Nothing: A GC Wrap Up

Before we get started, let me state that these are my feelings and my attempt to begin to process what has happened.  They may not be the views of others nor are they endorsed by any church in particular, especially if I use "bad words". :)

(Also, this ends up being a little more rant-y and less "well organized thoughts and feelings" so I apologize for that).

I titled this entry "Nothing" for several reasons.  First, I have so much to say but then again I have nothing to say.  I am hurt.  I am angry.  I am tired.

I bought the idea that love wins.  I bought the idea that the "good guy" always wins.  Ok, I mean I know I am being a little hyperbolic here but I have to admit I thought General Conference would have a different outcome.  I know the story is not over.  It is so fitting that we are heading into the season of Lent where death tries to have the last word but God vanquishes death.  But we have the benefit of being able to flip the page to the victory part.  There has never been a time in our lives where we actually question whether Christ is going to rise on the 3rd day.  We can be as somber as we want during Holy Week but we have the assurance that come Easter, we will hear the Good News.  That is the essence of the gospel.  The disciples didn't have that luxury.  They couldn't fast forward through the yucky parts.  They literally heard Jesus say he was going to rise and they still didn't believe it because they couldn't see it.  And right now, I admit, I can't see it.  I can't see the empty tomb.  All I can see is death.

Now I am sure at least one of you reading this is thinking "omg but the United Methodist Church is not God".  Fair point.  Something about "kings and kingdoms will all pass away..."  And you are right.  There are other churches.  There are other denominations.  But they don't suit me.  Yes, I was born into a Methodist Church and currently work for a Methodist Church and I got my Master of Divinity from a Methodist Seminary but I have looked at other options.  I can't be Presbyterian or Baptist any more than I could magically make myself Miss America.  That is not a dig at our brothers and sisters of other denominations, they just aren't where I connected.  Methodism is my home.  So to my friends saying "[my denomination] will welcome you with open arms!  Come on over!", please save it.  The wounds are too new.  Maybe some of us will change but not right now I will not.

It is a bitter pill to swallow for me personally because of the current political climate.  This may come as a shock to some but I am not a Democrat.  I am a Republican.  Donald Trump and those trying to run with him are not Republicans.  The political party I belong to has been overrun by those who seek to divide, exclude, and judge.  And that is how I feel about the denomination I love.  I know drawing those parallels could be seen as incendiary but hear me out.  I am not calling all Republicans, all Trump supporters, or everyone who voted for the Traditional Plan anything.  It is that their views don't align with mine and until recently I thought they didn't align with most people's views.  I feel homeless politically and in my faith.  And that is hard to accept.

I am sad to see the number of people who today asked for their name to be removed from various UMC membership rosters.  But I don't blame them.  How can we ask abuse victims to stay with their perpetrators?  So many wonderful people have left or are leaving.  Again, I don't blame them.  But I will continue to fight.  I will fight because I am called to pastoral ministry and I want to be colleagues with the best speakers, writers, interpreters, and theologians out there and I'll be damned if believe that someone is or isn't equipped for ministry based on their sexuality.

For whatever reason, we seem to have an unhealthy obsession with human sexuality.  The WCA (conservative "Methodist" group) allows women and divorced people to be in their group; two topics of which Jesus had more to say about than homosexuality.  The hypocrisy is overwhelming.

I will also continue to fight because I believe there is room at God's table for all people.  Full stop.  There is room for me, you, our LGBTQ+ friends, those that voted for the Traditional Plan, airplane clappers, those that talk in theater, and those that are bad tippers.  We do not limit the table.  Why?  Because we believe in grace in all of its forms.  When we do communion, we acknowledge that the table is open for ALL, not just heterosexuals.  How dare we serve as God's gate-keepers?  I think God has that part under control.  God did it for millennia without us, God doesn't need our help in that starting now.  We are not God.  Much like John the Baptist, we are not God.  We simply point others to God.


As I sit at my desk and write, Jason Mraz comes on the radio and I hear these words:

We all make mistakes, no, we're not perfect yet
Maybe God made us all from an accident
And the question that sits on everyone's lips
Is why should we pick ourselves up and start over again

There's only one answer that matters
Even if your heart has been shattered
Whatever you want, whatever you are after
Love is still the answer
Love is still the answer

And all the while I have been reflecting on Romans 8:38-39
For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord

And that is truly the Good News.  I don't know all of what is going to happen in light of all the things that happened at General Conference but we have the assurance that nothing will separate us from God.

