When Way Opens
"In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common — this is my symphony." William Ellery Channing
I had only been back in Burlington for a couple of weeks when I got word that one of the six candidates for the extended chaplaincy unit had withdrawn due to personal reasons. I agreed to return to New Hampshire to meet with the chaplaincy supervisor about the possibility of joining the program.
The meeting went well. The supervisor’s warmth and openness put me at ease, and as we talked, I felt a growing conviction that this could be the right next step for me. By the end of our conversation, she encouraged me to formally apply for the internship. Her confidence in me was deeply affirming and gave me the motivation to dive into the application process. Could it be, as the Quakers say, that “way was opening”—circumstances naturally aligning to reveal my next steps?
I stayed with friends of my friend in the area while I worked on my application. I found myself drawn to Dartmouth College’s main library, where I settled in to write and revise on their bank of computers. As I worked, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. Could I really see myself returning to the world of chaplaincy? It was a path I had set aside after completing an internship at Duke Medical Center the summer after divinity school. Back then, I’d decided that working with critically ill patients in a hospital was too emotionally intense for me.
But perhaps now things were different. I’d been through my own health crisis and was living successfully with a chronic health condition. Maybe I had gained wisdom I could draw from, both for myself and for others—a kind of “wounded healer,” as renowned professor, writer, and theologian Henri Nouwen described.
A couple of days after I began, I finally hit “submit.” Relief and satisfaction washed over me. To savor the moment, I stepped outside and walked to the Green, the open expanse at the heart of Dartmouth’s campus. Sitting on the grass, I let the late afternoon sun warm my face and reflected on the journey that had brought me here. It wasn’t just about the application—it was about the subtle way life had guided me, opening doors I hadn’t expected.
As I sat there, almost in disbelief, I heard the strains of a bagpipe playing Amazing Grace. Literally. Not just in my head but somewhere out of sight, a bagpiper was performing the venerated tune. The melody drifted through the air with an almost uncanny sense of timing. I didn’t take it as a divine sign—my relationship with religion had shifted too much for that—but I couldn’t deny the serendipity. It felt as though life itself was saying, “Pause. Notice this. Be grateful for how far you’ve come.”
And I did. And I was. The setting, the unbidden music, the feeling of accomplishment—it all came together to create a rare sense of harmony. In that moment, everything felt right with the world. And, everything felt right with me.
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