Jelly Belly's and The Resurrection

I have been back in the world of nursing for about 3 months. Working as a nurse feels like an comfortable, old, forgotten pair of shoes that I found in the bottom of my closet. At first they feel strange but soon enough, my toes seem to wiggle into the familiar spots and its like I have always been wearing them.  I have a different perspective now that I am back from overseas.  Things don't seem to be as big of a deal. A doctor gets mad? Eh...who cares.....a mad cow once jabbed me in the gut with his horns..... A lab report gets lost? Eh....look it up again on the state of the art super speedy computer that we have access to.

A few weeks ago, I became particularly attached to a patient whose condition was rapidly deteriorating. Photos of his four beautiful granddaughters lined the window seal. His wife walked in and out of the room. They stole  secret glances and laughed at inside jokes the way only a married couple can. His son held his hand with desperate eyes. 'Come on Dad, stay with us a bit longer. Tell us about that trip to Vegas you took one more time'. My patient was so full of life then. He had a sparkle in his eye. He hadn't been allowed to eat in several days but the day I was his nurse, the doctors said he could. Eating is both a good and bad thing in this situation. They allowed him to eat because they couldn't do further surgery.  He would soon be at the end of his journey, might as well allow him to enjoy a hamburger or two.

One of the other nurses had put some jelly beans at the nurses station for us to share that day. We had been joking all day long that we needed another dose of our "Xanax"...or our "Prozac". Medicinal therapy courtesy of  Jelly Belly. I took a plastic medicine cup  out of my bag on a whim. I scooped up some jelly beans and snuck into my patients room.

"I have your medicine for you"

He looked at me with a question. I shook the small container. When he realized they were jelly beans, his eyes sparkled.

"Can I really'? he asked

"Of course"

He gobbled them down in two seconds. "That was awesome".

His family perked up. "Does that mean we can bring him jelly beans"?

"Sure, why not".

When you only have a short time to live...."sure, why not" becomes the answer.

You enjoy those last sweet moments.

At the end of my day, I went to tell him goodbye. My eyes searched his eyes. I wasn't sure what I was trying to tell him but...he knew. He knew the end was coming. Nobody really wants a nurse who crumbles so I fought against balling my eyes out. In this world of political correctness, we have to be careful about human touch. But that didn't matter. I asked "can I give you a hug"?

His eyes sparkled again. Sure, why not.

I reach down and held his bony shoulders for a few seconds. It was awkward of course. I barely knew this man.  BUT- this was some one's father, husband, brother.  And this was a fellow brother about to see our Father face to face. So awkward hug it is.

Last week, I stepped into his room one last time. Just to say hello. The sparkle in his eyes was gone. He didn't recognize me. He didn't remember the jelly beans.

Yesterday, we stood in church and celebrated the Resurrection. I cried. I cried because of the hope. I cried because of the blessing.  I cried because of those four beautiful granddaughters, I cried because one day God will wipe away all the tears.

You know, earlier, when I said that things are not as big of a deal since India? Well, in other ways, things are a BIGGER deal to me. Christ defeated death! He has the victory! Because He lives we can face tomorrow. And if I get a chance again, I will sneak my patients Jelly Belly's. Praise God for the resurrection. 

In The Garden

With the changing of the weather, I have been inspired to plant a fall garden. I personally know nothing about gardening. I do remember as a kid not wanting anything to do with it. I  begged "PLEASE don't make me garden....I would rather do DISHES than help you garden". I usually got my wish but I look back now and think that's weird. I would rather do dishes than to dig in the dirt??? What kind of a kid was I...? A weird one apparently.

So when I returned home a few months ago, I was ready to give it the ol' college try. My parents quickly got on the band wagon. And as it turns out, it has been one of the best things I could have done. The soil wasn't prepared at all. We had to till it up. At first, I tried using a pic ax. I would work SO hard...and then look down and see that I hadn't gotten very far. It got too hot. I wanted to give up. I got cranky. But stubbornness kept me going.

We borrowed a tiller from our neighbor and the job got easier.  We bought top soil and tilled it all together, taking out the weeds and the rocks. There is something so grounding about working IN the ground. To feel the damp soil on my hands and the sun on my back. It was how God meant it to be. God knew that man had to till the soil to survive and so He thought it good to make it enjoyable.

In the mornings I go out and check on things. I water. I pick out the weeds. I prune so that the plants will be more fruitful.  I don't say much to God. I just garden. I have noticed since being home that my quiet times are increasingly quite.  I don't seem to have much to say.  I just dig in the soil and I know that God is with me. He shows me stuff through gardening. He teaches me through the tilling up of the hard soil. He teaches me through the pruning. He teaches me through the gently caring of the baby seedlings pushing their way up through the ground. Against all odds, things still grow. In the garden there are lessons of hope, life, and perseverance. In the garden there are songs of praise as the sun makes it way across the sky. In the garden there is peace. In the garden there is healing. I don't care too much about the harvest. I planted beets for some reason and I hate beets.  But I do care about the journey. And I think God does too.

