Resonation with a theory about the same.

Reading Margaret Newman's theory now about Health as Expanding Consciousness…

She talks about how time disappears sometimes.  There are some moments in which exchange happens so deeply between people that time isn't really linear or even important. It's like when you've been with someone for two hours, but it your interaction was so deep that you feel like you've known each other for all of life, and that you'll never stop knowing one another. She calls that expanding consciousness.

This is a common occurrence for me. Even before nursing. And it's part of why I chose this field. I recognized that I could have deep relationships with people in a short amount of time. What field could be better except a field where people are coming to me by the droves?

She calls it "resonance", this exchange of information between two people. She also says that as a nurse, when you walk into a room, you start with the simplest, most obvious thing. And you pursue it. And you assume it's important. You start with that thing, that little thing. But you're after the whole of the person.

I really operate this way.  With other theorists, I kind of inwardly roll my eyes and say, "Yeah, I guess I operate that way." But with her, it's like, "No. Really. I really operate this way." I am always after the whole of a person. And every piece is a window into the whole. It's like a little clue. And these little clues can be so very overwhelmingly informative.

My mom was asking me about a little girl at Awana's. It's strange, the times when you start teaching your mom something. She's been the most influential teacher in my life. And she's asking me for my opinion on something. But this little girl. I just wanted to have some interaction with her, to see her whole. I couldn't see it from my mom's descriptions. I couldn't tell what she was after. I think, deep down, she just wants my mom's love. She wants to resonate with my mom. She wants to cause a little trouble so she can have her. I told my mom, "So what if she wants your attention? Give it to her." Well, there are problems with time and space, then. Because she should be available to all the children, not just one. And what if it recurs? And there are so many questions and obstacles regarding time and space.

But she's after my mom's whole. I tried to encourage my mom to be after her whole too. But I didn't have words for it then. I hope it worked out. I hope they had some moments. And I hope love happened.

"Ultimate consciousness has been equated with love, which embraces all experience equally and unconditionally: pain as well as pleasure, failure as well as success, ugliness as well as beauty, disease as well as nondisease."

-Margaret A. Newman

Dear Baby

We are so excited to see you. 

When you punch or kick my insides, I think about how strong you are becoming. Your dad likes to poke you and see if you poke him back. Usually, you play along and poke him too. 

The first time I thought you might be alive, I was running. One day, I was running, and it was harder than usual. The next day, instead of being easier, it was even harder. The third day, it was even harder, and I thought something might be needing all my energy. Sure enough, you were just beginning to grow all your organs. 

Shortly after that, your daddy was playing bass guitar with some friends at a conference for college students. We told our friends about you, because they were wondering why I kept eating every few minutes and getting sick. Then, Nate, our friend, got you some Hawaiian thin crust pizza, and it tasted great.

We call you Baby for now, but we are thinking a lot about names for you. 

If you are a girl, we think we might name you Kiya Louise. Your daddy is half Sioux. You will be one quarter Sioux. Kiya means "to fly" in Lakota, the Sioux language. Also, Louise means "famous warrior". My mom's middle name is Louise. She is a really special lady to us. She helps us a lot in learning how to be, because she loves God. 

If you are a boy, we think we might name you Eli James. One of your dad's ancestors is named Eli. Eli means "defender of man" in Greek. And your dad's middle name is James. Your dad is a strong and good man. He will be so proud of you as God helps you grow strong and good too. 

I have been eating a lot. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I think you have grown overnight. At first, I had a hard time eating. But now, you are getting a lot of healthy food - blueberries, vegetables, milk and nuts. And some cookies and rice krispy bars, too. You seem to really like rice krispies. Last week, it seemed like you wanted eggs and sauteed spinach on toast with salt. It tasted really good. I have to be careful not to eat too many sweets. Sometimes, I sit down with some cookies, and before I get up, I have eaten them all. Your dad helps me by hiding the cookies sometimes. Maybe one day, we will hide cookies from you, too, so you can become strong with things like spinach and eggs. 

Your dad and I have both been having funny dreams about you. One time, your dad dreamed that I became a zombie, and then you came and ate me. I had a dream that you were moving so much in my tummy that you kicked and punched your way right out, and suddenly I was holding you! 

We are thinking about you more and more. I think when you get here, it will feel like you have always been part of our family. We'll say, "Welcome, Baby, to our family." 

hCG positive

Being pregnant is really terrible for some people. I'm not mentioning any names. But it's a sword, because others hope every day that they could have nine months of digestive problems, if only they could have a little baby at the end of it. And just like all of life, some people get what they hope for, and some people don't. And there's no understanding about why. And some people love being pregnant. Some people say they feel better when they're pregnant than at any other time. They're just weird.

