GOLDEN HOUR WALK

I walked back on the farm today, first time in longer than I can remember. As I cleared the gate to the back fields, five wooly black calves rocketed away from the creep feeder like banditos caught red-handed in a bank robbery, their heads high and tails stiff.

The erosion levee in the first field used to hold back little more than a puddle. Today, it cradles a full-grown pond.

As I tromped along the ridge above the old pond - the big pond - wood ducks exploded off the water like buckshot out of the end of a gun barrel. Squirrels stampeded through leaf litter, raising enough ruckus to rival a herd of frightened buffalo.

It was the golden hour and the air was brisk. I resolved to hike all the way back to the Three Sisters and to the Giant's Thimble and to Narnia. I have missed these dear friends.

But I was thwarted. The carcass of a month-dead cow blocked the path across my favorite creek crossing. Cows pay the property taxes, and then they die and feed the coyotes, and the farmer who rents the land to run his cows on doesn't even notice that they are missing.

I attempted a different creek crossing but was not wearing boots adequate to ford the deeper water.

So I stood on the near side of the creek and stared long at the Three Sisters, just out of reach, still asleep, just like last time I saw them years ago, dreaming under the gray wool of frostbit broom straw, aglow in the warm light of the golden hour.

Higher boots are on my shopping list. I will be back, and I will kiss my three sweet sisters with my footsteps.

SPACE TO BE HUMAN

Years ago, my oldest son Reuben said to me that it is important to "make space to be human." What he meant, I believe, is that in the busy-ness of life - all the demands, commitments, obligations, things that must be done day-to-day just to stay alive - it is important to make space to do things that bring us joy, things that feed our souls. Things like baking beautiful bread or making music or pausing to enjoy the softness of moss or the loveliness of a sunset.

If I am, by nature, human, why the counsel "make space" to be human?

Because although I am a human, life in this fallen world is so constructed as to squeeze out my very soul. If I don't actively WORK to make space to be human, the busy-ness of life will consume me.

If you have followed this blog for any length of time, you know that I see a therapist. My current therapist, unlike my last, actually gives me assignments. Right now, I am working on setting and maintaining healthy work/personal life boundaries.

It's not going very well.

Technically, my job requires me to work or be available to work from 8:00am to 5:00pm, Mondays through Fridays, with one hour off for lunch. I am also expected to be available to work one night of secondary on-call each week and one weekend of secondary on-call every 5-6 weeks.

Lately, I have consistently worked 10-hour days, and I think the last time I actually took a break for lunch was during onboarding some 9 months ago.

Now, before you make some wrong assumptions, let me be clear: the problem here is not my employer. The problem is me. I have a distorted work ethic based on a wonky mental system of feeling like my worth and security are based on my performance (aka my overachieving/never-say-no warped way of thinking).

I CAN say no.

I CAN send scheduled visits back at the end of the day.

I CAN actually take a break to eat lunch, or to take a walk, or to simply pause and breathe.

But, I DON'T.

With my therapist's blessing, I set a personal goal last month of taking a 30-minute break each day - for at least 2 days a week - to eat lunch or take a walk. Baby steps.

Guess how many days I have taken a lunch break since setting that goal?

Zero.

Here's my list of excuses (because excuses are what they are) for not meeting this goal even one time:

• We're in a busy season at work.
• We are short-staffed.
• The work schedule will be better after we get through this month/after we hire another nurse/after hell freezes over.
• We have staff out sick.
• Work in healthcare, by nature, has ebbs and flows.
• Blah, blah, blah....

You get the picture. (Can any of you relate, Dear Readers?)

The bottom line is: I consistently do NOT make "space to be human," even in the very simple way of pausing in the middle of my day to eat lunch or to step away from work and breathe.

This has me wondering: Why is it so freakin' hard to "make space to be human"?

Is it only because of pressure from outside, pressures from work and social commitments and family responsibilities, etc? Or is part of the problem from within? Is there something internal, something inside of me, that resists/recoils/rebels at the thought of pausing, breathing, resting...in other words, is there something within me that resists the work of "being human"?

I think there is.

I am afraid to rest.

"Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy...."

Remember...to rest.

Is that even safe?

I think not.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

A SNAPSHOT OF MY HEART

My daughter-in-law sent this photo to our family group message a couple of weeks ago. I love this picture for sooooo many reasons...

I'm doing something I love - reading - with people I love - my grands. In the background are reminders of even more people I love - artwork by three of my kids, the piano where so many of my children made music through the years. You can't see the person taking the picture, my beautiful daughter-in-law, or the people chatting behind me in the kitchen...more people I love.

This picture feels like a little snapshot of my heart.

If you were to ask yourself, "What makes Camille tick?" - or - "What motivates Camille?" - or - "What brings Camille joy?" - well, this picture goes a long way toward answering those questions.

I heard someone say of me recently that the reason I went back to school, got a degree, and took on a full-time job was because I needed the validation that a degree and work could give me in order to feel like I had done something of value with my life. Nothing...nothing...could be further from the truth.

(I may come back and revisit the whole how and why of my nursing journey here in a future post, but for now, let's just say: I went to nursing school because God, and I now work full-time, as opposed to part-time, because healthcare benefits.)

If you've read more than a couple of posts here at the blog (thank you for reading!), you know that I have good days and bad days. Sunny days and days of shadow. Doesn't everyone?

Yesterday was a good day for me. I got a phone call from my granddaughter Lizzy, shopped for birthday and Christmas presents for the grands, and closed out the day spending time with my son Thomas. Thank you, Tom, for the wild ride and good conversation, but thank you mostly just for being you.

Today, I spent time with church family, watched a recorded lecture on the topic of Highly Sensitive People (suddenly I feel soooooo much less like a freak in this world), and wrote letters to friends.

In three short days (they will actually be long days, because work is wild right now), my house will begin to fill with the activity, chatter, and chaos of kids and grandkids gathering for the holidays.

My heart tank is full...and getting fuller.

Today, I am thankful for the good days.

SAFE PLACE

Resting and recharging this beautiful Sunday by spending time with my church family, taking the granddog for a drive, trying a new recipe for autumn sangria...and by writing!

A friend posted on her Facebook timeline recently:

I think the greatest thing that we can offer to someone

is to be their peace, to be their softest and safest space.

After receiving their grudges from the world,

battling their chaotic minds, indecisive sadness, and countless times

questioning their worthiness - they have us -

hugging their sorrows and making them feel like this is their

"genuine home."

- Notebook

A couple of weekends ago, I spent time with my dear friend Jill. Jill has been a "safe place" for me for almost 50 years. In our brief time together, as we talked about I-can't-remember-what, I started crying.

"I'm sorry!" I apologized, wiping away tears. "I cry a lot these days!"

"No worries," Jill assured me. "I'm okay with tears."