"I Don't Know" - A sermon 6/17/18

I am from Hanover County, Virginia.  For those of you not familiar with it, it’s about 90 minutes south of here.  It is home of Randolph Macon College, it is the hometown of singer Jason Mraz, it is the birthplace of Mrs. Fearnow’s Brunswick Stew, and the namesake of our most famous export, Hanover tomatoes.  

    Hanover people love our tomatoes.  A few years ago I found some Hanover tomatoes in the Harris Teeter over by Foxchase and I publicly admit that I was so overcome with happiness that I teared up a bit.  We love our tomatoes and we use them as currency.  For those that grow them, the harvest always yields more tomatoes than it is possible to use in one season so we gift them to neighbors, relatives, acquaintances, strangers… We give special people not just tomatoes but sometimes fresh salsa, tomato sauce, and sometimes the revered tomato pie. Your neighbor is having car trouble?  Take them a tomato.  The neighborhood boy cut your grass?  Pay him.  And send him home with some fresh salsa.  Someone let you go in front of them in the checkout line because you had 1 item and they had 9?  Follow them in the parking lot and give them a tomato.  Going to see the doctor?  That’s a two tomato pie situation.  One for the nurse and one for the doctor.  Hanover people also understand that 2 slices of bread, Duke’s mayonnaise, some salt, some pepper, and a slice of tomato is a full meal.  

    I am certain that there is more than one person who is listening to me right now and thinking that I have completely lost my mind.  That may be quite accurate.  And there are some sitting there wondering what makes a Hanover tomato superior to, say a beefsteak tomato or an heirloom tomato.  The answer I give to that inquiry is the same answer that everyone who has had a Hanover tomato will repeat: it’s the soil.  But inevitably the next question comes: “well what’s so special about the soil?”  And to that inquiry, I give the same answer I have been given over these years: “I don’t know”. 

I am sure it has something to do with the soil being rich in some elements and lacking other things and I am sure there are some people who can accurately answer what it is with the soil.  But for me, and countless other Hanover natives, the answer is: “I don’t know”.  I don’t know why the soil produces the world’s best tomato, it just does. 

By now I guess you are wondering what tomatoes have to do with our scriptures.  So let’s dive in, starting with the most obvious scripture first.  Mark.  Mark is my favorite gospel.  Why?  Because Mark has no time to waste.  He doesn’t bother with pleasantries or salutations.  He gets right down to business and doesn’t bother with needless details.  He is not fond of small talk.  Essentially, we know that if Mark says something, he thinks it is of the utmost importance.  So every time we encounter a passage from Mark, the first thing to ask ourselves is why did Mark think this was so important?  So let’s look at what’s going on here.  Jesus hits us with 2 rapid fire parables.  No time for questions or explanations.  And they are both parables about growing stuff. 

In the first parable, we have a farmer who is much like my Hanover folks.  He puts the seed into the ground and has no idea how it happens but all of the sudden he blinks and there is a harvest ready to be picked.  If we look at this in terms of the kingdom of God, we get a message regarding evangelism.  *Gasp* I said the E word! As we know, any word containing “evangelic” is such a loaded word.  But for this purpose we are going to think of it as “telling people about God”.  Methodism began as an evangelical movement though most of us don’t like to move from their pew during the passing of the peace.  Anyway, study after study reveals that the most effective way of evangelism is to develop a personal relationship with the person you want to bring to Christ.  The farmer has a personal relationship with the seeds and the soil he puts the seeds in.  When you are planting anything, tomatoes, flowers, corn, the gospel, you have to know your soil.  You also have to know your seed.  You have to know what seed will work with your soil.  Lemon trees don’t grow well in Hanover county.  You have to know the specific conditions your seeds need in order to grow.  Too little water makes the tomatoes shrivel and die.  Too much water causes the bottoms of the tomatoes to split.  We make the first move then God takes it from there.  Sure, the farmer has to ensure the seeds get sunlight, water, and food but God and nature take it from there.  Only God can take dried up seeds, water, dirt, and fertilizer and turn it into something so sweet.  And only God can take our dried up lives, mix in some rain, some sunshine,  some dirt and… fertilizer… and turn us into something so beautiful. 

