Redemption's Song

Redemption. It might be my favorite word. Redemption means the recovery of something. It means to buy something back. It means to rescue. When I hear the word redemption, I picture something sad becoming something beautiful. I see pain in the end being the most brilliant colors in a painting or the sweetest notes in a song. A story whose ending is moving and powerful and triumphant because of the hardship that came before. Movies or stories or personal accounts that have that theme of redemption make my heart sing.

Redemption is one of the reasons the Christian story resonates so deeply for me.  There are a lot of intense stories in the bible, written from ancient times by ancient people in ancient cultures. But despite the variety of authors from a variety of ages, in every account you can see this thread running,    sounding a deep and harmonic note - redemption. The entire bible is a story of redemption. Smaller stories that run into bigger stories that set the stage for the biggest story of all.  The story of how God joined us in our flesh and brokenness and suffered for us to redeem us from our darkness.  And the hum of redemption flows from the past, exploding at the cross into song, vibrating still in hearts and souls as a promise.

Pain, sickness, evil, and death are not the last word. The sadness and the suffering will be redeemed. The ugly will become beautiful and the broken will be mended. Look for this theme of redemption in the movies you watch and the books you read. And when you find it know that you are hearing an echo. An echo of the promise. May it resonate.

Through Joy's Eyes

My daughter is whining. My son is in a puddle of tantrumy tears on the floor due to a mysterious offense. Persistent 'go to the ant thou sluggard' poison resistant sugar ants are marching boldly across my counter tops to the remnants of lunch long past.  Clumps of fresh dog hair have materialized in places I just vacuumed. I close my eyes. I can see it. I'm running. As fast as my legs can take me. I don't know where, but it's somewhere crying and dog hair and ants and laundry don't follow me around in maddening cyclic waves.  And maybe I'm screaming. I don't know but I'm definitely running.

Lately I've been fighting some negative emotions. Discontent. Frustration. Fatigue. A sense of entrapment.  I feel chained to housework that is never finished and painfully redundant and preschoolers with such a wild range of emotional crests and troughs it's almost manic. And somewhere framing this silohette of discontent is the outline of a dream I once had.

At most points in my life from about age 5- about 5 years ago if you asked me where I'd be at this point in life I knew the answer.  I didn't know where I'd live but it wasn't America. Africa, Peru, and India were front runners. I'd be practicing medicine in the throws of the third world, making a difference, living a different kind of life than the average American consumerist, and leading an exciting existence.  Never once in my childhood (that I can recall) did I envision being a homemaker or holding my own babies. Never a dream, never a fantasy, never a hope.

But the good Lord obviously has had different plans than me, and in clearer emotional moments I can certainly see their wisdom.  But sometimes the things I now love most in this world feel like nails in my shoes and all my blessings can start to feel like bars.  Sometimes I compare my life to the childless people around me and wonder what it would be like to be so untethered. So free. I start to envy people who seem to be living my dream.

But that is my foolishness. Because what looks to me like freedom may for all I know feel like loneliness. And I am humbled to know there are people who see me as living their dream. And what if I was childless living 'my dream' in Africa? Well I'd be facing a lot of different challenges and frustrations and redundancies.  It is, after all, our heart's perspective and not our circumstances that bring joy. And if I can be discontent in a life with a loving, amazing husband, healthy and generally speaking fun and precious children, in a place I can live and work without fear of political upheaval that leads to bombs falling near my house and never a fear of not enough food or clean water, then guess what. I'd be discontent living any dream.

I've been thinking a lot about joy lately.  I'm reading a book that talks about how the joy God gives is not one more comfort for the western life, but that which frees us to take on hard tasks, to sacrifice and give up our comforts. It is the strength we find for mission and mercy.  When I'm feeling spent with my two kids I don't have the energy to help others out, or to even see people around me who need that help. But if the joy of The Lord is my strength, if I can be happy in the midst of laundry and sugar ants and tantrums, then I have the energy to do more good. And to do it with true and genuine joy.  I don't want my happiness to be completely dependent on my circumstances- or on my current perception of those circumstances. I want it to be dependent on God's grace, love, and faithfulness. Because unlike my tolerance for house pests - those wells never run dry.  