Then for some people, eating is a chore more than ever before, and if you're not careful to eat right on time, you lose all your progress.  My relationship with vomiting has really flourished lately, even though I'm week 16, and vomiting is supposed to be becoming a distant memory. There are several levels of displeasure associated with this romance. Sometimes it's not so bad, really. But just like any close relationship, I find myself making choices based on its steady presence... like certain foods are good once, but not twice. Other foods are really mild the second time. And those foods win.

There's a book I read - from cover to cover - about giving birth naturally. I'm not afraid of that. But it says I should eat a lot every day, and I, personally, have a very hard time doing that lately.

4 glasses of milk. This is one quart. I have to say that I've been staying away from milk for a few years now. But after reading this list, I've purchased some Lactaid. Oddly, it tastes like sugar. And zucchini tastes like rancid acid.
2 eggs
2 servings of protein (and the milk/eggs don't count). It says you're supposed to get 85-100 grams of protein daily. This is absurd. I don't even like meat. And soy makes me nauseated when I'm not growing a human. Thomas says I can have some of his protein shake if I want. This makes me feel mildly uncomfortable.
2 servings of fresh green leafy vegetables. This is totally out. For more information, refer to paragraph 2.
4 or more slices of whole grains
1 citrus fruit. I can't do this for other health reasons, but I don't feel deprived.
3 pats of butter (all butter tastes rotten lately)
Other fruits and vegetables.
Not to mention the prenatal vitamin.

And then there's an "Also include in your diet" section that is just as long, as if the above weren't enough.

This list is very discouraging to me. All except the milk.

Maybe food will taste good again someday. They say relationships end the same way they start. I've found that to be true in my own relationships. This means one day, vomiting and me will just abruptly end. And I'll probably take my life without it for granted, just like before.

And maybe, if God wants, there will be a little baby instead.

I looked up from my clipboard for the next patient. Skin and bones, she came to me coughing into the dishtowel around her neck. "Ako si Katie." I greeted her with a handshake and a smile. "How long have you been coughing?" I asked while rummaging through our bags for some masks during translation. Something about years. I showed her how to put a mask over her nose and mouth before proceeding. She had recently been diagnosed with tuberculosis by a local physician. She was receiving treatment, was distancing herself from her family, and was coming to us for vitamins. Our interview was brief, but difficult - the rapid-fire barrage of questions about history of illness and putting priority on something that distanced me from my patient. Once we got the preliminaries out of the way, we slowed way down.

We locked eyes, and I put my hand on her knee. "This is such a difficult disease, but I am so proud of you." I paused for translation. "You are doing all of the right things." Translation. "This disease is not your fault." Her tiny frame heaved with giant tears mid-translation as she let herself be hugged by this strange white woman, with insta-tears streaming down her own face. We prayed together.

She thought she came for vitamins. I thought she came so we could help her with access to healthcare for diagnosis and treatment of tuberculosis. But it was apparent she really came for an ounce of dignity, to be spoken a word of self-worth and affirmation, to have the powerful words spoken over her that she is precious in the eyes of her Maker.

Running

It has taught me patience. I'm not a particularly naturally patient person. I like things to be fast and awesome. In fact, I like to be fast and awesome myself. A fast learner, ever hoping to be efficient, a fast runner. 

Let's be honest about this: I'm only patient about running because I want to be fast. And the only way there is through long-suffering. Every step is important - the speed of that step - but the speed of that step only matters when it's coupled with a vast number of the same - taking step after step even after you stop being enamored with the wind on your cheeks and the downward slope of ease that faded into incline. You just keep taking steps even after you're done being impressed with how easy it is. The switch surprises you, from ease to disease - you realize you can't really breathe anymore. But it doesn't matter what you want, and you tell yourself it really will be over soon knowing all too well its truth and its lie. 

What is "soon" when you're in the moment of pain? 

It's faith. But you draw on experience. You remember the last time you ran, and more than that, you remember having run, having stepped through the moment of impasse that you now face. You remember that you forgot about the impasse this whole time - until now. Like a time-traveler's fragrance, the past's whiff floods in, and there you are again, as if for the first time. Stepping, stepping, stepping, forcing patience in the step. Grasping the invisible like the saints- you'll forget about this moment again, and it will be worth it.

South Sudan Spotlight and Philippines Flash Forward

Spotlight

I'll tell you right from the beginning. The most amazing part of our trip to South Sudan last July was that, in a few short weeks, we could help in a lasting way. I honestly didn't expect that. I went in expecting to be changed more than anything else. I hoped to help, but I expected that I would be helped more as the little ones at Cornerstone Children's Home in Nimule, South Sudan stunned me. 

