Love and Pain

 

I know not everyone desires to be nor is cut out to be a parent.  But being a parent gives you this whole new view of life that's almost impossible otherwise and I can't help but mourn the loss of that incredible perspective for those who choose otherwise.

As the old cliche goes, after the birth of your first child you realize you never before understood love.  With that tiny little life that has overnight made your life more complicated and difficult and restricted you find love bursting in - protective and doting and hopeful. It changes you slowly and immediately, and you never again view the world the same.

As my children have gotten older I can suddenly start to empathize with my own parents, and to an extent I think I can better understand God.  Parenthood, I've come to believe, is an amazing object lesson.  In loving my own kids (imperfectly) I find myself hoping for them.  I hope for them to be healthy and strong and balanced and happy - and most of all I hope for them to be good. To be kind and compassionate and to use their lives to make a difference. I want the world to be better because my kids existed.  As I picture them growing up I can imagine no greater joy than to see my kids become these kinds of adults.

But what if they don't?  What if as they grow up my children act selfishly and unkindly, what if they make foolish choices and do things that will hurt them and people around them?  Would I stop loving them?  Not in the least.  I can't imagine anything that could make me not love my children.  But the difference is between a love that's full of joy and freedom and a love that's full of sorrow and pain.  I see parents whose children have grown up to do well light up with joy and pride as they talk about their kids.  And I've seen parents whose children are struggling - sometimes in an ER room as they question mental illness and behavioral problems or substance abuse - and you can feel the weight of their sorrow.  Do these parents love their children less?  I don't think so.  But theirs is a love that never stops hurting.

As always this makes me think about God and us.  No one loves like God loves.  My love for my kids is often filled with my own brokenness and confusion, but God's is pure and sees clearly.  I can understand from a parent's perspective God's fierce desire for us to listen to Him.  If my love for my kids desires the best for them, God's love can only desire that more - and He actually understands what's best.  I don't believe that our sin and brokenness ever lessens God's love for us, but the difference is between a love full of joy and a love full of sorrow.  Thinking about how deeply blessed I would be to see my kids become those loving, compassionate, creative and strong adults makes me want to likewise bless God with my life.  He who has loved me more than words can capture - how I hope my life fills his love for me with joy and not sorrow.

What Everyone Knows But You

It seems we humans have a limited amount of self awareness.  I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that unless we become reality tv stars, we never have the opportunity to see ourselves in action from the outside. It would probably do us some good.

It's an interesting dynamic when someone with a certain character flaw or a particular behavior that grates on everyone's nerves comes to you in shock and unbelief because from somewhere or another they caught wind of someone's opinion on it. And you realize the crazy truth. Everyone knows this thing about this person. Everyone.  It's common knowledge. Everyone knows they are lazy, or bossy, or they exaggerate, or are blunt or whatever, but they don't know it. Don't have a clue.  We are all aware of many of our flaws, but sometimes there are certain things that just fly right under our radar.  Probably because whatever it is it's something that we would find very uncomfortable to believe about ourselves.

I wonder sometimes what that thing is that most people could point out about me that I'm oblivious to.  Every now and then someone says something that surprises me and makes me ponder this question.  A long time ago one of my friend's older sisters told me that until she knew I loved her she didn't think I liked her.  She was the cool big sister so I couldn't imagine what made her think that.  I've also had people tell me that until they knew me better they found me intimidating. So maybe I can be unapproachable.  I'm very comfortable in my own head, and like I've said, I'll always be an awkward child at heart, so it's possible that my attempts at avoiding interactions I don't know how to navigate could make me seem distant. Sometimes I've noticed that subliminal assumption that people couldn't be that interested in knowing me, and so I don't push it.  And I'm lazy. Let's not make this all poor poor me.  Sometimes the amount of energy it takes to exit my head and engage people is just too much.

But that's something I've been working on, if that indeed be that thing everyone knows. But maybe it's something totally different. I'm sure if I put my parents, my husband, and a couple best friends from the earliest days all in a room they could tell me.  But who knows if I could take it. Or maybe they'd tell me that thing everyone knows but me is that I'm brilliant and interesting.  Yeah, maybe that's it.

God's Echoes

 

Sometimes teaching my small children things feels like learning them for myself.  It's like I can see a truth to teach them, and as I'm saying it realize it's something I've needed to learn or relearn. Sometimes I convict myself of my own issues when I'm instructing them about theirs.  Like when I tell them that if they don't know how to enjoy the things they have, they won't enjoy the new thing either.  And when I tell to them to remember that their relationship with their brother or sister is far more valuable than the toy they want to snatch or the turn they want to take.

The other day I strapped both of my kids in their car seats and then ran into the house to grab my purse and lock the door.  During the brief minutes I was gone Jackson was chanting "mommy at work" (which is what he always says when I go out of sight), and apparently Kinsey believed him and got it into her head that I had left them in the car and gone to work.  So I return to the car and find Kinsey in hysterical tears.  I ask her why she's crying (I was gone a minute!) and when she finally settles down enough she says through broken tears, "Jackson said you were at work."

I remembered that when I was little I had an irrational fear of my parents leaving me.  If they were out of sight for a couple of minutes, in my little preschool concept of time it was an eternity and surely I had been abandoned.  So I looked into my daughter's tear filled eyes and told her, "Kinsey, I love you. I will never leave you by yourself.  You can trust me.  It might seem like it for a minute sometimes, but I promise I will never leave you alone. Do you believe me?" Kinsey sniffed and nodded yes. In that moment, looking into my daughter's bright blue eyes, I could hear echoes of God's own words to an anxious humanity, resonating with my own anxious heart: "Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5)

I love you. I will never leave you all by yourselves.  You can trust Me. Though it might seem like it sometimes from your limited vantage point, I have promised that I will never abandon you. Do you believe Me?

Life in a Vacuum

I think sometimes we wish our lives took place in a vacuum.  Where our decisions and desires affected only ourselves and didn't have any impact on anyone else.  Sometimes that wish turns into a delusion, and we let ourselves think  that this could actually be the case.  Well maybe if you are a hermit, tucked away in a mountain somewhere.  But even the hermit might have a lonely mother, wishing her son would come home.

I don't think we really understand the ripple effects of our actions. We like to talk about the ripple effects of the good things we do ('5 people you meet in heaven' style), while carefully ignoring the ripple effects of the bad ('5 people who won't be in heaven because of you'?). But every choice we make, even about our own bodies, impacts so much more than just ourselves.

Take something basic like your health.  On the surface of things how you eat, if you exercise, if you smoke or drink, impact you in the first person.  It could be argued that it's your body and if you don't take care of it, that's on you alone.  But the impact that one thing makes on the people around you and even society at large is actually quite stunning.  The impact on a spouse that suddenly becomes a caregiver, the financial and emotional stress on family members is very real.  Healthcare workers injure themselves more often because they are working with progressively overweight patient populations.  The medical expenses incured on a national level are depleting the resources of medicare and medicaid largely due to modifiable risk factors that are never modified. I.E. diseases you would not get if you took care of yourself!

Health is just an example. The same can be said of just about every choice we make.  How we treat our spouse, how we spend our money, how we treat the earth, our general morality.

We are too individualistic.  Everything is about us. It's our life, our body, our time, our choices.  But we are not alone and what we do or don't do doesn't just effect us, no matter how personal it is. We are little cells in a great big body.  If the hand has an infection that goes unchecked, the whole body can get toxic.  We can't keep making decisions as though we live in a vacuum.  If only we could sit and think and seriously consider how what we do will impact the people around us.  I think we'd be at least somewhat empowered to make better choices.

Love That Lasts

Inspiring stories seem few and far between sometimes.  Especially in the dark landscape of the ER.   The other day, however, I encountered two couples on the same day that seriously amazed me.

I was sitting at the front desk on one of my days doing 'triage' when we saw an old man trying to help his wife out of the car into a wheelchair. We went out to assist him, but he insisted that he did this all the time. This time however, the poor man almost fell and almost dropped his wife, who was bigger than him.  We helped them, but I could tell he was embarrassed.  Despite being in his 80s, he was a well built older gentleman, and nothing in his stature bespoke frailty.  As I checked them into a room, I learned that they had been married for 50 years, and for 10 of the last 50 his wife had been afflicted with Alzheimer's so severe that she could not walk or speak. And he had been her sole caregiver this entire time.  He was incredibly tender with her and wanted to help us any time we moved her or assisted her.

Later on I encountered an extremely unpleasant alcoholic.  Per his wife he would go on drinking binges that would last days and never eat a bite of food. When he was finally too sick to carry on this way, she would coax him to the hospital.  His wife talked and had a demeanor that implied this had been their ritual for a very long time now.  After a couple of frustrating interactions with this man, who as I said, was quite unpleasant, I remarked to his wife that she had the patience of a saint to put up with him for so long.  She looked at her husband and her demeanor softened. She told me that he was the nicest man in the world when he wasn't drinking, and in a tone that spoke only of true compassion told me that he suffered a lot from PTSD from his days in war.