I have lived a long, long time in The Land of We Don't Do Big Feelings (especially "heavy" ones like sadness, anger, or frustration). I am a misfit, an imposter, a second-class citizen, often opting not to speak rather than to risk ridicule or rejection by exposing my alien identity with my "accent."

But Jill is "home." She is a true sister in Christ. She doesn't laugh, mock, or belittle my "accent" (aka big feelings), but makes me feel welcomed, loved, and valued. (Maybe Jill is so good at making me feel "at home" because she has Big Feelings, too.)

Lots of seemingly random bits and pieces here on the blog today...but, trust me, they are not unrelated.

Today is Sunday.

Morning worship, study, time with God's people...

Rest, physical and mental...

Throwing the ball for Lefty, trying a new recipe, savoring the Golden Hour as late afternoon sunlight filters across the hayfield outside my window...

Remembering time recently spent in the company of a dear friend...

All these things turn my thoughts to the loveliness of Jesus.

He is faithful, merciful, gracious, kind, good, sufficient, forgiving. He does not mock, ridicule, or belittle.

When he walked on this earth, Jesus welcomed the outcast, touched the unclean, healed the sick, and embraced the broken. "No worries...I'm okay with tears."

Jesus - he is the safest place of all.

NOT WHERE I WAS BEFORE

Last weekend was rough. I was physically and emotionally depleted from a difficult week at work, grieving the loss of a dear soul (read about that HERE), discouraged by various relationship struggles, and missing my kids and grands something terrible. The world felt dark and heavy, and I languished like Jeremiah at the bottom of a murky cistern.

Been there, done that, way too many times to count.

It's not a place I like to be, but how to get out of that dark hole when overcome with weariness and grief?

Sigh.

There was nothing to do but try to start climbing...

Step 1: "I know that the way I feel today is not the way I will feel forever. My feelings will change." At almost 60 years old, I know that feelings come and go, and they can change dramatically in a short time. Life felt pretty dark and hopeless Friday evening, Saturday, Sunday...but by Monday, with a healthy dose of sunshine and warmer temperatures, my feelings began to change.

Step 2: "Despite how I feel today, I am not alone. There are people who love me and who are praying for me." And I began to name them. Teresa, Donna, Katherine, Brenda, Sue, Jill, Cindy, Cathy, Emily, Martha, Helen, Mary, Suzanne,.....

Step 3: "My life matters. Today, my feelings may tell me I have no value, but the truth is, my life makes a difference for good." Weekly, I am blessed to be able to pour courage and strength and comfort into dying people and into those who love them. What a sacred calling!

Step 4: "I am not where I was before." A few years ago, I frequently had no idea how I was going to buy groceries for the week, I drove a borrowed vehicle to run errands in town, health issues were ignored, and gift-giving occasions - like birthdays, Christmas, weddings, baby showers - triggered deep distress. Today, I have food in the fridge, a reliable car, am managing my blood pressure, and am seeing a therapist regularly to work through decades of pain and desperation. Last weekend was dark, but even in the darkness, I knew that my life was far better than it had once been, and that was encouraging.

Despite the fact that my challenges, struggles, and frustrations have not changed significantly over the past week, I am today in a much better place mentally and emotionally than I was last weekend. No big surprise there...but still, I am thankful.

I hope today is a great day for you.

But if it's not, please remember this: today is not forever.

Today is not forever.

Hold on the best you can.

I pray that God will give you strength to start climbing.

LIFE IN THE VALLEY

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me..." - Psalm 23:4a

The Psalmist assures me that when I walk through "the valley of the shadow of death," God will be with me. But what if I don't just walk through this dark place? What if this is where I live, day after day?

Another dear soul left this life to be with Jesus today. I knew this was coming. I whispered to this sweet soul yesterday, "Soon...very soon."

And yet, even knowing this death was a release from pain and suffering to new life and vigor, the news broke my heart.

It always does.

It. Always. Does.

I am grieving today, weeping...again. Grief and weeping are "part of the job."

It never gets easier. 

It. Never. Does.

God says through the Psalmist that "in the valley," He is with me.

What a strange and difficult calling, to live daily with my hand upon the veil.

He is with me.

Such great comfort.

He is with me.

10 THINGS I LOVE ABOUT...

In my last post, I mentioned a tendency I witness frequently - a tendency that distresses me because I see it so all too often in myself - of finding fault with Them/Those People while tenaciously resisting acknowledgment of sin in my own heart. Where does this come from?

For me, I think this tendency comes from a deep sense of inadequacy on my own part, a sense of "falling short" which is so painful that I reflexively divert attention from my own faults to the faults of others in an act of self-defense.

Scattered across my desk are sticky notes and scraps of paper scrawled with ideas for potential blog posts.  Sitting down to write today, I find a common thought jotted in multiple places: Never Enough, Not Good Enough, The Land of Never Quite Right.

To what do these sticky-note "blog ideas" refer?

I have lived my entire life in The Land of Not Good Enough.

An A+ in high school chemistry was not good enough if my 6-week grade average was 96%. If I had worked harder, could I not have made a 100%? First-chair French horn was okay, but could I not also have qualified for All West Band?

I was not the pretty child in my family. I was not the smartest child in my family. I was not musically or artistically talented. I wasn't even the nicest child in my family. I was just....well...meh....

And so, in my little brain, I created this sad, sick, twisted dichotomy of Good vs. Bad.

Them vs. Me.

Everything and everybody sifted into a distorted moral hierarchy.

Extroverted, friendly, outgoing: Good.

Introverted, shy, contemplative (like me): Bad.

Compliant, peace-keeping, submissive: Good.

Strong convictions, idealistic, passionate (like me): Bad.

Tough, thick-skinned, hard-core: Good.

Sensitive, empathetic, emotional (like me): Bad.

Passive, compliant, a follower: Good, if you are a female.

Smart, ambitious, driven: Bad, if you are a female (like me).

Surely you can see how this Me vs. Everybody Else Who Has Life Figured Out dichotomy quickly became unbearable. So I flipped the game and made my own set of rules. Rules that proved that I was the good guy/superior/the winner, and They were inferior/the losers.

But now, finally...

I am beginning to understand that there aren't many Good Guys or Bad Guys, Winners or Losers...that mostly, there is just Different...and we are all just doing the best that we can to survive.

Yes, I am sensitive. Someone points that out like an accusation of inferiority or guilt. I am learning to respond, "Yes, I am sensitive. Thank you for noticing"...like they paid me a compliment.

"You're too idealistic. This is the real world we're living in." Like C. S. Lewis's Puddleglum, I am learning to think and speak clearly, and I would rather live in an idealist's world than someone else's Green Witch "real" world any day.

This is a long ramble to say...

I have lived in The Land of  Not Good Enough pretty much my entire life, and I think it's time to relocate.

