Words

My words have been spent these long last months in papers and charts and tests and in the trapped places of my mind where I don’t know how to think and process and face the world we live in.
So I am reading and listening to and repeating the words of others, hoping that in small ways I may gain a measure of perspective, of motivation, of passion, of energy, of wisdom, of knowledge, of understanding, of eternal value through the experiences of others.  My life right now is far too full of things that can easily be seen as only temporal—I sit in class, I study, I write papers, I go to work, I see patients, I give out prescriptions, I (occasionally) wash my dishes, I go running.  I am learning why, so often, men and women of God have cried out for Him to “Renew the joy of [their] salvation” and to be freed from the entanglements that keep them from running to toward the one true prize.

There is always the danger that we may just do the work for the sake of the work. This is where the respect and the love and the devotion come in – that we do it to God, to Christ, and that’s why we try to do it as beautifully as possible.
Mother Teresa

I do not pray for success, I ask for faithfulness.
Mother Teresa

As judgment is God’s justice confronting moral inequity, so mercy is the goodness of God confronting human suffering and guilt . . . It is human misery and sin that call forth the divine mercy.
A.W. Tozer, in The Knowledge of the Holy

I’m re-reading (for the umpteenth time) the novel Christy, by Catherine Marshall (if all you ever saw was the TV version and you haven’t read the book, then, well, you should just read the book).  I’m finding a lot of wisdom in the struggle written about in that book, even if half of it was a figment of the author’s mind. Words such as this: “’ . . . evil is real—and powerful.  It has to be fought, not explained away, not fled.  And God is against evil all the way.  So each of us have to decide where we stand, how we’re going to live our lives.  We can try to persuade ourselves that evil doesn’t exist; live for ourselves and wink at evil.  We can say that it isn’t so bad after all, maybe even try to call it fun by clothing it in silks and velvets.  We can compromise with it, keep quiet about it and say it’s none of our business.  Or we can work on God’s side, listen for His orders on strategy against the evil, no matter how horrible it is, and know that He can transform it.’”

But there is hope in all our tears.  When the hour of Christ’s triumph arrives, the suffering world will be brought out into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.  For men of the new creation the golden age is not past but future, and when it is ushered in, a wondering universe will see that God has indeed abounded toward us in all wisdom and prudence.
A.W. Tozer, in The Knowledge of the Holy

And with that great hope, we persevere.

On Surviving

I wanted to entitle this “Anatomy of Chaos: One Week in My Life”.  This week looked something like this:

Scramble to find a new summer clinical site after the one I set up 3 1/2 months ago fell through.

Accept new job and sign HR paperwork (and watch a video on bloodborne pathogens.  Again.  At what point do I get to say “Ok, after this 400th review, I finally understand disease transmission!! Thank you.”??)

Work last 14 hour shift at old job.

Study for big bad test.

Orient to new clinical location.

Study for big bad test.

Fail big bad test.

Sit in class for 18 hours over two days.

Lose power in massive thunderstorms.

Work first day at new job.

The End.

But, the problem with me ending there is that it’s not the end.  There have been MANY days over the past few weeks (it’s been utterly insane.  Really.  Murphy’s law wants to take me down.) when I have stopped with the chaos, have lost perspective, have been demoralized and discouraged.  I want to hide somewhere and sleep for a very long time.   I’m not sure if this is a trial, a test, fate, or just some incredibly frustrating coincidences, but this needs to end.  Ok, maybe I do get which of those possibilites it is, and in my frailty and humanness I’m terrified–what will I do, how will I respond, Who will I trust–when the realities and dangers I’m facing are magnified a thousand fold?

I’m grateful for the people who are holding me up through these weeks–people who are praying for me, accepting that they won’t hear from me for months, supporting me, putting up with me . . . I could go on.