They did stun me. The joy, in spite of pasts riddled with tragedy and abandonment, was palpable in that whole place, from the youngest to the oldest, far exceeding that of those I daily encounter in the US who have in abundance more of everything. Their strength and hard work was also stunning, especially that of the women. Chores like cooking, cutting grass and fetching water are all done without the luxuries that I never before considered luxuries - lawn mower, electrically-powered stove, running water, washing machines, etc. At a recent women's conference, I noticed all of our American upper arms flapping as we praised God with arms lifted high. I thought of our South Sudanese friends, Lillian and Harriet, whose arms would have been lifted just as high that day in worship to Jesus, but waving with their hard-earned strong arms! 

But even more stunning than that was the black hole of need. While there, Thomas and I went on pharmacy runs and hauled children to and from the hospital or the clinic. There was so much to do on educating the staff about documentation of medications, organization of the clinic, not to mention addressing the environmental concerns I had for systems like handwashing before eating, safe cooking methods, etc. The need for the presence of a medical professional was obvious, but was it possible for Cornerstone to have such a thing?

I found my answer while volunteering at the Nimule Hospital in the maternity ward. I was greeted with nurses scrubbing the cement floors donning knee high rubber boots saying, "We clean on Fridays." Florence Nightingale would've had a hayday in that dimly lit, close-quartered (10+ women to a room), sepsis infused environment -- she and American lawyers. The staff asked me how I liked their hospital, but they weren't satisfied to know that I thought it was fine. They wanted to know how I liked it in comparison to American hospitals. How could I succinctly express to these workers the contrast? We know it well: a motorized vehicle is used solely for daily cleaning and shining of floors; the continual smell of disinfectant and common occurrence of blue sterile hats, boots, and gloves; faucets and flushable toilets in every private room; scan-trons for dispensing medications complete with computerized documentation at your fingertips; tube systems to deliver things throughout the huge hospitals without any leg-work; and an environment of catering to patient satisfaction. 

During my hours there, I made friends with a couple of the nurses and spoke to them about the concerns I had about the lack of a medical presence at Cornerstone. They said that starting wages for a nurse there could be about 500 Sudanese pounds a month, just over $100 per month! So we hired Daniel, a comprehensive nurse, who has two years of nurse's training in Uganda. His two years is really nothing like an American two years of nursing training. He can deliver babies, diagnose, and treat them... and their brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents. This is the way in South Sudan; no medical knowledge is wasted. Since beginning full time work in September, he has helped our children so much that illnesses are coming up much less frequently. He transitioned to a part time role at the Children's Home and also works part time at Nimule Hospital, just a short walk from Cornerstone Children's Home. I am especially happy about this, because he will help them, and they will help him. In medicine, friends are important - they give insight in tough situations, and they facilitate coping. 

Our time in Nimule was a great first experience overseas. It taught us to value accumulation less and giving more. It taught us that our joy is in the Lord, and people who have less often find joy much more easily. It also taught us that our gifts are meant to be used by Jesus for great things. He is the One that works in us to do these things. It is only our job to obey. 

Flash Forward

Since moving to Kansas, we have become acquainted with a ministry called Trash Mountain Project (TMP). Around the world, many families put their hope in heaps of trash. The trash dump provides items for them to sell so they can feed their families. They live, work, and die in the trash dumps. The purpose of this ministry is community development - to come alongside already existing churches and give them tools for trash dump transformation. TMP builds schools, both primary and vocational, clinics, and even centers for the care of the elderly. In the Dominican Republic, TMP is planning to implement a hydroponics system that will provide fish and vegetation to these communities. The hydroponics system was recently described to me as an exit strategy - a way to get the people out of the trash dumps, and us out of the way for them to grow and live independently with dignity.

TMP recently put out Stay, a must see full length documentary about God's obvious calling to new sites in the Philippines. Please take a look here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rLVWFvcKQnk&feature=youtu.be

On Friday, Thomas and I will be a part of the first group trip TMP has taken to this same area from the documentary. Thomas will be working with the construction team, and I'll be heading up the clinic side of things. We'll be there for ten days, returning June 18th. On this trip, we've decided not to ask for help financially, but we do deeply desire prayer. We desire for you to be part of our mission as you go in prayer to the King on our behalf asking for big things. Specifically, that we would be an answer to the prayers of the people we are hoping to serve, that God would move mightily, healing and transforming many.

Stay

In June, Thomas and I are going to the Philippines with Trash Mountain Project (TMP). It is the first TMP group work trip to this area. They have made a documentary about all the amazing things that have happened as they have found sites and prepared for this and coming trips. It's called Stay, and it's great. Everyone should watch it.

Trash Mountain Project: Stay

My friend, Katelyn

Call to prayer:

My friend is sick. But she's not sick in any of the ways sickness has been defined for me in the past. She's a new kind of sick.

