My brother asked me about my job yesterday. I said I don't want to do it forever.

It's because we're short right now. We go home wondering what we missed, and we remember just before we fall asleep. Sometimes it's little, like forgetting to fill somebody's water. Sometimes it's bigger, and we make a phone call. 

Sundays really are good days at work. There aren't a thousand people in the nurse's station, and the patients are just a little bit sleepier and more content than usual. 

And now, I will tell you something big: my feet hurt, and when my husband touches them, I wish he would not stop ever. 

Can you imagine no pain? Can you? And I just wonder about it, because don't you think pain and joy are relative? I know what my feet feel like after work. And they are swollen. I think I am too young to have swollen feet at the end of the day. And so, when Thomas touches my feet, there is a vast difference. The difference is what makes me know anything. Bad/Good; I don't want to move ever/Please don't stop ever. So, what about a place where there's no contrast? There's just good. Do do you think we'll be desensitized to how great it is? I don't think so, because I think there will be different rules. But it makes you think. Maybe we will not forget what was. 

You know, so many things are relative. Like people think it's cold outside. And it is. But they are miserable because of how cold it is. And I don't think they have any right to be miserable at the cold. They don't know what it's like to have your best mittens not be warm enough or feel the wind through snowpants, or not be able to breathe because the wind chokes you. And it's only cold for such a short time here. 

Someone checked my car and said, "You need a new battery, especially for the winter." I thought that was really strange, because it's not cold here. Cars start in the winter. Maybe two days out of the year, you might have trouble. But everything will be cancelled on that day anyway. 

So the moral of the story is: we don't have anything to complain about ever. Only, we don't know it.

Wait

Our church is still meeting in their living room. And it's a problem, because I have people who need to be there. The conversation came about with one of them, because she is a sweet girl, and she feels too old to be single. She's not, though. "I just haven't found the right guy yet." It's because she's just so sweet, and the man ought to be equally as loving as she is. And a man that's fit for her is found in no other place than stuck on God Himself. 

So I told her that I want her to meet this guy at my church. I have no idea how old he is. I want to ask him. He might not be right for her at all, but he's a real man. Last week, he told us all about how important it is to forget everything you're not doing and focus on the one thing you have the power to do. "The future you needs all of you to be where you are right now, so future you can be where you need to be then." Basically, spend your time in the place where you are. Be all there. 

Well, I'll tell you the truth: I don't care if they hit if off or not. I just want her to come to church with me and know what the men in her past have been missing. I think that she will love this place - the place that our church is going to be. 

We need a building yesterday. 

There's this woman I know who travels all over the world, and she sends me personalized updates about her adventures. She waits on the heart of God before she moves. I don't know anything about that. So this morning, I was reading about waiting on God. And a lot of it is about hoping that God has the ultimate in Himself, and that He's going to show it to you sometime, and believing it so hard that it doesn't matter when it happens. It just will. Like Hebrews 11.  

¹³ All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. ¹⁴ People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. ¹⁵ If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. ¹⁶ Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

It's believing God outside of yourself.

I was talking with one of T's buddies last night. A table full of them, actually. All shaven heads, all ranting. But the funny thing is, they spend a lot of time talking about things that are bigger than they are. One of them said it's all foolishness to wonder what's beyond the universe. "Homosapiens are always looking for the purpose for life," and he went on to say that it shouldn't be necessary. I asked him where he sees himself in that - if he himself can stop looking for purpose. He said he spends a lot of time thinking about that. His mom and dad died before he was twenty. 

Purpose stops there. He can't see Somebody planning it that way. So there can't be Somebody. If there is, he has to hate him.  He said he can't stop looking for the answer, though, and T says that's why he'll get there. He'll find Somebody. 

I think there's another kind of waiting, though, a more daily waiting. Like waiting on God to make my iPod show up. And knowing that it's going to show up at just the perfect time. I guess maybe it's more about letting your relationship with God infiltrate your daily life. Trusting in Him all day long. 

I admit to you, I get itchy with impatience, though. My job is so fast-paced. If I have to wait for something for thirty seconds, it's usually smarter to start something else - even if it means opening a package of crackers so that I can have some calorie intake during the day. It usually means going into the supply closet to get the syringe that I'm going to need to give the med I'm waiting for. Sometimes it means filling up a bucket with ice to make my patient happy. Sometimes it means charting. What I'm saying is that waiting is time wasted at work. So when a nurse is standing behind you at the grocery store, please be gracious to her and have your money ready. 

Only in Dakota

Spent so much time on this one thing, and felt so proud of it. Smiled every time I looked at it knowing she'd like it so much. Continually touching up little things, then wrapped it so carefully in Trader Joe's brown paper. Packed clothes around it in my suitcase.