This month of great frustration and stress has revelaed, again, that I lean on weak crutches, and must, at times, have them break under me to recognize that they will never hold me up.  I’m not through with all the things that keep going wrong or breaking (yes, the internet is out for the 3rd time in about 6 weeks.  I’ve spent far too many rollover minutes on the phone with AT&T customer service.  They don’t love me and I don’t love them.) and I don’t really know when it will ease up–but I pray that every day I will accept what I am given with a little more grace and a little more perspective. I probably won’t, tomorrow, when I wake up and go to work tired, again.  But then I will see that the crutch of me being able to handle life will crack.

as you came to us so we come to you
fragile as a baby hopeful and new
but learning fast that to walk is to fall
soon we’ve done it all

we come broken and we come undone
we come trying hard to love everyone
but we come up short in all that we do
because we do
so we come to you

as you came to us so we come to you
dirty and hurting then dead in the tomb
but raised redeemed to show off the scars
‘cause you’ve brought us this far

you came to show the way not around but through
so through it all we come to you

–Derek Webb

Save us

I have blog posts and journal entries welling up within me, but I’ve been too busy and some of the processing is too difficult to be expressed on paper yet.  A friend I knew in Ethiopia recently started a blog, and she aptly noted that there were, in fact, interesting things to write and contemplate about life here.  Maybe the posts won’t be about being run over by donkeys on the way to the office or the struggle to know what it means to “Give to him who is hungry” while you pass a hundred beggars; but still, life is full and rich and hard and confusing here in the West, and it’s worth acknowledging the good and the bad and the downright funny (Pandora just gave me a blast from my past, when I was infatuated with SANDI PATTY!!!!  yeah, I hit skip!).

Yesterday we read the familiar Palm Sunday passage describing Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.  I had never realized that the Hebrew meaning of “Hosanna” is literally, “Save us!”  I’m grateful for my time out of the West, partly because I can see the images of these passages a little more clearly.  The crowds lining the road leading into Jerusalem weren’t the happy, festive, well-dressed crowds you see televised from the Macy’s Day parade.  No, they were poor and perhaps a little desperate, confused about this man, yet excited about the possibilities.   They were dressed in everything from robes to tatters, thronging into the street, crescendoing their voices in words few fully understood: “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD! Hosanna in the highest!”  They knew, too, that they needed help, salvation–yet most did not understand that what they really needed was life through death.  Just a few days later the same restless crowd would be incited to cry out, “Crucify Him!”

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe me to Thy grace.

–Bernard of Clairvaux

Random Rambling about books, trips, ideas, movies, music . . .

In lieu of working on a presentation on leadership in nursing, I thought I’d think through writing about some of the things on my mind and heart.

This week marked a strange anniversary for me–I can no longer say “A year ago I lived in Ethiopia.”  This adds another challenging piece to the ‘identity crisis’ of the past year.  I am still far from settled in my life here in Dallas, and often wish I could speed up the process of becoming a part of a place.  But the hours demanded for both grad school and work suck me dry, and I’m not often faithful to put the remaining few hours toward investing in people here.

Through the transitions of the past year,  and especially over the past couple beginning weeks of Lent, I’ve been thinking a lot about joy–what does it mean?  Where does it come from?  How do you hang on to it? What does it mean to pray for the Father to “restore the joy of Your salvation” (Ps 51), to understand what Jesus meant when He said, “Abide in Me . . . if you keep my commandments, you will abide in My love . . . these things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full.” (John 15).  Fullness of joy–how much more satisfying is joy than anything this world has to offer?   I want to hit the road running this week to try to make it through John Piper’s “How to Fight for Joy” conference messages.  And I’m thinking about picking up D. Martin Lloyd Jones’ Spiritual Depression again, and actually making it through the book this time.  I find I am worn down by the weight of the world–my own busy schedule is a small part, hectic crazy life is another, but the immensity of poverty, war, disease, and brokenness in world is the largest.

I’m reading–finally, really reading–Philip Yancey’s What’s So Amazing About Grace.  Today’s chapter dealt with the unnatural act of forgiveness.

The very taste of forgiveness seems somehow wrong.  Even when we have commited a wrong, we want to earn our way back into the injured party’s good grace.  We prefer to crawl on our knees, to wallow, to do penance, to kill a lamb–and religion often obliges us.

These words struck me–how often do I try to “earn” my way with God, with my family, friends, classmates–instead of seeking forgiveness and forgiving?

