It's amazing how emotions change
At such a drastic tilt.
First I feel a violent anger,
And Then remorseful guilt.
I wish so bad as I lay down
In my mire of sin and shame
That what I said to bring me here
Wasn't mine to blame
But what's said is said and my sin is shown
To all who witnessed it
And instead of a throne of a conquerer
In a villain's chair I sit.
Please don't judge my insolence
I'm not always this way
I try so hard to be like Christ
But I fail every day.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
My Sin is Ever Before Me.
“For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.” This verse has been going through my head all week. I felt convicted at Andrew Peterson's concert Behold The Lamb on Sunday night, and my eyes were opened, as if I had suddenly realized my sin. Not anything that we humans would call ‘big’. Just little things. But sin is sin, and it must stop. As Christians we are called to be like Christ. Christ is perfect, ergo we are called to perfection. I don’t believe we can be completely perfect. It's in the human nature to sin. But we can try. God knows when we try our best, and when we pretend to try our best. Sometimes we even fool ourselves into thinking that we are trying our best. At least I do. But, alas, ‘my sin is always before me’. I can’t seem to escape it now that I’ve seen it.
Yet, as I look at my sin, as if looking at a sluggish walrus on the other side of a sheet of glass, I realize that there is hope. Heck, there is more hope when I look at my sin than when I choose to ignore it, because now I realize that there is room for change. It’s like looking at my reflection in the mirror for the first time and realizing how hideous I look. But then finding that, well, I could pin my hair up, and I could wash my face a little, maybe even smile some. That changes things up. Now I just have to continue to look in the mirror every once in a while to make sure my hair is still up and my face isn’t smudged. I don’t know why my face would be smudged, but better check it just in case. In the same way, I need to continue to watch my sin to make sure I don’t do it again. And if I do, maybe I can try to acknowledge that, yes, I’ve tripped again, and yes, I can fix it. Again.
Isn’t that the whole point of Jesus’ grace? The main reason he died on the cross was so that when we trip and fall into the mire of our own sin, we can ask for forgiveness and a renewed spirit, and there it is. Like a brand new day with the sun just peaking over the horizon waiting to greet us. As Anne of Green Gables put it, “the day is always fresh with no mistakes in it.” And so is our life every time we sincerely ask for forgiveness.
As I watch the sun peaking over the horizon, and wave my sin good bye, I find joy in the hope of a new life each day and every hour. A life without sin. And suddenly, “everything sad is coming untrue,” as Jason Gray would put it.
Isn’t God just great? To consider how tiring it is to sacrifice a lamb, or a bird, or, God forbid, a cow each day for the forgiveness of our sins, and to send His Son to do the job for us. To bear all hell so we wouldn't have to. And still, here we are, wading in our sin, thinking, “oh, it’ll be no big deal if I just say/do this (place sin here) one more time…I’ve done it a thousand times, why would one more time be any different?” So easy, yet it cost the life of God’s son. But I wonder if we were still buying and sacrificing lambs to cover our sins every day/week, would we still sin as easily as we do now?
I didn’t mean to turn this into a preachy blog, it’s just been pressing on my mind lately. Oh, how I long to be like Christ. How I yearn to be called a woman “after God’s own heart” like David, or someone who “walks faithfully with God,” like Enoch.
Maybe some day. Here’s to trying.
Yet, as I look at my sin, as if looking at a sluggish walrus on the other side of a sheet of glass, I realize that there is hope. Heck, there is more hope when I look at my sin than when I choose to ignore it, because now I realize that there is room for change. It’s like looking at my reflection in the mirror for the first time and realizing how hideous I look. But then finding that, well, I could pin my hair up, and I could wash my face a little, maybe even smile some. That changes things up. Now I just have to continue to look in the mirror every once in a while to make sure my hair is still up and my face isn’t smudged. I don’t know why my face would be smudged, but better check it just in case. In the same way, I need to continue to watch my sin to make sure I don’t do it again. And if I do, maybe I can try to acknowledge that, yes, I’ve tripped again, and yes, I can fix it. Again.