She fell snow-boarding. And my dad's annoyed that she was snow-boarding, because he thinks skiers are far superior. Her pelvis, it seems, broke away from the parts that hold it in place. She has a problem with her body that causes it not to heal those parts. Me and you would heal just fine. But she's not healing on her own.  Her pelvis moves all willy-nilly causing excruciating pain whenever she does anything involving the pelvis - which is everything, by the way. Her mobility has been compromised to a degree that causes great loss and grief in many areas of life. She's going to need a miracle for her body to be restored to pre-fall conditions.

She's undergoing and exploring different kinds of treatments right now. She's travelling far to see a specialist for SI joint fusion to try to get some answers this week. By hearsay, that option has not seemed promising. She's also undergoing a very new kind of treatment called platelet-rich plasma injections to try to get her body to produce more collagen, the stuff that holds a pelvis in place. She's had limited to no success so far, but it seems that this treatment may typically go slowly. It's hard to tell.

Please pray with me that her body responds miraculously to these injections, and that she leans heavily on Jesus as she finds ways to cope with these new losses. Pray that God's glory would be made known in her, that His will would be done on earth as it is in heaven. We have no hope but in God all the time, but right now, we can see it. He is our light and our salvation. He makes our mourning into gladness.

Please pray for miraculous healing in my friend Katelyn.

Daniel

We found a void in Nimule, South Sudan. Everyday, there was a loud cry for medical knowledge at the Children's Home - enough for a sole worker to stay busy all day everyday, if only funds were sufficient to hire such a one. If only funds were sufficient to support the changes such a one would desire to make. 

But truth: I knew it wasn't me. I couldn't really eat while we were there, and I only recovered from the stomach issues I had a few weeks after our arrival back in the states. And in the way of other changeable realities: I know nothing of malaria, tuberculosis, typhoid, parasite infestations, and STD's. All these caught me re-thinking dreams of South Sudan as a long-term home. It made me sad. 

But something happened the last day we were there. Those dedicated to that place - who live there with the children day in and day out - saw the effects of the void being filled for just a few days. And they agreed to hire someone, our fast friend, Daniel from the Christ the King Clinic. 

I took four children and one young woman to see him one day. He assessed and treated them all and wrote detailed doctor's notes for each one, even though he only has the two years of medical training that might be long enough to name someone RN in the states. All five were given long individual attention (more than five minutes) and treated for $40. All five recovered completely by the time our three-week stay had ended. 

By the beginning of the next month, he had moved in at Cornerstone Children's Home as a full time healthcare worker. His wages were slightly over $100 each month. One-hundred dollars...four hours of work as a nurse in the states for one month of work in Africa.

Since then, he has done such a good job with the children that work has slowed down, and he has begun using his skills part time at the neighboring hospital. Extra funds have been allocated for healthcare by the executive board at the children's home, because they have seen the difference he is able to make.  

That place might not be home for me, but I can't think about my home here without remembering the home those children have. Being there has taken away every barrier I had before about giving generously. I held onto money then, but now I find myself pushing my money away. But not only away. Away toward faces. African faces young and old. Faces of all colors forever etched in my mind.

Automated Rejection Letters

I have been applying for jobs at our new home. I know that the perfect job will be offered to me at the perfect moment. I am not forgetting that as easily as I have in the past. 

However, today I received an automated rejection letter for a job I thought I really wanted - a job I thought was perfect for me. It was a position at an outpatient infusion center which is where they give chemotherapy, blood, antibiotics, etc., to patients that can walk in and out of the hospital each day. 

But then, later today, I applied for another job that I really want. I was thinking to myself, "kt, what do you really want to be doing career-wise in ten years?" And the answer is that I really want to be teaching nursing students. I love the thrill of seeing students understand something for the first time - of bringing them to that point skillfully. I love being with them when they experience their first patient death, when they experience their first victory in independent problem-solving, or helping them recover after their first patient yells at them. 

So I applied for a position teaching LPNs at the tech school Thomas is going to. And I was even so bold as to write in my cover letter that I've received a job offer for every interview I've ever had! That might've been a bold move, but I'll tell you: I'm tired of not getting face time. 

News

A couple of days ago, I was sitting at the table and my arm started itching. I told my mom I needed to get the pest killers here. They come to the complex every Friday. Then yesterday, I got some itchy hives. I took benedryl and went to bed. This morning, I woke up with hives all over my body. My palms look like I'm developing graft vs host disease, but I haven't received any transplants lately, at least not that I know of. I think it might be fenugreek seed, an ingredient in the granola.  

They've gone down now after a nice concoction of zyrtec, prednisone, hydrocortizone, and benedryl. I'm blaming my sleeplessness on the prednisone. I found out today that we don't have any transitional health insurance, so that's really nice. At least I went to Urgent Care. But I learned in Uganda that money doesn't matter as much as I thought, so I'm not stressing about it.