There is a sort of "game" I play on occasion with my kids and my grands. It's called "10 Things I Love About ----"

The last time I played this game was with my granddaughter Hazel. We were sitting beside each other, passing notes during church. (Sorry, Gage.) Hazel wrote a note, and passed it to me, and I wrote a note and passed it to Hazel. My note was "10 Things I Love About Hazel," with a list...of 10 things...that I love about Hazel.

You get the idea.

Anywho, this week, I got to thinking, if I played the game "10 Things I Love About ---" with myself....well, I don't know if I could even do that.

Because Myself is Not Good Enough. Never has been.

So right now, real time, I am going to take one more step away from The Land of Not Good Enough, and I am going to try to list 10 Things I Like About Myself. (Come on, seriously? Baby steps, here. Let me learn to like...and maybe one day I'll learn to love...)

10 THINGS I LIKE ABOUT ME (in no particular order):

1. I make really good cornbread.
2. I am ridiculously loyal.
3. I have beautiful children.
4. I am very sensitive. (That is a positive, by the way, not a negative.)
5. And empathetic.
6. I am an idealist.
7. I talk to Jesus all the time. Out loud. Especially when I am driving.
8. I cry a lot.
9. I am quiet and contemplative.
10. I really like my white hair.
11. I make a mean gin and tonic.
12. I love singing along with Phil Wickham - loudly - on the radio.

Well, lookee there...12 things I like about myself! That wasn't hard at all.

Maybe one day, The Land of Not Good Enough will be one of those tears Jesus wipes away, never to be remembered again.

THIS TIGER IS ALWAYS IN THE ROOM

I am a fearful, anxious person. To be sure, I'm not nearly as prone to fear and anxiety as I was, say, 10 years ago. But even after witnessing firsthand the faithfulness, goodness, provision, and protection of God for nearly 60 years, I can slip back into fear and anxiety in a heartbeat.

The tiger of fear may be quieter now. The tiger may nap occasionally in a shadowy corner, but it is always in the room.

I recently participated in a discussion where the leader asked a question that went something like this: "How does our culture reject God today?" 

Almost immediately, answers to this question became all about Them. You know, Those People, people who openly deny the existence of God, disregard his commands, harass Christians, or choose godless lifestyles of flagrant sin.

I don't really feel comfortable talking about what is in the hearts of Those People, but I am painfully aware of what is in my own heart...and painfully aware of the silent, subtle ways that I reject God.

God promises that He will take care of me. I have an almost 60-year track record of God doing exactly that...keeping his promises.

God tells me in his Word to trust him. God tells me to not be anxious.

But I AM anxious.

Right now, the night before the start of a work week that is mapped out with a patient load and work schedule that terrifies me, I sit here with a knot in my stomach, wondering yet again, "Can I trust you, God? Have you got this? Are you going to take care of me? Am I going to survive this week without totally crashing?"

The tiger has me in a corner tonight. With lips curled and teeth exposed, the tiger paralyzes me with its hot breath and a soft, deep snarl.

"GOD, HAVE YOU GOT THIS? ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ME?"

I have no defenses with which to fight a tiger. None. I am a tired, squishy, gray-haired woman with achy knees, slow reflexes, and a mind that can't even remember why I walked into the laundry room 5 minutes ago.

Staring down the tiger named Next Week, I am almost in a full-blown panic. "GOD, CAN I TRUST YOU?!"

* * * * *

Because I don't know what else to do, I am singing the Doxology this evening....over and over and over again inside my head.

This week may eat me alive. Who knows?

God knows. Based on the past 60 years of experience, I want to believe I will survive unmauled.

But if I don't, and if this tiger takes me down, I am resolved to go down singing the praises of God, even if it's only the song of a fearful child desperately wishing light into the darkness.

I

Will

Praise

My

God.

* * * * *

Let's plan to meet here again next week, okay?

Okay?

* * * * *

Post Script

Today is Saturday, October 7. As secondary weekend on-call, I am winding up a work week that terrified me on Monday. Obviously, I survived! 

Was God faithful? Yes, He was! Let me share with you some of the details...

I wrote the above post Sunday evening.

Monday morning, my daily Bible reading just so happened to put me in Romans 8 - that glorious chapter that talks about how "the Spirit helps us in our weakness" and "the Spirit himself intercedes for us." The chapter that tells us God works everything together for the good of those who love him. The chapter that assures believers that God loves us...and that nothing can separate us from that love!

I woke up anxious, and BAM!, God started my day and my week with, "Let's get something straight right now, Camille. I am in control. And, I love you."

Monday night, solo on-call. I woke up every hour and checked my phone, afraid I had missed an urgent notification. Not. One. Call. All. Night. Not a single one. Go figure.

Tuesday, a long, hard day...but Tuesday night, better sleep than I've had in weeks.

Wednesday: my morning Psalm was Psalm 103. A clear reminder of the steadfast love of God. A reminder that God knows I am weak, but He is faithful. Wednesday evening, an encouraging session with my therapist and an unexpected visit with my sweet son Tom.

Thursday, a difficult 12-hour work day that felt like it would never end. But Thursday night, such incredible sleep.

Friday, light at the end of the tunnel! Stumbled home exhausted at the end of the day, heated up leftovers for dinner, and enjoyed a fun movie with my Mom. Signed in for weekend on-call, and guess what...not one single call Friday night. How weird is that?

Y'all, my faith is weak, but God is faithful.

The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him...For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust...the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children. - from Psalm 103, ESV

ROUTINE CAR SERVICE...AND A WHOLE LOT OF GRATITUDE

Driving 3000+ miles each month for work, the 5000-mile service visits for my vehicle roll around pretty quickly. I bought this RAV4 - the very first vehicle I have ever purchased, and I love it 😊 - just over 4 months ago. This week, Big Red and I logged over 16,000 miles.

Since I want this car to last as long as possible, I'm a stickler for having it serviced on time.

* * * * * 

My sister and brother-in-law gifted me with a re-put-together Yaris ("Little Red") a couple of years ago, so that I would have a vehicle to drive back and forth to school. That janky-looking, patched-together Yaris has 300,000 miles on it now and it runs like a charm. All Little Red has ever needed from me is regular oil changes (shout out to the wonderful folks at Buddy's in Union City) and a new set of tires.

I'm expecting the same longevity from the RAV4.

Anywho, this is not a post about how much I appreciate faithful Toyotas. It's a post about a very special moment I experienced while I was sitting at the Toyota dealership this morning, waiting for Big Red to complete her spa visit...

"Mrs. Kendall, your cabin air filter needs to be changed. Is that something you would like for us to take care of today?"

One of the cool things about having the vehicle serviced at the dealership is that the technician videos everything he does, sends you the video in progress as he is working on your car, and makes comments, suggestions, etc. I'm sitting in the waiting area, and Mark, the service manager, comes through the door (I've just seen Barry-the-technician's video). Mark asks if I would like the cabin filter changed.