Isn’t that the whole point of Jesus’ grace? The main reason he died on the cross was so that when we trip and fall into the mire of our own sin, we can ask for forgiveness and a renewed spirit, and there it is. Like a brand new day with the sun just peaking over the horizon waiting to greet us. As Anne of Green Gables put it, “the day is always fresh with no mistakes in it.” And so is our life every time we sincerely ask for forgiveness.
As I watch the sun peaking over the horizon, and wave my sin good bye, I find joy in the hope of a new life each day and every hour. A life without sin. And suddenly, “everything sad is coming untrue,” as Jason Gray would put it.
Isn’t God just great? To consider how tiring it is to sacrifice a lamb, or a bird, or, God forbid, a cow each day for the forgiveness of our sins, and to send His Son to do the job for us. To bear all hell so we wouldn't have to. And still, here we are, wading in our sin, thinking, “oh, it’ll be no big deal if I just say/do this (place sin here) one more time…I’ve done it a thousand times, why would one more time be any different?” So easy, yet it cost the life of God’s son. But I wonder if we were still buying and sacrificing lambs to cover our sins every day/week, would we still sin as easily as we do now?
I didn’t mean to turn this into a preachy blog, it’s just been pressing on my mind lately. Oh, how I long to be like Christ. How I yearn to be called a woman “after God’s own heart” like David, or someone who “walks faithfully with God,” like Enoch.
Maybe some day. Here’s to trying.
Monday, November 29, 2010
My Reminiscent Home School
When I lived in Ecuador as a missionary kid, I was home schooled with my two older sisters and three other missionary kids who lived in the same town. Home school was held in a two-room building that was located above the carpenter’s work-shop. We even had our own missionary teacher fly all the way down to Ecuador and ride the bus through the mountains to the very heart of the country where we lived. The small town we lived in was called Saraguro, which was nestled in the valley of the Andes Mountains. My home-school teacher, Aunt Marie, explained to me that Saraguro was sometimes referred to as ‘the bowl’ because it was located in a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides.
Aunt Marie was tall with long, graceful fingers that played the piano like a proficient musician. She had beautiful eyes that were always laughing and a mouth that was always smiling. I learned many valuable things from her in my young years about forgiveness and God’s unconditional love. She sang songs to us kids about Jesus that I still sing today as an adult.
Early every morning, Nicole, Becki, and I would eat breakfast and race down the hill to the diminutive home school. We would all three run into the door at once and tumble into the snug room where Aunt Marie would usually be waiting. Our desks formed a semi-circle around the gas heater, the chalk board behind it, and our teacher’s desk was across the room pointed toward the window that looked over the town. She would spend time with each of us, teaching our little lessons from our A Beka Books, then giving us assignments to complete during the rest of class time. We would sit there, huddled up behind our desks, wishing for just a little bit more warmth from the gas heater to drift in our direction.
We had a tiny bathroom in our classroom and frequently had to check for spiders or cockroaches before using the toilet. The bathroom had an awkward window with nothing but a Sesame Street curtain covering it. I always felt bad for our teacher whose desk was right next to it. Perhaps that’s why she kept the odor-eliminating spray bottle on her desk.
Aunt Marie was very musical. We would sometimes gather around the old organ, and she would play as we sang songs like “One Little Duck,” or “The Little White Duck,” or “Six Little Ducks.” A lot of Little Duck songs.
But my favorite part of the home school was the prestigious tiny library further back into our humble building. A musty odor of old books would hit you as you stepped through the door. Inside the cozy room, there were three windows along wall allowing light to shine in on the dusty books. Shelves filled with children’s and young adult’s books would be lining the walls underneath the windows. Beneath a little square window to the right were more serious books like Spanish textbooks and encyclopedias. I always liked the encyclopedias. They had pictures of the outside world, of countries and people and animals that we had never seen before. For fun, my sisters and I would grab the C and D encyclopedias and leaf through the thin, shiny pages until we got to Dog or Cat, and we would compare them and decide which ones looked the best and which ones looked the ugliest. The hairless cats were always a big hit for the most hideous animals.
In another part of the room were stacks of games that we would sometimes play on recreational time when it was too rainy and cold to play kickball outside. Saraguro had unpredictable weather. Some days seemed as warm as Summer, but the next day could be as rainy and cold as late Fall just before a frost.
