to be changed

it is becoming increasingly apparent that some of my core friendships are going through a season. a season of absence. a season of distance. a season of resistance. while other friendships are growing and being strengthened, the ones that used to matter the most seem to be rapidly unraveling.

and i'm somewhere in the middle. should there be great effort poured out to save the ones that are diminishing? or should focus be placed on the ones developing. this choice seems a necessary one to make, because there is not heart strength for doing both.

the truth is, that not only are my friendships in a different season, I am a person being changed by my own season. those that know me best probably feel that they don't know me at all anymore. and that is okay. but for me, I want friends that are willing to walk through "the changing" with me. isn't that what you would want?

though I am uncertain as to how this season will end or lead into another, I am confident it will. winter always ends up succumbing to spring. spring to summer, summer to fall. it all ends and begins again. to me, it is a beautiful thing. to be changed by the circumstances around you. leaves change colors and flowers bloom and the sun shines and the rain falls. all altering it's environment. leaving some things weathered, other things refreshed.

to resist a season is impossible. you ride a season out. you lean into it. you glean from it. you learn the wind patterns and how to smell the rain.

and you come out dead or alive. and i have determination; to come out alive, with or without you. and I am challenged to choose peace regardless of your choice.

"you just gotta"

I don't want to envy everyone else's happiness anymore. Those of you who love your job make me sick. Not sick in the angry way, sick in the jealous way. And I realize that you're happy because you have a dream and you're living it. I have bought into the delusion that if what you do brings YOU joy, it must bring me joy, too.

Anthropology brings Dr. Temperance Brennan joy and thrill on the show Bones. (don't laugh at me.) Being a missionary brings my friends Ryan and Laci purpose and joy. Being a stay at home mom brings my friend Casey joy. Being a nurse brings my friend Amanda joy. Being on the radio brings my friend Denee' joy and excitement. Working in an office brings my friend Julie joy. Being a Physician Assistant brings Kelbie really funny stories. Being an advisor at Paul Mitchell school brings Elizabeth laughter and new friends. My friend Chelsea owns her own business and she is a success. My friend Christy teaches voice and loves it.

And I'm a nurse. I kind of loathe it. I have no compassion anymore. And because I don't like it, I think that doing whatever you're doing will fix me. If it makes you happy, won't it bring me satisfaction, too? No wonder I can't pinpoint what to do next. You all have laid out so many options... and I continue to process through these new thoughts.

A dark bitterness remains deep within me toward the God. What has been real; what has been fake? Will the truth ever appear? Wrestling with even wanting it to surface. I would prefer a silent sink. Why the hell am I here? Twenty-three, a bitter nurse, lost, and disconnected from the One who created me. Come on, God...You gotta know better than this...you just gotta.

It's this music...

It's this music... John Fluker's Sound of Peace is currently playing out of Pandora. There are so many forms of music, and all of it shares small secrets about it's composer. So many composers. Each expressing themselves through the combination of the keys. I desperately want in on it.

I have said for the last several years that I am not the artsy type. I am not creative. I do not have the patience for crafts. Pinterest stresses me out.

But when I reflect, I remember that I am creative and artsy and a composer of sorts. It was what I did. It was who I was. As I listen to all this music, I envision myself at the piano. Or I see myself directing a band in what I, myself, have written for them.

Could it be possible? Could it be possible to do all of these dreams? Could it be possible to be a nurse and a musician and a missionary and a wife and a mommy?

to be certain

To be certain of just one thing I wish I could be.

To have that one truth that doubt cannot creep in on.

I know who God is. But, I'm not so certain He is my truth.

How can a God as big as He is, not be so finite with a future for me?

God as omniscient as He is, He stunts me.

God restrains me. He must. Otherwise...

...I could figure out who I am supposed to be. I promise; whatever it is, I will be it well. nurse, musician, missionary, wife, mommy, doctor, manager. I can do it. please, just tell me, what.is.it.? and please, don't make me be a nurse forever. God knows I hate it so.

I understand it's impossible, but I feel like He's lied to me. Is all this uncertainty truly plans to prosper me, to give me hope and a future? (Jeremiah 29:11). Is all this questioning truly instructing me in the way of wisdom and leading me along straight paths? (Proverbs 4:11). If what the Word says is true, why isn't He doing it?

Psalm 27:14 says, "Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." 

Pardon? Wait for what?

Made For

So, I met this guy, Michael, Wednesday night. Don't get your panties in a wad, he lives in Washington and that sort of settles it. But, he was sweet. We talked about a lot, and one was a mutual love of music. Not the radio kind, but the deep rich sounds of Chopin and Mozart.

Michael is a classical pianist who was pressured by his uncle to pursue a "real job." In the same way, several well-meaning family members of my own pressured the same thing on me. I cried myself to sleep for months due to internal conflict; music-my life, or nursing-good money, steady job? Their suggestions were wise, and I felt I would fall flat on my face in life if I didn't choose what they said.

I remember thinking that Fall of 2007, "If I choose nursing, will there ever come a day when I will regret not choosing music?" 

Today, my friends, at approximately 7:08 PM, I felt the weight of that regret. 

You see, I made mention a few weeks ago about buying a piano and picking up lessons. Even considered repairing my clarinet's padding. I made mental note to remember to bring my guitar back here from my hometown, where it's sat since my last move.

I don't think meeting Michael from Barnes and Noble was an accident or unplanned. That night, I remembered that I'm worth investing into. I remembered to chase my dreams. I remembered that only I can be wholly me. 

I love to make music. It's my other half. It's what completes me. In soul, in mind, and in strength. It's what I was made for.

egg vomit and corn poop

I'm fairly certain that Jesus did not say the "F" word. However, I, in all my sinful glory, did at work today. On my way to lunch. Frustrated by not being able to meet the demands of six ill patients. Angry because they needed more than I could disperse between so many of them.

I need a pain pill. I am cold. I need fresh water. My IV is beeping. Could you call my doctor?

I can't do it all. I can't do it all as fast as they want it done. No, I can't give you your test results, because I'm not a doctor. No, I can't consult another physician, because I'm not a doctor. No, I can't give you a pain pill at the same time his IV is beeping while talking to her doctor with one phone on one ear and my charge nurse on the other. I can't do it all.

I have been trying very hard to not complain at work. But, can I be honest and just say that I am so tired? Tired of failing miserably at an attempt to please the sick customer. I was not made for this. Not made for being a nurse.

I don't like the blue scrubs everyday, or the hair in a ponytail, or the long hours. I hate the cafeteria food because it makes me fatter. I hate waking up at 5:15 AM. I hate military time. I hate medical jargon. I hate being a nurse. I hate that it all makes me say the "F" word. I hate that I have no compassion anymore. I hate that I'm expected to clean up egg vomit, corn poop, and metallic smelling blood without gagging.

I loathe even more than I'm paying some dumb lender $30,000 (+) in order to even do it.

What in all the world was I thinking? What in all of creation was HE thinking?


eff

What am I made for?

...and this is conditional love.

I am sad. The tears-fall-down type sad. It seems as if so many of you think I've turned all evil and black inside. This is far from the truth. And it makes me so sad.

I apologize that I'm not able to work through this the way that you deem best. And I'm sorry that you take offense to the deepest hurt and questions of MY heart. I am sorry that I cannot meet the expectations that you seem to feel is so capable for me to reach.

I DO love Jesus. Granted, I haven't been able to so freely say that as of late, but I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't be taking the measures of seeking help.

Let me be plain. Some of you aren't helping. You know who you are. You're accusing. And if I was someone else, your responses would make me easily throw up my hands to the cause of Jesus.

I've never talked about you, accused you, or called you out. In fact, I've tried to always be encouraging and lend an open ear to hear whatever your hearts have had to say. It's disappointing and hurtful that many of you can't seem to return the same.

He never cut someone off.

Just do your thing. Leave me to mine.