I live in an agricultural area. Drive many, many miles each day. Farmers are combining beans and corn in NW TN right now, and the air is, shall we say, "chunky"? The cabin air filter is supposed to be white. I could clearly see from Barry's video that the filter was anything BUT white. It was naaaaaasty.

"Yes, please change the filter today."

My wheels were also out of line. Rural West TN roads...gotta love 'em.

Mark: "Do you want us to go ahead and realign your wheels while you are here? The charge will be $---."

Me: "Yes, please. Thank you."

So, I'm sitting in the waiting area, working on notes for next week's team meeting at the office while I wait for Big Red to get everything properly aligned, and something absolutely magical happens...

I. AM. OKAY.

No increase in heart rate. No cold sweat. No sick feeling in my stomach. No tension in my jaws. No silent tears. No mental gymnastics to figure out how the heck I'm going to swap groceries for car maintenance.

NONE of that. 

I just go calmly back to working on my meeting notes.

* * * * *

I have lived the past several decades under a dark cloud of never-enough.

Having to choose between buying shoes for my children - OR - groceries to feed them.

Having to sit in the ER parking lot praying desperately that 4 Benadryl tablets would counter an anaphylactic reaction because there was no healthcare to cover medical expenses.

The fuel gauge on empty, but passing the gas station anyway because the bank account had only $2.44 in it...or worse, was overdrawn...hoping against hope that we'd make it back home.

I remember one time when an older lady in my church excitedly told me that all the clothing at Goodwill was on sale for 50 cents an item, so I could buy clothes for my kids really cheap! I cried, because I didn't have even 50 freakin' cents.

Some of y'all know exactly what I'm talking about.

That kind of desperation is exhausting.

(There's a reason why if anyone asks me how I'm doing, my answer is usually, "I'm tired." I have so many years of "tired" built up that it will probably be a long, long time before I feel anything different.)

But this morning at the Toyota dealership...

"Yes, please, change the filter..."

"Yes, please, realign the tires..."

And I was okay.

I WAS OKAY.

No anxiety, no panic, no stress, no cold sweats...

So...

In conclusion:

Thank you, Suzanne and Leonard, for the little Yaris, so I could drive back and forth to school.

Thank you, Nate and Abby, for underwriting my education financially.

Thank you, Helen and Emily and Martha, for being my biggest cheerleaders and for giving me courage to hope.

Thank you, Tom and Carly, for pizza on the porch and for mental breaks from school in the kayaks on the lake.

Thank you, Ben, for allllll the prayers.

Thank you, Reuben, for poems that gave me light in the darkness...and for being a soul that made me feel so much less alone in some very desperate places. Thank you.

Thank you, BMH-UC, for my first real job, for your incredible teamwork ethic, and for supporting and encouraging me every single step of the way on this new journey.

Thank you, Gentiva, for work that aligns with my heart, for fantastic team support, for respectable pay, for healthcare benefits, for PTO (what the heck is that, even?!)...

...and thank you for the company vehicle that is coming next week. Big Red will be happy to cool her wheels.

(You may be a home health nurse if your commute looks like.... 😜)

SEASONAL ALLERGIES AND END-OF-LIFE

I live in the middle of a very weedy hayfield, and the ragweed is blooming.

The ragweed is tearing
me up right now.

This means that even though I'm on two different medications for allergies, I still cannot breathe very well, my brain feels like day-old oatmeal, drainage leaks continually from my nose, and I sneeze often.

Not a pretty situation for someone working in healthcare, especially with a new strain of Covid going around. Who wants a nurse who looks like a walking contagion?

Speaking of the job...

When I have a few spare minutes, or when I reach the end of my work day and I'm not so completely exhausted that I can think of nothing more than dinner and early bedtime, I like to look up videos, lectures, podcasts, etc., about various diagnoses. What kind of symptoms are associated with a particular diagnosis? How does this disease progress? What does end-of-life look like for a person dealing with ---?

Anywho, one evening I was watching a lecture about Parkinson's Disease. The presenter talked specifics about PD progression and symptom management, but he also made this statement: "I tell my PD patients the same thing I tell everyone who is 18 years old or older: You need to have a will. You need a Power of Attorney. Do you have an Advanced Directive?"

If you are 18 years or older, you need the following:

Durable Power of Attorney: This allows you to designate someone to make legal decisions on your behalf in the event you become incapable of doing so yourself.

Power of Attorney for Healthcare: This allows you to designate someone to make healthcare decisions on your behalf in the event that you become incapable of doing so yourself. NOTE: A Power of Attorney and a Power of Attorney for Healthcare are NOT the same thing.

Living Will: This is a document in which you write out what you want to be done regarding healthcare decisions, should you become unable to speak for yourself.

You also need a Last Will and Testament, which states what is to be done with your personal possessions if you die.

It would also be helpful if you write down your wishes for what happens to your body if you die, and any preferences regarding funeral services, etc.

After taking care of all these, TALK to someone - your spouse, your kids, your roommate, etc. - and tell them what you want and where these documents are located.

I lost several members of my immediate family last year. Some planned and prepared for the inevitability of death. Others did not. Those who did plan ahead gave their survivors a tremendous gift: there was no confusion about "What did ---- want?" and no cause for disagreement or tension between surviving family members regarding medical decisions or disposition of property.

[I am not kidding, folks - I got called to do a death visit in the middle of writing this post. Friends, NONE of us knows the day or the hour we will die. Even if you are perfectly healthy and have no medical issues, GET THIS STUFF DONE.]

CARNIVAL RIDE

 The county fair came and went last week, and I did not catch so much as a peek or a peep of it.

Fairs past, I spent hours in the ag pavilion alongside my kids as they showed hogs and lambs. Or in the Junior Exhibits Building, helping display children's sewing projects and judging baking entries.

Many years ago, I worked in the high school marching band concession stand, selling hamburgers and Cokes to hungry patrons. (I played French horn, if you're curious.) I was even coerced once as a teenager to participate in the Fairest of the Fair Pageant...one of THE most miserable nights of my teenage years, given that I suffered from crippling shyness and was most definitely not a beauty.

I drive a lot for work. A LOT, as in 15,000 miles in the past four months. All that driving provides much time for thinking...and for remembering fairs past.

As a child, one carnival ride I wanted to be absolutely certain to go on each year was the Hunted Mansion. For starters, it didn't make me sick to my stomach, like the tilt-a-whirl. But more compelling, I felt like the fact that I survived that jerky, box car ride along the tiny twisting track each year and came out alive somehow proved that I was stronger and braver than I felt.

The funny thing is...

I never kept my eyes open. Not once. Year after year, I rode the entire ride with my eyes squeezed tightly shut and my hands over my ears. Terrified, but so determined to prove to myself and others that I was brave.