I've heard it said that when someone loves another so unyieldingly it says much more about the person who loves than it does about the person loved.  These people weren't just overcome with a powerful force of love that happened to stay with them through the decades.  Their loved one wasn't daily inspiring this love by their own virtue.  These spouses developed patience.  They worked to see good through the bad.  They were faithful and steadfast when many would have run.  We all want the kind of love that stands the test of time and doesn't yield to life's storms.  But love like that is built on the foundation of character, not emotion alone. And so few of us have the patience to build that kind of character, and so never experience that kind of love. The kind of love that will tenderly care for someone you've committed to - even when they can barely give it back.

Lies We Tell Ourselves

 

I've come to the opinion that us humans are marvelously adept at telling ourselves lies.  Maybe not always complete falsities, but certainly an astounding amount of half truths.  I think this is because we desire to be and to appear much more virtuous (or important) than we actually are.  So we ascribe to ourselves lofty motives when really baser ones are in play.  We justify ourselves with empathizable internal stories for actions we know are wrong - or questionable at best . And no, I'm not sure if empathizable is a word.

Sometimes I notice this on reality tv shows.  How is it that no one in singing competitions ever says they want to be the next big thing because they love the way being center stage in front of a throng of adoring fans makes them feel?  Almost everyone seems to have a humble, selfless motive. "I'm doing this for my kids - to teach them to follow their dreams." "I'm doing this for my sick sister in law." "I'm doing this for my family, so we don't have to struggle anymore." "I want to share the gift of music, to uplift the people of the world!"  Just once I want to hear someone say, "Being on stage and captivating an audience with my talent makes me feel important, and I really like that feeling." Now I can't judge people's real motives. But I do  have a hard time believing that those things are the primary reason most people want to be an "American Idol".   

I also remember an interview on Dr. Phil years ago with a couple that was having an affair that both of their families (spouses and children) were fully aware of.  The woman talked at length about how she felt guilty, but kept hoping that somehow it was okay because they loved each other so much. She also emphatically stated that her children were her top priority and that their good was her chief desire. Your young children know you are cheating on their dad, but their good and stability is your highest goal?  Lies. But she did not want to accept the image of herself as someone who would sacrifice the emotional health of her children for an affair, so she told herself a different story.

But mostly - I catch it in myself.  The one person whose motives I am in fact privy to.  I like to feel like a good person- someone who is kind, interesting, strong, and virtuous. (Feel free to roll your eyes now).  When I do things or think things or act in ways that challenge this perception of myself, I find myself trying to spin the story in my mind in a way that makes me come out on top.  That perhaps incriminates the other person in the scenario more than myself. It's shameful to admit. But it's true.

I think this is one of the reasons the gospel doesn't make sense to us sometimes.  Because the first thing you have to admit is that you're a sinner.  And many of us have been telling ourselves untrue stories about ourselves for so long and believing the ones advertisers and pop culture tell us about ourselves, that we have a hard time believing the true story - that we're lost and broken. And we need a Savior.

When Fear Looks Like Anger

 Many of us are drawn to nursing because we like the idea of helping people - and I think most of us kind of assumed that we would be treated and responded to as helpers.  But often times we are responded to as the perpetrators. The ones responsible for pain and suffering, instead of the ones working tirelessly to try and relieve it.  That is one aspect of healthcare I was certainly not prepared for.

It is so hard not to take people's reactions at face value.  And especially hard not to react emotionally to them ourselves.  This is a lesson I am continually re exposed to at work, because  patients and family members can often be short and rude and even threatening.  The other day a co worker of mine asked me to start an IV on someone. After introducing myself and telling him what I was there for the man gave me a very serious stare, arched an eyebrow and stated "Better get that thing the first time or I'll be sticking needles in your arm." To which I replied (tartly) "You know it really doesn't help to threaten the nursing staff" and went about my task in indignant silence.

When I am inside these situations I get angry. I do not like being treated like the bad guy! I don't like people looking at me as though they need to protect themselves or their loved ones from me. I'm there to help them, darn it! However, when I am not in the situation, when I'm trying to place myself in someone else's skin, I start to understand. Slowly I begin to remember that it really doesn't have anything to do with me.  Often when people are afraid and helpless (especially men) they try and regain that sense of control over their environment. They channel their fear into aggression because it feels more secure than the fear. The man who has watched his elderly wife undergo countless painful medical prodecures and feels unable to come to her rescue channels that insecurity into pressure on the medical staff.  The parent feeling helpless to stop their child from experiencing pain or discomfort does the same.

I really hope that someday I'll be able to internalize this fact.  To stop feeling defensive and angry because people aren't responding to me the way I feel they should.  To see the fear behind the anger and respond with grace and compassion.

The Divine Umbrella

 

Way back in the days of nursing school, even before my feet touched the clinical soil, I've been praying different versions of the same prayer, "Oh God, please don't let me screw anything up or hurt anybody! Don't let me get anything I can't handle."  My first year of nursing I probably prayed that prayer a hundred times a day, and maybe a few times during the nervous sleeplessness of pre-workday nights.

As the years have gone on, my confidence as a nurse has increased and my anxiety has markedly decreased, but still I pray.  And I've come to believe strongly in God's gracious, divine umbrella.

My first year as a little medical telemetry nurse (heart stuff and what not) was a steep learning curve.  Not to criticize the education I received at world renowned New Mexico State (yes, that's in America), but I was not prepared to hit the floors of that hospital.   No experience, few critical thinking skills, and tunnel vision like a rat.  And I noticed something that year - often times during the shifts I worked there would be patients who would suddenly deteriorate, cardiac arrests, and critical transfers - but they were never my patients. And I mean never.  And they didn't assign patients by acuity levels - it was all numeric. You get rooms 1-7, that sort of thing.

The umbrella continued during my first few years of emergency nursing.  I had busy, stressful days and sick patients, but I never got slammed with the difficult, crazy cases that I saw other people get.  And I knew that God was protecting me (and my patients). A fact that I found comforting and also a little sad, because I knew it was because I couldn't handle it.  As I slowly stepped into the charge nurse roll, I noticed the same thing.  The sky could be falling the day before and the day after, but on my shift, it was much easier going.  And I knew.  God was shielding me (and the people around me) from what I wasn't ready for.

I've noticed the last year or two that the umbrella has been lifting.  I'm dealing with cases and situations that I would have crumbled under at one time.  I am encouraged to realize that I'm growing up into my role.  It may have taken me a while, but I'm getting there.  And through it I've been able to have another glimpse of God's faithfulness.  Faithfulness to keep me from getting too much too soon, and faithfulness to help me improve.  But I will never stop praying on my drive to work - because thankfully Someone is listening.

Gordon Ramsey and the Gospel

Confession time.  I LOVE total transformation shows. Love them.  I love seeing a total disaster renewed into something awesome in one hour increments.  Whether it be a house, a person, a fashion sense, a restaurant or a hotel, it matters not, I will watch until the after is revealed. I think there is just something in these stories of redemption that resonate with us.  Last night my husband and I were watching 'Hotel Hell', which is apparently the next great thing from Gordon Ramsey, famed British critique and hot head.  And I realized something quite surprising.

Gordon Ramsey might just understand the elements of the gospel better than many present day pastors.

I've noticed a theme on these Gordon Ramsey shows.  When he first comes in he is brutal.  He knows that if the people he is working with don't fully recognize the true nature and extent of their problem, they will never do better.  And the people initially are resistant, offended, and often very angry. They start saying things like "who the beep are you to come into my restaurant/hotel, and tell me how to run it??' 'You think you're so great because you have some big fancy restaurant'.  They refer to him in their interviews with words like "hate" and "detest" and "a-hole".  Never mind the fact that most of them are near bankruptcy and asked for him to come.

Finally, the conflict comes to a head, and the owner is put into a place where they can no longer hide from the painful facts of their failures.  They are sad and devastated.  But they are also humbled. They suddenly start listening to Gordon's advice and seeing the wisdom in his suggestions. Gordon's persona softens and he becomes kind and encouraging. Then they get the free gift of a made over establishment and a new menu, along with extra training.  And for many of them it marks a new beginning, one in which they go from failure to success, despair to joy.

According to the gospel, each and every one of us is our own little kitchen nightmare.  Maybe we know we aren't doing so hot and wouldn't mind some help. But what we really want is someone to come tell us we are doing the best we can with what we have, that we aren't really that bad, and then to give us some helpful tips and maybe a couple of steps to help us become better.  But the gospel comes in and tells us exactly what we don't want to hear. It tells us we are not okay, it points out our sin and our failure.  If you've ever read Jesus' so called Sermon on the Mount it's like a scathing Gordon Ramsey lecture minus the British accent and curse words.  And Jesus offended a lot of people.

