Djembefola

For me, this summer has been about hands. When I entered my chaplaincy internship, I thought it would be about spiritual connections and serving people and gaining more self-understanding, and it has been, but it has mostly been about hands.

First of all, I fidget. I am constantly moving my hands, doing things with them. I have great difficulty holding them still. That was what first drew my attention to them this summer. In our first few days at the hospital, I discovered that I was fidgeting more than usual. My hands were the outlet through which I was expressing all the anxiety I was feeling about being in a new environment and taking on a new role.

Out of that, I began to think about what I’m holding, both in my hands and in my heart. I began working on a pastoral theology of holding things with open hands. I concentrated on holding and letting go, clinging to things and lifting them up.

This increased consciousness of my hands made me think more about how I use them in ways I hadn’t noticed. I found that, when I don’t have words, a gentle hand on someone’s shoulder can tell them that I’m present with them with compassion and comfort. Holding someone’s hand can say, “We’re in this together. You’re not alone.” I learned to listen with my hands. I discovered that I had an urge to fidget when my anxiety was high, and my hands became very still when I was comforting someone else’s worry or sorrow.

The greatest joy, however, came toward the end of the summer when I began to reclaim ways of expressing myself through my hands. When I was a kid, playing piano was a form of expression for me. Through years of piano lessons and competitions, though, piano became a stressful task rather than a joyful self-expression. My music became too constricted to hold my emotions, so it was no longer an outlet for me. I gave up playing and, for many years, did not try to express myself through my hands. In the last few weeks of my internship, though, my supervisor brought in drums for our group. At first I was a bit skeptical of the activity. It seemed too bohemian and strange to be a tool of spirituality. And yet, once we began to play, I found my feelings coming out in the rhythms. My hands, which had been so busy holding and working, could play and release the emotion and tension.

So I bought a drum. It’s a small djembe, not fancy or stylish, but perfect for me. It is an African instrument, a style played for centuries by people in West Africa. Now I can pick up my drum and play the rhythm of my mood, my day, myself as I am in this moment. I can play a prayer or meditation, I can drum out the things I can no longer hold in my hands. I know it sounds cheesy, but it works for me.