Sure, that’s nice and poetic and is something that could easily be turned into a meme that we could all share on social media, but it doesn’t end there.  It’s barely the beginning.  That’s not where the parable ends.  We develop a relationship with someone and they see what life we live, they tell us that they want to know the secret to why we are so happy, so peaceful, so nice, so… whatever, and we tell them about God and we tell them about how much we love our church and we invite them.  Lo and behold, they accept.  They come in the door, they are greeted, they are loved, they eat the watermelon, drink the lemonade, they meet God, then we leave them alone?  No.  We put them on a committee.  Or five.  We put them in the choir.  We have them be a liturgist.  We make them an usher.  We make them greeters.  Our farmer in the parable doesn’t just leave his crop in the field to rot.  He gets out his harvesting tool and turns the grain into something useful. 

On first read, this parable seems straightforward but at second read, a certain ambiguity emerges.  This is a parable about the kingdom of God.  Exactly what part is like the kingdom of God?  What is our takeaway from this?  The kingdom of God is mysterious?  It may help to know that while our passage is translated “kingdom of God”, a better translation would be “reign of God”.  As any farmer, even amateur farmer, knows, farming is never over.  Even after the harvest, the farmer doesn’t just walk away.  The farmer is reviewing the previous crop and thinking of ways to improve or planning to replicate what they did right.  The farmer is working the soil.  Just as there is an error of thought that farming and growing end, there is an error in thinking that at any point, the kingdom of God is coming later.  Friends, the kingdom of God is here and now.  When we shift our thinking in that way, it helps us see God and the works of God in the everyday.

But also, the kingdom of God is not here yet.  If we think the kingdom of God is fully here, it lets us off the hook for being active participants in the kingdom.  As with so many other things in Christianity, it’s not an ‘either/ or”, it’s a “both/ and”.  We live in the tension of the “already” and the “not yet”.  Living in this tension makes us responsible for the seed, the soil, and calls us to action when the harvest is ready.  There is something mysterious and wonderful that God does in the middle there but our actions are continuous.  We plant and we sow.  After the harvest, we work the soil again.  We plant again.  God does God’s part and before we know it, it’s time for the harvest again.

The second parable from our passage in Mark actually bridges us back to our Hebrew Bible scripture.  It’s the parable of the mustard seed.  Versions of this parable appear in Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  In comparison, the parable of the mysterious growing seed only appears in Mark.  The parable of the mustard seed is one that most people are familiar with.  The tiniest of seeds grows to produce one of the mightiest trees.  This is where context is key.  In our modern times we are scarce impressed by the mustard seed or the mustard tree because we have seen smaller seeds and larger trees.  But when Jesus was talking to the disciples, he spoke of things that the everyday person would understand.  The smallest seed the ancient Jews knew produced the largest tree they were familiar with. 

So lets back it up to Samuel.  Last week, Pastor Bill talked to us about how the people demanded a king and God was all “Iiiiii’m not sure you know what you are asking for”.  To make an incredibly long story short, things didn’t go well.  Because as our scripture opens up with, “the Lord was sorry that the Lord made Saul king”.  But now a new king is needed.  Samuel meets Jesse’s sons and none of them are the right one.  We get the “spiritual truth bomb” from the Lord when he says “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart”.

This is not a new concept for us.  We see it played out in popular culture in movies like Cinderella and Kung Fu Panda.  The least likely candidate becomes the chosen one.  Just like the mustard seed, the smallest becomes the biggest.  This is a repeated theme in scripture.  I could keep you here until 1pm going over all of the instances but you get the idea.  In our story, the youngest son, David, becomes king.  The one that Jesse didn’t even bother introducing because he was so young and definitely would never be king.  

