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.

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.