Love Is A Marathon

 

I attended a wedding last night for the first time in a while.  Most of the weddings I've been to in my life were either as a single woman or a newly wed, this was the first one I've been to since I've actually been married a while (7 years, thanks!).   It was different watching the bride and groom this time, different listening to how they said their vows.  So many lovey smiles and lofty promises made with clear, confident voices. Promises to love completely, to support, to endure, as though any other option were entirely unthinkable.

Sometimes we treat love like a sprint.  We spring forward from the starting line of our vows, full of energy and enthusiasm and hopeful cheers from the crowd.  We are sure our energy and the power we feel in our legs and hearts will push us on unhindered in this journey of marriage. But love is more like a marathon.  It is a long journey, and if you set out unprepared you may find yourself collapsed and gasping for air on the sidelines.  There are times you'll feel invigorated with the breeze on your face, a stunning view all around, and a gentle downward slope to your path. At other times you'll find yourself in the middle of a long hill in suffocating heat wondering how you'll ever go on.

In marriage, as in many other things in life, passion and excitement get us started, but without patience and without endurance, we will all too soon quit.  Maybe we'll just sit out on the sidelines, or maybe we'll find ourselves another race to join that seems more exciting and less difficult.

We all crave love. We've all sighed at the movies or the novels or the stories from our friends.  We all want to be loved relentlessly, unconditionally, because of our strengths and despite our weaknesses.  When we see that kind of love in fiction or reality, it strikes a deep chord.  But what about us ourselves? Do we love relentless and unconditionally? Do we love for strengths and despite weaknesses?  We all want perfect love to swallow our own imperfections, yet no one is perfect.  I always amaze myself at how I can subconsciously hold my own husband to a standard of perfection and be surprised when he isn't but at the same time be so completely understanding of my own faults and expect him to be too.

Patience and endurance. And can I add humility? Humility can admit fault and see someone else's position and be less extreme with it's expectations. Humility can apologize and restore, where pride stiffens and damages.

Love is a marathon.  Sometimes people's marriages will have years of hardship, but they come out on the other side stronger and with a richer love story. Others hit hard months and throw in the towel and search for another love story.  I know this is a bit of a rambling post.  I would just like to encourage all you people out there who are married or starting the journey of marriage, to prepare yourself for a long race.  To see the hard times you might face as hills to overcome, not as reasons to give up. The history of two people holding together, literally for better or worse and in good times and bad, is a beautiful story indeed.

This Is Hard

In a charge nurse meeting a while back my manager said something that resonated with me. In talking about emergency medicine he made the statement, 'This job isn't supposed to be easy.' Sometimes it's the things that should be obvious that stop me.  That statement actually replayed in my head later that day when my kids were in fine form and driving me crazy. This job isn't supposed to be easy either.

There's this word in science called homeostasis.  Homeostasis in a nutshell is the stability of an internal environment.  Temperature and ph in appropriate ranges and all that. Natural systems go to great lengths to preserve homeostasis. People are that way too. We seek to keep our lives somewhat comfortable and free of those things that upset our internal environment. We like easy. We like comfortable, and to an extent are always trying to get to that place. But there's this thing I've been discovering, and that's if you want to do anything meaningful with your life, you will often not be comfortable. Generally the more something matters, the harder it can be. Raising kids, fighting for justice, loving the forgotten, helping the sick... Meaningful work that can never by its very nature be easy.

So you have to ask, would I rather have an easy life, or one that matters? I personally would rather have one that matters, even though I often find myself wishing things were easier. And frankly, life will always be full of struggle, even when we avoid it like the plague. It can be full of struggle as the fruit of foolish decisions, or struggle can be part of the journey of fighting the good fight, and part of what hones and refines who we are.  I would love to spend more days by myself, peacefully sitting in the sun with a breeze on my face.  But days like that should be a respite and a time to recharge between doing meaningful, hard, challenging, inspiring work that matters beyond my own little existence.

We frame our lives with our expectations.  When we expect things to be smooth and comfortable, we are disappointed and unprepared when they aren't.  But when we expect and prepare ourselves for challenge, I think we find more strength to face it. Even a little thing like coming into work reminding myself that I didn't sign up for an easy job helps me mentally prepare to be ready to face whatever may come.

