Can I tell you something?

Do you know? I love my job. Can you tell? I like going to work. Did you hear? I love taking care of these people.

I went to visit my Norsk today. He went to a different unit after spending some time in the ICU. He's pretty confused, seeing things, saying strange things; he looks pretty beat up, too. He has a tube coming out of the spot above his eyebrow to drain whatever might be building pressure behind his eye. He's got a gigantic clot of blood underneath his nose and a few cuts from surgery. But he's breathing easily. He's alive. He recognized me when I visited him. He held my hand and made that noise of recognition. "You work here, too?"

Haha. Oh, I love my Norwegian man. His wife is doing quite well. Sometimes she laughs at the things he says, cause they're so weird. Sometimes it's laugh or cry. When you choose to laugh, it's actually funny. She said she slept well last night. Rest for the weary. Who came up with that? Thank You.

I hung a red sheet up in my window, and it makes everything in my room warm and red. I am definitely going to make a habit of that. And we made it to sushi tonight. And it was good.

I'm trying to stay up a little because I have nights M,T,W next week. But I'm tired. It's only 11:30.

Erica

Chaos held the group of three-year-olds in its hand that day when I walked into P3 for work study. I had my work cut out for me; naptime was just around the corner.
As we prepared for naptime, I noticed that Erica was especially wound up, and, as usual, all the other kids closed their eyes in surrender to their archenemy Sleep while she was still wide-eyed.

The room was completely transformed from when I first walked in. The lights were off, there was soft music playing, and all were fast asleep...except Erica. I leaned over her and stroked her face with my fingertips. My thoughts drifted as I studied her eyes.
This girl will experience pain. She will probably collapse under the weight of it at some point. This little one will feel worthless. She will feel inadequate. Unlovable. Incomplete. Injured.
My heart broke.
"Erica, Jesus loves you," I whispered. "Jesus is God's son, and He made you before You were born. He knows what you will look like and what you're going to be like when you grow up. He knows everything about you, and He loves you. He thinks you're valuable." I paused to reposition. I wanted to communicate Jesus' love to her right then, in some attempt to relay it to her for a time when she'd need it - for the moment long from now when her world crashes down on her and makes no sense, for the moment when no one is on her side. "Do you want to sit in my lap?"
"Yes," came her soft answer. I scooped her and her blanket up in my arms and rocked. Her eyes grew heavier. Her body grew limper; and as I watched this little girl fall asleep, I sat mezmerized. How beautiful she was! That little life, right there in my arms. A tear slipped off my nose onto her blanket.
"Lord, let her know Your love. Let her experience it. Hold this little girl in your arms and penetrate Your truths into her heart."