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KA Gardner

@k.a.gardner

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chaplain*essayist*screenwriter

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Oh hi there…

Been a minute 🤍

i should be writing a paper but here’s a reel update and a story instead

i get to go to school

i get to go to a school that challenges me-heart & soul,
for my master’s degree

while on campus this semester, i found the gym

cuz i guess i’m a “gym whore” or whatever

but weights have made me stronger than anyone’s opinion of me ever has or will.

i begged the front desk with tears in my eyes

“hey, i’m only here for a week, but if I don’t lift something heavy i might cry.”

hey it was a dramatic week alright. don’t judge.

she helped a sister out and i was able to lift everyday i was on campus.

one afternoon, a very sweet, very young, very-much trying-to-impress-that-cute-girl-in-the-purple-shorts neuro-science-major-student was trying to box jump 40” … in front of me… without warming up.

after a few failed attempts, i decided to help a kid out.

i went over to him and said “the strongest men & women in the world start with the empty barbell and so should you”

He was baffled, “I just wanted to challenge myself” he replied.

“Let me show you how,” the purple-shorts-girl was watching and he was good with math.

i adjusted the height of the boxes to 30” and told him to jump. he nailed it.

Then i added some more height … 32”, then 35”, then 39”, THEN 42”.

“See!! You had this. Never underestimate the power of baby steps my friend.”

I have been giving myself this EXACT pep talk everyday since.

You see, i’m not an academic writer. Like at all. But that’s what i am learning right now. and it hurts. it’s painful. IT MAKES ME CRY. 😭

But everyone starts with an empty barbell and a lower box. So i keep jumping.

Two things:
1. i am glad that kid could do math, because i can’t. He figured out the height lickedy split.
2. I told him to never wait to get the number of a girl who cheers for him - then shoved him her direction.

I hope they get married.
and i hope i survive this degree program.

sending love to you all.
You are seen. You are known. You are loved. 🤍 by @k.a.gardner

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a day ago

September is Suicide Awareness Month.

Dolly Parton opened up about a dark period in the early 1980s when she contemplated suicide due to severe health issues and heartbreak. She credited her dog, Popeye, was saving her life.

Rest in peace, Dolly. Your book “SongTeller” was what I listened to in the bathtub everyday during a season of intense, reckless, persistent ache. It taught me the power in being unapologetically true to my creative self.

I hope you’re buried in a cotton field somewhere- just like you wanted- so that you could be comfy (sans rhinestones) for once.

You are angel. But then, you always were.

Last slide is the chapel bells at Duke playing “9-5.”

@dollyparton @dukedivinity @duke
#suicidepreventionmonth #suicideawarness by @k.a.gardner

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a month ago

I have not been in a conga line for over 30 years

Which I think qualifies me to say:

Some hips lie.

Mine. My hips lie.

They don’t speak cursive.

In fact, when I try to move them in ways my knees don’t like, they laugh at me.

Something I’ve learned over the years is how important it is to be true to myself - I can’t dance, but I can write you a poem.

I guess I thought of this all today, because I had a patient who was on day five of an anxiety attack - clammy, cold sweats and all.

And she wanted watermelon. In a last-meal-sort-of-way.

But I have been trained that, as a chaplain, food was an inappropriate thing to give my patients.

It wasn’t advice that was given in a kind way either.

You know how you can learn just as much from a bad coach as you can from a good coach? It just hurts more?

He was a bad coach. But, damnit, I learned a lot.

Today, I listened to my patient.
I held her stories.
We communed.

Then I went to the damn store and bought her watermelon.

And you know what guys - I feel good about it.

I chopped up the watermelon in her 280- sq. ft. home prison. I watched her eat the first food that sounded good to her in months with the relish of a girl in a garden.

Did I break a rule? Can food be spiritual care?

Yes, friends. Today it absolutely-the-freak-was.

I’m weird. I get it.
I love Jesus and swear words.
I can’t dance or sing.
I carry a poetry book everywhere I go.
You get the picture - oddities abound.

It has taken me years to realize that my idiosyncrasies combined with my ability to commune with people are, in fact, a super power.

To “touch pain and not flinch” as my friend put it.

And my CEO loves me for it.

So to my coach, despite his best efforts to train the me out of me, I’ve found when I show up as my authentic self in my work, miracles happen.

Sometimes they involve fruit.