I got back from South Sudan last week. In case you don't know, Sudan has been a war-ravaged country for many years. They are now rebuilding in a period of peace that began, at least on paper, in 2005. The war took many lives. There are many orphans. The country is very poor. 

Death is a cultural norm. Resources spent on life are sometimes considered wasted. A child on the compound has chronic hepatitis B and esophageal varices. The blood vessels in the esophagus are swollen and have potential for bursting. In that case, a patient will puke blood and likely die from blood loss. Treatment was available for $2000. Someone said, "Why are we treating him if he's just going to die anyway?" This attitude pervades. On the compound, there is a different attitude, because there is the Lord, who breathes life, who created life, who offers hope. And the purpose of Cornerstone Children's Home, where we spent the majority of our time in South Sudan, is to bring a hope and a bright future to children who otherwise would have none.

I helped some kids. I took them to the doctor and gave them medicine, and they got better. I thought some toddler twins had tuberculosis based on the reports of their long-time symptoms: fevers, productive coughing, neglect after birth. But they got better after five days of antibiotics and cough medicine. Their lungs were totally clear when I left. This was the best part of the trip. But it was also the worst part, because five days of antibiotics probably would have made them better a year ago or maybe two years.

One child, Simon, stepped on a nail, and it almost went right through his foot. He went to the hospital, and said they put an injection into the wound. I'm guessing tetanus, maybe antibiotic? I dressed it a couple of times, told him how to baby it, gave some painkiller...not much, really. But he got better and was playing soccer like normal before we left, and he wrote me a note before we left that makes me cry like a baby. 

One girl, Betty Mundua, was having recurring ear infections. I gave her five days of antibiotics and ear drops. Things were clear before I left. I have a hard time believing that it is totally clear, because she has been battling this for something like years. She probably has nerve damage and chronic hearing loss from a simple childhood ear infection left untreated...and that's even if it's totally healed now.

No-nyo is the nickname which means "little girl" in Madi, one of the prominent tribal languages, of my small friend Dorothy. She had malaria and an upper respiratory tract infection that took her down. She was feeling better after a couple of days of medicine.  

Helen is a woman who is married to Juma John's son. She helps with the cooking regularly and can be seen with her own son around the compound. She had malaria, pyelonephritis, and chronic headaches. I gave her 10 days of IV antibiotic therapy. Her symptoms were resolved sometime around day 7. 

All these children were treated for about $40. But a notebook is something like $8. Materials are expensive. Meds are cheap.

Travel was nightmarish, especially our first attempt at getting home. I think it was the first time in our marriage when Thomas and I were both really angry at the same time. I'll spare you the details, but really, I'll spare myself from having to remember them. Although, it really was kind of...an experience. 

But, as you can see displayed at Jimmy John's in Lawrence, Kansas, "Experience is what you get when you don't get what you wanted." And so I am now more experienced than before. You think I should put it on my resume?

I'll give you the short version. Taxi drivers continuously shouting in Juba-Arabic about us, around us, to us... if you've heard Arabic before, you know it sounds like people verbally ripping each other's heads off, even when they are saying thank you... Juba-Arabic is no different... driving 70 mph toward equally fast oncoming traffic with no visible sign of reverting to the correct lane and "boda-bodas", or motorcycles, everywhere... in between every car, 24 hours of missed appointments, stopping to buy chickens multiple times on an already late bus, arguing with airport officials, emergency travel service at $100/hr - which I only found out after the fact due to poor connection...the list goes on... $4000 for new tickets home (very painful, especially in full knowledge of how far $4000 would go for the children), and an unexpected night in Uganda. 

That morning, we ate better than we had in three weeks, and Africans sang songs to Jesus in English really loudly. It was the most beautiful sound I could have heard, like salve to my soul. We got beautiful souvenirs for our family that afternoon, and we arrived with several hours to spare at the airport. The officials kindly let us into the airport - something we had trouble with before - and all our flights home were on time. So I really can't complain. That one more day in Africa was beautiful.

Believing God

You know? John the Baptist was beheaded when Jesus walked the earth. And the fact that this happened is helping me right now, because things have happened that feel like great defeat.

I'm studying David right now, and there's a defeat that he experienced. Beth Moore said something about it to me today, something like wishing, every time you read through David's life, that somehow, this time, he'll run for his life from Bathsheba at the first sight of her, as if you're reading in the present, and you just know he'll make the right decision. But soon, you remember it's not happening; it happened, and it can't be changed.

I find myself saying sorry to the Lord in deep sincerity about some of those things that have happened, things in the world that miss his mark. That's what they must have felt when John the Baptist was beheaded, like God forgot about being able to save people.

