You Sit on My Heart (Andrew Taylor-Troutman)

Last updated on: January 28, 2020 at 11:59 am by Cara Meredith

You Sit on My Heart (Andrew Taylor-Troutman) 2020-01-28T11:59:41-07:00 Cara Meredith

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

As promised, this week starts a new guest post series under the theme of “Listen, Learn and Listen Some More.” You’ll still hear from me, of course, but every Tuesday you’ll be invited into story from some writers who have something to teach the rest of us. As such, I’m so excited for you to get to know Andrew Taylor-Troutman today; his short story, “You Sit on My Heart” is sure to make you take pause about the things that really matter. Proceeds from today’s article will go toward RAICES.

—

Photo cred: Andrew Taylor-Troutman

This Christmas Eve several minivans were parked in the drop-off zone by the UNC hospital’s main entrance, their hazard lights blinking. Walking closer, I discovered that hundreds of gift bags were being unloaded onto carts. Each volunteer wore a red Santa hat with a bell attached to the end. One caught my eye, gave me a ringing smile.

I, too, was there to deliver a gift.

A friend always ends her e-mails, “Hugs.” When she’s asked about her belief in God, she says she’s “waiting to be convinced.” When I found out she was going to undergo chemotherapy treatments in January, I told her I’d be sending her “monster hugs.” That was my way of saying I’d pray for her. My four-year-old son happened to overhear me. He drew an orange monster with a toothy smile and beastly arms spread wide. My friend gave me permission to make photocopies to share with others.

On Christmas Eve, one of my son’s beloved preschool teachers was in the ICU. She was unable to talk due to the tubes down her throat. But when I delivered a Monster Hug picture, I could read her lips: Thank you. Tell him I love him.

On my way out of the hospital, I stopped at the chapel. It is a simple, circular room with wooden chairs and meditation pillows. Pamphlets on grief are neatly stacked in a bookshelf by the door. There is a three-ringed binder with blank pages to write prayer requests. On this particular Christmas Eve visit, there was a collection of the gift bags I’d seen upon entering the hospital stacked in a corner. And there in the middle of the carpet was a dead cockroach, flipped on its back.

There are cockroaches everywhere, including chapels. There is sickness and worry all the time, including Christmas. Over the years I’ve known many people who have died during the holidays. A friend recently shared a song by the country music artist, Kacey Musgraves: And they always say, have a happy holiday / and every year, I sincerely try / oh, but Christmas always makes me cry.

There was a tissue box next to the pamphlets. After wrapping the cockroach’s remains in a paper shroud, I sat down on a meditation pillow. I cheated at the Lotus position, tucking my feet under my knees instead of over them. I closed my eyes, briefly, to center myself. Then I looked across the room at the tree that had been painted on the wall. I told myself to concentrate on the roots. I felt my weight pushing into the floor and became as still as a tree. I counted my breaths.

But I only counted to seven before my monkey mind began swinging wildly from thought to thought.

Scotch-taped to the tree’s brown branches were colorful leaves bearing the names of patients. From the look of the handwriting, some were written by children. I began to wonder if those kids were excited for Christmas morning like my children? And did some of them draw pictures that their proud fathers could share with others? How many of them were undergoing treatment for cancer or in the ICU?

How many of those children were now dead?

I looked down beside me at the dead cockroach wrapped in tissue. Oh, but Christmas always makes me cry.

At the first church I served, there was a widow who cried silently throughout the Christmas Eve service. I approached her afterwards and apologized for whatever I’d done or said that upset her. “It had nothin’ to do with you,” she reassured me, “but I appreciate you for noticing.” Maybe that is a prayer.

I prayed for my son’s preschool teacher and for others on my mind—for a premature baby in the NICU, for a toddler with a tumor, and for my friends and family. I am in the habit of signing my e-mails, “In hope.” I prayed and hoped for that Kacy Masgraves friend. Her mother also has cancer. Earlier in the week I’d mailed her a copy of my son’s Monster Hug and her mom had taped it to her wall among the pictures her young grandchildren had drawn. That seemed like a prayer. Also, another friend had taught me an expression of care and support in Farsi that friends say to one another in Iran: Shoma bedelam misheeneed. Literally, “you sit on my heart.” He explained that the heart is thought to be the seat of reason in Middle Eastern culture, so the meaning of the phrase is similar to the English expression “you are on my mind.” I do believe that much of prayer involves calling people to mind, but the expression in Farsi brings tears to my eyes.

Eventually I rose from my seat on the meditation pillow and deposited that dead cockroach in a trashcan. On my way to the main exit, I noticed that the minivans had already left, their gifts having been delivered.

—

Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church in Chapel Hill, North Carolina and the author of Gently Between the Words, a collection of essays and poems.

Uncategorized

Andrew Taylor-Troutman

guest post

Kacey Musgraves

you sit on my heart

Previous Post

January 6, 2020

An Invitation to Listen, Learn & Listen Some More

Next Post

January 21, 2020 Listening Without an End in Mind (Nicole T. Walters)

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Book reviews Uncategorized

Select a Month July 2026 June 2026 December 2025 August 2025 July 2025 June 2025 May 2025 April 2025 March 2025 February 2025 January 2025 December 2024 November 2024 October 2024 September 2024 August 2024 July 2024 June 2024 March 2024 February 2024 January 2024 December 2023 September 2023 June 2023 November 2022 October 2022 September 2022 August 2022 July 2022 June 2022 May 2022 April 2022 November 2021 May 2021 April 2021 March 2021 January 2021 December 2020 November 2020 October 2020 July 2020 June 2020 May 2020 April 2020 March 2020 February 2020 January 2020 December 2019 October 2019 September 2019 August 2019 July 2019 June 2019 May 2019 April 2019 March 2019 February 2019 January 2019 December 2018 November 2018 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 July 2018

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz