Two years. First job as a nurse, and it.is.finished. Time for new things. A season for growing my career. A moment for personal expansion. As I insecurely embrace this moment of change, I cannot help but reflect on the past.
Three and a half years ago, a passion was birthed. A passion of traveling the world for the broken. A passion to spread the love of Jesus in a tangible, visible way. I interned with Convoy of Hope for the Summer of '09 and it shook me. A season of awakening.
After interning with Convoy, I finished my last year of nursing school, and graduated strong. Two years ago, I started my career as a RN. What followed was a lot of lessons hard learned. A schedule of working twelve hour nights, and consuming fried onion rings at 12:30 AM became routine. A season of beginning.
Haiti. Summer of '11. Changed me. Arranged my focus. Challenged my perception. Threatened me. Alarmed me. Broke a part of me. What I had been working toward since high school seemed to shatter before my eyes. What I felt Jesus was provoking me to chase began to haunt me in my sleep. A season of disappointment.
Jesus; the lack thereof in me. Current condition. I miss my friends from Convoy of Hope. I miss my life as it was then. I miss my school life. I miss having a daily purpose to fulfill; (i.e. classes, appointments, church groups, coffee dates...). I miss praying. I miss yearning for Haiti. I miss loving life and living it well. I miss me; who I spent a lot of time building... A season of hopelessness.
So I make changes. I move out to be alone. I learn a new job. I return to school. I try new churches. I reconnect with old friends. I try hard to embrace change. I attempt to trust in my own decisions. I let go and I cling tight. A season of freshness.
Panic asks the question of whether these choices are right or wrong. Peace says it doesn't really matter.
I breathe in and I breathe out.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
metamorphosis
Not going to church today.
Earlier years of childhood, my family was in church more than the Pastor. Sunday morning, Sunday night, Tuesday for praise and worship practice, Wednesday for church, Thursday or Friday for events or Bible studies. I enjoyed it. I felt as comfortable in the church as I did in my bedroom. Just another place of home for me.
Things grew tougher for our family unit as we grew older; church less frequently. Entering my first semester of college, I still felt guilty every Sunday when I chose sleep and rest over gathering with "His people."After six months of relaxation, I eased back into the church thing. Slowly, but surely, built another church family at James River Assembly. Re-engaged. Re-immersed in the culture of the church. A culture I owned. A culture I was a part of.
That girl I am not; any longer. Nothing changes that. A sort of metamorphosis has occurred. (metamorphosis: a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one, by natural or supernatural means.) My soul has taken new form. My wants are in different shape. Who I was and what I stood for is in the past. However, there are days my heart seems to struggle with accepting this truth.
Missionary is no longer at the forefront of my mind when making decisions. Jesus is no longer at the forefront of my heart when making choices. But because that was where my identity lay, there is this uncertainty as to where it lay now.
Caterpillars must feel similar. Somewhat ugly creatures by nature. Larvae. After shedding layers five times, they begin metamorphosis. When this time comes, they find an isolated place, and spin a silk cocoon. To protect them from potential predators. When their time of pupate is over, they cut their way through the silk cocoon and embrace life as a different being; a moth or butterfly.
Can you place yourself on the timeline of metamorphosis?
Do you find yourself shedding, pupating, or cutting out?
Where does your identity lay?
Earlier years of childhood, my family was in church more than the Pastor. Sunday morning, Sunday night, Tuesday for praise and worship practice, Wednesday for church, Thursday or Friday for events or Bible studies. I enjoyed it. I felt as comfortable in the church as I did in my bedroom. Just another place of home for me.
Things grew tougher for our family unit as we grew older; church less frequently. Entering my first semester of college, I still felt guilty every Sunday when I chose sleep and rest over gathering with "His people."After six months of relaxation, I eased back into the church thing. Slowly, but surely, built another church family at James River Assembly. Re-engaged. Re-immersed in the culture of the church. A culture I owned. A culture I was a part of.
That girl I am not; any longer. Nothing changes that. A sort of metamorphosis has occurred. (metamorphosis: a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one, by natural or supernatural means.) My soul has taken new form. My wants are in different shape. Who I was and what I stood for is in the past. However, there are days my heart seems to struggle with accepting this truth.