I'll just say I'm feeling it a little bit now: the mother of a six-year-old succumbing to cancer on Tuesday, a nice old man stroked out and unable to speak with me, only pleading for me to understand, somehow, what he can't say, Law and Order shamelessly announcing the most horrible things anyone could ever imagine as to entertain.

Yet He lives, doesn't He? We know He died, and they must have all felt the weight of that as a gruesome mistake in the kingdom - they must have thought that, after spending all that time with Him, He wasn't the One.

But Jesus didn't stay dead. And He is making all things new. And it tears up my heart. It's the only thing that helps us lift up our heads again. We ought to, you know. We ought to lift up our heads, because it's the action that comes out of believing that Jesus is alive.

I'm there.

I just found out I didn't get into the program I was trying for. I was sitting in church the other day thinking about so many things. Should I have made my essay more beautiful like a cookie-cutter? Should I have put a line in my resume about pursuing oncology certification? Should I have left out that part about how walking with people through what seems a premature death makes me starved for greater knowledge? And I thought about the death I was thinking of when I wrote that part, the death I still feel responsible for in a small part of me untouched by intellect. 

Then I remembered asking Him to intervene for every word of that essay, to sway it one way or another in my mind changing the words on the page, or in their minds changing their decision. I said, "Have it Your way, whether I become a nurse practitioner or not." 


And He said, "Every minute, I'm there. All along the way, for every nuance they didn't like, for every minute of your life, even that day when your patient fell asleep for good, I was there. I am."


He prepares us with each minute for the next, and what is there left to do but completely let go and trust the One who's here? He is.

Flashback

I had a little flashback just now. There I was sitting on a metal folding chair on a cement floor looking up and forward to one of our leaders. She expressed, "I think when I get to heaven, I will ask God, 'Why do You love me?'" I knew so clearly her mind at that moment, because I thought the same thing. How could God ever love me?

Now I ask myself the same question, "Why do You love me?" and the answer seems clear and simple: "I AM." It's the answer to the question I thought I would ask until I got Home when the Maker of my soul Himself spoke to me. Turns out He didn't want to waste that much time. As He pulls me out of myself little by little in His sanctifying way, I see that He loves me because He is God. He doesn't love me because I am this or that or any other thing. He loves me because He is made of the stuff. Were He to leave me inside myself, I would ask the question until the question drove me into the depths of despair. I am nothing. But now I know Him a little more. I know He is of Himself. There is no other. There isn't even me. He is love, and he cannot but love me.

While There is a Today

It's been a week worth writing about. 

A while ago, I made friends with a leukemia patient who used to be in the Marines. We talked about God, and he said he didn't want to turn God away, that it was better to be nice to God instead of bashing Him. That night, I thought about asking him, "What if God wants you to run to Him instead of just not running from Him?" I asked God for the strength to ask him, but he was gone the next day. Then I asked God to tell him Himself or make him come back. 

That was a long time ago. On Saturday, I walked into a room to fix the beeping pump, and there he was! I had time that day to hang out with him and his wife a little bit. I told him I pray for him, and that opened up a whole can of worms. I told him I had been thinking about him since the last visit - wanting to get him thinking, somehow, about being active about knowing God. Then he sure told me. He told me that God had given him two visions since our last meeting. Once, he saw great hands come down around him and cradle him. They picked him up gently off the bed and then floated him back down again. Then a voice said, "I am taking care of you." He said, "Okay. Thank You." Later, he heard God tell him, "I am going to give you a miracle." He said, "Okay, thank You." Two days later, his doctor told him that his bone marrow biopsy showed no cancer: "It's a miracle!" He said, "I know. God told me I would get one." And we were happy together.

That was Saturday. On Sunday, the nice man from church who says I am a mystic told me to write a love letter to God. He wanted to read it. He wants to love God more, and he thought maybe reading something I wrote to Him would help. On Monday, I wrote. 

I'll tell you the truth: spending time facing God with everything you are is a hard thing. It's pure honesty and nakedness. There is pain in loving God sometimes. To know Him is to love Him. To love Him is to miss Him terribly. There is a way to see life through this dark glass, and it's a sad way to live. I lived life that way for a while, and then I asked God for help - that He would send me a friend to be consolation for not being able to be with Him, to help me wait for Him. I married that friend. I told God all about that in my letter. I told Him other things, too. Mostly I'm sorry. and thank you. and I love you.

It took me a couple of days to recover, actually. Life has been deeper this week. Time doesn't mean so much and it means more all at the same time.  