And no, I won’t be joining a conga line anytime soon. by @k.a.gardner

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2 months ago

Rest in Peace, Carol Lynn Pearson (1939-2026) - an unmatched poet, advocate and lover of humanity, in all our messiness. She left her fans a poem when she died:

“Let me lie in state

in your heart

for a day or two

or more.

Then plant me

deep in the soil

of your best work

And let me help

toward harvest.”

You will forever be in the soil of what I write.

All my love, my friend. by @k.a.gardner

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2 months ago

Recently, I found myself in Florence, Italy eating Chinese hotpot sitting between two women: a software engineer and a prostitute.

We were there for our 25th anniversary, but my husband was sleeping and I was hangry at 20:00.

I couldn’t figure out how to eat the damn stuff. That’s how the conversation started. They were my mentors.

One spoke of growing up in a small village in China - how AI is making her job almost obsolete.

The other wasn’t paid for a job. Her ache & offense matched the spice level of her hotpot - fire.

They were curious about me too. I tried explaining chaplaincy to them. And writing. And being married for 25 years. And having 4 kids.

But have you ever tried explaining the moon to someone unfamiliar with tides and moonlight? Not easy.

Maybe it was the spice, but we each teared up at the other’s story. They were shocked i met a good man i could love for 25 years and counting.

“That happens?” one asked skeptically.

“Apparently.” i showed them my beat up wedding ring that i adore- more scars than sparkle these days.

They both spoke pretty good English. My Chinese is non-existent. Google Translate helped with words like self-employed, colon cancer, and lotus root.

Universal Sisterhood was a guest at our table- the reality of carving a place for ourselves in a world hell-bent on telling us we’re too much of something and not enough of everything else.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get married” said the computer genius next to me. I don’t speak ‘stock market’, but she does trading too. Which she says is more reliable than a man.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get married” said the other woman, scorned too many times by too many people. She said it with an exhale of relief.

When we finished slurping our hotpot, i thanked them for telling me about their worlds - that mine was made richer having met theirs.

One of my friends at school calls people Beloved. Doesn’t matter if she knows you or not. She says it in a way that makes me believe her.

That was the word i left them with. i hope they looked it up.

Also, that i hope they get all they desire - if that includes a man- may he be good as gold & hot as hell. 🫶🏼 taken in Italy by @k.a.gardner

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4 months ago

I know I’m late to the Dante fan club, but come on- the guy was way ahead of his time. Love him for that. ❤️❤️❤️. #quotes #dante #graduation #path #writer #grateful taken in Italy by @k.a.gardner

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4 months ago

Oftentimes when i leave a patient’s house, i make it to the stop sign before crying like a baby in a thunderstorm.

It can be any stop sign. i am no respecter of stop signs.

The tears are usually accompanied by the same thought.

If people only knew what heartache was in that house…
They might turn left with more dignity.
They might save the hand gestures and opt for a peace sign.
They might slow down a tad.
They might buy some produce from the lad on the side of the road.

It always astonishes me that traffic lights keep turning green, trees keep sprouting leaves, and really good and bad ideas take root in the rockiest ground- even amongst grief like i just witnessed.

There are some griefs that should stop the world, and yet…

If people only knew, that someone on their street just took their last breath with no one by their side.

That their neighbor would be a single dad now and need to learn how to tie hair bows so his kid could do her state report that took up the floor space next to the deathbed.

That the addiction they judged their neighbor for having did in fact cost them everything they take for granted on a random Wednesday.

I’m convinced, if people knew any of the battlefields people go through daily, they’d be more gentle, they’d open doors, and say prayers even if they don’t believe in God.

Chaplains do special training called Clinical Pastiral Education units or CPE. My first preceptor told me that chaplaincy would “fillet my soul.”

i thought she was exaggerating, but no, she turned out to be exactly right. In CPE, i’ve learned (among other things) to touch pain and not flinch. In my most recent CPE, my Mentor told me to stop apologizing for my “big feelings.”

“They are your gift to the world.”

So here i am after another visit, at another stop sign, with different tears and my unapologetic big feelings, watching cars pass by.

Just be kind out there y’all. To yourselves & each other.

Photo: This is our 4th pledge- who has big feelings too. Obv. 🫶🏼❤️🙏🏼

#chaplain #love #bekind #writer #grief by @k.a.gardner

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5 months ago

The gift, lesson and challenge of my 40s ❤️❤️‍🩹

🙏🏼😭🫶🏼

@sarahbessey
@everythinghappens

#love #kindness #showup #writer #poet #chaplain by @k.a.gardner

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6 months ago

Welp, i found a new favorite Holy Week day.