Fast forward several decades.

Sometime between childhood and now, I don't remember when, I revisited the Haunted Mansion. I rode the entire ride with eyes and ears wide open.

It. Was. Stupid.

I came out thinking, "That was IT? That's what I was afraid of all those years ago?!"

* * * * *

Sadly, I have lived much of my life like that scared little child on the Haunted Mansion carnival ride. Closed in, eyes tightly shut. Afraid...of what? Afraid of failure, ridicule, not being good enough. Afraid of disappointing others, or myself. Afraid of looking ridiculous. Afraid of the negative, critical comments of others.

Thankfully, I am gradually learning to open my eyes. To risk being a failure, not good enough, and ridiculous. It's scary sometimes, to take these chances, but I am finding that the longer I open my eyes, the less scary life becomes.

IT'S SEPTEMBER!

I am loving that September begins with a holiday weekend this year. Well, sort of a holiday weekend...I'm on call Monday evening, so no wild parties on Monday for me. But still, the idea of a holiday weekend is a nice start to the month.

September 2nd miscellany...

A friend at work shared some homegrown peppers with me. They are beautiful. I do not remember the name of this variety of peppers, only that it has the word "peach" in it. For pepper connoisseurs, these peppers have a "fruity" flavor. Jesse said they have a heat level similar to habaneros.

The peppers are beautiful, obviously, so of course I took them. But there's a problem: I don't do spicy hot.

Soooo, timid me had the idea of toning things down with a few additives. I used the peppers to make a peach-mango salsa.

Fresh peach-mango salsa

This stuff is DELICIOUS. Peppers, mangos, peaches, fresh tomatoes, cilantro, garlic, lime, red onion...YUM.

I was having so much fun playing in the kitchen that after making salsa, I tried another new recipe: New England Iced Tea. It's like Long Island iced tea but with cranberry juice and lime instead of cola and lemon. Soooo good. I'm on my second glass.

Anyway, since this is technically a holiday weekend, and since the just-past work week was such an absolute bear, that means I should be able to do fun things besides getting groceries, doing laundry, loading the dishwasher, paying bills, and feeding the people in my house, right? Right?!

Somebody, please tell me that's right...

For me, doing something fun, something besides the never-ending list of grown-up-people responsibilities, means...I get to have some time to write. I LOVE to write.

So here I sit, sipping on my second New England iced tea, with Ryan Gosling's I'm Just Ken looping in my brain, waiting for the muse to speak...

What a wonderful beginning to September.

PTO

I'm sitting here drinking a terrible cup of coffee out of a totally awesome mug, struggling unsuccessfully to shift my brain into writing gear.

Maybe I should just empty the carafe, make a fresh pot of decent coffee, and start again.

I rarely take PTO...paid time off...but my boss recommended it a couple of weeks ago, and so today, I am getting paid to not roll up my odometer between visits where I talk with patients and families about heady stuff like poop, pain, and No, you are not going to get better. 

Instead, on my holiday, I have been doing exciting things like:

• balanced my checkbook
• hauled the trash to the highway
• washed Mom's laundry and changed her sheets
• bought fresh peaches at the produce stand
• dropped off a few items at Goodwill
• delivered freshly baked cupcakes to a friend who helped me with the car purchase over 4 months ago
• washed said car and filled it up with gas
• bought groceries for the week ahead
• took a short nap
• washed my scrubs to get ready for next week
• cleaned off my desk
• emptied and refilled the dishwasher
• and other sundry diversions

It's. Been. Awesome.

You see, I have not yet figured out how to do the whole work full-time, keep on top of housework, run errands in town, feed people, do paperwork, etc. all-at-the-same-time thing. I seriously need a day in between all the other days when I can go to the bank, shop for groceries, and get my oil changed. How do people who work during "normal business hours" do all the things besides work that you can only do during normal business hours? (If you know the answer, please share your secret in the comments - I need help!)

My day off hasn't really been a day off work. It's been a day of doing different work, work that has been long neglected because my usual days "on" sap all my energy and brain cells.

But back to the lousy cup of coffee and my absolute favorite mug...

This mug was a gift from my dear friend Donna (second from right). The group depicted on the mug is a sisterhood that has supported me through the best and the worst of life.

Monday through Thursday of this past week, I put in long, hard days at the paying job. Today, on my day off, I put in a long day at a different job that is just as essential.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, I get to spend time with Katherine, Donna, and Teresa.

Tomorrow, not today, will be the much-needed "holiday" that restores my soul.

PEEL

 There is something strangely satisfying about removing a gelatin facial mask. Maybe it's the challenge of seeing if you can gently peel the entire crunchy-gooey mess off in one piece.

Maybe it's the anticipation of how incredible your skin will feel when you're done. 

I wonder if this is how a locust feels shedding its exoskeleton.

* * * * *

One assignment from my therapy sessions is to ask myself two questions every day: How do I feel? What do I need?

I am not used to asking these questions, and I find them difficult to answer.

How do I feel? I feel tired. All the time. My back and my neck hurt, and my jaws are tense. I often do not sleep well at night, and I have digestive issues.

But the assignment specifies that I must answer "How do I feel?" with not only what I feel in my body, but with at least one emotion. That part is even more difficult because I have a really crappy emotional vocabulary. We're working on that.

I went for a walk at the park yesterday afternoon, and while I walked, I tried to answer my daily assigned questions. Q1. "How do I feel?" After a lap around the walking track, I had my answer: "I feel disquiet." There are way too many voices inside my head, all of the shoulds, oughts, and must-dos of my own and others' expectations.

Q2. "What do I need?" I. Need. Quiet. I need space and time to be still, to turn down all the voices inside my head and simply breathe.

* * * * *

Mom, Steve and I watched another episode of Endeavor last night after dinner. The series is a British production about the life of young Endeavor Morse, before he became Detective Chief Inspector. Old-school British detective series is a genre the three of us can agree on - interesting enough for Mom and Steve, but not too violent or graphic for me.

On last night's episode, we learned that Morse used to attend a Quaker meeting house with his mother as a child. At the meeting house, they would sit in complete silence with other parishioners. Morse explained that the point was to "still your mind," to quiet all the voices inside one's head. Morse concluded his observations on Quakerism with a comment to the effect of, "It never worked for me. I never figured out how to quiet all the voices."

Endeavor Morse is not a real person. He is the fictional brainchild of author Colin Dexter. Morse is not real, but somehow, with that comment, he made me feel ever-so-slightly less out-of-place and alone in this world.

* * * * *

I'm on-call this weekend. That means that I'm working, kinda. I have to keep my phone with me and turned on. I can't leave town or get involved in some big gnarly project. I have to be ready to pull on scrubs, grab my bag, hop in the car, and go at a moment's notice, day or night.