I leave you with a quote:

It is our attitude at the beginning of a difficult task which,  more than anything else, will affect it's successful outcome
     - William James

Siren Song of Heroin

Every now and then it seems like there are reoccurring themes at work. Like one week everyone has bowel obstructions. Or I'll do like 5 bladder irrigations (you don't want to know what that entails, men!) in a given week and then not again for a year. Recently I feel like my reoccurring theme has been young heroin users.

A girl in her early 20s with extensive skin abscesses who is barely conscious, but whose driver's license picture tells me used to be very pretty.  The young woman we have to sedate to cut pus and tar out of her thighs - the aftermath of desperation to get high after all your veins have been shot. And the young man who would've died had the paramedics arrived too much later with the narc blocker. His mom weeping and saying he was so blue- but sounding all too high herself.

This addiction is the ultimate empty promise. By giving you momentary bouts of extreme pleasure it robs you of your ability to experience pleasure without it. It makes you feel free until you wake up a slave.  The ordinary enjoyments of life suddenly seem bland and flat, and the stressors completely unmanageable. You soar high into the sky and then find yourself battered and broken on the ground with ashes and burns where once you had wings.

Most people know that drugs are bad for you. The problem is we all have too much faith in ourselves. We are sure we can give up whatever destruction we hold before it has a chance to hurt us. We are strong enough, we can quit whenever we want. But too often we go to throw the dynamite and find its been glued to our hand.

A Lonely Loss

 

A third of pregnancies end in miscarriage.  There was a time when that was just a number, but then that statistic took painful form with the unexpected loss of my third pregnancy.  I feel compelled to write a little bit about the experience of miscarriage and ways to support women going through them, because I'm now aware of how many women around me have experienced this pain and I know how many people would like to love and support those women, but maybe don't know how, or maybe don't realize the scope of their loss.  I'd like to help validate the spectrum of emotions a woman may experience, and give some helpful tips to those close to them.

Miscarriages are a difficult thing, because for the people around you the loss is rather abstract.  It's an idea or expectation that was lost, not a person.  There was nothing for anyone to see or hold or experience.  Except the mother.  A mom who miscarries doesn't lose a pregnancy, she loses a child.  And though it's true that the experience of that loss is not as profound or devastating as it is when she has been able to see and hold that child, that is still what it is.  The mom alone felt and nourished and experienced the beginnings of this little life and it will forever be a part of her.  When a woman loses a child, no matter the stage, a part of her dies too. We can't help it. Our children are literally a part of us, grown and nourished in our very bodies, and most of us love them fiercely from those very beginnings.  I don't consider myself a mother of two with one failed pregnancy. I consider myself a mother of three, with one I will never meet.  So this can make miscarriage a sort of lonely grief, because people can't share it in the same way. And it's common and easy to minimize. And because it's abstract to others the world gets over it pretty fast. Are you still sad about that? Wasn't that like two weeks ago?  In a world that trivializes and easily discards early life, it can feel like you aren't allowed to be too sad.


If you've had a miscarriage I want you to know it's ok to mourn. You didn't lose the stripe on a pee stick, you lost your baby.  And don't be surprised if it follows you for a while. One mom told me it took her 6 months to recover emotionally. One told me she went to grief counseling. For me it sneaks up on me sporadically.  I've had mood swings that surprise me where I'm irritable and agitated for no apparent reason. The bag of maternity clothes borrowed from a friend sat untouched in the back of my car for over a month like a taunt. I didn't want to give them back, because I do hope for another baby. But for some reason I just couldn't bring them in the house. Browsing facebook one night I scrolled past a picture of a pregnant friend. We both have kids the same ages and genders and would have had pretty mirror pregnancies.  Without warning I felt a jolt of pain, starting in my stomach and spreading through my chest.  It hurt.  I revealed my pregnancy to my husband and family on Christmas morning.  I gave my husband a box with a picture window that held a Bible verse about how children are like arrows in the hand of a warrior and those with many are blessed. Inside was my positive pregnancy test (in a bag) that said 'arrow number 3'.  There were hugs and smiles. Now that box sits in my bedside table drawer, full of condolence cards.

