so i'm learning about myself. it's weird, but it's happening. it's like getting to know someone else over coffee - only, it's me, giving me time to get to know me.
one thing i'm learning about myself is that i want the end results without the work. i'm impatient - when i set my mind to want something, i want it then - maybe i'll work for a week or something - but i want immediate results. God is not that concerned about immediate results - he's more concerned with the process - more concerned with fathering me to maturity.
i'll just be honest - the process sucks. i'm hating it. i'm trying to like it, but i'm hating it. it hurts. it's painful. it's slow. it's an investment with no guaranteed return...but it's roots. i'm growing roots.
a
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
crossroads
in my hometown - crossroads is a school for sixth graders. sixth graders come from different elementary schools and merge for one year before going their separate ways into different middle schools.
growing up - crossroads was a movie britney spears decided to play in. the only thing i remember about it was that she was in it - i don't even think i saw it. i was never really a fan of miss spears.
someone told me today that i'm at a crossroads. i guess i agree. i've got two options and one choice. neither are pleasant, but only one has hope.
i'm not changing schools or taking some sort of journey complete with a pop music soundtrack, but i am chosing hope.
even if it seems like it's just a sliver of hope.
growing up - crossroads was a movie britney spears decided to play in. the only thing i remember about it was that she was in it - i don't even think i saw it. i was never really a fan of miss spears.
someone told me today that i'm at a crossroads. i guess i agree. i've got two options and one choice. neither are pleasant, but only one has hope.
i'm not changing schools or taking some sort of journey complete with a pop music soundtrack, but i am chosing hope.
even if it seems like it's just a sliver of hope.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
summer reading
Lately I've been craving some good stuff to read, so this is what I got lined up...
One that, even in the first 20 pages, is beginning to be one of my favorites:
One I should already be reading for bible study - deep nuggets of conviction and truth:
One I've heard great things about:
One I'm stealing from my younger brother's summer reading list:
One I'm planning on grabbing from Mr. Martin:
Books that I will definitely read to my children:
with love,
a
One that, even in the first 20 pages, is beginning to be one of my favorites:
One I should already be reading for bible study - deep nuggets of conviction and truth:
One I've heard great things about:
One I'm stealing from my younger brother's summer reading list:
One I'm planning on grabbing from Mr. Martin:
Books that I will definitely read to my children:
with love,
a
Saturday, June 12, 2010
a sorry runaway
crooked shoe strings, a backpack stuffed full with a teddy bear and blanket. coat on. door shut. marching towards the end of the driveway.
determined.
the front door cracks and a young mother steps out onto the porch. she mentions hot chocolate.
halt.
for the six year old girl in that scenario - sure, she's a sorry runaway - a sucker for hot chocolate and life is right back to normal. she didn't even make it to the mailbox. for quite a different circumstance, this 22 year old wishes things could still be fixed with a mug of hot chocolate.
to be completely honest i don't think i've ever felt this ripped apart. it's like there's this massive tugging inside of my heart and in one moment i feel as though my heart could burst from the pressure of the pulling. instinct tells me to pull away for the sake of my sanity and survival - while another part, the crazy part, tells me to stay in the thick of it and love. they both seem unbearable.
i left home for a few days this past week thinking a break would be good - and maybe it was - but it didn't solve anything. going back home didn't help much either. now i'm completely out of town.
i've noticed that when my relationship is incredibly strained with my dad, i pull away from Jesus.. as though He has the same attitude as my father. for the record - it makes things worse. as i sat down to have my quiet time this morning with my peanut butter and banana toast, after a muggy morning jog, i started praying. i was surprised at how honest i was - and tears just began to slide down my cheeks.
i've gotten things completely mixed up. for the longest time i've lived my life believing (subconsciously but actively) that God has the same attitude towards me as my dad. i've spent years trying to figure out ways that i can please him, make him proud of me, doing almost anything but sacrificing my integrity to avoid disappointment and rejection. the past month has been the most strained period of my life thus far because i can't win. short of performing backflips and circus tricks, i have tried to win the approval and affection of my father and i can't. everything i want to hear from him and receive from him may never come from him - but it doesn't mean i'm without it. i've got a perfect Father who delights in me - who's love i can neither gain nor lose based on my performance or appearance. he's completely safe with my heart. and he calls me to obedience - to trust that his way is best for me, that he loves me perfectly.
while my heart is getting used to the reality of how the Lord sees me as his daughter, i find myself terrified at one thought. what if i stay, what if i love, what if i bunker down and throw all i've got into honoring my dad - what if i expose a weak and broken heart to him and it's not received. what if i'm not worth it to him.