Puked on the plane. Got to see my mom and my bestie from HS. Took her shopping for her wedding night. Whispered and laughed like women with secrets.

We had a nice time at the wedding. Stayed in my parent's hotel, enjoyed breakfast with them. Then, road trip together across the state. Then together with 8 little blondies, some with brown eyes, some with blue and some with hazel. Ate pizza, played games, wrapped up everybody's gifts, and then...it wasn't there. Panic. Look everywhere, even the hopeless places. Finally hunch defeated. A phone call. No paintings at the hotel. Felt four years old and someone just popped my balloon. Felt like my ice cream just fell off the cone. Felt like someone just ate my new chapstick.

Prayed, "God, you know where my painting is. Will you please let my mom get it?"

Made another phone call, really more of a pathetic plea through tear hiccups. Transferred out of pity to the head housekeeper. Trader Joe's wrapping crinkling in the background. "Is it a painting of two little kids on the beach?"

Are you kidding me? No, actually, there was another painting wrapped in a Trader Joe's paper bag from room 320.

Breath of relief and thank you, and "What's your mom's address?" And blowing my nose. And only in Dakota.

just one psycho

Tomorrow, I am going to change the sheets and make pancakes, and I don't feel bad about it one bit. In fact, I feel really good about it. The last two days, I have barely been able to finish a thought without my phone ringing - someone demanding my attention about some "urgent" matter. "Excuse me," I'm thinking, "12 can't breathe. I'm not worried that 5 wants a shower, thank you." Or, "The doctor is on the phone for you." Really, if they could see what position I am in right now, they would not be calling me. And then physical therapy wants to tell me that they took 4 for a walk and they went this far, and the patient was still breathing. And then lab wants to know why I sent pee and didn't put it in the computer yet. And then blood bank tells me they're sending my blood, and then the ER wants to know if I got a chance to look at the report for the patient that's coming right now. And 2's family wants to know when the CT scan is and when his poor, poor (really obese) father can eat. Some people can really eat, I am telling you. Like, some people can eat 5 portions for one meal. And they still want more. I am telling you, as if you don't already know, there is no holding back for some people. They cannot move, but still, they eat. Denial at its finest.

Sometimes I just want to smack the doctor and tell him to cut me a break. "I'm wondering why the hell eight has strep in her pee! Just please quit acting like that's a stupid question!" Oh, I really wanted to clock him today. Really, it hurt my pride. Let's be honest. I have no idea why she had strep in her pee. Was it really that hard to tell me that strep pneumonia is excreted in the urine? Still foggy. Not to mention that my patient is wondering the same thing. Oh, it makes me angry. I asked him a question, and I'm not kidding you - he didn't even answer me! He must've grown up in Baltimore where that kind of behavior is appropriate. Or else he's just a doctor and thinks he can treat people like they are all idiots because they don't understand the mechanism of respiratory pneumonia being excreted in the urine without causing a urinary tract infection. Really? Don't even know where to start.

2's dying, and the son is putting on his strong face.  5 can't move because cancer broke his bones, but he keeps smiling. 15's daughter yelled at her, and her blood pressure passed 200 systolically, and that was the old fifteen. The new fifteen has Bell's palsy and mets to the liver and bone. 3's not mine, but she's fun to walk by. Short term memory loss secondary to brain cancer. Really funny lady. Her hair is always crazy. I can't remember everyone today. So many people came and went. The hospital was in status E today which means the emergency room is full, and we have to shoo people out to make room for new people. I started with six, went down to three, and came back up to five. It's a mess. My head is a mess, and that's why I took a bath. That's why I'm happy about putting sheets on the bed and making pancakes. And it's why I'm writing now. My head's too messy. I'm going to dream about giving enemas and suppositories tonight, probably to that stupid doc. And I'm going to write for it in his own chart. Hehe...

1. Dulcolax suppository BID PRN for constipation or stupidity. No lubricant, please. Pt is allergic.

2. Fleet's enema whenever pt ignores you. 

3. Encourage proper etiquette for normal human beings. Do not call with results.

4. May discharge to home when pt is nice.

and I didn't mention this, but I don't have any other plans for tomorrow. Just sheets and pancakes. Probably a good idea, eh?

It's that feeling I always have - like something's missing. It was described to me the other days in terms of Chinese medicine. Apparently, these certain people, when their qi is out of balance, they have this overwhelming sensation like something is missing..that, and grief. And when she was describing this phenomena that is so common to Chinese thinking, I felt like I was normal in the world. Only, one thing was different. The feeling was described like something was missing, but there was no ability to determine what it was.

I've always known what was missing. And it's why I've always grieved underneath it all.