It's not a bad gig. Actually, it feels more like a gift. I am not at work - at least not until the phone rings - but I am also NOT doing the usual it's-the-weekend-&-how-many-things-can-I-knock-off-this-never-ending-to-do-list routine.

I stayed home from church this morning to sit by the phone. No push to get out the door. No hauling stuff into and out of the car. It's been wonderful to have the entire house to myself, so very quiet, no spoken or unspoken demands hanging heavy in the air.

I did a gelatin mask for the first time in years. My skin feels sooooo good.

I did yoga on the front porch for an hour, complete with blocks, bolsters, and bands, loosening the tight cables tensed in my neck and back. During savasana, cicadas, hummingbird wings, carpenter bee buzz, a flock of geese honking, the neighbor's beagle chasing rabbits, wind through the hayfield...all these things drowned out for a moment the standard cacophony of "do more" and "not enough." I haven't done yoga at home, by myself, in a quiet house in years. Why?

* * * * *

Mr. Morse, I haven't figured out the trick, either...but I am working on it.

This morning was a gift.

WHAT DOES MY HISTORY TELL ABOUT ME?

Taking advantage of a wait in the drive-thru line at McDonald's this afternoon, I pulled out my phone and began deleting old messages. It was a long wait, so I started cleaning out the "recent calls" log. You know what? This girl makes waaaaay too many phone calls to pharmacies and funeral homes. It occurred to me that simply by looking at my call history, just about any Joe could figure out I'm a hospice nurse.

And this got me thinking about other "histories," lists that quietly say something about who I am, what I do, and even hint at my dreams.

Lists like my checkbook register...

When I entered this purchase in my account register today, I scrolled up through previous entries to read the tale they told. Gas, gas, gas. Tithe. Groceries. Gas. Lawn man, housekeeper, and caregiver for Mom. Gas, gas, gas. Caregiver, ministry. Gas, gas.

I spend a LOT of money on gas...goes with the Home Health gig.

After catching up on my little bit of bookkeeping for the day, I checked my email.

Wanna guess what secrets my email tells? I buy groceries at Kroger. I am a writer. I have a nephew in Rwanda who grows coffee. I see a therapist. (Goes with the hospice gig...and with being the primary caregiver for my Mom.) I like the beach and am planning another family holiday for next summer.

Scrolling through recent pictures on my phone, you would have to conclude that I am besotted with my grandkids. You'd be correct.

But not ALL these histories paint an accurate picture of who I am, what I do, and what I value.

For example, my spam box is often filled with messages about bizarre topics such as how to get rid of dark spots and treat bunions. Or messages about penis growth. (Public Service Announcement, Spammers: I do NOT have a penis, nor do I want to grow one.) Or about how I can meet a Romanian, Asian, or Latino cutie who is looking for a man. (See previous PSA. And, seriously, this is just plain sick.)

I guess one truth these inappropriate Spam messages do communicate is that I am old. Apparently, when a person gets old (as in, over 50), the most pressing concerns they have are hair loss, foot fungus, and erectile dysfunction. Lord, help us all.

So, what about you? If someone browsed your recent calls, emails, texts, photos, bank statements, etc., what tales would your "history" tell about you?

A GIFT TO HELP SURVIVE NURSING SCHOOL TRAUMA

Nursing school was a traumatic experience, from the first day of the first class to the final, final exam. (Can I get an AMEN, sisters and brothers?!)

One of the many people who helped me persevere through the trauma was this young lady...

Morning School Commute

God gave me a very precious gift to help me off to a strong start on the nursing-school journey: my first year of college and Helen's senior year of college overlapped.

She was my school-commute buddy the first year of school (to be more precise, she was my chauffer, because I did not have a car of my own), and she was undoubtedly my biggest day-to-day cheerleader and encourager.

We rode together to campus and back most days. All our classes were in the same building. Several days each week, we met in a study lounge for lunch, usually hot soup from the Gooch Hall canteen, served by our sweet friend Ayree. (Ayree knew potato soup was Helen's favorite, and always made sure to have some set aside for us because potato soup sold out fast.)

On really bad days, when we both left campus feeling beaten up by life, we would pick up miso and sushi for dinner on the way home. Miso makes everything better.

And on really, really bad days, we'd skip homework and studying long enough for an episode of Downtown Abbey.

We cried together a lot that year, I more than Helen. We also laughed a lot together. Side by side, we made PowerPoint presentations and flashcards for our different classes, stayed up late together studying for exams, and drank coffee together on our early morning commute to campus. It was a rough year for both of us, but it was absolutely precious.

I'm reminiscing a little tonight because this amazing young woman has a birthday coming up soon, and thinking about her, I can't help but remember what a tremendous encouragement, delight, and inspiration she has been to me over the years, especially through difficult times...like through nursing school. She is one of the strongest, kindest, most beautiful, most resilient souls I have ever known.

Thanks to Helen - and many others - I finished school. I've been a real-life nurse for over a year now, and I've learned to do lots of new grown-up things. (Read more about that HERE.) I'm still growing, and still have lots to learn. As I continue to learn, I hope I grow to be more like Helen.

Thank you, sweet child.

10 THINGS I AM THANKFUL FOR RIGHT NOW

The youngest and I were both going through rough patches several years ago when we came up with a strategy called Name Three to help deal with the mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm us.

Name Three: Right now, name three things for which you are thankful. It could be anything...something silly or serious, small or big, important or seemingly inconsequential...anything the thought of which helped quash a proclivity to self-pity.

You know from the last post that it's been "a rough patch" for me lately. The Name Three game came to mind this evening, but I decided to up the game to 10. So, in no particular order, here are...

10 Things I Am Thankful for Right Now

1. A reliable car.

2. Healthcare benefits through work.

3. My coworkers.

4. Beautiful weather today.

5. A cold Modelo.

6. My dad's gumbmo recipe, and leftovers for dinner tonight.

7. The sweet smell of the 4 o'clocks blooming.

8. A roof that does not leak.

9. My awesome kids and grandkids.

10. JESUS, all day, every day.

Wow, I honestly do feel a little better already!

It is incredible how sweet these smell right now!

GOODNESS

 

Life has been beating me up lately.

My boss wants more from me at work.

My patients want more from me during visits.

My Mom wants more from me at home.

My husband...I don't know what he wants, just that whatever I am, it's not right.

And I want more from myself.

I am tired. I am stressed. I hurt. The muscles in my neck and shoulders knot like twisted steel cables. Too much of the time, I am sad. And always, I am not enough...never enough.

* * * * *

A card came for me in the mail last week.

"Sometimes it's easy to forget just how much GOODNESS there is all around us."

I wept as I read the note inside, penned in neat handwriting: "I thank God that he sent you to be my husband's nurse as I was facing some of the most difficult days of my life...I am forever grateful for all that you did..."