That was Monday. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I cared for particularly special patients, very very sick patients, patients near death. Ms T has been a favorite of mine all through her journey. Mr H was new to me. He was very sick, and his family had to make a lot of decisions yesterday about how he will die. Mr H's wife prayed all day on Wednesday. She and her family have loved God for a very long time. Another patient went from us to the ICU and was reportedly doing poorly. She is young with a horrible blood disease. She has spent a lot of time on our floor. I was told weeks ago that she would live a painful, short life and die a painful death.

That was Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday, I went to visit them. I have never done that before - visiting patients on my day off, but these ones were special, and I couldn't stay away. I wanted to help Mrs H, somehow, to get to the point where she could let him go - to recognize what a blessing she would be giving him to let him go see God. After visiting her, I found out that she had gotten to that place overnight. She walks closely with Jesus. 

A long time ago, Ms T came to have plastic ureters placed into her kidneys in place of her real ones - nephrostomies, they are called. Cancer and treatment made her ureters dysfunctional. She was quite well then, comparatively. Since then, she has had multiple admissions for chemotherapy, pancytopenia, neutropenic fever, confusion. Ms T's family calls me "The A Team" and say I tell it like it is. They like that, so I am one of their favorites. She and her family are special to me. I just couldn't really stay away after hearing she had a trip to the ICU and now was back on our floor to die. 

When I saw her, I would never have known that she was any sicker. She was chipper and lucid and talkative. I asked her if she was ready. She said she wasn't, because she wanted to do so much more for other people. She talked about helping her nieces and nephews find the right paths for their lives, things they could pour themselves into and have purpose for life. She wanted to be around to help them with her resources, with her time, with her life. It is a beautiful thing when your last wish is not for you, but for those you love. We talked about thanking God for each day as a gift, doing today, the things you want to do before you die. You may not have tomorrow. I encouraged her to write letters to her nieces and nephews expressing her love and hopes while there is a today. 

That was Thursday. Today is Friday. I got a message that Ms T died this morning. There isn't today for her. Not like us, anyway. I can't wait to go to heaven. It's going to be so nice to see Jesus' face and to understand. I get heartbroken that I'm not there yet. But each day here is a gift, and He tells us that our life is short. Sometimes we hang onto that like our life-breath. Other times, it makes us sad, like right now, because Ms T and her family won't be coming to see us anymore. 

It all reminds me about this friend I have. She had cancer when she was a kid. She got a lot of chemo/radiation to her torso, so her heart and lungs are weak and show signs of being old with heart disease, lung problems, etc. even though she is in her twenties. When patients tell her, "Don't get old." She tells them, "Actually, that's my one goal in life."  I admire her, because she lives her life like everyday is a gift. I went hang gliding with her. She's been all over the world. She's gone skydiving (and likes hang gliding better). She lives her life connected to God, because there's a fact of life that's more real to her than it is to some of us. At any given moment, we could be a few more moments away from meeting our Maker. 

I just wanted to share these things with you to help you with perspective. I have a gift because of the things I see at my job to see life a little bit differently. I see life as something very close to death, not far removed from it. I see today as something transient, and I hope you can go there with me a little bit. I hope you can think: "Thank You God, for Your gift." I hope you can do and say the things you need to while there is a today. 

It is a great thing to be counted with God's own, to be part of something that's wholly bigger than I am. "He will do even greater things than these," He said; and I am counted with those about whom He said that. It's big, and it's good.

I heard someone say once - I don't remember who - that when we get to heaven, we're going to be more us than we've ever been. It means that we won't all be the same drones crying out the same tones. We're going to be even more diverse than we are now.

And can't you think with me about the beauty of every human in God's creation displaying a different facet of His glory? I'll tell you: it makes you matter as a person. No one can display that facet of Him better than you.

I am thinking about this now, because on Sunday, we are going to have a full band. Drums, bass, electric, acoustic, keys, vocals. I say in faith that there are several styles that are going to converge in unity. I have been praying about it, and I know unity is on His mind. We can't go wrong.

Oh God, let not one of us be so arrogant as to think that our vision of the music is the only right vision. As we offer up our song to You, let our breath invoke the breath of creation to magnify You in our own hearts, and in every heart that hears.

All I'm really asking is that everything we sing or play stirs up the Spirit of God to do His big work. It's not so much to ask, is it? He says it's all possible with Him.

God, come and get us as You do.

isolation and emotion

Some things help you relate with others. Some things make you feel far away from others. I think some of our deepest things make us feel far away from people, because we can't talk about them. It's not appropriate, or it leaves us too vulnerable, or it's just not quite like anyone we have access to.

One such question is on my mind tonight. How do you deal with the thought that you may have caused it? And by "it", I mean the death of another human being. You know somewhere in your head you didn't cause it. You know it was AML. But it doesn't stop the picture in your head. It stays with you.