If you've had a miscarriage, I feel it's helpful to commemorate.  I wrote a letter to my child, recalling how I felt when I found out I was pregnant. How I smiled and held my stomach as I fell asleep that night. I recalled how excited her siblings were to meet her, and how her oldest sister talked about it every day, and how she cried when she found out she stopped growing. Me and my husband plan to plant a tree in our backyard. A dogwood with pink flowers. Pink because I always felt it was a girl. 

I learned after my miscarriage that although I did receive so much support, that often times people just don't know how to respond or how to be helpful. That people are afraid of being awkward or offering unwanted words or gestures. So here are some insider tips, for when you find yourself a friend or loved one of a miscarrying woman.  It is never a bad idea to send a card. Text messages expressing love and support initially and then occasionally during that first month are very helpful. Offering to bring meals - sometimes a miscarriage takes weeks and can be pretty painful, and during that time I know I found myself emotionally drained and very low on energy. Planning and preparing meals seemed exhausting. I was blessed to have my mom in town to do it for me (thanks again mommy!!) but many women don't. Offers to watch older siblings. A sweet friend of mine sent me a necklace so I could have something tangible to connect to a somewhat intangible loss.  An acknowledging hug, devoid of words, is actually quite powerful.  Late is better than never.  If time gets away from you and you haven't sent a word of support, do it anyways. As my mom said, emotional vulnerability is fertile soil for offense.  It's hard not to feel hurt when you suffer a loss that goes unacknowledged.  Offers for help may be turned down and phone calls may never be returned, but I can assure you that they mean a lot and go a long way for a sad woman.  You may be unsure or feel awkward, but I assure you making an effort to show you care in whatever way that may be is the best salve for a wounded heart. And silence is easily misinterpreted. It's easier to endure a lonely loss in the community of caring friends.

Culture of Callousness

 

Several years ago I saw a documentary of some of the stuff that went down at Abu Ghraib prison.  It involved the soldiers there treating the POWs inhumanely and taking pictures of them in humiliating positions while themselves posing with smiles, pointing, or thumbs up.  When the pictures came out, the general public was appalled and the soldiers faced serious consequences.  They interviewed a couple of them, and I remember one of them just shaking her head in the interview and saying, "I don't know why I did that". And she really seemed like she meant that.

I was reminded of this story recently after a situation at work.  I can't go into any details without totally violating HIPAA, so sorry, I must be vague.  But it involved a type of person whose life circumstances can be difficult to understand and who can be very much repugnant to the average citizen.  We laughed and joked and shook our collective head about this person and it ended it up causing concern with our management.  Truth be told, it wasn't really something I thought much about until it was addressed from someone else's perspective.  And that's when I saw the link.

People in certain professions (like healthcare) or in certain situations (like war) sometimes develop their own little sub universe. Their day to day experiences are so far removed from what the average person experiences, sometimes so harsh and unglamorous, that as time goes on amongst themselves they develop a different sense of morality.  We as people are much less firm in our values than we often think.  If we are surrounded by people who are acting, talking, and thinking a certain way we will often begin to behave the same way.  Even though the wrongness of something doesn't change, it stops feeling wrong.  The social pressure isn't there, and unless you appeal to a moral standard that's higher and are committed to it, people can find themselves behaving in ways they never thought possible.  But then when the curtain lifts and your actions are exposed to the greater world, suddenly the light comes on.  You feel their disgust and judgement and are suddenly truly aware of the wrongness in your behavior.

A certain callousness forms in professions that are constantly dealing with the baser sides of humanity, and constantly exposed to death and dying.  Partially it's a defense mechanism, but also I think it's a culture.  Sheer repetitiveness starts to take the emotional edge off of things that are very sad.  The constant tide of needy humanity starts to wear down your empathy.  We often (quite accidentally, I think) start to dehumanize people in healthcare.  People become bodies that we work on, suffering becomes an "interesting case", and valuable human souls become benign objects for our discussion and humor.  Everyone around us is thinking and talking and acting the same way, so it just doesn't feel wrong.  It feels normal.  But every now and then the curtain gets pulled back, and the light floods in.  And with it comes a sense of shame.

All That Entangles

  "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, 

let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. 

 And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.."

