Of late, I've been thinking on direction, ambition, purpose, fulfillment and other such weighty topics a lot.  Not that I've come to any conclusions on ANYTHING, but I've been thinking.

And then I came across this verse this afternoon.

"For I have a great sense of obligation to people in our culture and to people in other cultures, to the educated and uneducated alike.  So I am eager to come to you in Rome, too, to preach God's Good News." Romans 1:14-15

It challenged and saddened me.  Unlike Paul, I don't have this passionate hunger for anything...not even Jesus.  Without question I love the Lord and strive to honor Him with my life.  But do I have a sense of obligation and am I eager to share Him with others?  Am I eager to go to work?  Is there an attitude of intentionality of making Him known and serving others when I get there?  Not so much.

Again, no answers, but I'm wondering what needs to change and how to go about making said changes in order to get my heart and life to a place of eagerness...in life, in relationships, in sharing Him.  I've lost my zeal.  Like many others, I graduated college with big plans and decisive opinions.  Thankfully, some of those ideas were politely squelched, others not so politely.  But in being tempered and growing in experience and wisdom, it seems I've lost the fire.

But there is hope.  If Paul can be imprisoned, beaten, starved, shipwrecked, bitten by a snake, and the many other calamities weren't recorded but I know he had to have endured and still have fight in him, I'm sure I can find it in myself.

So here's to mistakes, fears, and failures.  May they always keep me close to His side and not deter me from living the life I was created to live.  Amen and amen!

Before I get back to my randomness of the last post, I wanted to put these pictures up.  These are women I met in college and we were pretty inseparable for quite a while.  Friendships ebb and flow, but I was reminded this weekend, the weekend of Ashley's wedding, how much I will always love these women.  I have loved them since they uninvitedly marched into my dorm room second semester of freshman year, while I was in nothing but a towel no less, and made me one of their own.  We are 8 years, 3 states, 2 marriages, and 3 children beyond this first photo, but I still and will always love them.  Congratulations Ashley and Jeff!

December 2003

May 2011

 

I feel like such a bad blogger because it's usually so long between posts.  In actuality, I have several different drafts saved, but if I don't feel inspired with my writing they just stay saved and never published.  Maybe one of these days I'll get around to finishing some of them :P

I was reading this blog today by my friend Lori.  (Sweet girl who pretty much keeps me laughing whenever I'm around her with her randomness.)  Anyway, I was challenged by her honesty and transparency in her post about how we're all like leftovers...yes, as in food.  I thought it was a brilliant analogy, but that might be due to my erratic thought process that swings from food to relationships to theology and back to food in a matter of minutes.  But like I said, I liked her openness.

I tend to be a people pleaser.  I don't like to know peoople are upset with me.  In my head I know I can't please everyone, but it's hard for my heart to accept that.  Most often, I wrap myself in an armor of bravado in hopes it comes across as actual courage when in actuality I'm racked with insecurity and fear.  I give the opinions of others far too much freedom in my life, my thoughts.  So much so, I'll sometimes do or not do something because of what someone has said.  It's sad really.  I know it, I just can't seem to break from it.  And I see it in lots of areas of my life...my clothes, my music, my hair, my decorating...it's all middle of the line and blah.  Trying to maintain what I think is status quo sucks.

And it's a stressful life.

Trying to not fail and please everyone wears you out.  One, because failure is apart of life.  We aren't born perfect nor do we ever attain perfection so at some point we will fail.  Trying to stave off the inevitable is just a lot of unnecessary work.  Two, it's often through failure and tough times we learn and grow the most.

I'm reminded of something I once heard about Robert Kiyosaki, author of Rich Dad, Poor Dad.  Kiyosaki has said if it wasn't for having declared bankruptcy TWICE he'd never have made it as far as he has.  Regardless of what anyone thinks about his books or philosophy, the man retired at 47 years old.  Um, winning.  It was his failures that taught him best how to run and not run a business.  Yet the thought of failing, especially publicly, shakes me to my core.  But on the other hand I really want the freedom to tell people to keep it to themselves.  Just because you think that's the best way to handle something doesn't give you the right to talk to me about it as if that's the only way to deal with a situation.

Is there a way to say that nicely?

I was just so excited about this meal that I had to take pictures and post them!  Although I'm a very good cook, I rarely do because the time and effort of cooking and then cleaning for one doesn't outweigh the convenience of just eating cereal or a sandwich.  But, if and when I do cook it's for work.  When working 12+ hour days with the our patients, a hot meal is often one of the only good things about my day.  So I cook.

About a month ago I bought chicken thighs solely because they were on sale.  They've been in the freezer since then because I didn't know how to cook them.  Lucky for me I have a recipe book, 365 Ways to Cook Chicken, with a very simple and delicious recipe.

I simply seasoned the chicken with black pepper and placed them on a broiler pan covered with foil.  I mixed honey mustard with a little mayo and covered the chicken.  The recipe calls for you to broil the chicken 12 minutes on each side, coating the other side with the honey mustard/mayo mix when you flip the chicken.  I'll definitely slice/poke holes in the chicken to cook it faster, but it came out great!