But if after that you come face to face with who you really are, with your sin and failure, accepting it for what it really is and no longer justifying or minimizing it but instead are grieved and humbled by it, an amazing thing happens.  The gospel softens.  Suddenly it is encouraging and kind.  And then comes the free gift of grace.  That forgiveness and salvation of our souls.  Giving our hearts a beautiful new look and a brand new beginning.

So, Gordon, I'm sure you didn't mean to - but thanks for reminding me of the greatest Story of transformation and redemption - the One to which all the others can only allude - even if unintentionally.

You Might Be An ER Nurse....

IF:

You have ever carried a severed finger around your place of business chuckling diabolically as you show it to all of your co workers.

You have ever had a picture of gnarly wounds or things stuck in/on non traditional places on your iphone.

You have ever pretended to drink out of a (full) urinal.

You have ever wished out loud for a cardiac arrest patient to come in because "you're bored".

You have ever thought it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do to agree to come in to work at 3am. And then proceed to work until 7 pm.  And do it multiple times.

You have ever given report to another nurse via charades.

You have dated and/or are married to law enforcement or an EMT/paramedic

 You have ever said the words, "Hey, no, you can't pee there!"

Or the words, "Oh, let's get that gown back on, shall we?"

You've given and/or taken report on a patient over the phone while taking a quick pee break.

You've ever chased a semi naked patient down the street.

Saying 'wow that was really awful' about a trauma case also has the unspoken meaning of, 'but kind of awesome'.

You love/hate/relish/detest your job every day all in one day.

Through The Kaleidoscope



It's always been interesting to me how different people, surroundings, and situations bring out different sides of people.  It's the same person with the same personality, but twist the circumstances and social setting a little bit, and they can look very different. Like a kaleidoscope. The same elements making different pictures.

Of course I see that the best with myself, because I'm with myself in all my different settings and situations.  There have been times when parts of my personality surface that surprise people, because they've only seen a certain side of me and understandingly surmised that must be the grand total.   I've been the quiet, awkward girl and the outgoing socialite. I've been the one with nothing to say and the one with too much to say.  I've been the clown and the stoic.  I've been insecure and I've been confident. I'm different at work than I am at home, different with old friends than with new.

You may not know this, but one of the worst things you can comment to a quiet person is about how quiet they are.  Because what they hear is not 'you're so quiet!', but 'you lack social skills and are probably quite dull'.   Most 'quiet' people I've known are actually highly entertaining when they are in a setting and with people that they are comfortable with. And they are often very interesting. You just have to twist the kaleidoscope .

All that to say, humans are fascinating. Never assume that you've got someone pegged, because we all develop a variety of new shades as the light shifts.

The Story and the Struggle

What if your life were a book? Would you want to read it?  That was a partial premise of a book I recently finished. It proposed that the things that make stories meaningful are the same sorts of things that make lives meaningful, and if those elements are lacking in your life, you should rethink some of your scenes.  It also talked about how in movies and stories you have conflict and resolution and you have a character who by the end of the story has either revealed who they really are or have been transformed by the conflict into someone new.  The author states that these things resonate with us because that is true of life. 

In life we have conflict and are longing for resolution.  And throughout our lives we are either being revealed for what we really are, or are being transformed by our conflicts, for good or bad.   The book made me re think in some ways the way I view struggle.  None of us like to struggle.  We like comfort. We like things to be easy.  But what if living a comfortable, easy life implies that you never do anything that really matters? Is that a worthwhile trade off?

While as humans we hate struggle, in some ways we also relish it.  That's why we have athletes.  I doubt any athlete "enjoys" the pain of training.  But you bet they enjoy the victories that training brings.  Climbing mountains is painful, but the struggle makes the view that much more beautiful.  It seems in many ways enduring pain can often magnifiy beauty and wonder when we come out on the other side of it.  Someone who hikes up a mountain certainly experiences the view in a different way then the one who drove.

Often suffering seems meaningless and we wonder why God allows it.  And although I believe the answer to that is involved, I wonder if one of the reasons is because God knows that when we finally come out on the other side, when we leave this life behind us, that the splendor of heaven will be a million times what it would have been because we reached it through suffering.  And maybe some of the people who suffer the most in this life will be the ones who will enjoy the next the most? And who can cross the finish line with pride who didn't fight to finish the race?

Of course, if this life is all there is then that is a false hope.  But I don't believe it is.  The eternity in my heart whispers that we are part of a greater Story.  And I believe that all of our struggle in this present time will someday make all of this the greatest story ever told.

Common Grace

So, I just got back from Kauai. I know. Poor me. As it was my first visit to a tropical island of any sort, I was left completely astounded at the beauty of it. I've seen beautiful things - after all the sun does come out in Washington once a year or so - but never have I seen turquoise water. I didn't know water could naturally have so many shades of blues and greens. With or without clouds! In Washington if the sky is grey, the water is grey.  I felt like I needed a couple more eyes to appropriately and fully take in the vast awesomeness of it.

As I was walking the shoreline of the "island's most treacherous beach" (which we swam in - we saw the death tally sign on our way back) and taking in the beauty of the water and the framing cliffs, I started thinking about common grace. 'Common grace', by the way, is a term used by theologians that means the goodness of God that extends to any and everyone.  And it struck me, maybe for the first time, how completely lavish God is.

Here in our world we have some of the most astounding things.  How many natural masterpieces do we each experience in a lifetime? From sunsets to butterflies to palm tree branches in the wind to mountain ranges to lightning.  And it's all free.  Whether you're smart or stupid, beautiful or ugly, rich or poor, religious or atheist, good or evil, there it is. A message from our Creator, a gift of His astounding grace.  How sad that we are often too wrapped up in ourselves to really notice its glory or to feel the beckoning of its Artist.

I sat later in the soft sand, composed of worn down coral and sea shell, and wondered about God. And I wondered if all the beauty I saw was maybe just a postcard.  A picture and a foreshadowing of all He has in store, but like the reality that a picture represents, full of realness and dimension unspeakable.

Love, Law, and Freedom

"I run in the path of your commands, for you set my heart free."

Psalm 119:32

I got to thinking the other day (as I was slightly transgressing the speed limit) about law.  Not exactly a word that gives you fuzzy feelings or inspires great prose.  But even though I didn't really want to go the speed limit, I was realizing that I'm glad for them.  And for traffic laws in general.  Because if they didn't exist, driving would be pandemonium. And dangerous. And it would be hard to get any where.  Which got me thinking about freedom.

Rules and freedom don't sound like friends.  Rules are the things we see as impugning on our freedoms.  But the interesting thing is, without rules, there is less freedom.  If there was no law and associated consequences against stealing, I would not have the freedom to sit in my house and feel safe that most likely no one will try and steal my belongings.  Good laws and wise rules actually create freedom through their restrictions.

Freedom through restriction... an interesting oxymoron.  But we see this with kids too.  People agree that kids need boundaries.  It makes them feel safe, and it gives them the freedom to develop and master the milestones of their age. Of course few children can recognize that, so an adult that truly loves them will restrict them so they can have more freedom.

This law is present in love too.  There is no true love without restrictions on our freedoms.  Because I love my husband I am not free to have sex with anyone else.  I am not free to do whatever I want with my time and money without regards to him.  The most intense love I've experienced has been for my children, and I've also given up more of my freedoms to them than to anything else in my life.  If you want a life free of restrictions, you will also have a life free of love.  But in the restrictions of my family there is an unmatched joy, and yes, freedom.

I think this is an important thing to think about, because it effects our view of God.  American culture has grasped onto the Judeo-Christian concept of a loving God, but has watered the concept down to meaning a God who wants us to follow our hearts and chase our dreams.  We don't like the idea of a God with rules and boundaries.  It sounds restrictive and narrow.  But any parent knows there will come a time when they have to impose a boundary on their child for their own good but their child will see it as offensive and say something like, "you wouldn't do this if you loved me!"  When of course the opposite would be true. Because if we didn't love our children we'd save ourselves the bother and let them head straight into whatever destruction they please.

If you look for a God who will not restrict you what you'll find is a god who does not love you. And instead of finding freedom you'll find slavery. Because to be a God of Love also means to be a God of Law, and in the wise and loving law of God, there is much freedom.

Psych and the ER

  

In nursing school I found our psych rotation fascinating.  The abstract of the human mind and it's interconnection and dependence on the more tangible brain with it's many labyrinths and mysteries and illnesses and unbalances is very very interesting.