Missionary is no longer at the forefront of my mind when making decisions. Jesus is no longer at the forefront of my heart when making choices. But because that was where my identity lay, there is this uncertainty as to where it lay now.
Caterpillars must feel similar. Somewhat ugly creatures by nature. Larvae. After shedding layers five times, they begin metamorphosis. When this time comes, they find an isolated place, and spin a silk cocoon. To protect them from potential predators. When their time of pupate is over, they cut their way through the silk cocoon and embrace life as a different being; a moth or butterfly.
Can you place yourself on the timeline of metamorphosis?
Do you find yourself shedding, pupating, or cutting out?
Where does your identity lay?
Friday, May 18, 2012
chronic indecisiveness
Moving. Time. Again.
This time, I've stretched my 6 month record to 12 months. That's fairly decent, right? That is a 100% improvement.
This time, I desperately want to live alone. To have my own space in which I can do whatever I want to do in it. It's not that I hate roommates as people. It's that I hate having a roommate. I hate sharing space. I hate whatever their underlying expectations of me are. I want to be my own person. If I want to walk in my front door and throw my purse down on the table and kick my shoes off in the living room and occasionally walk around in my bra and underwear (you wanna do it, too...), then THAT is what I want to do.
This time, budgeting blows. I hate being on a budget. I admit I have been less than frugal with most of my money earned after graduating two years ago. And, after recently accepting a new position with less hours, my income will decrease approximately $600-ish/month. Ugh... Live alone=BROKE. Live with friend=less broke. I hate money.
This time, (again), I'm left with freaking decisions. I hate making decisions about my own life. I make decisions ALL day long at my job literally dealing with LIFE vs DEATH for people, but when it comes to moving out alone, I cannot decide. A chronic indecisiveness. Adulthood can SUCK sometimes.
This time, (again), in my indecisiveness and consistent need for affirmation, I feel compelled to ask you to weigh in on this situation. Because over the last 48 hours, I have made the decision to put down a downpayment on a studio apartment, only to turn around 1.5 hours later and tell my friend I would live with her (only later to find out about a 12 month contract...errrr...). And, here I am 13 days from needing to be moved, without a direction to go.
Help...anyone? :)
This time, I've stretched my 6 month record to 12 months. That's fairly decent, right? That is a 100% improvement.
This time, I desperately want to live alone. To have my own space in which I can do whatever I want to do in it. It's not that I hate roommates as people. It's that I hate having a roommate. I hate sharing space. I hate whatever their underlying expectations of me are. I want to be my own person. If I want to walk in my front door and throw my purse down on the table and kick my shoes off in the living room and occasionally walk around in my bra and underwear (you wanna do it, too...), then THAT is what I want to do.
This time, budgeting blows. I hate being on a budget. I admit I have been less than frugal with most of my money earned after graduating two years ago. And, after recently accepting a new position with less hours, my income will decrease approximately $600-ish/month. Ugh... Live alone=BROKE. Live with friend=less broke. I hate money.
This time, (again), I'm left with freaking decisions. I hate making decisions about my own life. I make decisions ALL day long at my job literally dealing with LIFE vs DEATH for people, but when it comes to moving out alone, I cannot decide. A chronic indecisiveness. Adulthood can SUCK sometimes.
This time, (again), in my indecisiveness and consistent need for affirmation, I feel compelled to ask you to weigh in on this situation. Because over the last 48 hours, I have made the decision to put down a downpayment on a studio apartment, only to turn around 1.5 hours later and tell my friend I would live with her (only later to find out about a 12 month contract...errrr...). And, here I am 13 days from needing to be moved, without a direction to go.
Help...anyone? :)
Thursday, May 10, 2012
loving the addict
I've been watching the show Intervention. The show about individuals struggling with addiction. Addictions to street drugs, prescription drugs, pornography, self-mutilation, and alcohol.
I'm watching it because it intrigues me. The mind of an addict. The way their past influences their present. As a nurse, I work with addicts all of the time. People detoxing from alcohol, withdrawing from methamphetamine, and even those who deny they have a problem.
As a fairly new nurse, I was manipulated into bringing them what they want; more drugs. Believing they are in the worst pain of their life, and calling the doctor to advocate for them. It is my job; to do whatever medically safe and possible to relieve a patient of pain and suffering.