This verse has been running through my head a lot lately.  Maybe because for some reason I'm feeling those words and the tension they represent more acutely.  When I read this verse I picture someone running full speed ahead, ripping off things that would slow them down.  That's how I want to be.  I want to run a good race. I want to come pounding across the finish line on the other side of eternity to cheers and high fives from that cloud of witnesses.

What I mean is, I want to live a good life.  I want to bring love where there is hatred, peace where there is war, help where there is suffering, food where there is hunger, friendship where there is loneliness. I want to speak in wisdom, act in kindness, and live with purpose.  I want to be a light in the darkness and a hand reaching out to help reconcile people with their Creator. I want to leave it all on the field, so to speak.  At the end of it all I want to show that I not only put to use all the gifts my Master gave me but that I gained interest. 

But then there are those things that hinder and entangle. That sin that distracts me and sets me back and takes my eyes off the finish line and off of Christ. The offense that I want to let ferment.  My own desire to be important and to stand out.  I find myself wanting to be intriguing instead of wise, alluring instead of purposeful.  My impatience and my laziness and my want for instant gratification, my callousness and my self centeredness.  I'm afraid that I'll see something that tempts me, sitting there on the side of my path, and that time will go by and I'll find that not only have I stopped running, but I've tripped a couple other people too.  I fear that I'll test myself with sin because I think myself strong enough to wriggle out when I need to.

I don't want to be entangled. I don't want to waste my life on momentary pleasures and superficial things that boast much and deliver little.  I want to leaves grooves in the road that I wouldn't be ashamed for my children to follow.  And I don't want to come across that finish line ashamed, realizing that I forgot there was even a race at all.

Charge!

I've been spending more of my ER shifts lately in the role of charge nurse.  I'm not really sure who came up with that label, it kind of conjures an image of someone charging into battle at the head of a cavalry, war cry ringing loud, blade held high.  So maybe the term isn't too far off. Minus the war cry. And blade.  There are days however, I could use both.

It isn't really a role I sought out.  Someone somewhere got the crazy idea that I was an acceptable pick, and I started showing up to work to the surprise of seeing my name at the top of the dang white board.  At least one or two people were as surprised as I was - I saw a least one good eyebrow lift from across the room.  But there's this one skill I've learned to pick up the last few years of nursing- that is to pretend to be confident while working like crazy to become competent.  In other words, sometimes you have to pretend to know what you're doing, even when you don't, but make sure you know who to ask questions behind the scenes.

As time has gone on it's actually become a position I enjoy, mostly.  Being a charge nurse is kind of like a high stakes game of Tetras.  You're watching the screen and doing your best to get the right shapes in the right spots in the right timing before all the little pieces start piling up and something explodes. Or you end up with three ambulances pulling in with no where to put their patients or someone starts a riot  (or tries to die) in the waiting room.  I like puzzles and I like that part of the job.

But there's other parts I'm not wild about.  It turns out I lack a certain quality called "assertiveness".  I can smell confrontation a mile away and know how to dive for the nearest fox hole.  The problem is the ER seems to attract a lot of type A personalities, particularly in the doctor area, and they all want to tell you how to run the show. And they can smell weakness a mile away. Oh yes they can. No fox hole is safe.  I've had to learn to stand my ground and make statements that don't go up like a question at the end. I've had to make phone calls to different departments on behalf of my staff to confront issues or inappropriate interactions.  I've had to say "sorry, I can't do that" to the looming form of an opinionated MD. Through it all, I can feel my backbone hardening a little bit, but I've still got a ways to go on that front.

All that said, sometimes it's good to find ourselves in roles we aren't quite ready for. It puts pressure on us to grow, and forces us into situations that confront our weaknesses.  And Lord knows I've got plenty of those.

Holding Dynamite

We do things in life sometimes that are a little like holding lighted dynamite.  We know if we hold on too long it'll explode and destroy us. But we are pretty confident we can let it go just in time, before the damage can be done.  Something about watching that fuse shrink.... something about that thrill of destructive potential. Tempting fate and all that.  But take care lest you hold on too long.