Not in the same way that i have four equally favorite kids (all mine, all favorites)

Nope, Maundy Thursday and the Washing of Feet takes the cake, wins the prize,and wrote home to mama tonight.

In the Washing of the Feet, people as untidy as i am wash each others feet, dry them with a towel to reenact Jesus washing the disciples’ feet as a sign of humility and service.

It was a job reserved for the lowest of the low in Jesus’ day. And yet…and yet…Jesus knelt and washed the feet of the people who would soon abandon or betray Him.

St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in Provo was the scene of my adoration. And yes, stained glass windows speak my language - colorful and closeted whimsy - but that’s not the point.

Tonight, Rev. Dani asked us to be brave and participate in the Washing of the Feet.

Lack of pedicures be damned.

Someone i’ve never met washed my feet with more tenderness than i’ve felt since my doctor said “this won’t hurt” and for once it didn’t.

Then i washed the feet of an older man i’ve never met. i was crying like a toddler.

i tried to mirror the tenderness that i received.

i said a prayer for people who haven’t known tenderness at all.

It felt like a gentle undoing to me.

It was a reminder to me of how the Divine bends close enough to touch our dirt and name our scars.

The basin of warm water held no hierarchy whatsoever. It washed what the world tells us to be ashamed of - our mess.

And you guys, to me this is the shape of God’s people- when Love stoops low enough to touch the dirtiest parts of us and Grace shows up in our desperate unknowing ready to serve.

i could be wrong - maybe i am. But tonight, i’m looking at my feet, washed by a stranger, in an old church of prayer and i’m convinced that love starts at ground level.

Mostly because Jesus said so.

“Love one another, as I have loved you.”
Full stop. End of story.

i think I’ll go every year.
#maundythursday #holyweek #grateful #washing #christian #easter @thatschurchpodcast taken in Provo, Utah by @k.a.gardner

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6 months ago

@ocean_vuong 🤍🫶🏼🙏🏼 by @k.a.gardner

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6 months ago

Last Summer, as we were getting hamburgers in a drivethrough somewhere in Montana, I saw a lovely young guy manning the deep fryer inside wearing a turban.

Call it intuition, but I knew instantly that he was Sikh.

My hand was on the door handle faster than you could say “Jimmy Cricket.”

“Where are you going?” my kids asked.

“To make that boy my new best friend,” I replied. Duh.

“Honey, you do not pull a man away from a deep fryer to introduce yourself as his new bestie” my deeply logical husband offered.

“I don’t follow.” Telling that kid that I think he’s the bee-knees seemed like the only course of action at the moment. Hamburgers be damned.

“He’s Sikh. I have always wanted to meet a Sikh person and tell them I love them.”

Yes, I had just finished reading “See No Stranger” by Valarie Kaur (which took my breath away) but that’s not the point.
Stay with me.

In the Sikh tradition, the turban (dastar) is a beacon. Sikh men wrap their long hair and used to wear visible blades (Kirpans) so that anyone in need - of safety, food, or simple human dignity - could spot a protector instantly. A warrior-saint. A refuge in plain sight, no matter the seeker’s faith or status.

The Sikh people also deeply honor their scripture, the Guru Granth Sahib, like a living teacher. Words and warriors - say less, I’m in. They carry the scripture through the streets with reverence at dawn, and return them to its resting place each night with the tenderness of putting wisdom to bed.

And they feed people. Always. In every gurdwara, they offer a hot meal to anyone who walks through the door - rich or poor, believer or not - because hunger has no hierarchy.

One of the most beloved Sikh prayers, the Japji Sahib, rises daily from countless voices - a hymn to oneness, courage, and the truth that the Divine is spacious enough for us all.

I often wish I wore a turban, or a cross, or something that would indicate to people “Hey y’all, I gotchoo. You’re safe with me.”

So I try (& often fail) to live a life that echoes those words instead.

I waved enthusiastically at the guy from inside the car. Slightly confused, he waved back, and gave us extra fries. #share by @k.a.gardner

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8 months ago

some notes from my morning pages.

love you guys.

Go find a small way to love someone else. Then tell us how it went 🫶🏼

#writer #grief #poetry #truth #share #love #grateful #joy by @k.a.gardner

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9 months ago