Our passage from Samuel opens with God asking how long Samuel is going to grieve.  God tells Samuel to bind his wounds and move on.  Seems pretty harsh, right?  God tells Samuel to make a sacrifice in memory of Saul but also reminds him that it’s time to move on, there is work to be done.  While it may feel like it, the world does not stop when changes and bad things happen.  Again, way harsh.  But God is simply stating something that all farmers and growers know.  You have to let go of the past to move to the future.  You have to remove the dead plants in order to make room for the new plants.  If you leave dead plants in their place, you have less room for new plants.  You can’t spend all your time dwelling on the failures because if you do, you aren’t giving proper attention to new plants.  And you must prune your plants to get them to grow.

There is a HUGE danger in that point though.  I am not saying we throw out people who seem to not be producing fruit.  I am not saying grief and mourning should be skipped.  I am also not saying God kills people on purpose to make room for new people.  And I am not saying God inflicts pain on us to teach us lessons.  Those are all dangerous ideas.  I am saying, however, that again it’s a “both/ and”.  We don’t have to choose between only looking back or only looking forward.  We can honor the past and still move forward.  If we completely disregard the past and forget our mistakes, we are doomed to repeat those mistakes and possibly make larger ones.  If we focus too much on past mistakes, it cripples us from moving forward. 

But moving forward is scary.  There is a certain vulnerability in moving on.  Which brings us to the last scripture.  Corinthians.  The passage reminds us that while change and new things are scary, we walk by faith and not by sight.  That doesn’t mean that things aren’t scary.  It means that when things are scary, we have the assurance that God is working behind the scenes.  My favorite example of this comes again from nature.  As we know, March is a fickle month.  It’s supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb.  But more often than not, we get more “lion” and less “lamb”.  Some of the worst snow storms I remember have come in March.  It’s cold.  It feels like we will never thaw out.  Days are short.  But somewhere in there, it begins.  The first daffodil breaks through the ground.  The first tree starts to get little bud nubs on their branches.  Even though conditions do not seem favorable for new life to spring forth, it does.  

And that is all well and good for nature but what about humans?  What about us in this sanctuary?  The good news comes to us in Corinthians.  Therefore if anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation.  The old is gone and the new has come.  Only God can take something so dried up, so shriveled, so dead, mix it with dirt and sunshine, but still some fertilizer, and turn us into the most beautiful of all creatures.  It is only through reconciliation with God that we can truly live a new life in Christ and become the new creations God intend us to be. 

How does God do it?  I don’t know.  But it happened for King David, it happened for the mustard seed, it happened for the grain that mysteriously grows, it happened for me, and it has happened for you.  How do I know it happened for you?  Because you are here.  You know what else?  There is a whole world of people out there that are waiting to be harvested.  We don’t have to worry about transforming them.  God has that part under control.  All we have to do is invite them in, love them, and help them grow.  God does the rest.  Thank God for that.  May it be so, amen.

Water.

 ^{Genesis 21:14-21
14} So Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered about in the wilderness of Beer-sheba.
¹⁵ When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. ¹⁶ Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot; for she said, “Do not let me look on the death of the child.” And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. ¹⁷ And God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. ¹⁸ Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” ¹⁹ Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink.
²⁰ God was with the boy, and he grew up; he lived in the wilderness, and became an expert with the bow. ²¹ He lived in the wilderness of Paran; and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt.

This is one of the scriptures that was read in church yesterday.  It's a tough passage because we love Sarah.  She's the picture of perfect hospitality.  We relate to her skepticism when she laughs over God promising to fulfill her desire.  But the ugly, green-eyed monster can trip the best of us.  

So the dream I had last night was that I had stopped by a gym that I was curious about.  I told the person working there that I was interested in learning more and she told me the best way to do it would be to take a trial class.  I told her I wasn't prepared for it, that I wasn't wearing the proper clothes but she said it was ok.  It was some sort of stationary bike that you kind of reclined on.  And then it occurred to me that I was thirsty and I didn't have my water bottle with me.  So I went in search of water.  I found myself in a kitchen.  I started searching through the cabinets for a water bottle.  I found several coffee mugs and cups but nothing big enough to get me through an entire workout without needing to refill.  In my pacing back and forth in the kitchen, looking for a large bottle, I kept having to step around something in my way.  My boss came walking into the kitchen with an entourage and sat down on a high backed bar stool.  He said "we need to talk".  I told him I didn't have time for that because I needed to find a water bottle.  He hung his head and shook it and said "this is why we need to talk.  What have you been stepping over?" I looked over and realized the "thing" in my way was a pallet of bottles of water. I woke up and sat straight up in my bed.