From Romans 8: ...We ourselves, who have and enjoy the first-fruits of the Holy Spirit, a foretaste of the blissful things to come, grown inwardly as we wait for the redemption of our bodies from sensuality and the grave, which will reveal our adoption, our manifestation as God's sons. For in this hope, we were saved.

I've always known I was missing Him. My soul groans when I look around. I miss Him. I just miss my Friend.

There's something I've always wanted, and it's just to be lovely forever. Just to be a delight to those around me, nothing awfully self-centered, just a joy-bringer through beauty. And I've wanted it in a place where beauty is safe. Do you think it will be like that when He comes? I don't think it will matter as much what I will be like, but do you think I will be like that? I really just hope so.

Well

The wellspring of life keeps rolling. We're helping to start a new church. Redemption Hill Church. Right smack dab in downtown DC. There's twenty of us now, meeting in Pastor Bill's living room.

The discussions are refreshing. The relationships are underneath the surface, people willing to share themselves a little bit. And one theme keeps surfacing: that God uses imperfect people to accomplish his perfect plan. Yesterday, we talked about being missional - what it is and why we aren't. The definition: being missional means being outward about faith, not so inward. It means that we are not just asking the question, "What does this mean for me?" and "How do I apply this to my life?" but that we recognize that God's word causes a much broader stirring, that as He impacts my life, the world is impacted. Most people voiced the same thing: we aren't outward about Christ, because we don't feel like we have it together enough to pretend that we know something in front of other people.

That's just the thing, isn't it, though? People don't want to hear you say, "I've got it together," because no one can relate with that.

Anyway, somebody, I think, really hit the nail on the head. It's not something you try to do. It's something that happens as you press in to Christ. It's not a goal we achieve. It's not a Jesus T. It's natural. As God indwells us, we wear Him without intention. And I can't get enough of that phrase this week: "press in to Christ."
And I'm talking about His word, and I'm talking about His strength, and I'm talking about His abiding hand on your back. It's the daily grind that sometimes leaves you completely clouded, and it's the wellspring that washes the clouds of life away. How is it both? How is it both a discipline and a motivation? But it is.

There's a nurse at work. I thought of him when we were talking last night. (You know, it was actually two nights ago, but I know no one cares.) I always like it when he's in my patient's room, because I learn about how to coax them to get up, to eat, etc. He pushes the weakest patients forward because of his relationship with them. Isn't that just Jesus? I heard one patient say to him, "You're the reason we still have hope." Anyway, I have to ask Him about his faith. I think it's safe for me.

That's it for me, I think. I'm scared to be missional, because I don't know if it's considered appropriate at my job. It's not safe. Thomas says I just need to speak more, which is kinda funny, because we joke about how his wife never shuts up. I keep noticing different people saying little somethings about their faith, and I think I'm mostly just sitting back and watching everyone, still feeling out my environment.

I found last night to be something that helped me get up the next day, that helped me lift up my head and be glad that I am alive. Normal people who don't have pasted smiles were sitting around talking about things that matter. All admitting we're not there yet, and pressing in to Him together. Do you see it very often? It's the beginning of Redemption Hill Church. And I wish my parents could come next week.

"I'm naive enough to think that God can transform our capitol." -Pastor Bill

Letting Go.

The image of finding my patient unresponsive is stuck in my head. I keep seeing him laying there all haphazard.
You get jumpy about things. Like whenever I hear a loud noise, my instinct is to go help whoever just fell or is seizing. I learned to watch for chest rise when I worked at the nursing home, so I always have, but now I'm jumpy about it. Maybe that will get better.

That night, I was talking in my sleep. Thomas told me I said, "Layers," like I was giving an answer in class. And there was nothing else. After he told me that, I just kept thinking about this story I heard once about a woman who had a near-death experience. She said the singing in heaven wasn't just harmony, it was like layers.

Yesterday, my voice teacher told me that singing is about trusting and letting go. Trusting that your voice knows how to do it, and letting it go. She's telling me about the anatomy of the voice, and it's amazing. Your larynx opens and closes hundreds, even thousands of times in one second depending on the pitch that you're singing. It's the same about running. Your legs know what to do. Actually, once you start walking, and I assume it holds true for running, it's a reflex. There's no brain involvement at all, just spinal cord. And breathing - well, it's all automatic. You don't have to control anything. You just let go and run.
 
Dead people usually look...dead. Shriveled. Dry. He looked like he was sleeping. Perfect. Peaceful. He had been working so hard to breathe for so long. He was labored at baseline. Then nothing. No movement. No more labor.
 
All of it helps me let go, and you have to let go, else you can't go back there again. But I went back twice already, and it wasn't so bad. I still like my job. It's a battlefield, and you question your decisions. But sometimes, you just have to let go.