The home school had an old computer where we could play educational games. Games where you could learn about fish and math all in one sitting. The computer sat on a worn wooden desk with only one drawer that sometimes had a half a bag of chocolate chips in it. I was always tempted to sneak a few precious pieces from that yellow American chocolate chip bag, but was too scared of getting caught.
Some of my most precious memories take place in that reminiscent classroom. Last time I saw it, the school had been fixed up into a little house where some Ecuadorian friends of ours now live, and they have two little girls who flip through the same books I did when I was their age.
Aunt Marie was tall with long, graceful fingers that played the piano like a proficient musician. She had beautiful eyes that were always laughing and a mouth that was always smiling. I learned many valuable things from her in my young years about forgiveness and God’s unconditional love. She sang songs to us kids about Jesus that I still sing today as an adult.
Early every morning, Nicole, Becki, and I would eat breakfast and race down the hill to the diminutive home school. We would all three run into the door at once and tumble into the snug room where Aunt Marie would usually be waiting. Our desks formed a semi-circle around the gas heater, the chalk board behind it, and our teacher’s desk was across the room pointed toward the window that looked over the town. She would spend time with each of us, teaching our little lessons from our A Beka Books, then giving us assignments to complete during the rest of class time. We would sit there, huddled up behind our desks, wishing for just a little bit more warmth from the gas heater to drift in our direction.
We had a tiny bathroom in our classroom and frequently had to check for spiders or cockroaches before using the toilet. The bathroom had an awkward window with nothing but a Sesame Street curtain covering it. I always felt bad for our teacher whose desk was right next to it. Perhaps that’s why she kept the odor-eliminating spray bottle on her desk.
Aunt Marie was very musical. We would sometimes gather around the old organ, and she would play as we sang songs like “One Little Duck,” or “The Little White Duck,” or “Six Little Ducks.” A lot of Little Duck songs.
But my favorite part of the home school was the prestigious tiny library further back into our humble building. A musty odor of old books would hit you as you stepped through the door. Inside the cozy room, there were three windows along wall allowing light to shine in on the dusty books. Shelves filled with children’s and young adult’s books would be lining the walls underneath the windows. Beneath a little square window to the right were more serious books like Spanish textbooks and encyclopedias. I always liked the encyclopedias. They had pictures of the outside world, of countries and people and animals that we had never seen before. For fun, my sisters and I would grab the C and D encyclopedias and leaf through the thin, shiny pages until we got to Dog or Cat, and we would compare them and decide which ones looked the best and which ones looked the ugliest. The hairless cats were always a big hit for the most hideous animals.
In another part of the room were stacks of games that we would sometimes play on recreational time when it was too rainy and cold to play kickball outside. Saraguro had unpredictable weather. Some days seemed as warm as Summer, but the next day could be as rainy and cold as late Fall just before a frost.
The home school had an old computer where we could play educational games. Games where you could learn about fish and math all in one sitting. The computer sat on a worn wooden desk with only one drawer that sometimes had a half a bag of chocolate chips in it. I was always tempted to sneak a few precious pieces from that yellow American chocolate chip bag, but was too scared of getting caught.
Some of my most precious memories take place in that reminiscent classroom. Last time I saw it, the school had been fixed up into a little house where some Ecuadorian friends of ours now live, and they have two little girls who flip through the same books I did when I was their age.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Journey This Life Was Made Living For
For my Health Concepts class we were required to write about how a patient has impacted us. I found joy in writing this assignment because I like to write, but also because it's forced me to sit and contemplate on my past experiences, something I often long to do, but feel like I don't have enough time for. Anyways, here it is:
In my clinical experiences over the past year I have met a variety of patients ranging from jolly old men to frightened little children. It was hard for me to choose which patient has had the most impact on me, when it’s more of a question of who hasn’t impacted me. Do I choose the patient who came into the hospital one day with a ‘the-glass-is-always-half-full’ attitude, or the woman who can’t remember even her name, but whose photos paint a picture of a full life, a loving family, and joyful friends? After searching through memories of past patients, both pleasant and difficult, I have decided to choose to write about a patient that my classmate and I have struggled with this semester.