A Bunch of Weeds

This morning I had a nice long quiet time with the Lord. And I literally mean QUIET time . I barely prayed a word.  I just said “Ok God, speak for your servant is listening”. Of course  at first it was mainly just clutter in my head. Random thoughts. Emails I need to return. But slowly the noise in my head quiets down. I go outside and sit on the porch to drink my coffee. I  get up and wander over to the garden to straighten up a few things. I sit back down and let my eyes  look over the Ponderosa ( what my dad calls their property.)

 The Ponderosa-the place I grew up. The place where I would roam fields for hours, letting my imagination entertain me.  For example, one afternoon, I turned the barn into Laura Ingall’s house and pretended I was on Little House on the Prairie.  Or I would sometimes walk through the wildflowers (aka weeds) and pretend I was Anne  of Green Gables. I smiled at the memories. Thank you Lord that I grew up here. Those were the first words I had really spoken to Him in 10 minutes.

The childhood memories prompt me to take a walk in one of the fields. Oh the weeds…the allergies..the dirt. But no, I go inside, take an allergy pill, and head back outside. To be honest, it’s a bit of a ragamuffin field. It mainly consists of weeds and gravel. Anne of Green Gables would have NEVER chosen that field to walk in to write her deep poetic thoughts.

As I walked, I remembered roaming those fields as a little girl. Full of imagination. Full of wonder and hope for a good future.  I begin to cry. I cried and cried. I didn’t say anything. I just let the Lord listen to my tears. I knew that He knew- and I guess that’s all I needed to know.  I start picking the flowers that were living out among those weeds. I didn’t have a plan initially but before I knew it, I had made a bouquet.  I found a vase and set the arrangement  on the table. Something beautiful actually came out of that tick infested dirt. I cried some more. The Lord doesn’t waste our pain . He makes beauty out of ashes. And He makes flowers out of ragamuffin fields.  My quiet time this morning? I  basically cried over a bunch of weeds. And somehow it was beautifully redeeming.

Have Mercy On Me...a Sinner

I have been having right abdominal pain off and on for a few months. I had been ignoring it for awhile but it has gotten increasingly more painful. I noticed when I tried to exercise hard, it would be get bad. (Maybe I am allergic to exercising too hard).

Last week, it started getting worse so I finally saw my doctor. He did all the tests and it all came back normal. However, last Wednesday night, it got REALLY bad. I could hardly breath. I was at church but decided to go home to rest. By the time I got out to the parking lot, I knew I needed help. Because I am a dork...I call my friend who used to work in the emergency room.....just to make SURE an ER visit was necessary.

I gasp to my friend....do. you.....(argh!!! ouch)...think....gasp....I...should... go to the ER, I can't breath...."

My friend immediately responses...oh my word GO!

I get another friend who has been my friend/sister/every- thing- else- in- between out of choir practice. She rushes out and we get in my car to go. She asks me where I want to go and I tell her to go to the nearby community hospital..

Are you SURE? She asks

I snapped...YES (sorry J)

We go into an overcrowded ER and they initially turn us away because they are so busy. But I am having chest pains so I insist on going in.

I get check in and then I am told to wait. So we waited and waited and waited. The pain kept getting worse. You know how it goes, a lot of people use the ER like a clinic. And about 30 of those folks were ahead of me in line. The Cowboys were playing that night. Most of the crowd in the ER were cheering and laughing at the game. And I was in the corner writhing in pain. My sister/friend did the best that she could do. To tell you the truth, I was getting mad. Every time I heard a laugh or a cheer I got more and more angry. And the pain got more and more worse. (Hum...interesting)

These are the thoughts going in my head:

"Don't they know I REALLY am in pain..."
"I have good insurance for crying out loud"
"They should put me ahead of the line...I am having chest pain"
"I am going to have J take me back to the church and then I am going to call 911 so that I can get immediate help"

After sitting quite awhile,  I turn to my sister/friend and say "well...maybe we should pray". And so we did. It dawned on me that praying had not been my first instinct. So many times in South Asia, I immediately prayed this prayer when trouble arose... "Jesus Christ, Son of the Most High God, have mercy on me....a sinner"

But you know what? This time, I trusted in the  health system.  I felt entitled to good health care. In South Asia, I assumed I might not get good treatment so it was in God that I trusted. But that night last week? It was in America that I trusted. It was in myself that I trusted. I was home for crying out loud.  Home of the brave.  Home of freedom and rights.

 But as we know, the system breaks down. I got so frustrated with waiting, I asked J to take me out of that place. As she turned the wheelchair around, I passed by the the cheering/laughing- Cowboy- fellow- patient fans. I gave them the stink eye as we left. But I also saw the old man sitting alone in the corner. I saw the worried mom who had brought her baby in. I saw the young girl in obvious pain because she had injured her foot. My heart sank. Pain makes us selfish.  "Jesus Christ, Son of the Most High God, have mercy on me....a sinner"

 We finally went to a different ER in another town and I got immediate help. As the morphine was  being pushed through my veins I felt both worse and better at the same time. I felt worse because I was losing control. I felt better because the pain stopped throbbing.  As I drifted off to sleep I prayed, thanking the Lord that He has mercy on us.