Was it about working out?  Probably not.  Was it about water?  Probably not.  Do I have any idea what it was about?  Not a clue.  But at least I was paying attention in church yesterday.

Take It Easy

I just finished my first Sunday morning at Trinity.  The congregation has mostly gone and I have changed out of my flashy red heels (Happy Pentecost!) and back into my flip flops.  Pandora is playing "Take It Easy" by the Eagles and I am taking a moment to soak it all up.

Being able to participate in corporate worship is something I didn't realize I missed but dang I really did.  The simple act of pulling out a hymnal and singing with others is so comforting.  Trinity has been so welcoming and warm.  I can't even begin to describe how thankful I am to those who have taken me under their wings this week and shown me the ropes.  I can't believe how dang blessed I am to be here.  I literally had to come sit in my office for a minute after service to sit and revel in it, even for just a minute.

I got a bit of trial by fire.  The person who was slated to teach Sunday School had to call out and so 30 minutes before Sunday school was to start, I began looking at a lesson plan I had never seen before.  It went significantly better than the previous 2 times this happened to me (at other churches).  The kids are in love with my stuffed animals (as they should be).  Because George Peter (Pete the Primate) and Ham the Lamb are amazing.  And I am head over heels in love with the kids and the congregation (and the staff too).

So in these few quiet moments before life gets super hectic, I pause to give thanks for all the events and people that led me here, I give thanks for the opportunity I've been given.

But for the rest of the day I'm gonna take it easy.

Dust

We all know that what is learned in seminary can fill volumes of books.  We also know that what is not taught in seminary can fill many more tomes.  One of the things they drill into our heads in just about every class is that "ministry does not happen in a vacuum".  There is no clean slate.  No one gets to start at the beginning.  Even if it's a new church or a church plant, things have been happening weeks, months, and hopefully even years before you get on the scene.  Even the most practical of classes sort of forgets that there is ministry happening before we arrive.  And so this week I took what I learned at Wesley, I took the things I learned at Aldersgate, packed a few belongings and I headed for Trinity.

Trinity has a rich history.  It was founded in 1774.  You can read all about it on their website.  But I digress.  Trinity has a history for me too.  My first clergy learning partner grew up in this church.  There have been a few folks I have recognized because I used to fill their prescriptions.  But don't worry, I don't violate HIPAA and I will never tell who. :)  But even closer to "home", the former intern at my home church had this office.  Prior to arriving on Tuesday I had not seen what the office would look like.  I just knew a few folks that had it before me.  I was expecting a "hospital sterile" office.  But that is not what I got.  I got an office full of stuff.  There are old newsletters from the 70s.  There are cookbooks.  There are tshirts.  There are a lot of scissors.  There is glitter glue.  There are a lot of Bibles (probably a good thing).  There is an unopened Bobby McFerrin cd (which will be opened soon).  There is an Easter bunny costume for God knows what reason.  And there is a lot of dust.  

But I admit I am simultaneously disgusted and delighted by the dust and the random assortment of various things in here.  Including a dirty fork.  It is/ was a very tangible reminder that someone sat in here before me.  This job is not happening in a vacuum.  There is no clean slate.  And in time I will bring my own dirt and dust.  And a lot of coffee.  And an extremely large primate.  But for now I will savor these fleeting quiet moments in my office reflecting on those that have come before me and thanking God for their wisdom.  

But...

I have a mom.  But I am not sure for how much longer.
I have a mom.  But her memory is failing rapidly.
I have a mom.  But I wonder if her failing memory is her punishment.
I have a mom.  But my childhood was not great.
I have a mom.  But I still feel a sting when my friends go get pedicures with their moms.
I have a mom.  But that same sting happens when moms show up and cheer their kids on.
I have a mom.  But I still feel a sting when moms go dress shopping with their daughters.
I have a mom.  But she beat me and left me on my knees in the driveway begging her not to leave.
I have a mom.  But I attempted suicide after she left.
I have a mom.  But my brother took me prom dress shopping.
I have a mom.  But I can't pretend it has been easy.
I have a mom.  But therapy, writing, and moving has helped.
I have a mom.  But I can't help but think her ability to forget those memories is my punishment.
I have a mom.  But I can't forget the fear, the trauma, the bruises, the screaming, the anxiety, the uncertainty she inflicted.
But she can.  And she did. 

