I used to have the type of migraines that felt like imaginary jackhammers pulverizing my brain into tiny pieces. The accompanying nausea meant I could sometimes take in food without returning it, and sometimes not. During those episodes, I would sleep on my couch for the better part of three days, not venturing any farther than the bathroom down the hall.
This is why I considered it vastly unfortunate on those occasions when a migraine collided with a planned ministerial engagement.
Only once did I let the migraine stop me from keeping a ministerial commitment. I had arranged to meet a potential new wedding client about 90 minutes from my home. The previous day when my migraine was the strongest, I had two weddings to officiate that were over an hour from home, and it took an immense amount of prayer, an iron-clad will, and the intervention of a friend doing long-distance Reiki on me to get me through the day.
I managed to make it through both weddings with nary an indication of how sick I truly was, but I aged 10 years that day as I battled my body to stay upright and (mostly) intact.
When faced with another long-distance drive with a nauseous migraine the following day, I canceled my meeting with the potential wedding clients. I lost their business, but I just could not put myself through that again.
Then came the migraine that served a higher purpose.
I was officiating a funeral one day. I don’t remember anything about it except that I was being very careful. Standing at the podium feeling nauseous, I had to (again) use every bit of will power to keep the contents of my stomach where they should be. I spoke slowly, quietly and deliberately. I made no sudden moves, like looking behind me at the deceased and turning to the front of the room to address the audience (which I do sometimes). I got through the service without incident, and only the funeral directors recognized that I was not my normal, animated self.
Normally after each the service, I made a point to stand outside the room a short distance so that if anyone wanted to say anything to me on their way out, they could.
During this time, I would also be chit chatting to the funeral directors who were in the vicinity for the same reason. But THIS day, I needed to be very quiet and controlled. So I stood still, only looking in the direction of the mourners as they filed out.
My mind was – for once – completely quiet. I followed my breathing. I opened my heart and just radiated the energy of love and comfort.
And in that semi-meditative state, I had an epiphany: My job is to be loving, kind and compassionate. And I get paid for it!
This was the day I stopped fighting – and finally accepted – my funeral ministry.
It was natural for me to fight a funeral ministry because, frankly, I never wanted to officiate funerals. As a minister, I found pulpit speaking, singing devotional music and officiating weddings to be much more fun. I didn’t even consider funerals because I could not imagine how I could comfort people in deep grief. That was, at least, a practical reason, but there was also an intense emotional reason that I could not officiate funerals – I was necrophobic! I always said that if you wanted to kill me, just lock me up in a funeral home overnight with dead bodies. I would die of fright. I’m not kidding.
I accepted my first funeral out of love for a good friend whose sister-in-law died suddenly. When he asked me to do the service, I could not refuse. But I was terrified as I entered the room. The body was against the wall of one side of a large room, and the family sat close to the body. Not being able to come anywhere NEAR the deceased, I positioned myself on the opposite side of the room. I could see the deceased and the family from a distance, but I could not come closer. In later years I would be able to stand near the body and be close to comfort the family, but not this time. This time, I had to comfort ME and my rising anxiety. The deceased did not complain, but I knew that I had done a disservice to the family, and I always regretted that.
Admittedly, that was a rough start. But once I found I could be of service in this way, I worked hard to overcome my fears. Like any phobia, constant exposure will wear away the fear. Over time I started doing funerals on a sporadic basis and each time, I inched closer to the body of the deceased.
My interfaith training served me well, especially with families whose loved one did not have a religious affiliation, or for more “difficult” situations such as a drug-addicted person or someone who died by suicide.
When I concentrated on celebrating the life of the deceased and took my focus off of me, I found the words needed to comfort the family.
I made it a point to be non-judgmental in speaking about the deceased, and I truly cared about each person and each family who came before me. This apparently did not go unnoticed, as the mourners often expressed relief and gratitude at the end of the funeral.
They were hurting so badly, and my caring, compassionate, non-judgmental treatment of their loved one was the balm they needed. I would leave a funeral feeling complete – like I had created something solemn and sacred, something that was healing to the world.
Even so, I still fought my funeral ministry. I told myself I would look for wedding work instead and stop doing funerals entirely, but for some reason, I didn’t. I eventually aligned myself with a funeral home, and although I said I didn’t want to do funerals, I continued to do them.
This conundrum of not wanting to officiate funerals vs. actively seeking out funeral work was made clear the day of the “migraine epiphany,” and that clarity was such a relief to me. No longer did I have to fight myself every time I accepted a funeral. NOW I knew it was my calling to be loving, kind and compassionate to every funeral client who came before me, to celebrate someone’s life because everyone deserves to be celebrated, no matter how difficult a life they may have led. I comforted people who were hurting so terribly. I gave them hope and inspiration. I calmed fears and validated people’s grief. And yes, I got paid for it. Ministry is a noble profession; a funeral ministry even more so (PROVIDED the minister remains non-judgmental and compassionate. There are ministers who act bored, judgmental and condemning of the deceased during a funeral. This is a soapbox I will avoid – for now.)
It was shortly after I accepted my funeral ministry that Leaving Lightly was born. I awoke one morning with Leaving Lightly “fully cooked” in my head. I spent the next year researching and writing the material, but I know that if I had not accepted my “calling,” the program would not have been given to me.
I was resisting the divine gift that was there for me, and once I stopped resisting and accepted this form of ministry, the gift that was divinely designed for me could come through.
Had I not had the migraine that day, it would have been just another funeral. But in this instance, the migraine served a higher purpose. The only migraine I’ve ever been thankful for is this one. It really did change my destiny.
Comments