Going Limp

For the past few weeks, I have been working out at the rec center here in town.  The first time I  ever drove to it,  I hummed 'its fun to stay at the YMCA....' to myself on the way there. And also, for some odd reason, I kept having flashbacks of an old Cosby Show episode where Theo gets in a fight at the gym (or something like that) and Heathcliff  swoops in with his basketball and sweatband  and offers Theo a pearl of fatherly wisdom.  In reality, I have been working out for a few weeks and I have yet to see Theo getting into any sort of fight and the rec center actually looks NOTHING like a YMCA.

A physical trainer has been helping me get into shape by offering wisdom in diet, exercise and GRACE (that's my favorite part). Even though I am horribly out of shape, I walk away strangely encouraged. But then that's what grace does....it strangely encourages you.

Well anyway,  last Friday, I had set down my keys and my phone on a rack for our exercise session. About an hour into our session, I noticed my phone missing. I looked around for it and we quickly discovered that it had been stolen. My immediate reaction? Oh well...is it what it is....can't do anything about it now.  I went limp. I didn't even fight.  But the guy who worked there and my physical trainer went quickly into action. We reviewed some security tapes and sure enough, we caught the young kid red handed! My trainer went running after him because he knew who the kid was.  The gym guy called the police. And I still stood there...still going limp. Its gone...its long gone. I thought to myself. The next thing I know, I hear the trainer  holler- he has my phone! I run downstairs with my eye on the prize. Of course that means I am not paying attention so I get caught up in the exit turnstile (because it is in fact an ENTRY turnstile)...but that's another story. Hehe

They caught the kid, got my phone back and saved the day. My heroes.

I was telling this story to my dear friend this afternoon who served with me in South Asia. "You know why you reacted like that?", she asked

Yes...

Its 'cause of South Asia. We are just used to going limp. We have resigned ourselves to the fact that  things happen and you can't do anything about it so you just...go limp, hoping for the best but deep down inside expecting the worst.

My friend was right. I have gotten so beat down over the past three years that my initial response is to be like a turtle and retreat into my shell. I didn't want to fight.  I had to put on my superwoman cape so many times and fight alone that I actually forgot what it was like to have someone fight for me. And yes of course the Lord was there the whole time overseas. But for me to see someone with actual skin on do something with no other motive than kindness....that's grace realized.

Some people fought an injustice for me. I didn't have to fight. For once, I didn't have to put on my Superwoman cape. It was getting too small anyway.

Changing Shape

I will always remember that Sunday morning when the world went topsy turvy. It was New Years Day and I knew that I was sick. I turned to my friend in church and said "hey, I need help". And the next thing I knew we were leaving M Town and traveling to the capital city to the hospital.

Earlier that day, I had made a veggie salad that is popular among the expats in South Asia. The recipe is simple. Its basically fresh veggies that is marinated in a sweet vinegar dressing. And it was sitting in the frig chilling during church. And there it sat for about 3 months.  I had no idea that I would be in the capital city so long. When I finally was able to return home...I remembered the salad! Oh no!  I slowly opened the refrigerator door...not knowing what to expect. And there the bowl still sat. The cucumbers, carrots, green peppers, etc had all been marinating for  months.  Their shape had changed but overall, they had been preserved. If you didn't already know that it was 3 months old...it looked almost edible. Of course... I  immediately threw it away (including the bowl...just wasn't sure what had been growing in there..)

 I have thought about that salad a few times over the years. Those veggies had marinated so long in that vinegar that their shape had literally changed. Their very composition had changed. Not just on the outside- it had soaked all the way through.  I was thinking that those veggies are a lot like our walk with the Lord. If we marinate long enough in His Word, if we put to test what we hear long enough...it soaks all the way through.. And while it can hurt at times...we still are preserved. So, my prayer is that we can marinate...soaking up His Word..in hopes that our shape can literally be changed.

You Just Never Know

"They told me to come down here but I don't know why", the small brown woman said  while standing at the bottom of the stairs in the Children's Building at church. I recognized that look in her brown eyes. The look that said...I understood the directions but don't understand why exactly...

  Of course, being American and being a member of the church, I KNEW why we were waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Every month that has a 5th Sunday in it, parents pick their kids up and take them to big church instead of leaving them for children's church. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was a sure fire way not to miss them because they sound like elephants when they get out of Sunday School.

Me, being both  the cultural and church-ural (is that a word?) insider, felt empathy for the small grandmother. Because you see... I have been in her shoes. I knew not to go into the details. I knew to look her in the eye and say with slow, gentle words "just wait here, you will meet your grandson in a few minutes". And then I waited with her. She was reunited with her grandson and I walked away.

Again, later in the week, I was shopping with my mom. The girl at the check out counter was South Asian. I use that same slow English with her and she perked up . My mom said in the car  afterwards "when you change your speech like that...they understand you"? And I said "I changed my speech"? And she said "yes". I guess I just instinctively do it.

In so many ways I am thankful for the way the Lord has changed me. I hope that I always notice small brown women waiting at the bottom of stairs. I hope that I always change the pattern of my voice so that the check out girl understands. I hope that I can always be a vessel of His grace.