My Song of Lament

I have a urinary tract infection.  I get them every so often and haven't had one in a while.  I noticed I was peeing like every 5 minutes yesterday and I felt like crap.  Ugh.  But did it have to be *this* week?  I had a few unexpected bills crop up and I don't get paid until the 15th.  I asked my pharmacist and she told me to buy some AZO and some cranberry pills until I could get to a doctor.  I asked her if she knew of anyone who could write a prescription for antibiotics without actually seeing me.  I knew what I had and what I needed, I just needed someone to write it.  She referred me to a doctor who does walk-ins.  She asked if I wanted her to call and ask how much it would be.  I said yes.  He said $40.  Normally it would be $60 but he'd take off $20.  But $40 is still more than I have in my checking account.  And so I made the phone call I dreaded to make.  I explained the situation to my parents.

I lost my health insurance when I quit my last job.  The new job doesn't offer it and at the moment I can't afford to sign up for government health care.  My mom said she would put some money in my account Friday afternoon after my dad got paid.  My dad is 70 and still working 40 hours a week to keep my parents afloat and here I am living off of them when they are both on social security.  It stings.  This is not the life I imagined.  This is not what I signed up for.

And so I woke up early and made it to the doctor's office right at 9 when they opened.  When I stepped off the bus, I burst into tears.  I knew I was about to walk into a doctor's office and beg for mercy.  By the time I figured out where I was supposed to be, it was a full on ugly cry.  I have passed this office more times that I can count and never noticed it.  It's shoved in among a beer mart, mobile phone store, and a handful of takeout restaurants.  It's not at all marked.  I walk in the door to this multi level building that is not handicapped accessible.  I opened the door.  The first thing I notice is the smell.  It smells strongly of industrial strength cleaner/ deodorizer.  Like someone tried too hard to make it smell clean.  I finally find the right door, I compose myself and I walk in.  It's a dimly lit place with a woman sitting behind a plexiglass window.  The waiting room is full of mismatched furniture but it is neat and tidy. She finally looks up from her cell phone and asks what she can do for me.  I burst into tears again.  I tell her about the conversation yesterday and tell her "but I don't have any money.  Can I either write you a check to cash later on today, pay half now and half on my lunch break, or I can just fill out the paperwork now and come back later to see the doctor".  She tells me to wait while she asks the doctor.  She comes back and says I can pay half now and half later.  I fill out the paperwork and then wait my turn.  She instructs me to go into the bathroom and pee in a cup and leave it on the back of the toilet.  It was literally a clear solo cup and the bathroom was reminiscent of a gas station bathroom.  And not the Wawa ones or Sheetz ones.  I cry harder.  This is not the life I imagined.  This is not what I signed up for.

It doesn't take long for them to call me back.  The doctor, a very slight man, tells me I am "very sick".  Well at least I'm not wasting money here... He takes out a blank sheet of notebook paper and begins writing.  "Do you have any drug allergies?" "Codeine and prozac".  "Family history?" "Yes." "For what?" "Literally everything." "You need to lose weight" (there it is). "I know.  I'm down 45 lbs".  His desk was a pile of papers and various prescription paraphernalia and freebies given by drug reps in the era of time gone by.  No computers.  Just a small man hand writing notes on notebook paper.  He writes me a prescription for antibiotics and tells me that normally it would be a 3 day thing but he really thinks I need it for 7 days.

Sure, I felt sorry enough for myself but I also acknowledged my privilege.  A week from now I will be signing up for health insurance and have enough money to pay all my bills and pay my parents back.  But this particular doctor specializes in helping the unhoused and undocumented folks in the area.  I get to go there once.  But many people have to go there because they have no other choice.  I don't have to choose between paying the doctor and paying my rent.  I don't have to choose the doctor over food.  And I get to come home to my house that is heated and has running water.  I get to sit on my bed, pull out my computer and lament.

But it didn't make peeing into a solo cup any easier.