9pm At The Dollar General

Last night we made a quick trip to to Dollar General. The hubs wasn't feeling well and we discovered we didn't own a thermometer  or cold medicine. (Yes, I AM the one who is the health care profession. Oppppss... )So anyway, we were both tired and with one of us not feeling so well, I just wanted to get in and get out.

As we browsed through the store to find our items, the  store clerk happened to be in the same aisle as us stocking the shelves. She was bubbly, happy and making funny comments to us as we shopped. At 9pm at the Dollar General.....

 I smiled as we kept looking for our items. The hubs thought of one last minute thing so we found ourselves in another aisle to get some note cards. And there that same clerk was, stocking something else. We laughed and made jokes as she followed us to the register to ring us up. As she bagged our items, she still chatted, mentioning that she had kids.

The whole encounter lasted 15 minutes. But as I walked out of the store I noticed my spirits were lifted. I have definitely had some adventures in my life so its quite easy to daydream about the exciting. And 9pm ... at the Dollar General is not exciting.

We got in the car and I thought about that brief encounter. I don't know that store clerk's story. But what I do know is her joyful attitude rubbed off.  What I do know is that she helped me to remember to live in the moment and not daydream my life away. She helped me to remember that the Lord has done great things for us and because of what the Lord has done I have true abiding joy, the joy that is not dependent on circumstances but dependent on the Cross. I can live in this joy and share it with others. Even at 9 pm  at the Dollar General.

The Beautiful Messy

I work at a nursing home. And every day I get love the broken, the messy, the unattractive, the marginalized. In South Asia, I saw the messy as well and I wasn't as shocked as I thought I would be. I think the reason is- mess is mess. And showing God's love is showing God's love. The context is different but when it comes down to it- people need the radical, life saving love of Christ.   Its hard to pour out from my own strength and love the hurting. To love the forgotten. Sometimes I judgmentally think "I would never in a million years put my loved ones in a place like this and just leave them". But I don't know the full story. Sometimes I get irritated when a resident  spits water in my face but then I remember Someone once saying "I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink".

So, every day I seek (or try to seek) the beautiful messy. Every day I wink at a nonverbal woman when I give her medicine. She doesn't do much other than sit in her chair. I look at her pictures on her wall. I look at the life she lived. And I wink at her staring face. And after days of winking.... FINALLY she winked back yesterday. Beautiful messy.

Or the small woman with the blue eyes who laughs and cries at random. I love her heart. I love it that I can laugh when she laughs and hold her hand when she cries. One day, on a particularly bad shift, I felt  tiny arms encircle my waist. The small woman was hugging me and I was blessed that day. Beautiful messy.

Or the two friends who used to play cards together. Their bodies are still here but their minds are long gone. I often find them together, usually holding hands. I didn't know the reason for a long time until someone told one day me "they were best friends".  I get to see the power of friendship played out every day. And I think about the dozens of friends in my life who would probably come find my room in the nursing home, wipe the drool from my face, and hold my hand. And I would do the same for them. Beautiful messy.

Or the man who looks for his wife who is long ago deceased. He wants to make sure she has had her breakfast so he stands and looks for her in the dining hall. It doesn't do too much good to remind him. So we just smile and change the subject. The heartbreak. The love of a husband. The beautiful messy. 

Are You There God? Its me Cathy

My whole life I have been a big reader. I have always had my nose stuck in a book.  Did you ever read those Judy Blume books? I remember one title "Are You There God, its Me Margaret". It was a coming of age book about a young girl struggling with life in the 6th grade. It was a book that I could relate to because  1) I hated the 6th grade and  2) she was struggling to find her faith

With all the wedding planning and such, my prayer life has been really lacking. I LOVE being married, don't get me wrong. I mean, yeah, there are still 'blah' days. But now I get to share those blah days with someone who knows how to unconditionally love. And I get to love him back. But I woke up this morning...unsettled. So I moved from my warm bed and sleeping husband into the living room.

I open my computer and start catching up on the news. My heart became incredibly saddened when I read about Kenya. And then I read about Pakistan. I read a few newsletters from friends serving overseas.   And I cry out to God like I haven't done in a long time. Are you there God? Its me Cathy. Are you there in Africa? Are you there in South Asia? Are you there to mend the hearts of the broken? And God...what about the condition of our hearts here in America? Are you going to just keep letting us be silent and spoiled? I cry for the lost. I cry for the dead babies. I cry for the blank looks I see in people's eyes here.  Just like King Jehoshaphat standing on the temple steps, I pray out to God and say...."I am not sure what to do but I do know that you are the God in heaven". And so I cry. And pray some more. And wonder what God will do to wake up our slumbering. 

Only 59 Days

I stopped in to check out the road maps and coffee at a Love's Travel Shop a few weeks ago. (Oh man...its so easy to travel in the States. Reason #2343 to be thankful). As I perused the maps, I saw the books on CD section out of the corner of my eye. My eyes temporarily stopped at my normal selections...romances...mysteries....no.....not quite

I finally found a book on CD about comic books and history. Perfect. He likes comic books and we both like history. Its a book that we can both enjoy. BAM. In a split second, I make a decision based on the fact that I have another person in my life  that listens to books on CD too. The guy at the check out counter agrees with my selection and I quickly find my way back onto the highway.

It still seems surreal to have someone to share life with. It doesn't seem possible that the Lord would find someone for me who just...fits. Its been 6 months since he has walked into my life. And now our wedding is only 59 days away. At this early hour on Saturday morning, I take the time to reflect.

I think about a comment my pastor said a few weeks back while we were sitting in one of our premarital sessions. He turned to L and said "you have had a big part in Cathy's healing". Of course his comment made me cry.  6 months ago I was still limping along.... And here  L comes along and takes the limp for me. That's one of my favorite things about him. He walks beside me and takes on my burdens as if they were his own. The dark corners of my heart don't seem to bother him. When I am down in a hole, he just crawls down there with me and says "hey I have been in this hole before and I know the way out".  We are both learners. We are both wanderers. We are both introverts at heart called to live a life of extroversion. We both love books. Our kids might have to do an intervention one day at the amount of books that we collectively own.  We are both crazy about each other.

He has taught me kindness. He has taught me love. I have a very high sense of justice so when things are not right, I get mad. And he reminds me to love. He reminds me to love justice AND practice mercy. He turns the other cheek. He reminds me that I can't perfectly know the condition of some one's heart. Of course I can...I'm Baptist... And he just looks at me with those kind brown eyes and I am reminded to love. He adds a sweetness to my life.  Its like drinking a good cup of coffee with the perfect combination of French Vanilla creamer. You wait a long time for that perfect cup. But when it finally comes..you just want to savor it.

As we start this life together...as we start to weather the storms together..both literally and figuratively, we are thankful. We are thankful that the Lord thought it good to bring us together. And we are DEFINITELY thankful its only 59 more days.

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.