But as time has passed, I have learned. My "innocent, young adult" threshold is no longer a low one. My intolerance threshold has also lessened over the years of dealing with the addict. When my patients set alarms on their phones to wake them up on the MINUTE that their next "AS NEEDED" pain medication is due, I wrestle with anger. I feel as though sometimes I am their supplier. And, I hate that.
I am not a drug dealer.
This show, Intervention, has taught me so much. It has opened my eyes to feel for the individuals. They have a story. Let me be clear, they have no excuse, but they have a story. As I watch their family and friends pour out their hearts during the actual intervention, my heart aches. It aches for the boy or girl, man or woman, that struggles with the addiction. It aches for their parents, spouses, children, and relatives.
When I see them nod their head, or whisper softly, "Yes, I'll go," I celebrate with their loved ones. Deep down, I know Jesus was in that. Regardless of the faith of the individual or their family, I know Jesus is in that. Only He can bring freedom. He brings freedom even when we don't believe in Him. He brings freedom even when He's rejected. He brings hope because that is what He IS.
Jesus is in the ugly. I propose that just MAYBE, He is so deep in the ugly of this world that we, in our self-conscious pride, refuse to acknowledge that it's where He is; calling us there, too. To join Him in the fight for acceptance of the freedom He offers those trapped in bondage.
Friend, He is in the ugly that is so deep inside of you that even you do not know about. Trust me, I'm living the lesson and seeing it for what it is. The deeper I go, the more I seem to find Him in the middle of it.
Hope. He is hope. He is real. For me, for you, and for the addict. He loves the addict. He wants me to love the addict. He wants you to love the addict. So you can show them Him.
I'm watching it because it intrigues me. The mind of an addict. The way their past influences their present. As a nurse, I work with addicts all of the time. People detoxing from alcohol, withdrawing from methamphetamine, and even those who deny they have a problem.
As a fairly new nurse, I was manipulated into bringing them what they want; more drugs. Believing they are in the worst pain of their life, and calling the doctor to advocate for them. It is my job; to do whatever medically safe and possible to relieve a patient of pain and suffering.
But as time has passed, I have learned. My "innocent, young adult" threshold is no longer a low one. My intolerance threshold has also lessened over the years of dealing with the addict. When my patients set alarms on their phones to wake them up on the MINUTE that their next "AS NEEDED" pain medication is due, I wrestle with anger. I feel as though sometimes I am their supplier. And, I hate that.
I am not a drug dealer.
This show, Intervention, has taught me so much. It has opened my eyes to feel for the individuals. They have a story. Let me be clear, they have no excuse, but they have a story. As I watch their family and friends pour out their hearts during the actual intervention, my heart aches. It aches for the boy or girl, man or woman, that struggles with the addiction. It aches for their parents, spouses, children, and relatives.
When I see them nod their head, or whisper softly, "Yes, I'll go," I celebrate with their loved ones. Deep down, I know Jesus was in that. Regardless of the faith of the individual or their family, I know Jesus is in that. Only He can bring freedom. He brings freedom even when we don't believe in Him. He brings freedom even when He's rejected. He brings hope because that is what He IS.
Jesus is in the ugly. I propose that just MAYBE, He is so deep in the ugly of this world that we, in our self-conscious pride, refuse to acknowledge that it's where He is; calling us there, too. To join Him in the fight for acceptance of the freedom He offers those trapped in bondage.
Friend, He is in the ugly that is so deep inside of you that even you do not know about. Trust me, I'm living the lesson and seeing it for what it is. The deeper I go, the more I seem to find Him in the middle of it.
Hope. He is hope. He is real. For me, for you, and for the addict. He loves the addict. He wants me to love the addict. He wants you to love the addict. So you can show them Him.
Monday, May 7, 2012
for even the guilty
the pastor spoke with such compassion, yesterday. and he spoke so seriously. the power of perspective. the cross. Jesus. the world.
there's a wrestle. attempting to figure out how to view a circumstance. what perspective should be held? if through the lens of Christ, should pain caused by this world be ignored, stuffed, and forgotten (which is what forgiveness looks like)? but if through the lens of humanity, should not justice be served?