I can't even say there's no denying it, because everyday, you walk around fine. You really are fine. But then, there are these flashes of what happened that day - the scene that summarizes the whole memory. It's PTSD, and we all have it. It must be the degree that diagnoses us. For me, it's seeing him lying on the bed all haphazard, lying on the bed not breathing. It's weird how you can be in two places at once. I can be in my car driving home, but then I'm not in my car, and then I am again.

I told the story once before. It's nice that someone can read it, and then forget they ever read it. But it's not like that about this. You forget, but something in you doesn't ever forget, and it pops up with no announcement. It's not everyday. But it's enough to make me ask the question.

Yesterday, I was thinking more about how our jobs isolate us from each other. I had a friend over, and I kept wanting to ask her about her job, but I couldn't think of anything to ask. "So, how's your desk been decorated lately?" No, bad question. "So, have you found some great new outfits to wear to work?" No. "Is your copy machine at work cool?" That one's really dumb. The truth is, I have no idea what interesting things there could be to talk about. So then I think about talking about my job. What I really want to talk about is some awesome pathophys or how human we are in life and sickness and death. But I know I should tone it down. I really try sometimes.  Like one time, somebody asked me about the grossest thing I ever saw. So I started telling some funny poop stories, and everybody was laughing. But then, I remembered a far grosser story about bile, and it might as well have hit the fan right there in that room, because it was all over.

Then again, our differences don't have to isolate us all of the time. Sometimes they make us better. I live with someone who is different from me, but when I talk about the things I experience that he doesn't, he helps me. I'm pretty eccentric in my emotional life. At least I think so until I talk to other women candidly. Just like everything else, it's all relative - and in this case, it's usually relative to our significant men. I live with someone who is a sort of emotional oak tree - slow to change and strong. I'm more like those flowers that come and go with the sun. I don't think our emotional temperament is something we can totally control, but we do have choices about our behaviors. I have a strong motivation to let my behaviors be governed by the truth of life in spite of what I am feeling. Sometimes Thomas helps me by reminding me about the truth of life when I can't feel it.

For now, I'm done trying to make myself feel less. I don't need to control my emotions. I just don't want them controlling me, and that's the real kicker. I want to teach my daughters someday. I want to say, "Dear one, I know you are feeling a lot," and I'll tell you: I really know, "but dear one, our emotions do not control us. We feel them, but they do not control us." It's truly something to be learned.

Just a short question I just asked myself

What do you think about "foreknowledge" and "plan" being used interchangeably? Maybe someone else has a thought on that.

One Week

I watched a film that I liked. I'm not recommending it, because I like to recommend films that other people will enjoy. I'm not even sure that I enjoyed it. I just liked it, and that is all I can say.

Anyway, in it, she said, as she does so often, "Did you ever love me?" and he says, like he does so often, "Not like you deserved."

And then I read about it in Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas. Listen to what he says.

"Love is not a natural response that gushes out of us unbidden. Infatuation sometimes does that - at the beginning of a relationship at least - but hate is always ready to naturally spring forth...One of the cruelest and most self-condemning remarks I've ever heard is the one that men often use when they leave their wives for another woman: 'The truth is, I've never loved you.' This is meant to be an attack on the wife - saying in effect, 'The truth is, I've never found you lovable.' But put in a Christian context, it's a confession of the man's utter failure to be a Christian... so a man who says, 'I've never loved you' is a man who is saying essentially this: 'I've never acted like a Christian.'" 

I had a CT scan yesterday for my throat. It's been hurting for a long time, so my primary ordered: CT scan, neck with IV contrast for pain with speaking/singing. They warn you that you're going to feel like you peed your pants, but it doesn't really prepare you. When they put the dye in, my whole body felt hot from the inside like they poured chicken noodle soup in my all my primary veins in a sudden sort of way.

In marriage counseling, they tell you that you can't be satisfied by a person. Your soul is hungry for nothing more shallow than a relationship with your Creator. Your spouse just isn't going to infuse your veins and make you suddenly satisfied in your core. I really don't know much about marriage, but I know that it's about love. And I know that love is about selflessness, looking at the same person everyday, knowing them more everyday, and saying, "I choose love," which is to say, "I choose life."

I know even less about divorce. I've mostly just heard of people who go through it or whose parents went through it. Lately, I have a friend who's looking at it right in the eyes. It seems like people have to get divorced because somewhere along the line, somebody looks at the same person everyday, knowing them more everyday, and says, "I choose myself," and one or both parties never recover from it. There are a lot of books out there right now that talk about reconciling your marriage by changing yourself. But there comes a point where you have to realize that there are two people in a marriage. Sometimes one of them really loves themselves...or is it "hates themselves"... so much that they can't stop thinking about themselves and their feelings. Self-centeredness and relationships don't go together like shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yippity boom da boom.