andrew would jokingly suggest that i church my face up right now. but i've been dying to write this week. it's the only way i know how to work all of this out. more than anything, my heart longs to be safe with my dad - to be received, known, and cherished by him - to be seen as beautiful to him. an earthly reflection of how God is towards His kids. a safe place rather than a threatening one.
but for now i cling to this:
"One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard: that You, O God, are strong, and that You, O Lord, are loving." - ps62:11-12
"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone, my hope comes from Him. He alone is my Rock and my salvation. He is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God. He is my Mighty Rock, my Refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O people, pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge." -ps62:5-8
determined.
the front door cracks and a young mother steps out onto the porch. she mentions hot chocolate.
halt.
for the six year old girl in that scenario - sure, she's a sorry runaway - a sucker for hot chocolate and life is right back to normal. she didn't even make it to the mailbox. for quite a different circumstance, this 22 year old wishes things could still be fixed with a mug of hot chocolate.
to be completely honest i don't think i've ever felt this ripped apart. it's like there's this massive tugging inside of my heart and in one moment i feel as though my heart could burst from the pressure of the pulling. instinct tells me to pull away for the sake of my sanity and survival - while another part, the crazy part, tells me to stay in the thick of it and love. they both seem unbearable.
i left home for a few days this past week thinking a break would be good - and maybe it was - but it didn't solve anything. going back home didn't help much either. now i'm completely out of town.
i've noticed that when my relationship is incredibly strained with my dad, i pull away from Jesus.. as though He has the same attitude as my father. for the record - it makes things worse. as i sat down to have my quiet time this morning with my peanut butter and banana toast, after a muggy morning jog, i started praying. i was surprised at how honest i was - and tears just began to slide down my cheeks.
i've gotten things completely mixed up. for the longest time i've lived my life believing (subconsciously but actively) that God has the same attitude towards me as my dad. i've spent years trying to figure out ways that i can please him, make him proud of me, doing almost anything but sacrificing my integrity to avoid disappointment and rejection. the past month has been the most strained period of my life thus far because i can't win. short of performing backflips and circus tricks, i have tried to win the approval and affection of my father and i can't. everything i want to hear from him and receive from him may never come from him - but it doesn't mean i'm without it. i've got a perfect Father who delights in me - who's love i can neither gain nor lose based on my performance or appearance. he's completely safe with my heart. and he calls me to obedience - to trust that his way is best for me, that he loves me perfectly.
while my heart is getting used to the reality of how the Lord sees me as his daughter, i find myself terrified at one thought. what if i stay, what if i love, what if i bunker down and throw all i've got into honoring my dad - what if i expose a weak and broken heart to him and it's not received. what if i'm not worth it to him.
andrew would jokingly suggest that i church my face up right now. but i've been dying to write this week. it's the only way i know how to work all of this out. more than anything, my heart longs to be safe with my dad - to be received, known, and cherished by him - to be seen as beautiful to him. an earthly reflection of how God is towards His kids. a safe place rather than a threatening one.
but for now i cling to this:
"One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard: that You, O God, are strong, and that You, O Lord, are loving." - ps62:11-12
"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone, my hope comes from Him. He alone is my Rock and my salvation. He is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God. He is my Mighty Rock, my Refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O people, pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge." -ps62:5-8
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
words
Friday morning - Mrs. A presents with a dx of a stroke in the late hours of the previous night. up until a few hours ago she was completely independent, living by herself, making daily trips to visit friends at her local community center. This morning, she is unable to speak, follow commands, and her only movements are facial grimaces of pain and frustration combined with minimal arm movement. She is unable to communicate in any way. She is surrounded by worried adult children, and her heart rate spikes when she scrunches her face in frustration. Towards the end of the shift she can move her lips, but no words come out, and she knows it. Her heart rate spikes again.
Test after test reveal no evidence of a stroke - health care professionals are baffled as to why she has presented as a perfect stroke patient with no stroke. They guess adverse affects from medications.
Pastors come into the room to pray over her, family members stay on their cell phones constantly with other worried friends and family members. I say goodbye to them, tell them that I'm praying for them. I squeeze her hand and say goodbye to her. We've held hands many times today, as this has helped to calm her down when her heart rate peaks.