From the Ashes

The world is such a beautiful, broken place.  I've been thinking a lot lately about pain and loss.  A month ago I watched my aunt grieve the death of her son, and presently I'm grieving the loss of my own unborn child.  But through this lens of my own present sadness, I feel humbled. Loss is all around, not always in the form of death. Besides the loss of loved ones, many suffer the loss of dreams and expectations.  The dream of having children. The dream of being happily  married.  The expectation of health.  Some people have to grieve and struggle with maybe not having the life they thought they would when they were young and dreams seemed only certain to come true.

Infertility is a death. Divorce is a death. Never finding that right someone is a death. Living with chronic illness is a death. Death of what we have deeply hoped and desired, death of our expectations for our lives. And each death brings it's own special form of grief.

A sweet friend of mine sent me a little silver necklace after my miscarriage with a little pendant with the word hope engraved on it.  A card accompanying this gift was filled with Bible verses about hope. Hope in the face of suffering, hope as an anchor for the soul, hope that does not disappoint.  And what is our hope in the midst of this world of loss and sadness?

Redemption. That is our hope.  That sadness and grief will be bought back from death and transformed into something new.  That beauty will spring from the ashes of loss, the proceeding devastation fertilizing the soil in which new life will grow.   And this hope is truly  my anchor.  It keeps me still when the waves of fear and depression threaten to overwhelm me. It sets my eyes before me on the Author of my faith, the One who endured loss, suffering, and death to identify with our own, and then overcame them.

Little Eyes

Little eyes, you never opened,

Little voice, you never cried.

Would your eyes been blue like Daddy's?

Or would they have been green like mine?

Little hand, I never grasped you,

Never held your little body tight.

But in my heart I hold the hope that

You rest in my Father's arms tonight.

Little life,

 Not mine to save.

My womb your home

And too your grave.

Little eyes, you never opened,

Little voice, you never cried.

Would your eyes been blue like Daddy's?

Or would they have been green like mine?

Death's Shadow

We live in a world that is constantly under the shadow of death.  It's so easy to forget this sentence hanging over us, which I suppose is a grace.  I go about my life, worrying about silly things and desiring silly things as though this startling and awe inspiring existence I have as a rational creature will stretch on forever.  But every now and then it catches me. The brevity of it all. The fragility.

I spent the weekend intimately acquainted with this reality, as I flew home to spend the weekend with my family and mourn the untimely and unexpected death of a cousin who was just shy of 30.  The afternoon that my plane took off from Seattle was as gloomy and foggy as ever a January day in Seattle. As my plane lifted however, we broke out of the clouds to reveal a glorious sun kissed landscape of mountain ranges and volcano peaks, snow caps glistening in the sunlight. A glory that was hard to believe existed when I was below. Not many hours later I would stand in the viewing room at the funeral home, holding my sister's hand and looking down at a familiar face - a face that was somehow no longer so familiar.  

Death feels so wrong.  It doesn't fit.  It's like credits running in the middle of a film that obviously had more story to tell.  It rarely seems to come when it should or in a manner that people find comforting.  And yet this shadow hangs over all of existence.  I have no way to be sure that I won't myself be a grieving mother someday, or a grieving wife.  Even if all life runs a predictable course the day will come when I have to say goodbye to people I love deeply - my grandparents. My parents.  The only way to avoid it is to leave early myself. An option I don't favor.

But into these dark thoughts come words spoken thousands of years ago, and echoed by my grandmother at my cousin's memorial. "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" My grandma could speak these words with emotion and conviction in the face of the deep loss of her grandson, almost as a taunt to that which hovers ever over us, because death - like a shadow - doesn't end the light. It only obscures it for a time.  And above the shadow of death the Light of life shines unobstructed.

My non religious friends may roll their eyes at the idea of resurrection, but resurrection is all around us.  Every time you admire a tree you see life that came from death. Hold some seeds in your hand and you'll see that they are dead. And yet from these dead seeds comes abundant life.  And so I believe that the Author of life can call from the dead seeds of our bodies new and abundant life. So maybe the credits didn't roll early on my cousin's story after all. Maybe Act I just finished and we'll have to wait until our own intermission comes to see what Act II holds.  For the family it will feel a long wait indeed - but we're waiting with hearts full of hope.

In the words of a wise man (or hobbit):

"Though here at jouney's end I lie

In darkness buried deep

Beyond all towers strong and high

Beyond all mountains steep...

