certainly not least--the family of the young woman who accidentally ran into our resident with her car.  There had been dense fog that morning, so she didn't see a person crossing the street.  By the time she realized what she had done, our resident was already lying on the ground.  The impact probably killed her very quickly.  Frantic, the young woman called the police, and she bravely stayed near the scene of the death for the entire morning, surrounded by her loving family, who had come to give her support.

Several elements played into the situation that day: trauma, guilt, shock, loss, and yes, closure.  The most touching moment that day was when as staff, we witnessed 2 family members of the deceased embrace the young driver and offer their forgiveness.  In that moment, I realized that this day would hold profound meaning for me, because it showed me what it meant to lose a life and the importance of handling that loss sensitively and steadfastly.  As staff, we had to deal with the situation in a firm, professional manner; but we also provided intimately personal gestures of comfort to distraught residents and family members.  Hugs, prayers, and tears streamed freely as we were all confronted with the raw vulnerability of what it means to be human.

The week of March 15th, 2013, I had just returned to work following a leave of absence.  I had had an operation and needed a few weeks to recover at home.  The time spent in bed had given me the opportunity to reflect on my life and to do some research.  I was contemplating the possibility of applying for Divinity School, so that I could engage with issues of faith that puzzled--and troubled--my soul.  I wanted to get back into hospice work (something I'd been passionate about for a while), and I thought about becoming a hospice chaplain.  When tragedy struck on March 15th, a pastor was asked to come to offer prayer, and he became the grounding presence that we all needed.  I saw his calm compassion as he spoke with the families of both the killed and the killer, and I identified his skill as something I desperately wanted to possess one day.





Fast forward to today.  It's March 15th, 2014.

It's a Saturday, and I'm in Nashville, TN.  I am here to visit Vanderbilt University, because I was admitted as a Master of Divinity student for the coming fall.  2 weeks ago, I was at Emory University, interviewing for a scholarship at their School of Theology.  And 2 days ago, I gained admission to another Divinity School, at a University in Boston which begins with an H and ends with a D.

I am so pleased, grateful, and surprised to be blessed with these opportunities.  And I'm looking forward to getting to know the program at Vanderbilt.  In order to get here, I got up at 4 am, took a flight to Chicago, and then took another flight to Nashville.  During my 13-minute layover at the Chicago O'Hare airport, I checked my email, and that's when I learned that my top choice also accepted me into their program.  "Congratulations on your admission to Yale Divinity School!!"

My emotions are running wild.  I'm so excited that my hands tremble, and I feel like I'm in a dream waiting to be woken up and told that it's not real.  I feel happy that I spent all that time working on applications and essays, and I am proud of myself for aspiring towards something I wasn't all that confident about.  Mostly, though,  I feel humbled.  Incredibly humbled.  The past 2 weeks have been filled with both anticipation and dread.  I could not wait to receive my final "verdict" from my dream school, but I was also preparing myself for rejection.  I couldn't sleep for 2 nights, and then I finally worked through the anxiety and decided to trust and have peace.

One of the biggest antidotes to worrying, I've discovered, is gratitude.  Other people I knew had already been offered admission to Yale, and part of me wanted to panic.  I reread my application essay and decided that it was terrible.  I regretted applying for a degree program that I surmised would be not well funded (how would I ever pay for tuition?). And I willed my mind to focus on giving thanks for the opportunities I'd already been given and the offers I already had.  Still, the underlying anxiety accounted for a few sleepless nights and some physical stress.

When my answer finally came, I was both shocked and relieved.  A million thoughts came crowding in as my mind tried to process this occasion.  And one of the first things that came to mind was: Where was I a year ago on this day?

A year ago, it was March 15th, 2013, and I had an eventful Friday at work...