In Front of Me: A Chaplain's Poem

A Day in the Life

The following poem was written by a fellow chaplain who graduated CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) with me this year. He is an outstanding chaplain, human, and bard. Enjoy.

In Front of Me

A Poem by Ryan Logan

In front of me on the desk,
a coffee cup, a printed list.
In front of me, people to visit,
patients and families to whom I want to listen
and be present.
In front of me,
a patient’s room.
I knock, introduce myself as the chaplain,
enter, and sense a heavy gloom.
In front of me,
a stranger sits.
“How are you doing today?” I ask.
“Not good,” he admits.
In front of me,
I listen to a story unfold —
a fall, crowded ED, brain scans, IV pain meds.
He laments,
“I just hate getting old.”
In front of me,
his voice hoarse, breaking between frustration and despair:
“My doctors say I may die
and you talk about spiritual care.
I’m a good man,” he says,
“this just isn’t fair.
Is God punishing me?”
he wonders.
It doesn’t feel like
He is there.”

In front of me,
spiritual distress —
fear, grief, anger,
and maybe some guilt, I assess.
How do I go deeper, not wanting to press?
I’ll slow down, build trust —
perhaps in time he’ll feel safe enough
to unburden himself
and confess.
In front of me,
the patient wrestles
with so much unknown.
“Surgery or hospice?
What do I tell my family?
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
I’m not ready to go.”
A future suddenly postponed.
“It sounds like these results
hit you
like a cyclone.”
In front of me,
his concerned wife,
hoping the doctors
can save the love of her life.
“What’s it been like
watching your husband
go through this?”
“We’re taking it
one day at a time,” she sighs deeply.
“Whatever happens,
we’re trusting God will renew us.”

In front of me,
a frightened man
facing a crisis
no one foresaw.
In front of him,
a chaplain
with no easy answers at all.

In front of me,
a problem I can’t fix —
compounding losses,
anticipatory grief, and self-doubt,
a scary mix.
In front of me,
long stretches of silence.
I let the moment breathe,
depending on Divine guidance.
“What do you need today?”
I gently entone.
“Please pray for me,” he requests.
“Lord, help him know he’s not suffering alone.”
In front of us,
a thin place opens
where God seems present
after sharing honest thoughts and emotions.
“Thank you, Chaplain.”
He exhales, shoulders dropping.
“You’re welcome.
Is there anything you need before I go?”
He replies,
“Any chance you can come back tomorrow?”