Monday morning - it's too early, and it's a holiday, but I've got a 12 hour shift. the volunteer in the lobby says good morning and comments on it being a good holiday in a slightly sarcastic manner. I tell him in a confident voice that today will be a good day. I tried to get us both excited. I throw my lunch box (cause I'm a cool kid who packs her lunch) in the refrigerator and wait for my preceptor. we listen to report and I notice we have Mrs. A again. I walk into the room to do a morning assessment and I find her sitting in her chair like a queen - TALKING. I find her just as sweet, strong, humorous as I thought she would be, and that hint of a stubborn streak I imagined was present as well. She is brushing her teeth. She is wiggling her toes. She is walking with assistance. She is squeezing my hands and following commands. Best of all - I can hear her speak. I hear her words. And she will get to go home soon.
Most times, I shouldn't be allowed to speak - my words are harsh, ungracious, unforgiving - they are tense, full of pride and selfishness. They shoot forth from my mouth before my brain has even processed them. Most times I shouldn't be allowed to speak.
Words are powerful - with one word you have the ability to completely wound someone and annihilate their sense of self worth. With one word you have the power to unleash a fountain of healing and love over someone. This isn't anything new - but what happens when we lose our ability to speak and communicate? In one moment, and who knew for how long, Mrs. A lost her ability to utter curses in pain, cries of confusion, and comfort to her worried children.
Tonight I was wounded by some one's words - a someone so familiar that's both wounded me and spoke encouragement over me throughout my life. Lately, it seems as though all we've done has been to wound each other. We've succeeded. I sit here in this empty living room with echoes of slamming doors ringing in my ears. Remnants of explicit and foul words accompany them. I pretend to be angry, but I'm really just hurting.
Caring for Mrs. A reminded me of why I fell in love with nursing when I was beginning to think I hated it. Seeing her up in a chair getting her hair combed and brushing her teeth - then hearing her say good morning and telling me how she was feeling was the highlight of my day - and so far my week. She reminded me of the power of words... the power of speech.
Tonight - words were flung like hot arrows followed by cold, bitter silence. They cannot be taken back, but they can be forgiven.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Test after test reveal no evidence of a stroke - health care professionals are baffled as to why she has presented as a perfect stroke patient with no stroke. They guess adverse affects from medications.
Pastors come into the room to pray over her, family members stay on their cell phones constantly with other worried friends and family members. I say goodbye to them, tell them that I'm praying for them. I squeeze her hand and say goodbye to her. We've held hands many times today, as this has helped to calm her down when her heart rate peaks.
Monday morning - it's too early, and it's a holiday, but I've got a 12 hour shift. the volunteer in the lobby says good morning and comments on it being a good holiday in a slightly sarcastic manner. I tell him in a confident voice that today will be a good day. I tried to get us both excited. I throw my lunch box (cause I'm a cool kid who packs her lunch) in the refrigerator and wait for my preceptor. we listen to report and I notice we have Mrs. A again. I walk into the room to do a morning assessment and I find her sitting in her chair like a queen - TALKING. I find her just as sweet, strong, humorous as I thought she would be, and that hint of a stubborn streak I imagined was present as well. She is brushing her teeth. She is wiggling her toes. She is walking with assistance. She is squeezing my hands and following commands. Best of all - I can hear her speak. I hear her words. And she will get to go home soon.
Most times, I shouldn't be allowed to speak - my words are harsh, ungracious, unforgiving - they are tense, full of pride and selfishness. They shoot forth from my mouth before my brain has even processed them. Most times I shouldn't be allowed to speak.
Words are powerful - with one word you have the ability to completely wound someone and annihilate their sense of self worth. With one word you have the power to unleash a fountain of healing and love over someone. This isn't anything new - but what happens when we lose our ability to speak and communicate? In one moment, and who knew for how long, Mrs. A lost her ability to utter curses in pain, cries of confusion, and comfort to her worried children.
Tonight I was wounded by some one's words - a someone so familiar that's both wounded me and spoke encouragement over me throughout my life. Lately, it seems as though all we've done has been to wound each other. We've succeeded. I sit here in this empty living room with echoes of slamming doors ringing in my ears. Remnants of explicit and foul words accompany them. I pretend to be angry, but I'm really just hurting.
Caring for Mrs. A reminded me of why I fell in love with nursing when I was beginning to think I hated it. Seeing her up in a chair getting her hair combed and brushing her teeth - then hearing her say good morning and telling me how she was feeling was the highlight of my day - and so far my week. She reminded me of the power of words... the power of speech.
Tonight - words were flung like hot arrows followed by cold, bitter silence. They cannot be taken back, but they can be forgiven.
Tomorrow is a new day.
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