That being said... I have never had the slightest desire to be a psych nurse. Not because it isn't a fascinating area, because it is. But it is also a very frustrating one. And so rarely (it seems) a fruitful one.  And so it has been very stretching and rather trying for me to discover that being an ER nurse means being a psych nurse 30% of the time.

I could never have imagined the extent of the psychosis in our midst.  It is so strange to have a patient speak to you from a disjointed reality all their own, that you can't convince them isn't real. And it's unnerving to have someone stare at you with their calm face but intensely pressured gaze that plainly tells you what they are willing and capable of doing to you (and maybe did to their mom, brother, cousin, uncle, innocent bystander) and might do at a moment's notice, before you can call "code grey!" I could never have imagined the large number of thrashing, screaming, wild eyed men calling for children they don't have or referencing encounters with Jesus, Mary, or Oprah that most assuredly did not take place.

Maybe my feelings for mental health nursing have been poorly influenced by encountering it in the ER.  The emergency room must be the least therapeutic place for someone with really any psychiatric problem.  Take the violently paranoid schizo who gets pinned to a gurney by a few men (and women) and strapped down with lock and key restraints.  He must surely be feeling his paranoia must be a little bit justified. And have you ever tried keeping someone with bipolar in manic phase in one room?? And thanks to poor funding and few resources, we've had to keep mentally unstable patients with us for days!  With none of their normal meds, unfamiliar surroundings, people watching them all the time, and nothing to do but become agitated, angry, demanding, or try to escape - sometimes naked.

Maybe if I felt in some way we did them some good I would be able to cope with it better. But I don't.  At best we keep them from hurting themselves and us (usually).  But other than that it's like an unpleasant version of Purgatory. And we're the angels that drew the short stick.

Maybe if I had Jesus' ability to set people in their right minds.  But I hardly have his insight. Or compassion.  And I can't seem to help my morale hitting the floor when I hear the words, "you're getting an ambulance in 10 minutes with a violent, combative patient in 4 point restraints." And I know I'm not alone.  God help us.  And God help those fragile, tangled minds.

Just Say No...

Human stupidity ingenuity knoweth no bounds. You would be amazed at the creative array of objects placed on and in and around various parts of the body, never intended for such objects.  And yet mankind simply cannot resist the challenge to try. And try they do.

Lest some reader see this and exclaim "hey, that was me!" and try to get me fired, I will not tell you the age or gender of the person, nor the location of the above object (washer).  I will merely issue this warning: if at some point in your life the thought enters your mind, "I wonder if I could fit that around my..." don't. Just don't.  This scenario inevitably ends in an ER room with 3-4 healthcare workers and something that looks disturbingly like pruners uncomfortably close to a body part you'd probably like to keep.

And that is all I have to say on this matter.

For a Home That Lasts

You probably don't have to read too many of my blog postings to surmise that I am a bit of a nostalgic person.  I hang on to phases and memories, I think because I feel the overwhelming brevity of them. So sometimes I muse about my life as though I were an old woman or coming face to face with  my mortality in some way. Not that we aren't all to some extent...

 I was thinking the other day about my childhood home.  My family built that house when I was about 10 on a piece of property that also included my grandparents house and my uncles house.  Family commune and all that.  Anyways, we tiled it, roofed it, and stuccoed it. I even helped lay out the shingles on the roof. They wouldn't let me have a nail gun. I can't imagine why.

Since that time, as you can imagine, a lot of memories were made in that house. I grew up there, came back there during college breaks, and me and my sister (and a couple close friends) were married there in our back yard.  I have every inch of that house memorized. I loved walking across my grandpa's garden to find my grandma with her straw hat, muddy knees and bright smile. Or finding my uncle with his calloused hands and soft heart. Or being greeted in  my grandparents kitchen by wood burning stove, sweet pickles, and invaluable life stories and lessons.

 Being very probably the most nostalgic one of my family (and the only one that moved far away), I think it hit me the hardest when my parents decided a little while ago to move.  I don't know what it is. There is something about things from your childhood remaining unchanged for you to come back to that give your life a feeling of anchor.  Things are always adrift, but this will always be there, holding fast.  But this, of course, is an illusion.  Because nothing - not houses, not people, not cities, not nations- nothing truly lasts.  My own body is only a temporary home.  As is our beautiful planet. Nothing that is will always be.

But I can feel that longing, sometimes intensely, for that home. That lasting home, that will never give way to the pressures of time.  For the fullness of that hope that God will restore and remake.  As I watch the moments and years pass that I cannot hold on to, I remember that I'm not home yet. No, not yet.

The How and the Why

First of all, I'd like to take a moment to say you have no idea how fun it is for me to actually have somewhat of an audience for my many random musings. In the past they just bounced around, lonely in my brain, forgotten before I could really give them shape.  But now I get to inflict them liberally on any poor soul who follows my link! Mwahaha.

Anyways... what brings me to the keyboard today is thoughts on the tension between "religion" and "science". ( I use quotes, because those are both very broad, overarching terms.) Those two entities, supposedly standing in stark opposition to one another. You must ignore one to really believe in the other, or so the common logic now goes.  I, however, think this tension is somewhat unwarranted. 

Why? I'm so glad you asked.  Because I think the two exist to answer two different questions.  Science is about the how, about process.  Religion (and philosophy) is about the why, about meaning.  Often it seems the two get mixed up and start trying to answer each others Question, making things much more confusing then maybe they need to be.

Let's think about an analogy for a moment.  Say there is a married couple who loves each other so much, and now want to share that love with a child, made in the image of the two of them.  So they plan, and they prepare, and they come together and make a baby.  Years pass and this child gets older, and starts wondering about things.  He comes to his mom or dad and asks 'How did I get here?" "Well, dear" the parent replies, "we desired you and planned for you and wanted to share our love with you, so we came together and made you."  Later on this child gets into school and starts learning the scientific mechanics behind how human beings come about. The sperm and the egg and cell division and what not, and concludes that his parents are ignorant liars.

But both scenarios are true.  When the parents where questioned, they were answering the why question, and they answered truthfully.  If they had not planned, and desired, and come together that child would not have existed.  But of course the school books were correct too, only they were answering the question of process, not purpose.

No analogy is perfect, of course, so only take it for what it's worth.  But what I'm trying to highlight is that there are two questions that consume a lot of the human races' thoughts, books, struggles, and quests. And that is why are we here, and how does it all happen? And they are not mutually exclusive questions. Just because we get really good at describing how a process works, doesn't mean we need to throw out the Intention that brought it about in the first place.

The why question of course is much more abstract, which is why it sometimes gets the boot.  But just because something is abstract doesn't mean its unanswerable. Or that there isn't an answer that is actually real.  Perhaps that's why were were given the gift of logic (abstract thing that it is).  After all, if you take away the why, and leave only the how, subtract meaning from process, you take away everything that makes life as we know it truly, intrinsically worthwhile.

When God Says No

The other day I went to Costco with my kids.  My kids LOVE grapes, particularly my little boy (20 months), so I get a Costco sized package of them on occasion.  On the way back from the store, I put the grapes into the front seat with me intending on giving some to the kids to munch on for the drive home.

Now since the age of about 9 or 10 months, my son has been able to say or sign please.  He has been well schooled in the appropriate use and received much reinforcement.  On this particular day, he spots the grapes in the front seat and instantly begins screaming and crying "GAPES!!!" with his little hand held out. He saw, he wanted, he instantly began throwing a fit. I look at my little boy, a little taken aback at the sudden emotional outburst, and say "You have to say please Jackson. Say please and you get some grapes."  His 3 yr old sister has already said please and is happily munching on her grapes, occasionally looking over at her brother and stating, "You have to say please Jaxie. Say please."

But no. Jackson does not want to.  Instead he screams louder and more insistently, "GAPES!!! GAAAPES!!!" So goes the 15 minute drive back to our house.  Jackson screaming for grapes, punctuated by my occasional reminder that he gets no grapes until he tells his mama please!  Finally we pull into the driveway of our house, and I hear a quiet, tearful little voice mutter, "Pease."

 Here I had purposely bought grapes because my son loves them, had intentionally placed them with me so I could give them to him as a treat, and I wanted nothing more than to give them to him!  But because of his fitful, demanding, entitled attitude I had to hold out on him.  Because I care about his little heart more than I care about giving him something he desires.  I had to help teach and reinforce the appropriate attitude before I could give my child the good thing I had already intended to give him from the start.

As I considered the irony of that, it made me think about our dealings with God... and I started to wonder if sometimes God withholds something we desire (and maybe wants to give us!) from us for that very reason.  Because He knows our heart is in the wrong place.  Because we think He owes us this good thing and we demand it from Him and question His goodness if He doesn't immediately respond as we desire.  Maybe He knows that a particular thing or job or relationship or what have you would ruin us. It's possible that there are good things that God has in His hands for us that he desires to give us, but can't because our heart is wrong and giving it would only make it worse.  Just something to think about.  Maybe the times you feel God is silent or is saying No, are times to honestly examine your heart, your motives, or your attitudes to see if they are where they should be.

