A WEAK LINK

"If you post assignments before seven o'clock Saturday evening, I will do my best to complete them before 8:00 Monday morning. If you wait to post assignments until Sunday afternoon or evening, I can tell you now that I will most definitely not complete them by Monday morning."

I am fairly certain - although I have no hard proof - this statement cost me a letter grade that semester.

Nursing school was rough. Monday through Friday, days typically started at 5:00am, and I often did not collapse into bed until midnight or later. Saturdays, I worked a 12-hour shift at the hospital. Sundays, church, and then homework and studying until late into the night. The routine was brutal for someone whose functional ability is seriously compromised by multiple nights of less than 6 or 7 hours of sleep. (God, can you remind me why this nursing thing? Do you not know that nurses are not allowed to sleep?)

Somewhere in the trauma of nursing school, I had a come-to-Jesus moment. I committed to fight for my Sundays, even if it cost me a letter grade...or a degree.

God commands us to set aside one day in seven to worship and rest. To pause and remember - by the physical and mental act of rest - that He is our provider and our king. As I struggled through nursing classes and clinicals, I needed that weekly recalibration desperately.

For one particular class, one particular instructor, my resolution to "honor the Sabbath" (which for me was a Sunday) was interpreted as an act of war. This teacher frequently posted last-minute assignments on the weekend and then demanded they be completed and turned in before our first class Monday morning.

I felt like David facing Goliath.

I passed that class and graduated from nursing school BY THE GRACE OF GOD. Now, two years later, I work at a job I love, caring for people in a most tender season of life.

I am truly blessed.

And yet...

Like a heavy, dark cloud that swells and subsides, spreads and withdraws, then uncoils yet again to stretch horizon to horizon...here is the battle for the Sabbath. The battle for rest and trust and faith.

I worked five 10-hour days this week, without lunch breaks, stopping only to pee. I'm not complaining...I've learned this kind of schedule is pretty normal for the nursing profession. I'm actually one of the lucky ones: I work days, and I love what I do.

Saturday, I was up before 6:00, tackling laundry, grocery shopping, changing bed linens, paying bills, balancing my checkbook...you know, all the things-that-need-to-be-done to continue functioning for another week.

Today, finally, Sunday - and rest.

Awake again before 6:00, the first thought on my mind this morning was, "I have five more IDG notes to complete." These notes are preparation for a team meeting next week. Each note takes roughly 30 minutes to complete. Between driving to patient homes, checking vitals, requesting med refills, attending staff meetings, etc., I managed to complete seven of my 12 notes by Friday evening. I have five left to complete before tomorrow morning at 5:30, when a new work week begins.

But today is Sunday. My one day in seven. Sabbath rest.

I woke to a battle. I can complete those five notes today, or I can rest, put work down for one whole day, turn off the devices, and step away from the endless paperwork.

If I choose rest, I face a second battle: Do I fret about the consequences of insisting "Enough. Today is a day of rest." - OR - Do I put work down not only physically, but also mentally and emotionally? Can I resolve not to worry about the consequences, and truly rest?

WHY is rest so hard for me? It looks so easy for some people! I suspect it's because I am a people-pleaser. I want to be All That and Then Some - for my family, for my friends, for my employer, for my coworkers, for my patients, for my neighbors, for myself.

I think to myself, "Other nurses work seven days a week, logging 60, 70, 80 hours. Why can't I? What's wrong with me?!"

I am old enough to know that life is not a pissing contest. I know this with my head, but my heart clings to a lie.

I feel like a weak link, a defective part, the wimpy kid on the middle-school dodge ball team.

You want to know the truth?

I AM the wimpy kid. (I still get a thrill of terror up my spine when I remember Kathleen Barbee powering a red rubber ball across the middle-school gym toward me. That girl could launch a dodge ball with the force of a cannon!)

I am the wimpy kid.

And I need rest.

I will have to deal with the consequences tomorrow.

Jesus, please, please, please, take away this performance-driven, man-fearing heart and give me a quiet, God-fearing heart instead.

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.

TOES

I am less than a week away from a family holiday at the beach: FIVE MORE DAYS.

The past several months have been physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. I am counting down the days until I can step away from the stress for a moment and breathe.

My family made this trip the first time last May. We had such a lovely week everyone agreed a repeat was in order.

Last year, I did not get excited about the holiday in the months and weeks leading up to it. I have a long history of deep disappointment, and I was certain something would come up at the last minute to keep me from going.

Something did.

The day before our holiday was to begin, I followed an ambulance taking my mom to a hospital 3 hours from home. Over a a long sleepless night, still wearing the scrubs I'd worn to work the day before, I resigned myself to the fact that - yet again - my hopes of rest were frustrated. I was exhausted, but there was no rest in sight.

Then my younger sister rolled in like the cavalry and took over mom duty: Suzanne showed up at the hospital and ordered me to leave, go home and pack, and enjoy my family for a week. 💖

This year, I have been slightly more optimistic heading into the first full week of May. My youngest created a GoogleDoc for meal planning: I signed up to fix dinner on our first evening at the beach. I've stocked up on snacks. I planned a couple of rainy day activities for the grandkids, just in case. I've pulled out summer clothes to pack. And Saturday, I got my toenails done.

