The past two weeks have been FULL.
There have been a couple of times when I thought that maybe I can't do this chaplain thing after all. But there have been such life-giving moments intertwined with those.
So I sit here today deciding not to give you a whole reflection paper. Just a story.
There was a woman named Draupadi who was the daughter of king Draupada. She was known for suffering well and being of good virtue. It is said that she was born of fire because of her determination and thunder because of her strength. In jealousy of her virtues, many people despised her. At one point she was brought in before the Kurava court, where they decided to humiliate her by slowly tearing off her sari. She called out to the emperor, to priests, to the prime minister, and to her five husbands. None came to her aid. So she cried out to Krsna. Many people say that she clung to her sari, crying out in fear, “Krsna, help me!” Nothing happened. Then extending her hand, she cried out in need, “Come to my aid, Lord!” Still, nothing happened. Finally Draupadi let go of the now loosely hanging sari to which she was clinging, threw up both of her arms, and cried out unconditionally, “help!” Because she let go—of her fear, of her needs, of control in general—Krsna came quickly to her rescue. As the sari was dropped, Krsna wrapped an unending sari around her. The master of the court tore and tore and tore at Draupadi’s sari, but her body was never uncovered, and she was never humiliated.
Draupadi has been with me this week as I have listened to patients, staff, and interns including myself cry out. We’ve all had different reasons, but they have all felt much like a sari being ripped from our bodies. But as I have gone through these weeks--weeks of ripping, tearing, pulling, forcing--I find many of us becoming Krsna for each other, and safety taking on a whole new meaning.
There have been a couple of times when I thought that maybe I can't do this chaplain thing after all. But there have been such life-giving moments intertwined with those.
So I sit here today deciding not to give you a whole reflection paper. Just a story.
There was a woman named Draupadi who was the daughter of king Draupada. She was known for suffering well and being of good virtue. It is said that she was born of fire because of her determination and thunder because of her strength. In jealousy of her virtues, many people despised her. At one point she was brought in before the Kurava court, where they decided to humiliate her by slowly tearing off her sari. She called out to the emperor, to priests, to the prime minister, and to her five husbands. None came to her aid. So she cried out to Krsna. Many people say that she clung to her sari, crying out in fear, “Krsna, help me!” Nothing happened. Then extending her hand, she cried out in need, “Come to my aid, Lord!” Still, nothing happened. Finally Draupadi let go of the now loosely hanging sari to which she was clinging, threw up both of her arms, and cried out unconditionally, “help!” Because she let go—of her fear, of her needs, of control in general—Krsna came quickly to her rescue. As the sari was dropped, Krsna wrapped an unending sari around her. The master of the court tore and tore and tore at Draupadi’s sari, but her body was never uncovered, and she was never humiliated.
Draupadi has been with me this week as I have listened to patients, staff, and interns including myself cry out. We’ve all had different reasons, but they have all felt much like a sari being ripped from our bodies. But as I have gone through these weeks--weeks of ripping, tearing, pulling, forcing--I find many of us becoming Krsna for each other, and safety taking on a whole new meaning.
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