Projection

We've all done it, I'm sure -  Been frustrated or angry about some circumstance or string of events, and pinned it to the closest person possible, whether or not they were to blame.  I catch myself doing this from time to time.  Maybe I've had a frustrating day with the kids where everyone is whinny and nothing has gone right.  My innocent husband comes home, and I find myself finding reasons that my tightly wound, frayed nerves are his fault.  And our minds weave clever narratives.  They are very adept at coming up with reasons that sound plausible to justify an emotion, whether or not they really caused it.  Sometimes circumstances directly cause emotion, sometimes the emotion is there on it's own and we make up reasons why - often implicating someone in our current sphere.

Especially anger. To put it poetically, anger is a restless spirit searching for somewhere to rest.  It's funny how we can be happy without finding someone to credit it with, but we can't be angry without finding someone to blame.  Even when there is no one.  We see this very intensely in the ER.  If ever there was a perfect environment for combustible emotion, an ER is it. I'm sure every single one of my co workers has been on the receiving end of anger with no where to go.

People come in and are sick or in pain or already inconvenienced by "having" to come to the emergency room in the first place, and sometimes they have to wait. Or have uncomfortable procedures done.  Or stay overnight when they want to go home. Or stay in the ER because there are no inpatient beds.  People become volatile and angry, and since the anger feels it must go somewhere, it's often directed at the nurse.  Is it our fault the waiting room is full because we're seeing record breaking numbers? No.  Can we help the inpatient situation of limited space and staff? Nope.  Can I magically make IVs feel like angel kisses? Not really.  Are we working our butts off under difficult circumstances? You betcha!  But it doesn't matter.  You are a body and a face that's related to the situation making someone uncomfortable or afraid or restless.  I even had an old lady who was - probably - very sweet under normal circumstances call me a jerk one day when I was working triage because it was taking so long to get rooms.  I won't lie, it hurt my feelings.

And there is the challenge.  It takes a long of perceptiveness and emotional control to absorb anger sent at you unjustly without responding with it's cousin, defensiveness.  It's hard to feel like you are pouring out everything you have to help your patients, and yet they are angry with you.  Our natural defense systems rear up with force .  People with lesser verbal filters have been known to say things like "you're waiting a long time because you aren't actually dying and we're trying to help people who are." True? Often.  Helpful? Not really.

Although I can recognize when someone's anger at me doesn't have anything to do with me, it's much harder to control the anger I feel in response.  Because that too wants somewhere to go.  But it's my goal to become so full of God's grace that I can absorb and neutralize negative emotions directed at me and respond with kindness, instead of joining in a useless racquetball war of projection.  Sadly, I've got a long way to go...

Lessons From My Son

I love how my children view the world.  An ugly car lot to me is a marvelous scape of colored balloons to them.  While I am annoyed at a delay at a railroad crossing, they are ecstatic about the passing train. They rejoice in the majestic wonder of nature that is a bunch of crows sitting on top of a building ("Mama, look! Birds!!") while I see ugly birds.  To the pure all things are pure, and to a beautiful soul all things are beautiful.

Not too long ago, me and my kids were in the bathroom at Walmart.  I don't know what it is about Walmart that awakens my daughters GI system, but I swear 85% of our trips there involve her needing to "go poo-poos".  So we spend about 15 minutes (a girl needs time to relax after all!) in the bathroom, while I try and keep Jackson from feeding his little budding nervous system with tactile information from every germ ridden surface possible.

On this occasion, Kinsey was sitting in the stall while I walked Jackson around to try and keep him from squirming out of my arms.  A lady walked out of a neighboring stall looking a little bit like one of the stars of those "people of Walmart" photo albums.  I hardly realized the subconscious appraisal I was doing of all of her physical deficits when my son leaned out from my arms and gave her one of his award winning dimply grins and exclaimed "Hi!" in the sweetest, most friendly voice possible.  The lady smiled back with obvious pleasure and I felt the familiar pang of much deserved conviction.

No wonder the world loves babies.  A baby doesn't see old or young, ugly or pretty, fat or skinny, fashionable or tacky.  They see a human face and they want it to smile back at them.  I know that the time will come when my son will no longer just see a human face but will start adding judgements to it.  The seeds of brokenness will grow in time as they do in all of us.  As his mother all I can do is weed as many out as I can identify and passionately plant as many gospel seeds as I can while I can and pray they grow.  But how I love this time of purity and beauty.  And how thankful I am for how it convicts my own heart of the weeds I've allowed to grow there.

Something To Look At

A long time ago I had a patient with a horrible skin infection.  It had literally eaten away almost half of his face, leaving it raw and disfigured.  I've seen a lot as a nurse, and have learned to take in something awful with my eyes without letting it hit my face.  And I'm glad, because he turned out to be one of the sweetest patients I've had.  Gentle mannered, polite, and kind.

This patient's ER stay turned into a hospital admission.  It was back in the old days before our hospital had built us a snazzy new ER and there were no private elevators.  Patients being transferred on gurneys shared the same tiny space with the rest of the foot traffic going up and down in the building.  As I was pushing his stretcher up to the elevator there was a group of young women waiting.

They saw us instantly as we rounded the corner toward the elevators, and their facial expressions took no pause in reflecting their disgust at my patient's disfigured face.  They glanced at him and at each other making faces and whispering about how gross he looked.  I felt a distinctly protective anger at their reaction to him. I felt his exposure, laying there on the gurney with no where to hide, front and center. I couldn't see his face, but I felt his shame and his embarrassment.  I wanted to hit those girls in the face and tell them to learn some manners.  But instead, as I walked I nonchalantly turned the gurney backwards so they couldn't see him and so he wouldn't have to see them.  I stared hard at the girls as they stepped into an elevator.  There was room for us. I let the door close and waited for the next one.

It is understandable when someone's face registers momentary shock at seeing something about someone they didn't expect.  It's a human reaction.  But we have to remember there is a person in every broken and crippled body.  Take care to control your face and your words. A wounded body doesn't need a wounded soul too.

Thoughts on Suicide

Long before I began living under the rainy skies of the Pacific Northwest, I had heard the statistic: highest suicide rate in the country.  Not exactly something to list under "best place to live" categories. Working in an ER here, I can say I believe it's true.  It is a rarity it seems to work a shift where one to multiple patients are not there for either a suicide attempt or suicidal thoughts.  The attempts range from a few scratches on the wrist by a paperclip to a call from paramedics on our base station line alerting of one all too successful. One call I took was for a 15 year old boy. Another was for a 75 yr old man. Both surely unable to fathom the emotional wreckage they would leave behind them.

 I've lost count of the number of nose to stomach tubes I've threaded into unconscious (or conscious but uncooperative) young women to administer thick black charcoal with the hopes of absorbing some of the toxic chemicals from their medication of choice before it hits their blood stream.  I've watched people start thrashing around their stretcher from the "crawling out of your skin" side effects of a med they ODed on that they certainly didn't count on. The average person is no pharmacist, and often doesn't realize that what they are taking in the amount they are taking won't make them dead so much as seriously miserable.

This cumulative effect over the last 6 years of talking to patients with suicidal thoughts and aggressively trying to save others whose thoughts took form has caused to me to think a lot about suicide, and what causes people to attempt it (or say they want to).  There are three reasons I have noticed.

1. The obvious one. Despair.  An inability to see any way out of the pain or struggle of life.  They've been besieged by tragedy or unrelenting physical illness or pain and they just want out. This reason breaks my heart.

2. A call for help.  These are the people who don't really want to die, but are looking, consciously or subconsciously, for a way to make people notice they are not coping well with life.  This too makes me sad.

3. Manipulation. This is the one you don't hear about, probably because it sounds so harsh.  But it is so true.  These are the people that use suicide attempts to win the upper hand relationally.  Because the tortured soul on a ventilator or languishing on the stretcher in an ER is surely not the one to blame. Whoever did not care enough about her or realize she was so fragile is the one to blame.  And the guilt this generates will keep them in their place for some time to come.  These are the people who harm themselves intending for the real hurt to fall on others.  Deceiving and self deceived. Leaving suicide notes that make you cringe because they are so obviously manipulative.  These make me angry. And sometimes they succeed on accident.

Suicide is no escape. If the soul is eternal, there comes a time when we have to look back on the domino effect of our choices.  Feel the enormous pain and destruction that taking our own lives leaves. It's no romantic "lay me in the river at dawn" scenario.

