“I didn’t know that I needed you today,” she said to me as I was leaving the room where her father had just died. “But I did. Thank you for walking us through this.” The “this” was a planned, compassionate extubation and transition to comfort care that the family had scheduled for the Saturday that I happened to be on call at the hospital. Earlier that morning, I had heard from the nurse that she wasn’t sure if the family would want my support. Ironically, one of the biggest barriers to my work as a chaplain is the often misunderstood title of chaplain. For many people, “chaplain” can hold a lot of misconceptions. It can be a loaded word, packed with negative connotations because of past experiences with organized religion, or misunderstandings. I totally get it. As someone raised in a particular version of fundamental christianity, once upon a time, it would have felt dangerous to receive support from anyone outside of my own faith tradition. A woman in this role would have been an auto fail. Histories of religious trauma, colonization, and even healthcare organizations with a religious affiliation can be real reasons for a person to be cautious of someone with the title “chaplain” on their badge. Frequently I talk with my fellow chaplains about how hard it can be to just get in the door, and have the opportunity to make a meaningful introduction. Sometimes, I hope to make a connection first as a person on their care team, before I make the introduction to my role. This struggle to be seen, is exactly what many of my patients are feeling. They too, want to move beyond their labels, diagnosis, or treatments and be fully seen in their personhood. I will often hear from patients how much they appreciate getting to talk with another human being who has time to sit and listen to them. Stories about lives as authors, teachers, professionals, activists, children, parents, survivors, partners, rebels, and humanitarians are in each and every hospital bed. “After talking with you, I feel more like myself,” one patient told me as we closed our visit. This desire to be seen, to be beheld, is universal and necessary to our survival. Occasionally, I am eagerly welcomed, with an intense, immediate request for prayer. I hardly get past my introduction, and the distraught person is reaching for my hand, and tearfully asking for me to pray. While this is a completely different response from the initial skeptics, I wonder if it’s not coming from the same place? What else is prayer, other than a plea to be seen? To be seen by God. To be seen, heard and reminded of who we really are; deeply loved. I am forever enriched by the interactions, stories, and deep emotional experiences that I have with people who share their lives with me at the hospital. In truly seeing them, I get to see more of myself. They are my teachers of vulnerability, courage, grace and acceptance. As connections are made, biases fade away. “I didn’t know that I needed you today, but I did.” I will say this quietly to myself as I leave each room. ~ Rachelle Swanson, chaplain II