A clamor of voices, texts, sighs, phone calls, thoughts, and emails tells me every single day that I am not enough, even as I stumble in the traces.

Last week, one voice simply said, "Thank you."

That one voice, filled with so much goodness and kindness, is enough to propel me into another week.

Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body. Proverbs 16:24, ESV

SILENCE

I found myself in 1 Kings 19 this morning in my current read-through-the-Bible. In chapter 18, Elijah defeated the prophets of Baal in a sensational showdown at Mount Carmel. But now, one chapter later, Elijah is exhausted, discouraged, and running for his life. Finally, we come to a beautiful moment when the Lord himself comes to Elijah, seeking Elijah out in the cave where he hid.

A mighty wind tore the mountains apart. But God was not in the wind.

An earthquake shook the mountain. But God was not in the earthquake.

A roaring fire swept across the mountain. But God was not in the fire.

And then...

A low whisper.

Elijah knew, in the stillness of that whisper, that God was present.

My ESV has a footnote to 1 Kings 19:12 that says "low whisper" can also be translated as "thin silence."

Thin silence.

That speaks powerfully to me.

My life has too little silence.

The workday starts early and runs late, often without even a pause for lunch.

Home again and exhausted at the end of the day, my conversation-starved mom pounces on me like a spider on a fly the second I walk in the door.

Dinner, clean up, prep for tomorrow, and the tense, frenetic workday cycle begins again.

Weekends: laundry, cooking, errands, catch up on bookkeeping, change the bed linens, check off as many chores on the needs-to-done list as possible. Another too-busy day, and another.

And if there is silence in this house, it is a bludgeoning silence, a smothering silence, heavy with emotional weight. It is silence that destroys mountains like wind and earthquake and fire.

It is late afternoon. I should review the enormous admissions binder sent home with me from work ("to read in your spare time"), or start yet another load of laundry, or load the dishwasher, or sit and listen to my mom, or prepare for tomorrow's Sunday school class, or clean out my car, or do some other of the thousand things still undone.

Instead, I am sitting on the porch swing. (Best gift ever, Katherine. 💓)

For a moment, just a moment, the air stands still. The clouds overhead pause their riotous dance. The leaves on the trees stop rustling. The birds hold their breath.

A thin silence...

And then rain.

SO MUCH PRESSURE

It's been a rough week.

Let me rephrase that...it's been a rough year.

Heck, it's been a rough decade.

But back to this past week...

Long work days, oppressive heat, way-too-many miles on the road. Coming home after 9 or 10 hours, emotionally and physically drained, wanting nothing more than a bowl of Ramen noodles, a glass of cheap wine, and an early bedtime... 

But greeted instead at the end of the day with yet another set of demands and expectations, never enough and never good enough, the quiet, unseen, unappreciated homefront "second shift."

So much pressure, like Luisa in Encanto. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQwVKr8rCYw)

This week was rough.

It was also very, very good.

Not infrequently, I am blessed to be able to pray with and for my patients. This week, one of my patients asked if he could pray for me. And he did.

Another patient asked if I could be scheduled to see him every day, "because the days that you come, I always have a good day."

And today, I played with Baby Sam, worked alongside Martha, and ate lunch with Justin. And today, Jesus loves me just as I am.

In the midst of much that was "bitter" this week, I'll choose to savor the "sweet."

STANDING CLOSE TO THE VEIL

 The grand-dog is spending the weekend, and we're passing a lazy afternoon together on the porch. Lefty wants to play fetch right now, but it's hot out and I do not want him getting over-heated. I have promised Lefty we'll play fetch when the sun slips behind the trees.

I washed laundry this morning, changed Mom's sheets, and wrote a few letters.

Then I attended the visitation for a sweet and gentle giant who slipped quietly into eternity last week.

Came home and ate lunch, washed more laundry, talked with my son about his travel plans and about boating on Reelfoot, completed a French lesson. Now, I'm sitting on the porch, writing and enjoying a warm afternoon breeze with the grand-dog.

This is a strange life...standing daily close to the veil, tucking death between meetings and household chores and what's-for-dinner? Strange and sad and beautiful and sweet.

In my last post, I'm Not Who I Used To Be, I stated that I know fewer things absolutely now than I once did...but those few things, I know with greater certainty than ever before. One thing I have become increasingly confident of, especially during my short time working in hospice: This life is not all there is. The death of the physical body is not The End. We truly do have eternity written in our hearts.

Every time one of My People passes, I weep. But for those with whom I share faith in Jesus, I do not grieve as one who has no hope. I WILL see these dear brothers and sisters again, and they will be whole and well, full of life and joy.

Today, my heart is sore. A small piece of it left me, passed through the veil, is waiting for me now on the other side...waiting, I am confident, with bright eyes, a broad smile, and a tapping foot, eager to welcome me when I, too, am called home.

Until then, tucked between today's goodbye and some future Welcome Home!, I will fold the laundry, cook dinner, play fetch with the grand-dog...

And I will remember.

I'M NOT WHO I USED TO BE...

Before

A new reader sent me a sweet message last week stating she had been enjoying reading through old posts and she was glad I was back writing new posts again here at the blog. Her words were such an encouragement to me.

I write, primarily, for myself: writing is a way for me to think through things and process life. Writing allows me to get thoughts and words out of my head and put them down in type so they don't knock about in my head late at night keeping me awake.

I write primarily for myself, but I also write for others. Perhaps my struggles or experiences, shared here, will resonate with another and provide some small measure of hope, encouragement, or simply a sense of "I'm not alone in the world." (When that happens, it's magic. It makes me feel less alone, too.)

But, honestly, when this reader said she had been reading through old posts, my first thought was, "Oh, no! What has she been reading?! What on earth did I write?!"

You see, I have been posting on this blog for 15 years. And, well, I am not the same person I was when I started this little endeavor.

My hair is gray now and my middle is thick. My kids are grown and my nest is empty. I used to know a great many things absolutely. Now, I know very few things absolutely...but those few things, I know with greater certainty than ever before. If I had time or inclination to read back through 15+ years of posts, I feel certain I would discover much that I regret in hindsight, opinions and attitudes I no longer agree with, that no longer fit me.

If you are new to the blog, please be merciful when you read back through the years. This blog is a kind of documentation of the progression from who I was a decade and a half ago to who I am today. I'm still "in process."

I guess we all are, really.

Thank you, dear reader, for sharing the journey with me.

In Process

A PARTICULAR, UNIQUE PERSON

I've sung in mountain cathedrals

With steeples rising high

And altars made of evergreen

And windows made of sky.

     - Bob Bennett

This picture was taken by my sister-friend Jill when I visited her in East Tennessee too-many-years ago. We were both familiar with the Bob Bennett song, and hiking mountain trails together definitely felt like a holy place.