For those who have considered suicide, for whatever reason, please remember that the pain inflicted on others by harming yourself will be no salve to your own wounds.  Working through our hurts and disappointments and pain is harder sometimes than the escape, but healing is possible. And there is Someone whose wounds are powerful enough to heal all of our own.  Don't extinguish a flame you didn't lite in the first place.

On Awkwardness

I will always be an awkward child at heart.  There was a golden window in childhood where I didn't know that I was.  I thought I was confident and outgoing and cutting edge.  But, as it turns out, when you go to an itty bitty church school in the rural outskirts of New Mexico where your class size is, um, 8.... your perceptions of your social abilities can be a tad bit skewed.  So I soon found myself at a "large" high school (class size 84!!!) where wearing a unique array of thrift store garb was not considered cutting edge so much as weird, and where being a star Bible Quizzer (that's right ya'll!) wasn't as much of a bragging right as I might have hoped. And there I learned the ugly truth. My older brother (who has never suffered from the plight of the awkward) tried the best he could.  His interventions ranged from subtle (brand name clothes left on my bed) to overt ("you're not actually going to wear that are you??") 

It took me about two years to finally adapt to this new social setting.  Slowly I learned to dress from the right stores. Figured out that the tightly combed back hair in a straight forward bun wasn't the way to roll in high school (weird, right?).  Transitioned my extra curriculars from memorizing large sections of the Bible to running track.  And finally, by my senior year, I reached the pinnacle of social success. The most popular boy in my class proclaimed me "actually pretty cool".  Doesn't get better than that, folks.

I wish I could say that my awkward tendencies disappeared at that point. But dodge them as I might, they always sneak up on me.  Just when I start to think I've outgrown it, left those knobby kneed days behind me, something happens that reminds me no matter where you go or how many years or kids you tag on, you're always you. Profound, I know.

In some ways, I'm thankful for my awkward years.  Maybe if I had been as cool as I wished when I wished it I would have gone on more dates.  And I'd probably have more baggage.  Maybe I would have gained a better fashion sense instead of wisdom.  Maybe I wouldn't have married my best friend who also spent some time acquainted with awkwardness.   I'm not sure how these tag along tendencies benefit me now, but I know that often times things that seem like a handicap can turn out being a grace.  Because where we are strong we are often proud, whereas our weaknesses teach us humility. And compassion.

Dying to be Satisfied

I read an interesting article the other day about a correlation between very high patient satisfaction scores and poor patient outcomes.  Meaning that there seems to be a link between people who rate their experience at a hospital as super great and things not going so great for them.  Sounds odd on the surface.  But the researchers conclusions had to do with the fact that what people want isn't always what is good for them, and if you give it to them anyways, they may be happy with you for it and pay the price.

For example.  Antibiotics don't treat viral infections. Like the majority of cases of bronchitis. But if you come to the ER and have even what sounds like it's most likely viral bronchitis, you're going home with a script for antibiotics. Why?  You came all that way, you waited in the waiting room, you told us in great detail how miserable you are, and you are not going to be happy with a doctor who tells you to keep on taking over the counters for symptom relief, which you were already doing before you incurred a 150$ ER copay.  And you will mark a low box for customer satisfaction, even though you were treated appropriately.  But if your doctor gives you a prescription, your trip feels vindicated. You have bronchitis for crying out loud and now you will finally be treated and cured with the magic pills. Oh, and get a yeast infection. Oh, and contribute to antibiotic resistant mega-bugs.  But you will be marking the high box for how satisfied you were with your care.

It makes me think a lot about parenting.  A parent's job is to teach a child what is good for them because they don't know it themselves yet.  The parents knows more about how the world really works and what their kid needs to do to survive and thrive.  If my kids were filling out surveys about how satisfied they are with my parenting, you can bet they'd be checking more top boxes if I pushed bedtime back, allowed some jelly beans for breakfast and oreos for lunch and made all milk the chocolate variety, and if I never made them share their toys or pick up after themselves.  And then they'd turn into tired, overweight, diabetic, entitled, lazy shmucks. But in the process of becoming such, their parent satisfaction scores would soar.  What if we allowed that to drive how we parent our kids?

Not that patients are like children.  But they come to medical professionals because we know stuff about medicine and the body that the average person doesn't know.  And we are responsible to use that knowledge to help people get what they really need - even when they are convinced it's something else.  Even when they storm that they are not getting the care they deserve because you won't treat something with a medicine that won't work anyway or expose them to radiation that they really don't need even though they think they do and will feel like you were very thorough for doing it.  Even when doing the right thing will result in people being less satisfied with you.  Because a lot of times that's the way it goes.  Take Good Friday.

The Eye Roll

Nurses and other healthcare workers experience some of the most ridiculous sides of the human beast.  Things that naturally provoke the single eyebrow arch and the "Are you kidding me?" stare.  Were we comedians and satirists, our flow of material would be steady.  But since we [generally] strive to at least project nonjudgmental concern, we have developed  a highly adapted skill.  The psychological eye roll.  While our face may be stoic and eyebrows knotted in perceptible concern, there are times our optic nerves are doing log rolls as we try suppress the reaction a confrontation with ridiculousness wants to make dance across our features.

Since the best treatment is prevention and education, let me share with you a few of the scenarios that were you to perform, would most certainly be evoking from your nurse or doctor the psychological eye roll.

1. If you are thirty and you are a man and your mama is hovering protectively over your gurney and alerting the nurse every time you get a new belly pain - eye roll.

2. Anyone who rates their pain above 10 on the 1-10 scale.  You only get get 10. You don't get 11. You don't get 14. And you certainly don't get 100.  As a co worker put it, Are you being lit on fire while someone simultaneously crushes your femurs? No? Then your pain isn't a 14/10. Eye roll.

3. If you collapse at the front desk and we rush you back to a room by a gurney where we discover your chief complaint is menstrual cramps.... eye roll.

4. Anyone in their 20s who "collapses" in the waiting room and does not also have an organ that just ruptured, significant blood loss, or a bone showing... eye roll.

5. An anguished cry for 'Help, help, somebody help me!' followed by a teary request for water, blankets, or pillows. Eye roll.

6. If you come in for a sprained ankle on a busy night and then angrily inform the staff that you could have died in the waiting room and no one would have known. Eeeeye roll.

7. You hurt your knee/ankle/wrist/pinky at the mall and can think of no other way to get treatment than to call an ambulance. Eye roll.

8. You did not put that lotion bottle in your own rectum, you somehow sat on it just wrong while claiming your God given right to walk around your own house naked! Chuckle. Then eye roll.

The list could go on, but I'll stop there. Try as I might to have only compassion and concern in my heart for all patients... Lord knows I'm only human. And every now and then my eyes must roll or my sanity surely will.

Tools and Treasures

I recently finished reading a short little book by a mom with a few more kids than me and a lot more wisdom.  In one chapter she talked about how God has given us our bodies as tools to be used not treasures to be forever preserved.  And it got me thinking about the other things in my life that are tools, but I treat as treasures.

For example.  I wish there wasn't a constant flow of food particles appearing on my floor.  I wish there wasn't milk drips and bugger smears on my couch.  I wish there wasn't mashed up goldfish and raisin carnage on the seats and floor of my car.  I wish my body could get more of the precious sleep (and exercise) that it so desperately needs.  But in order for those wishes to be granted, I'd have to sacrifice one very big thing.

My family.  I'm often frustrated that I can't have a house that's maintainable looking clean and orderly.  That my furniture has taken a toddler sized beating. That I have bags under my eyes.  And sometimes I take that out on my little family.  I forget that my house is just a tool. A place for us to stay and a backdrop for the things that really matter to happen. Like teaching and guiding and learning and loving.  I should keep it clean so that it's livable and enjoyable, but not stress out about it when it's just not possible.  Same with my car.  Same with my body. 

But instead I find myself often treating my tools as treasures and my treasures as inconveniences.  As things that mess up my tools.  How foolish.  When the time comes to give an account of my life I hope I can say that I spent myself on the things that should be treasured.  Not that I wasted it worshiping my tools.

Faith and Doubt

A conversation with a good friend of mine this week got me thinking about faith and doubt.  There are lots of bumper stickers and notebooks and pretty wall hangings that make a particular one word statement/imperative - "Believe". Just believe.

Well.... believe what?  And why?  And how will I know what I'm believing is right?  It sounds so good and deep and transcendent to just say "Believe!"  But many of us know from personal experience that, well, it isn't really all that simple.

I'm a believer in the body of a doubter.  My natural inclination is to question.  I've struggled and re struggled over the decades with many of my core beliefs. I can remember how good it felt to believe everything my parents told me as a child, that grounding confidence I had in their omniscience.  But as it was destined too, that foundation had to crack, because of course my parents (though very wise) are not omniscient. They could be wrong about things, and as I got older that meant I had to figure many things out for myself.  And that journey can be a painful one.  And it can be a fearful one.  Because if your entire life structure and internal essence is based on certain beliefs, can you survive it if they crumble? Would you want to?