Above all shadows rides the sun

And stars forever dwell.

I will not say the day is done

Nor bid the stars farewell."

Breaking Bad and Human Longing

 

I have to admit that one of my very favorite hobbies is pondering the human condition.  I've never found that as an option on a drop down list of interests and it certainly doesn't help make me the life of a party, but it is all the same.  Because humans are simply fascinating.  I therefore have a very high appreciation for books, movies, or television series where the writer(s) has a unique insight into human nature and does an excellent job revealing these aspects in their theme or characters.  

One of my favorite books is the old classic, 'How to win friends and influence people'.  And it's a favorite not so much for it's good advice regarding human interactions, but because while reading it I learned something I hadn't realized about human nature.  To quote a paragraph, "There is one longing- almost as deep, almost as imperious, as the desire for food or sleep- which is seldom gratified. It is what Freud calls 'the desire to be great.' It is what Dewey calls the 'desire to be important'."  Basically, every human being desperately wants to feel like they are important, that in the grand scheme of things, somehow they matter.

Which brings us to Breaking Bad.  Besides being filmed in my kickin home town of Albuquerque, NM this series offers an incredible picture of this aspect of humanity in the character of frustrated genius, Walter White.  The series begins with Walter as an extremely over qualified high school chemistry teacher, wallowing in a slow and unsatisfying life of wasted genius.  He discovers he has terminal lung cancer and through a series of events has an epiphany that he could use his chemistry genius in the meth business to save his family from financial ruin upon his death.   As the seasons progress we witness Walter's downward moral slide as he becomes the meth industry's most talented and savvy new boss.  He picks up the trade to provide for and protect his family, but eventually despite more money than he can launder and the destruction it begins to rain on the family he set out to protect, Walt is unwilling to walk away.  Suddenly he's found the thing he had always desired.  Suddenly he's no longer some obscure and unimportant little man doing nothing of consequence.  Now he's the best at something, now he has a name people fear, now he feels powerful.  And the perceptive watcher will see that what this man always wanted most was not the best for his wife and kids - what he always wanted was to matter.  And if the only way to be someone important was through something destructive like the meth industry - so be it.

The average person might not resort to being a drug lord, but this law is at work in all of us.  We are all desperately trying to matter.  Why do we love talking about ourselves?  Why is one of the most satisfying experiences talking to a truly interested listener? Why do we have a tendency to make the things we do sound more noble than they are?  I talked to a salesperson from the Buckle once and they described their work as almost nothing less than saving humanity one low self esteem at a time by helping people pick better clothes.   I'm guilty of this in talking about my job as an ER nurse - I want people to be impressed by what I'm doing. I want to feel important.

People all pursue this elusive longing in different ways.  Some people throw themselves into philanthropy,  others will take getting a sense of importance from crime over a life that seemingly goes unnoticed.  Being known for something bad is better than not being known at all.  At least you mattered. Why do some people go for a massacre before killing themselves?  Maybe because if they kill only themselves, no one will care - but if they kill a bunch of other people first, no one will forget. I believe that a lot of suicides and suicide attempts are tied to this. The deepest despair I think we can feel is the despair in believing that we don't matter.  I also believe some people take extreme measures like suicide attempts to prove to themselves that they do.  So that the people that come clamoring to their bedside and to their aid can reassure them somehow that their life means something.

Why are we like this?  Why do we need to feel like we matter so desperately?  If we look to Naturalism, we have no answers, because if you journey through the philosophical ramifications of the atheistic and naturalist world view you can only logically arrive at the conclusion that we don't in fact matter.  Not really. Of course you can find things that feel meaningful, particularly if you are born in the upper crust of civilization and don't have to deal with hunger, war, and disease, and if people you love don't die prematurely, and you don't suffer a debilitating illness and the people you love don't betray you and leave you.  Our existence having meaning is a longing that none of us can deny.  And besides, it is just fascinating to me that we need it to matter. Even when we are healthy and enjoying family and good weather, we wonder what it means. How much more the majority of the world that suffers.  If ever there were an internal hint - directing us to look outward and upward, and whispering to our souls that there's something more, surely the longing to matter is it.