Luke 23.39, "One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!"
to scream out the same thing as a hanging thief...this I have done. and my heart says, "what is wrong with that?" is not God big enough to take it? seriously, "God, if you are who you say you are, get.me.out! save. me."
while the thief on the other side says, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?..." Luke 23.40
there is not much fear of Him left within this soul.
fear of what He can do.
a knowledge that He is the God.
an understanding of His love [...]
disconnected.
seeking.
the message of the cross is, indeed, offensive. if one can never be good enough for Him, why should anyone even try to be good?
desiring to merge my humanity with His sovereignty. to merge the cross, Jesus, and the world. to believe that even if it looks unlike it to you, He is guiding these steps of mine, too. that where I am is where I am supposed to be. to go so far to even believe that He brought me here. to believe that He is in the middle of this disgust, too.
to believe that even after the questions, Paradise is still a possibility... for even the guilty...
there's a wrestle. attempting to figure out how to view a circumstance. what perspective should be held? if through the lens of Christ, should pain caused by this world be ignored, stuffed, and forgotten (which is what forgiveness looks like)? but if through the lens of humanity, should not justice be served?
Luke 23.39, "One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!"
to scream out the same thing as a hanging thief...this I have done. and my heart says, "what is wrong with that?" is not God big enough to take it? seriously, "God, if you are who you say you are, get.me.out! save. me."
while the thief on the other side says, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?..." Luke 23.40
there is not much fear of Him left within this soul.
fear of what He can do.
a knowledge that He is the God.
an understanding of His love [...]
disconnected.
seeking.
the message of the cross is, indeed, offensive. if one can never be good enough for Him, why should anyone even try to be good?
desiring to merge my humanity with His sovereignty. to merge the cross, Jesus, and the world. to believe that even if it looks unlike it to you, He is guiding these steps of mine, too. that where I am is where I am supposed to be. to go so far to even believe that He brought me here. to believe that He is in the middle of this disgust, too.
to believe that even after the questions, Paradise is still a possibility... for even the guilty...
Thursday, May 3, 2012
automatic expectation
Sometimes thoughts swirl around in my brain and I am unable to actually place the thoughts together to make a distinct point. Tonight, it seems as if one particular thing I have been randomly thinking about, finally formed a sentence. I'm certainly still processing where it came from and what it means and what I am supposed to do with it... Here goes:
At times, it seems that by choosing God, there's an automatic expectation for me to ignore pain and hurt. That because I have chosen to believe in God, I should never be affected by my surroundings.
At times, it seems that by choosing God, there's an automatic expectation for me to ignore pain and hurt. That because I have chosen to believe in God, I should never be affected by my surroundings.
The truth is that my surroundings are affecting me, thus I choose no God. The past has affected me in ways I haven't even began to uncover. The present is affecting me in ways I feel deeper than ever. And the future impacts... my.every.breath.
I feel guilty. Guilty and somewhat disgusting.
Anyone else ever have thoughts similar to these?
Anyone else ever have thoughts similar to these?
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
He Fights
"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." (Exodus 14:14 NIV)
There is not a desire or strength within me to fight. Not for belief in Him, not for my friends, not for my family, not for love. I take breaths, and I blink my eyes. Proof of life, but not a lot of it.
Yesterday, my cousin posted that scripture on her [Facebook] status.
Relieved.
Though I cannot seem to choose all that I know needs chosen, if my God is who He says He is, He will fight for me. He will be strength when I am lifeless. He will be joy when I cling to cynicism. He will be peace when panic fills my chest.
He.
will.
fight.
for.
me.
He is fighting for me.
...and I choose to let Him fight.
There is not a desire or strength within me to fight. Not for belief in Him, not for my friends, not for my family, not for love. I take breaths, and I blink my eyes. Proof of life, but not a lot of it.
Yesterday, my cousin posted that scripture on her [Facebook] status.
Relieved.
Though I cannot seem to choose all that I know needs chosen, if my God is who He says He is, He will fight for me. He will be strength when I am lifeless. He will be joy when I cling to cynicism. He will be peace when panic fills my chest.
He.
will.
fight.
for.
me.
He is fighting for me.
...and I choose to let Him fight.
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