I wish memories weren't so weak.  Because if I look back and pinpoint some experiences of my life, they tell a powerful story about the hand of God in my life.  Proofs of His existence and Presence.  I felt and watched my sister's short leg grow out in my hands as we prayed for her in my grandparent's kitchen.  Tissue that didn't exist before is there ex nilo.  My spirit grew in the soil of the stories from my parents and grandparents and the large array of international Christians that sat around our dinner table of how God directly spoke to them and guided them.  I believed them.  And I cried with my family when we learned of the death of our Peruvian friend who died at the hands of men who hated his message of peace. 

At times I've pulled against it even while fearing it would release me into an undefinable vacuum, but the tether that ties my soul to the story of Christ somehow holds strong.  And even now as I get older and questions surface, I feel the unyielding tie that I now know will never break.  So even though I'm prone to doubting, I remain a believer.

A large body of the things that have convinced me of what I believe are convincing because of my first hand experience with them.  I know they don't hold the same weight for people hearing them second hand.  A person I kind of know seeing a miracle is no proof to me of miracles.  Me seeing one on the other hand - a little more compelling.  So what do I tell my friend who like me, finds herself most often in the grips of doubt?

I don't have perfect answers. Few doubters ever do.  But a few things I would say to you who struggle with belief are as follows:

Don't use doubt as an excuse.  Sometimes we can use not being sure about everything as an excuse to not do anything.  It keeps us from having to commit to something.  It keeps us from changing our lives.

Don't let it disable you.  Don't throw up your hands and give up as soon as things don't make sense.  Use it to press forward, not give up.

You are a lot more likely to find answers if you purposefully look for them. A promise Jesus made was "ask and you will receive, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you."  It implies a bit of pro activeness on our part.  And though faith is and isn't simple, in my experience asking God for helping finding Him and knowing Him is a request He loves to answer.

On Growing Up and Growing Stronger

When I first started nursing, working three 12 hour shifts in a row wrecked me. Literally.  I'd spend the entire next day recovering.  I generally avoided having my shifts grouped together at all costs, because frankly, it was exhausting!  I was so amazed and confused by women a couple decades older than me who could work 4-6 in a row and seem no worse for the wear.  How did they have more energy than me?  Wasn't I supposed to be the one in my prime? Full of youthful energy?

Now I know the answer to that.  They were all moms.  Nothing forces you to stretch further and longer than you would ever have wanted to like being a mom.  There's no clocking out at the end of the day from parenthood.  You may have a long and trying day with your children and fall into bed exhausted... only to be woken up a few hours later by insistent and high pitched wails.  Now it doesn't matter how many shifts I just worked in a row, there is no day of recovery!  The next day, bright and early, sleep or no sleep, I'd better be ready to get back in the swing of a different kind of busy.

Looking back now, I can see that I may have been a little bit of a wimp. Thinking I couldn't possibly function adequately at work without a good nights sleep.  Thinking I needed all this time to myself to be able to better give my energy to others when I had too.  Back when a day off work looked like sleeping until 9, going to the gym, taking a long luxurious shower, cleaning, eating, living at a relaxed pace all my own.  And still feeling like I was busy and maxed out.

When I compare myself to the me I was a few short years ago, I'm so thankful for how being a mom has made me grow up and grow stronger.  Something that would have broken me a few years ago isn't worth mentioning now in my new normal.  I thought having time to myself to do things that I thought made me happy would help me be a better, more gracious person.  But it turns out that generally only makes us more selfish. But having your time constantly (sometimes forcibly) focused on other people is an amazing catalyst for growth and change.  And a catalyst I'm thankful for.

The First One Stays

Anyone who has been in nursing for a little while has had to deal with death.  We have a front seat to it, so to speak. Surprisingly for me, it isn't as hard as I thought it would be.  It becomes strangely normal.  Wash the body, zip up the bag, fill out the paperwork, make the phone calls, return to your day.  Besides the unusual or unexpected cases, it starts to not really phase you all that much.  But the first one, that first patient you lose, stays with you for a long time.

  I was working on a medical floor at the time, that first painful year of nursing. The hospital I worked at was in a town that was split down the middle between college students and retirees.  I'm sure you can guess which one made up 99% of our patient population.  We got to know many people fairly well, as many of the retirees made their way to the telemetry unit several times a year.

He was a little old man who hadn't lost his spunk and spirit.  The first time he was my patient he couldn't wait to get back to his nursing home because there was a lady there he had been seeing.  He talked long and passionately about her and about fishing.  I remember thinking he was seriously cute.  The second time he was my patient he wasn't fairing so well, and I had to transfer him to the ICU because of some bad heart rhythms he started throwing out.

 Later he came to me again, significantly smaller and slower. Apparently the nursing home he had been living at failed to notice that he was having too much trouble with his arthritic hands to effectively feed himself. He was also frustrated that despite his desire to rebuild his strength, no one was ever available to help him walk.  After that, his cardiologist (one of the best in my opinion, to this day) made it a point to visit him there almost every day to make sure he was taken care of.

A few months later, I found myself again his nurse.  This time he was a shell of what he was when we first met.  His skeletal frame was curled painfully in the bed and he cried out every time we touched him or moved him.   He was so weak he couldn't even speak, expect to whisper yes or no.  A few visitors stopped in from time to time, but always left after a few moments of awkward silence in his room.  We find it hard to be with someone when they can't carry on conversation. When it was clear that he was dying, the cardiologist tried to make arrangements for him to be flown across the country to where his son lived, so he could live out the weeks or months remaining to him with his family.

Soon it became apparent that he would never make that journey. He might not make it the rest of the day.  I made the call to his son, who was on the next flight out to see his dad.  The rest of my shift I'd slip into his room and reassure him that his son was on his way and would be there soon.  You could almost physically see him holding on to life by his fingertips those last few hours.

Finally, his son arrived, hurrying desperately to his dad's bedside, eyes full of tears.  "We all kind of think he's been hanging on to see you," I told him before stepping out awkwardly. An hour later, he died.

He was my first patient death, and I'll never forget him.

Walking with My Mom

As I look back on life and my times with family, certain trends stand out as to where and how our most intimate moments took place.  I remember meaningful conversations with my dad during the long commutes to high school, mulling over thoughts and philosophies and possible book ideas with my sister over wine and cigarettes, and walking, always walking, with my mom.

Some of my earliest memories involve going on long walks (or hikes) with my mom.  Around our neighborhood in Albuquerque, down the dusty ditch roads of Peralta, through humid neighborhoods with waxy looking leaves in Southern California, across shale and meadow in Colorado. Walking.

If you know my mom, you know she doesn't sit still very well.  I think there is a marriage for her between the movement of her limbs and climbing of her heart rate and the ease with which she prays and talks about her thoughts and journeys.  I can't remember a walk with my mom where I didn't hear her talk about how God is teaching her and forming her and helping her to let go of the things that hurt her.  I remember walking the trails of the Sandias, listening to my mom talk and cry about how she felt losing her own mom and listening to her explain how the things she has seen on her hikes have become analogies and lessons for her spiritual journey.

For my mom walking and hiking is almost like an addiction.  I think because with each step she takes, she feels like she is one step closer to her God.  One step closer to making sense of the chaos.  One step closer to being the person she wants to be.  And after decades of walking with my mom, I believe she is. And because of her, I am too.

Desert Road

Last week I fled the dim, drizzly grayness of the Northwest for the sun and springtime winds of New Mexico.  One day I left my sweet children in the care of my parents, and took a 3 1/2 hour drive to the southern most reaches of the state to visit some of my dearest friends.

The drive there was in a word glorious.  The sun burnt desert landscape stretched out on either side of an arrow straight road like two arms open in an embrace.  The brilliant and vast blue sky contrasted with reddish brown mesas and sloping hills scattered with desert brush, all framed by mountains appearing hazy blue in the distance.  I remember why I initially felt closed in and claustrophobic when we moved to Washington.  The sky and landscape are so open and vast, I could almost physically feel weight lifted off of me.  That and the brilliant sunshine and absence of hollering toddlers in the backseat...

3 hours alone in a car surrounded by sunshine, beautiful scenery, and the soothing voice of Glen Keiser, thoughts and prayers intertwining in an easy dance. Reminiscing about the years I made that drive back and forth from college a younger, more carefree Merrily with an old brown pick up that lacked a stereo.  Maybe it was because silence forces introspection and frees prayer, but I always felt God's presence most acutely and painfully (the good kind of painful, the kind mixed with hopeful longing) on those long drives.