This past week was my spring break (it felt a little strange to have one again.  But I’m sure I could get used to it!).  I spent a few quiet days in Albuquerque, and Leah let me spoil myself a bit. 

We both got haircuts and pedicures (then of course it was cold when I got back to Dallas and all I wanted to wear was wool socks!!).

I could stand to live around the mountains again!

It rained a bit there (I should get an award for bringing the first rain of the year, right?) and a striking rainbow appeared–a perfect arc of reminder.

One night we went to see Slumdog Millionare–I realize that pretty much everyone else and their dog has already seen it, but it was only the 2nd movie I’ve seen in the US in the last 3 1/2 years!  I’d been warned by a few friends that the movie might be hard for me, that the slum life of India might hit too close to home.  I thought I did ok, the credits were rolling, I was quietly mulling how amazing a film it was, when Leah asked, “So, what did you think?”  The tears came then–the movie was real.  I have no doubt they veiled the brutality of religious violence, of the pain of poverty, of the fear of bondage–but enough was shown to make me long for the day when justice will roll down.

Recently I picked up my tattered copy of Christy (sorry for the cover art on the edition Amazon offers!!).  I’ve read this book, or parts of it, many times–but over the past few months I have appreciated it a lot more, I think mostly because I could more readily understand the struggles of poverty, disease, familial breakdown, and hopelessness.  In thinking about evil that had torn apart families and destroyed communities, the author wrote,

I had to step aside and ask Someone else to do the fighting for me.  And every time I thought of my particular battle–usually many times a day–I had to step consciously out of the way again and give gratitude to Him for the battle He was waging on my behalf right then.  Sometimes it took days, sometimes longer, for evil was rarely flimsy but the outcome was sure; sure becasue He was and is the Lord of life.  And sure, because evil is at the last a coward that slinks away when finally challenged and faced down.

How grateful I am to know that the outcome is sure, and evil is, at last, the coward–because some days it doesn’t seem so.

This weekend I went to Paris to join a whole host of extended family (most of whom I’m not actually related to!) to celebrate the 80th birthday of my “extra” grandmother.  It was a sweet time of celebrating her life, and seeing the astounding legacy of a life lived for love of God, family, and people.  My cousin Amory sang a fitting song entitled Legacy

I don’t have to look too far or too long awhile
To make a lengthy list of all that I enjoy
It’s an accumulating trinket and a treasure pile
Where moth and rust, thieves and such will soon enough destroy

I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?

And last, but certainly not least, I’ve been savoring the new U2 album, No Line On the Horizon.

It’ll probably take me awhile to give a final verdict on the album, but so far I like.  I’m intrigued.

Now this dry ground, it bears no fruit at all
Only poppies laugh under the crescent moon
The road refuses strangers
The land, the seeds we sow
Where might we find the lamb as white as snow?

I think it’s time for me to stop here.  Past time, you’re probably thinking!  Time to go running, and then–it’s always time for Girl Scout Thin Mints.

And maybe, finally, that presentation.

life is bigger than me

10,000 children and all I can do is just talk.
While my house is full of possessions that negligence bought.
Everyone tells me that I’m not to blame,
Why do I still feel the same?

Only love can save us all.
Only love can save us all, save us all.

10,000 children are my invitation to change.
To continue in excess now suddenly feels oh so strange.
Prayers and money should not be confused,
But I pray that both still are used.

Only love can save us all.
Only love can save us all

What will become of me?
Inside of history

10,000 children and all I can do is just talk.

–Dave Barnes

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxlGCu-CRNY)

or support his music and passion for the broken

My feet are moving but the finish line isn’t much closer

I’ve been studying for what seems like an interminable length of time, but I’m still left with far too few hours over the next few days to adequately prepare for finals.  The job is overwhelming; and even though I know that in a week it will all be behind me, I still wonder how long and short this week will turn out to be.  I’m struggling to stay on task, to not check facebook or clean my room (it hasn’t been this neat in months) or make cookies (but they are yummy) or read all of Taber’s Cyclopedic Medical Dictionary.  This evening, I again strayed from the powerpoint on my computer to the much-more-enticing world of catching up on blogs and news that I don’t actually need to know right now (not when there are thousands of drugs just waiting for me to learn their side effects, at least!).  Sometimes God isn’t subtle.  At all.  The blog post title that I opened up?  “Confessions of a Busy Procrastinator”.  Ouch.  That’s me–I have my notes all spread out, my study plan scheduled, my to-do memo typed out in my palm.  I’ve always been busy–I say I’m never bored, and that’s really true. But my non-laziness manifested in busy procrastination is just as bad (or worse, because I like to think I’m ok just because I’m busy).