Jill and I have been friends since God led us together waaaay back in sixth grade, almost 50 years ago. We survived middle school and Wilford Gray's highschool science classes together, roomed together in college, stood up at each other's weddings, made multiple military moves together, and had babies together. We laughed, wept, and prayed together through the best and the worst life has thrown our way. I can't think of anyone outside my birth family who has known me longer, seen more clearly into my heart and soul, or loved me more faithfully and unconditionally than Jill.

Jill and I have a lot in common. We both love Jesus. We both appreciate a fine-looking horse. We both have white hair and beautiful grandbabies. We both enjoy music and the outdoors. We both really like to eat, and we both enjoy conversation over a glass of wine on the back porch at the end of the day.

Jill and I have much in common...but we are not the same. We are each unique.

We both enjoy music...but while I am content to sing along loudly with Phil Wickham on the car radio, Jill actually plays multiple instruments and plays them well.

We both enjoy the outdoors...I enjoy a leisurely hike on a graveled path or a gentle kayak on the lake, while Jills runs mountain trails and kayaks tumbling rivers.

My personality is quiet, hesitant, overly-introspective. Jill: lively, engaging, and bursting with energy.

We have a lot in common, but we are not the same.

* * * * *

Working through a list of Important Questions to Ask Your Parents last night, my youngest asked me: "What is one thing that you want for your children?"

I knew my answer immediately. It is the deepest longing of my heart, the thing I lie awake at 2:00 in the morning praying for, almost every single night. It's the thing that, when I meet with friends to pray together, it squeezes my heart so hard it makes me weep.

What is my deepest desire for you, beloved daughter of mine? What is my deepest desire for you and Blake, Martha and Justin, Benjamin, Tom and Carly, Nate and Abby, Reuben, Emily and Dennis, and all the beautiful grands?

I want you to know, all the way to your very core, how very much God loves you. I want you to know how deeply and faithfully Jesus loves you, and how very much he delights in you for the unique and precious child that you are.

But there is more...

I want you to know Jesus for the unique and beautiful person that he is. I want you to know and love him deeply, too.

* * * * *

Last night as I lay awake in the wee hours thinking about this burgeoning heart desire, and thinking about this dear, lovely Jesus that I so long for my children to know and love, it occurred to me...

We all - both inside the church and outside the church - when we encounter this idea of Jesus, if we give him more than a second's thought, we immediately begin to try to understand him from the context of who we are as individuals. This makes sense, because it is from the framework of my own personal understanding and experience that I engage with and process anything new or unfamiliar.

We ask questions like: Who is this man, Jesus, really? How is he like me? How is he different? What about him do I agree with and what can I affirm? What about him do I disagree with, and how does he offend me? Is he all that he says he is? What do his closest friends say about him, and are they people I would even like or respect? All kinds of good questions, worth study and contemplation.

If we do give this man Jesus more than a second's thought, we all - both inside the church and out - we all begin to try to make Jesus, whoever he really is, more like ourselves.

Am I politically conservative? If Jesus were living in America today, he would be, too.

Am I a social activist for a particular group of the marginalized and oppressed? If Jesus were here today, he would be a social activist, too.

Am I offended by a lack of formality and decorum in public worship services, or am I an advocate for exuberant religious expression? Whatever I am, Jesus would probably be that, too.

Do I like to sing along loudly with Phil Wickham, kayak a calm lake, or sit quietly on the perimeter of a noisy social gathering? I know Jesus completely gets that.

It seems like we are left with this ongoing tension: either we subtly make Jesus more like ourselves (and therefore much more comfortable to relate to) - or - we bump up against things about him that are very not like ourselves, things we cannot get comfortable with, and we are left with having to choose to either wrestle with this not-like-me Jesus or write him off altogether.

And that got me to thinking about Jill...

Who is very not-like-me in so very many ways, and yet who has shown me more of the power and majesty and absolute loveliness of Jesus than I could ever write.

* * * * *

And this leads me back to last night's Important Question.

My prayer, beloved daughter, is that you would know how very much God loves you, and that you would know and love Jesus. Not Jesus-like-you, not Jesus-like-me, not Jesus-like-(insert whatever affiliation or agenda here)...but the unique, particular person of Jesus himself. [Hint: You will have to spend time with him, and you will need your Bible.]

All those people - which is all of us - who say, "Jesus is like this" - or - "Jesus is like that"? Because we are all image-bearers, we probably have at least some small part of Jesus right; because we are all broken, we certainly have much of Jesus wrong. The important thing is: don't let all the voices drown out the voice of Jesus himself. Because he is altogether lovely.

* * * * *

Jill, I LOVE YOU. I am way overdue for a visit, sweet friend!

HEALING WATER

From wading in the creek to watching thunderstorms from the front porch swing with my mom as a child, to dancing in downpours as a teenager and swimming laps at the local Y as an adult,  I have always found water to be a source of both rest and renewed energy. Maybe this is why I like the beach so much.

Water soothes me.

In my new job, my heart gets broken almost every week. Last week was especially hard, as I said goodbye to two precious souls I had grown to love. As I stumbled exhausted and dazed into Friday, I messaged my son: "Want to go kayaking this weekend?"

Thank you, Tom and Carly, for an afternoon on the lake. It was balm to your mom's aching heart.

IT'S A NEW DAY

It's a new day today: after an almost-4-year hiatus, I am back on the blog! June 2023: a year and one month post the trauma of nursing school. It's been a busy year, with both painful heartbreak and joyful firsts.

Over the past year, I have:

• started my first full-time job ever, working nights as a med-surg RN
• made my first "grown-up" paycheck ever
• spent way-too-many sleepless nights camped on hospital beds
• buried three precious members of my immediate family
• overseen my first house sale
• moved my 83-year-old mother in to live with me
• made my first solo international trip ever, touching down on two foreign continents and navigating multiple international airports
• bought a car - and car insurance - for the first time ever
• been pulled over for speeding for the first time ever (What can I say? The new car is so QUIET!)
• started my second full-time job ever, as a home hospice nurse
• fallen in love with complete strangers faster than I ever imagined possible, and wept bitterly at their passing
• planned and enjoyed my first-ever family vacation with my kids and grands

A few things learned - or relearned - over the past year + a month:

• Sleep - especially sleep at NIGHT - is a wonderful gift.
• I (still) LOVE the beach.
• STUFF is a burden and a bondage.
• People are beautiful and incredibly broken.
• None of us is promised tomorrow. Every day is precious.
• A bitter, critical spirit drowns out one's insistent claims of knowing and loving Jesus.
• A kind and gentle spirit married to humble service and tender compassion toward "the least of these" speaks the name of Jesus more efficaciously than any degree, title, or affiliation.
• God is sovereign. God is faithful. God is good.

It's a new day today...

It feels good to be back. I am ready to write.