A pedicure is a rare treat for me. Like, maybe once a year? As I relaxed in the oversized armchair, the young man at my feet soaked and trimmed and moisturized and massaged until my tired calloused feet looked and felt brand new.

We chatted as he worked, and watching him work, I thought: "He is like Jesus. This is what Jesus does. Jesus washes feet, cuts away dead skin, restores the broken and weary, gives new energy and hope. And joy, He gives joy, sort of like French Raspberry #066."

I was almost in tears by the time the young man finished. I wanted to say to him, "You are so beautiful, so much like my Jesus" - but I didn't, because I thought that would be weird, and I was afraid he wouldn't understand.

(I am so tired of feeling "weird" - that label is burned so deeply into my soul - and I'm tired of being afraid. My therapist and I are working on that...baby steps.)

Today, I am thankful for gentle hands and a glimpse of Jesus. I am thankful for red toenails. I am thankful for my family. And I am thankful that rest is coming soon.

WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE

The past month and a half - work, home, life in general - has been a little hairy for me.

If you've known me for very long, you may be thinking, "Seems like this theme keeps repeating itself, Camille. Are you serious?"

Life just seems to have this cycle for me where things get really hard, and then I get a breather, and then things rock along pretty steady, and then problems or difficulties arise and pressure starts to build again like steam in a boiler. Neck muscles turn into steel cables, I develop chronic indigestion, and restful sleep eludes me. I find myself thinking, "This is too much! I can't do this anymore!"

Deep weariness - weariness of not just body, but of soul and spirit - isn't "fixed" by an afternoon off, a trip to the nail salon, or just-one-more margarita. Yoga - when I can make it to class - helps unkink the knots in my neck and sunshine brightens my mood, but even these do not relieve soul weariness.

Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls." (Matt. 11:28-29, NLT; emphasis added)

I am so thankful that God has given me friends who, when I am overwhelmed and discouraged, lead me back to Jesus, the source of true rest.

It is nice to have a safe place where I can put down the weight on my heart and simply breathe. A place where the coffee is strong, the conversation easy, and at the end of the day, a warm bed and soft pillow are waiting.

Christ will hold us fast. But we need gospel friends to hold us close. - Albert Mohler

TINY HOUSE

When I checked on my favorite slow-growing tree in the yard yesterday, I found a house nestled beneath a brittle last-fall leaf.

This tiny house has survived winter snow and ice, torrential spring rains, and ferocious windstorms like the one that took down power lines and hundred-year-old trees in the nearby town of Obion last week.

Do any of us with our brick-&-mortar, concrete, steel, and treated 2x4s live in such safe, snug little houses? I doubt it.

And yet, while incredibly strong and durable, this tiny house is also incredibly fragile. I could have crushed it my hand. If I had committed such violence, the snug resident curled up inside would not have simple counted it unfortunate and then crawled off to begin the labor of rebuilding; no, such violence would have destroyed not only the home, but the occupant as well.

This beautiful coccoon, dancing in the warm spring breeze, is a picture of trust. Trust provides a place of shelter, strength, and resiliency from which incredible storms can be weathered in safety. So strong, and yet so fragile.

I love this time of year, every day greener than the day before. Trees thrum with the music of bees. The irises my sister gave me are just beginning to bloom and my grandmother's rose has a hundred swelling buds.

Spring looks, sounds, smells, and feels like hope to me.

My favoite tree unfolds tender leaves, and beneath the detritus of summer long past, new life waits.

DEAR DAUGHTERS

Twenty-four hours, three hours of sleep. Now, headed in for another full day of work.

That's a lot for this old woman.

Before I left home, my mother complained, "You do not need to go to work today. You need to stay home." No doubt she was concerned about my safety on the road. No doubt she was also feeling neglected.

"Mom, I'm 60 years old. What are you going to do? Write me a note to give my teacher so I can be excused from school?"

As I drove to the office, I thought about what Mom said. If one of my daughters was driving in to begin a full day's work after a 24-hour shift, I would have felt the same way. "No, dear daughter, do not go to work today. You have done enough. Stay home - you need to rest."

But me - I am supposed to be able to do it all and then some. Work, Mom care, all-the-things like groceries and meals and laundry and doctor appointments and car maintenance and keeping up with housework and the yard. And if it feels like too much? I'm supposed to suck it up, stop feeling sorry for myself, and get back to the task at hand.

So I drove, and I wept, and I stumbled into work.

During morning meeting, I thought about my beautiful daughters. I thought how it would grieve me if they felt like they had to keep on doing more and more and more, way past the point of exhaustion, how it would break my heart if they felt like they could never DO enough to finally BE enough. I thought how angry I would feel if someone demanded of them, "No, but you must do more..."

My dear daughters already are enough, just like they are. 

Then I thought: I am Someone's daughter, Someone's beautiful, precious daughter. And He loves me. And He tells me, "Enough, dear daughter. Rest."

And so, after morning meeting, I drove back home.

Emily, Martha, Helen, Abby and Carly: My dear, dear daughters...you have no idea how greatly each one of you blesses and inspires me every single day. Thank you for being the beautiful women you are. Thank you.