 If I could make that drive once a year, I think it would be all the therapy I'll ever need.

The Observer

Ok, just so you know, I'm about to get all instrospective on you. You were warned. Here we go.

When I was a kid, I was definitely a day dreamer.  My mom always teased me that I was always off in my own little world. Lost in thought. Who knows where.

Not a whole lot changed in adulthood, although my day dreams changed from imagining I was a mermaid to pondering the complexities and idiosyncrasies of the human condition. (Mermaid phase was way awesomer by the way).  Along with this tendancy comes something I've considered less desirable.  I'm so skilled at exiting the real world to roam the isles of the abstract, that sometimes I've had trouble connecting to reality.

At times it felt like I lived in a bubble. Constantly bumping into and interacting with life, but kept from really connecting with it by something thin and invisible.  Watching people and events pass by me like a movie, never quite able to emotionally engage them as I'd like.  Sometimes when something big happened (good or bad) I'd have to talk myself into the emotions I should be feeling. ("This is really good, be excited." or "This is really sad, feel sad.") With more or less success.  It's made it hard for me to be a truly empathetic person.  How can I imagine what someone else is feeling if I can hardly feel the right things myself?

Which is why God in His great and merciful wisdom made me a wife and a mother, even though I never felt passionate about becoming either.  My kids especially have sliced through my bubble like nothing else could.  As a mom I've felt emotions at extremes I didn't know existed.  The gut squeezing, adoring affection.  The fist clenching frustration. Love, fear, anger, joy, laughter,empathy. All exploding my sepia toned world into glorious multicolor.

I can't even say I knew it happened. It was such a whirlwind, entering into parenthood. Hardly time to think about the changes swirling around you and inside you.  It wasn't until a few months ago that I realized the difference.  The frustrating disconnect, the hazy connection I seemed to sometimes have with reality, were suddenly memories. I can't remember the last time I stood in the shower thinking about how weird existence is and struggling to feel that it's all real.  I guess I've been too busy. Too busy waking up at the sound of my daughter's feet sneaking into our room at night, hoping to be pulled up into bed with mom and dad.  Too busy kissing soft little cheeks and having dance parties before bath time. Too busy reading stories and singing bedtime songs with two soft little heads snuggled beneath my chin.

This more than any other thing has made me a better friend, nurse, person.  Helped me find a confidence I didn't have before.  Forcing me out of my own head to discover that I can connect to the real world, maybe even have an impact on it.  Growing up I thought I would be an adventurer, living in a remote grass hut helping the poor.  But God knew that what I really needed to be was a mother.  Because before that happened, I wasn't present enough to help anyone.

Abortion, Prostitution, and Belief

It isn't my general aim on this blog to wax controversial, but I'm having some thoughts, and I think I'll hash them out here. Objections? No? Okay, I'll continue.  I do welcome feedback, by the way, but please do be nice.  I'm actually rather sensitive. 

So abortion is a hot politic issue.  It's also an issue I encounter somewhat commonly at work.  I had a patient (beautiful, young) once years ago who had 16 abortions. 16! Talk about fertile. And not so handy with contraceptives. I've also had some women post abortions with pain issues or other complications. And it's something I think about a lot.  I may rabbit trail a bit for a while, but it'll all tie together, I promise. (Maybe).

So yes, I'm a Christian. And no, I don't think America should be a theocracy. I don't want to "force" my beliefs on anyone. I think power and religion (any religion) are historically a not so bueno combo.  But I don't think we can escape the fact that what we believe (be it atheist, Muslim, christian), affects everything in some way. Because it shapes our view of reality and of what is important. We can separate church and state, but we cannot separate belief and legislation.  Because laws ultimately spring from some sort of worldview. We don't think killing another person because we want to is a good way to go, so we make a law against it.

Abortion is one of those issues that has no easy resolution because it is tied so tightly with worldview.  I have the belief that humans are made in God's image, and as such every human being is intrinsically valuable.  No one else has to value a life for it to be valuable, because it is valuable to Someone who has a much more weighty opinion than the rest of us. So even a little developing life is intrinsically valuable, even if it has no value to the woman carrying it or to society at large. Which would make ending that life murder. But if we are all just the product of chance and chaos, than our only real value comes from the people that value us. We are not, in fact, intrinsically valuable.  So of course, if I'm a woman who has become pregnant with a baby I don't want and am not ready for, my needs and desires trump the right of the fetus, or as a medical blogger I follow words it, "clump of non sentient cells".

Some of the arguments for abortion talk about the fact that if abortion is illegal, women will still seek abortions, and will end up having unprofessional, "back alley" abortions, with high risks for complications.  Another argument has to do with a woman's right to choose. It is her body, shouldn't she have a say in whether or not she wants to go through pregnancy and labor for a baby she doesn't want?

I'm going to take those arguments and apply them to another (I think less controversial) issue, just out of curiosity, to see if they hold the same weight.  Take prostitution.  I think (hope) most of us would say that prostitution is something that should probably be illegal.  We would most agree that it is degrading to women. But let's look at it from a different perspective.  My body is my own, right?  Do I not, as a woman, have the right, if I want to, to use it to make money?  If I want to sell sex, why not?  You might say it is degrading, but what if I don't agree?  What if I feel that it is an asset I have and would like to turn into a profit?

Of course, we could point out that prostitution is dangerous.  There is a higher than normal risk for abuse, murder, and contracting of STDs.  But should that make it illegal?  Wouldn't it be better to take prostitution, legalize it, then set standards for businesses that want to run it?  Mandatory protection. Panic buttons for when a client gets out of hand, background checks to screen out violent offenders.   Is it a better idea to throw prostitutes in prison? For exercising their right over their own body?  Does the argument that we should not make abortion illegal because it will mean we open the door for more dangerous types of abortions and because we would then have to criminalize the women who have them, hold the same weight for prostitution? If prostitution is illegal it is more dangerous for women - because some women will be prostitutes anyways.  Isn't the effect on women what we care about?  Or is there a sense of morality still picking at the back of our brains that we can't seem to shake?

We can't necessarily argue against prostitution by saying it is degrading to women. Because if a woman who has control over her own body does not think it is degrading, who are we to say it is? I think abortion is degrading to women.  Our bodies are in every way designed to nurture and protect life - what could be more anti - feminist than for us to instead choose to destroy that life we are naturally intended to protect?  I don't know.

Belief should never be something that is legislated (you must believe x, y, z).  But our worldviews will always effect the way we decide to run our society. The point I'm trying to make is not that I think prostitution should be legal (I don't), but that sometimes when we carry our worldviews out to their logical conclusions, they take us places we didn't expect.
Did this all make sense? I'm not sure. I guess that's why I call it 'ramblings'.

Turning the Other Cheek

Sometimes people can be difficult.  Sometimes they can be downright obnoxious and offensive and mean.  You see this a lot in situations where peer pressure doesn't dictate that you be treated with a certain level of politeness that is generally the social norm: namely, customer service.  Waitresses, you know what I'm talking about!  Nurses, we get the double dose.

Being sick strips people of the usual pressure they feel to behave a certain way.  You feel justified in being short tempered or down right rude.  You feel that it is okay for you to vent your worry and frustration by being mean to the people who are trying to help you.  I have never in any circumstance of my life been treated as badly as I have been as a nurse by my patients.  And I did a fair share of waitressing.

Sometimes it's easier to shake it off. Sometimes it makes my blood boil.  Last week I had a patient who had no end of edgy, sarcastic, pointed responses to every question or offer I made her.  I had started the day with determination to be extra kind to my patients, and right off the bat, she was seriously testing that resolve.  I could almost physically feel the ball of snarky comments I wanted to fire back bubbling in my throat, to try and show her how rude she was being.   Although I resisted, my desire to give her exemplary care certainly dissolved. Do the bare minimum, get her out of here. Hope someone else answers her call light first.

After having this unpleasant woman for a few hours, I started thinking about that statement of Jesus to turn the other cheek. "If someone hits you on the left cheek, turn to him the other also." I have never been physically struck in the face (yet).  But I have been verbally assaulted countless times in this not so romantic business of caring for the sick.  So what would it look like for me to be a nurse who 'turns the other cheek'?  I guess it means not responding in kind.  It's how I respond that matters to God. Someone being rude and unkind does not give me a free pass to be rude and unkind.  I don't get to decide to not be merciful to someone just because they really get under my skin.

And you never know.  You can't see into people's hearts and lives. Maybe your kindness in response to their rudeness is just the catalyst needed for the seed of God's grace to take root in their heart.  Because isn't that the gospel in a nutshell? We who were hostile towards God are brought into relationship with Him by His own gift of love in the person of Jesus and His sacrifice.  I hope that I will more often remember the gospel and live it out in the way I respond to hostile patients.