As for my side, I peeled and cut 2 sweet potatoes, cored and diced a Granny Smith apple and combined them with dried cranberries.  I mixed it all together with a little brown sugar and put it in a Pyrex.  Added a few pats of butter and in the oven it went until the sweet potatoes were softened.  The recipe actually called to put it all in a Ziploc microwavable steamers bag, but I didn't have any or want to pay for them so I adjusted the recipe.

It was perfection!  Take a look!

Pure deliciousness!

This had been a long time in coming.  And I finally feel ready to write out these feelings.  I've never understood how or why people feel guilty about something out of their control.  As I saw it, if you weren't directly involved and couldn't affect the outcome, how could you feel guilty about something you didn't do?

The death of my patient felt me with these same feelings that I couldn't understand or fully express.  I don't know exactly why as I had nothing to do with her surgery or even any serious amounts of care.  Yet, I was left feeling like there was more I could've done to make her stay more enjoyable or gotten to know her family better or done more for her kids.  I was haunted by these thoughts for days and days.  I could barely function without crying from the intense grief I felt over the lost of this wonderful life.

I thought going to the funeral service would help bring closure, but it just served to show how much more wonderful she was than what I already knew.  Her family and friends thanked us for the care we gave her.  If they only knew how deeply she touched our lives, my life.  I can't even begin to understand why God chose to allow their lives to take this path.  If I had my way, she'd be home celebrating a successful surgery and renewed life with her family.  But His ways aren't my ways.  And I rest in the knowledge that she knew that as well.

The following is from a book of prayers we, the staff, were given by the hospitals grief counselors.  It embodies lifestyle this wonderful woman exhibited to us each and every day.  I will never forget the impact you made on my life.  I will remember to always just breathe...

Wondrous Lord,

You are all I want,

all I have,

all I seek.

I give myself

into Your hands,

trusting that

You know what is best

for me

and will bring me to that place

where You are all in all. Amen.

Meister Eckhart

I'm a broken mess right now.

A patient of ours, and she was most definitely "ours" as in my entire unit, died yesterday morning.

With the patient population I work with, death is something we're very acquainted with.  You don't work with lung transplant patients and not deal with death.  And this death isn't the first I've had.  We've had several long time patients die.  Yet each one hurts as if it were the first.  We spend long hours doing everything we can to make these people comfortable and try to heal them.  We share our lives with them to help them not feel disconnected with the outside world, we meet and get to know their spouses, children,  grandchildren, their likes and dislikes.  We hear their stories of childhood and share our own.  We make things for them, bring them books and snacks, we learn what they enjoy and provide it.  We hold their hands when their afraid, sit with and hug them when they cry, we hum and sing when they're anxious.  We become apart of their support system.  They become apart of us.  And we ache when they lose the battle.

This patient.  She had a difficult road.  I was there when she first came to us and no one knew anything about her.  I saw the transformation of her and her husband from fear of a new hospital and staff to complete trust and kinship in that we would do anything to make her better.  We celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary.  And her birthday.  We played with her kids and got to know her parents.  She quickly went from a new patient to a much cared about friend.  We loved her.

We were afraid she wouldn't get the lungs she needed.  We saw her get transferred to the ICU because she was getting weaker.  And we rejoiced when she came back to us.  There was a real fear that she wouldn't get lungs because of her diverse heritage, but it was with much excitement that she got both necessary calls Sunday saying they found lungs for her.  Monday morning she was wheeled off the unit with lots of well wishes and shouts of prayers as we got ready for the 18 hour wait hearing how the surgery went.

And she died.

I don't know if it's even possible for me to cry anymore.  My heart aches for her husband and her precious babies.  They're so young.  I'm afraid in five years they won't remember her face or her immeasurable love for them.  I can't wrap my brain around this.  Why her?  Why not the brain dead patient who is only alive because of a ventilator?  Why one so young with so much to live for?

I'm gonna be brutally honest here.

At the beginning of the month, as it was New Year's, we had a lot of interns and residents working because our attendings had the holidays off.  Although all doctors are somewhat odd and interns especially, we had already determined one of the interns was decidedly a fruitcake.  Girl was just plain strange, but we only had to deal with her for a couple of more days.

And then she pissed me off.  Most noticeably was her tone of voice and how she talked to me like I was an errant child.

So I did the only logical thing.

I came home and took several online IQ tests.

So when i said logical i meant logical in the angry-I-wanna-get-even-with-that-heifer kinda way.

It seems that I have an above average IQ.  Heck, I got an 80 on the Mensa test.  Truthfully, I never doubted my intelligence, but I had elaborate fantasies about telling her exactly what I thought of her and how I would be able to work my above average IQ, which of course would be above her IQ as well, into my justified tirade.

Oh, the life and thought processes of this sinful creature.