No unwelcome tasks become any the less unwelcome by putting them off till tomorrow. It is only when they are behind us and done, that we begin to find that there is a sweetness to be tasted afterwards, and that the remembrance of unwelcome duties unhesitatingly done is welcome and pleasant. Accomplished, they are full of blessing, and there is a smile on their faces as they leave us. Undone, they stand threatening and disturbing our tranquility, and hindering our communion with God. If there be lying before you any bit of work from which you shrink, go straight up to it, and do it at once. The only way to get rid of it is to do it.
-Alexander MacLaren (1826–1910), Scottish preacher

So, now to sleep, tomorrow to start anew, to rejoice in grace for busy procrastinating sinners, and, by a strength not my own, to stay on task and fill up my brain with knowledge of diseases and drugs.

Wonderful Indeed

With the kids jingle belling
And everyone telling you “Be of good cheer”
It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
It’s the hap -happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings
When friends come to call
It’s the hap – happiest season of all

There’ll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for toasting
And caroling out in the snow
There’ll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories of
Christmases long, long ago

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
There’ll be much mistltoeing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Eddie Pola and George Wyle

I’m almost giddy with excitement.  Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and it’s been three years since I’ve celebrated it with my family.  There’s nothing spectacular about our celebrations, but yet–there is something amazing about sitting around a room with your extended family and sharing what you are most grateful for.  I had great Thanksgivings the past couple of years in Ethiopia–even turkey once! and I will always cherish those memories and most of all the friends I made them with.  Still, I missed sharing Thanksgiving with my family, eating (too much) pie, and family poker.  The past couple of months of school and work have been intense and draining, and I’ve pressed on with the anticipation of Thanksgiving ahead.  Now it’s almost here, and only pathophysiology tonight and a long day at work tomorrow are between now and gathering with crazy family to run the Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning.

Last week I heard the Salvation Army bell ringers even before I could see the department store entrance; the jingling signaled Christmas season had indeed begun.  We have so much, don’t we?

insufficient for the task

This new season of life is not what I expected it to be, but even as I write that I realize that the corners in life rarely give way to the roads we are anticipating.  While I can’t yet see what will come out of my unmet expectations, I have only to look on past experiences to know that, somehow, this too will be for good.

People ask me what I do, and I say I study.  It’s mostly true.  It’s my job (other than the paying one), and even my calling right now.  When I’m not studying, I’m probably being lazy and wasting time and wishing I could be much more diligent and disciplined.  I’m beginning to see through the fog that has closed me in these first 7 weeks (can it be such a short time?  it feels so much longer) of graduate school. The schedule is relentless, and like much of life and sanctification there is enormous frustration that there is no point at which we can say, “The work is done.  I’m tired.  I can quit now, even if it’s just for a little while.”  It has felt as though I stepped into another world that shut me off from time and ability and energy to maintain old relationships and invest in new one.  I’m determined that it will not always be this way, but I am also learning to accept my limitations.  I’m not invincible, and I can’t do it all.  I can’t even do most of it.

I’m grateful for the small things that are actually heaping measures of grace: classmates who I can call at 11:30pm to say, “I don’t know how to approach this paper!”, professors who genuinely care that we grow into well-equipped practitioners, a kitchen with bright spots of red, a roommate who brought me Trader Joe’s Ruby Red Chai tea from her trip to CA, random scattered friends around this city who are still there even if I only manage to see them once a month, cousins who love me even when I don’t ever see them, cooler autumn days and open windows.  See?  It’s a lot.  Even on the days when some parts of life seem very empty, the cup is still full.

