FIGHTING FOR REST IN THE BATTLE

I am fresh back from a week long holiday at the beach with my kids and grandkids. What a sweet gift of rest for this weary woman! I slept, ate good food, held little hands and jumped in the surf, read bedtime stories, and caught up a bit on several of the amazing adults who call me Mom.

Now, back to the real world. I'm not particularly looking forward to going back to work tomorrow (already checked my schedule for next week and it looks hairy), but at least I'm going back rested.

The week away from my routine daily grind gave me time, mental space, and the opportunity to seek wise counsel as I begin thinking through a couple of gnarly issues I need to address in my life. I did not come back with firm solutions to any of these problems, but I do have a plan for tackling a few of these issues going forward.

Baby steps.

I am praying that I can maintain momentum to make needed, gradual changes before regular life grinds me back down to physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion.

One area needing work: I want to get back to writing like I did years ago before nursing school ate my soul. I know doing this will require a significant time commitment. But from where can I glean a consistent chunk of time for creative work? Up at 5:30am, usually out of the house by 6:40 to see patients, go all day without stopping, then home around 5:00pm or 6:00 or 7:30, to step straight into the harness of Mom duty before eventually collapsing into bed drained and weary.

Obviously, no one can add to the 24-hours God gives us each day. That means something has to give. I need to work, I need to care for my Mom, and I need to write (read "rest"). It's a puzzle. Please pray for me as I try to figure things out in the weeks ahead!

In unrelated news - but not really unrelated, to my way of thinking, because I truly believe everything is connected -

I have a habit of cleaning out my phone at the end of each week, deleting text messages and voice mails that I know I will not need to refer back to. It's my digital version of tidying my desk at the end of the work week. Thursday night before the beach trip, I paused in my packing to complete this ritual.

Although I rarely go back and listen to old voice mails, I always save the most recent recordings from family members. The earliest saved message on my phone, dated 4/14/22, is from my stepmom, Melva. Thursday night, for the first time in 2 years, I listened to Melva's message again.

Melva was in the hospital; I had called to check how things were going; she missed the call, and I left a message; she messaged me back. "Hi, I got your message. Wanted to call and let you know how I'm doing. I've had a really good day today. I stood and walked to the bathroom myself, with someone there to help me of course..."

Melva died shortly after that call. I lost two other members of my immediate family that same year, but Melva's death was the hardest. She was young. Cancer hit sudden and hard and took her down incredibly fast. There was almost no time to process what was happening.

"I've had a really good day today. I stood and walked to the bathroom by myself..." All the way to the end, Melva was positive, encouraging, kind, grateful.

And in other unrelated news -

I talked with my brother David yesterday. Three years my senior, David had a stroke several years ago and is now bedbound and dependent on others for his care.

When I asked how he was doing, David replied, "I'm doing pretty good, all things considered. I try to focus on all the good things in my life every day. I like to watch the birds in the tree outside my window and to see families walking around the neighborhood. I have a wife who loves me and takes such good care of me. And I have all the time I need to pray for people I love, like you, Camille."

David went on to add that, yes, there are difficulties and challenges in his life, and that it's very easy and a great temptation in the midst of hardship to focus on all that is broken and "not right" and to lose sight of all that is good. So, he makes it a daily practice to name the good things.

Every time I talk with David, I feel like sunshine breaks through dark clouds in my head.

So today, in the pause before Monday morning and the giants I must face, God encourages me through Melva and David, two weak vessels who faced and continue to face terrible giants with hearts that fought and continue to fight for joy and gratitude.

NEXT TIME, BRAID THE HAIR

It was a Saturday morning back when I was in nursing school, and I was packing up to head to my 12-hour shift at the hospital lab. Minutes before time to leave, my granddaughter Lizzy came downstairs.

Lizzy's family was living with us while they worked on getting a home they had recently bought ready to live in. Over the weeks that we lived under one roof, Lizzy and I developed a morning ritual. While I drank coffee and read my Bible early mornings before school or work, Lizzy joined me with a cup of hot tea and toast. 

These were such sweet mornings together. We chatted and shared our thoughts with one another. And I braided Lizzy's hair.

But on the very last morning, the morning of the day her family was finally moving into their new house, Lizzy slept late. And so, by the time she made it downstairs, it was already time for me to hop in the car and leave for work.

I quickly fixed Lizzy a cup of hot tea and a piece of buttered toast. "Can you braid my hair, Vivi?" she asked.

It broke my heart to tell her no. "I'm sorry, Lizzy, but I can't. I have to go to work, and I'm already leaving a little late." I hugged her, then drove to work with a very heavy heart. I clocked in only seconds before the time clock clicked 7:01.

I walked into the lab break room, hung my jacket in a locker, and pushed my lunch bag into the fridge. Ragan, one of the techs, was already in the break room, starting a pot of coffee.

At Ragan's "Good morning," I lost it. I came completely unglued and sobbed.

"Good grief!" Ragan turned to me with wide eyes. "What on earth is wrong? Sit down!" She pointed empathically at a chair. "Tell me what is going on!"

And so between sobs, I told Ragan that today, my daughter and her family were moving and that when I got home this evening after today's shift, the house would be empty and quiet and unbearably sad. "And Lizzy wanted me to braid her hair, and I didn't have time because I was going to be late for work, and when I get home, she will be gone, and...." More tears.

Ragan listened until all my words and tears were spent. Reaching across the table, she took my hands, looked me in the eyes, and softly said, "Camille, next time, braid the hair. Work can wait. We will manage without you until you get here."

* * * * *

I finished nursing school and went from 18-hour school days and 12-hour weekend work days to a Monday-Friday job that, while incredibly stressful, actually pays pretty well.

My first year as a full-time nurse, I decided I wanted a real, honest-to-goodness vacation. At the beach. Where I could sit and stare at the surf and cry if I wanted and let the rhythm of the waves against the shore pull all the stress out of my neck and shoulders. So I rented a beach house, and I invited all the kids to come if they wanted and could make it. If they couldn't come, that was okay, too.

Several of the kids came, and we all agreed that it was such a good holiday that we needed to do it again.

This week, a year later, we are back at the beach again.

Early morning walks to search for sea shells washed up overnight. Aunties and Uncles milling about the kitchen preparing meals together, cousins building sand castles and splashing in the waves. Tea parties, jigsaw puzzles, and picnics on the porch. Good wine, good conversation, beautiful sunsets, and cool moonlight walks.

And lots and lots of braiding hair.

My heart is overflowing.