I’ve continued to read Dr. Helen Roseaveare’s writings.  I know that we are changed not so much by what we read and hear of, but through the fires and rivers we must persevere through.  Still, I hope in some small ways of thinking and believing that I will be changed by what I am learning of her journey to laying everything down for the sake of the Cross.

“I would put the realization that in myself I was a failure.  I was unable to reach the standard I myself had set, let alone God’s.  Try as I would, I only met frustration in this longing to achieve, to be worthy.  I’m sure that, for me, this first lesson had to be thoroughly learnt so that, when I did come to acknowledge God as my Lord and Master, I might not succumb again to the temptation to feel that I could succeed or achieve anything ultimately worthwhile in my own strength . . .

Only as I found my own insufficiency did I realize His sufficiency.”

Helen Roseaveare, in Give Me This Mountain

The house is against us . . . a tale of woe

The other day, after yet another instance of thwarted domestic endeavors, SJ said “The house must be against us.” And I believe it’s true. From curtain rods that fall in the night to sofas that won’t fit in Bonnie the SUV, from shades that will NOT be hung to plates that suddenly won’t fit in the cabinets (could they really have shifted overnight??)—it’s been an adventure. I have been intending to hang room-darkening shades in my bedroom for weeks. I’m on the streets-facing corner of the house and have four lovely windows, so it’s bright enough at night that I could probably read a large-print Reader’s Digest. This won’t do, especially when I start working some night shifts and need to convince my body that it’s normal to be sleeping at noon. So, finally, I made it to Lowe’s last week, bought shades, and had them cut to the size of the windows. I started the installation process one day this week, but have been efficiently halted several times. (And the instructions say it only takes 5 minutes to hang each shade. Multiplied by 50.) First I had to take down all of the existing blinds, which only became a problem when I realized some of the screws were stripped. Then I had to hammer, at strange angles, more holes into the window panes (don’t tell the landlady!). Halfway through this, I realized I would NEVER be able to get the nails out because of the angle, and I do intend to re-hang the blinds when my sojourn in this house ends. So, I made another trip out, to the hardware store this time. But they were closed, because by then it was Labor Day. So I haphazardly re-thumb-tacked curtains, blankets, and pillowcases over the windows. Yesterday I made it back to ACE (I think they know me now. Hopefully they think I’m mildly capable of telling the difference between a nail and a screw). Re-supplied and very determined, I drilled, hammered, measured, tugged, rolled, and stretched my way to hanging two more shades. Which means I’m down to one shade. But, alas! There is one deceptive window in my room, which is about a ½ inch narrower than the rest. Of course I didn’t measure all four since they looked alike!
So tomorrow, I’ll drive back to Lowes. I will win!

Welcome back

My car was packed to the ceiling.  It felt strange, this driving away from Mississippi.  It felt permanent in a way the Ethiopia move didn’t.  I didn’t know what was after Ethiopia when I left to go there; even though I don’t have the times and places of my life on a map now, I’m more confident of the general direction I’m headed (now that I say that, watch me make a u-turn).  I’ve put 10,000 miles on Bonnie since she became my car in April; Wednesday I was glad that the driving was (mostly) almost over.  I made it through MS, then LA.  I smiled when I crossed the Texas state line, but didn’t stop for a couple more hours.  When I did, it was at a half gas station/half bbq smokehouse place.  I walked to the restroom past counters stacked with jerky.  I started chuckling in the restroom when I realized what song was playing overhead.
“Don’t break my heart, my achy break-y heart . . .”
I thought to myself, “Yep, you are back in Texas, Sara.”
Oh, but it wasn’t over.  I bought a drink, then headed for the door so Bonnie and I could make it to Dallas.  Just before I left, though, I heard the strains of another song coming over the speakers.
Yeah, heel, toe, docie do
Come on baby, let’s go boot scootin’
Oh cadillac, blackjack, baby meet me out back
We’re gonna boogie
Oh, get down, turn around, go to town
Boot scootin’ boogie

Yes, I’m back.  I think that’s a good thing.  But I’ll let you know.