This patient from the Alzheimer’s unit, whom I will change the name to Summer for privacy reasons, was not one that any of the students were all too thrilled to receive for ADL or med assignments. In fact, she was among the last I wanted to write about, but every time I thought about this assignment, it was her face that popped into my head. I decided that good experience or not, there is a lesson to be learned in all circumstances.
The first time I had Summer as my patient, she was the polar opposite of what the students who had had her in the past described. I remember walking into that nursing home room at 7:30 in the morning to greet her. She had a big smile on her face as I introduced myself, and we had a pleasant conversation while I adjusted her covers and moved her breakfast tray closer to her bed. I made sure she didn’t need anything else, checked that her call light was in reach, and left the room in high spirits as I went to introduce myself to my other patients.
When I came back into the room an hour later, she was still in a fair mood. I took her temperature, pulse, and respirations, and she was extremely easy to comply with... until I brought out the blood pressure cuff. Her eyes immediately got wide and she started screaming that she wanted my instructor to take her blood pressure because I was a student and didn’t know what I was doing. Her screams could be heard down the hall, and I remember walking out of her room full of embarrassment while I looked for my instructor. When I found her, she explained to me that this was normal behavior for this patient, and that Summer would eventually let me take her blood pressure. Of course my instructor accompanied me to reassure her (and me).
After that day I learned that I would have to tune into Summer’s attitude and how she would react to procedures each day in order to get work done effectively. It was difficult for all of us to handle her. She was incontinent, obese, and refused to get out of bed. It took three of us to clean her up, but that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was her screaming in anger and fright as we rolled her from one side to the other. I think the time that it ‘clicked’, the moment that I actually felt her grief and pain and saw her as a human more than just a patient, was one day when a few of us needed to clean her up. After hurling insults at each one of us, she grabbed my hand, and with tears rolling down her face she asked God to take her away from this painful world.
I wanted to weep. So what if she’s bipolar? Who wouldn’t feel fear and anger at the world when they were stuck in a nursing home bed with three nursing students cleaning parts that only their mother had cleaned when they were just infants? When weakness has taken over the body and confusion has consumed the mind, who wouldn’t ask God to take their very soul away from this sorrowful planet?
Of course we nursing students have all learned the art of talking in a soothing voice to calm our patients, but it doesn’t always come easily. It sometimes comes as a duty, something we have been taught to do. But I can say that in that very moment my heart went out to Summer and I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to soothe her. And I wanted to cry with her. It wasn’t a duty of a nurse any more to speak to her in a calm voice, it was a pressing desire for her to feel safe.
After that I was able to see every Alzheimer patient the way I saw Summer: as a vulnerable human being who has been moved to a strange place with strange people, and has little control over their lives due to their confusion that they don’t really know about. My eyes have been changed from seeing patients who wouldn’t remember me from day to day, to seeing people who have lived full, satisfying lives. People who were wrapping up their journey in this world, only to begin their journey this life was made living for.
In my clinical experiences over the past year I have met a variety of patients ranging from jolly old men to frightened little children. It was hard for me to choose which patient has had the most impact on me, when it’s more of a question of who hasn’t impacted me. Do I choose the patient who came into the hospital one day with a ‘the-glass-is-always-half-full’ attitude, or the woman who can’t remember even her name, but whose photos paint a picture of a full life, a loving family, and joyful friends? After searching through memories of past patients, both pleasant and difficult, I have decided to choose to write about a patient that my classmate and I have struggled with this semester.
This patient from the Alzheimer’s unit, whom I will change the name to Summer for privacy reasons, was not one that any of the students were all too thrilled to receive for ADL or med assignments. In fact, she was among the last I wanted to write about, but every time I thought about this assignment, it was her face that popped into my head. I decided that good experience or not, there is a lesson to be learned in all circumstances.
The first time I had Summer as my patient, she was the polar opposite of what the students who had had her in the past described. I remember walking into that nursing home room at 7:30 in the morning to greet her. She had a big smile on her face as I introduced myself, and we had a pleasant conversation while I adjusted her covers and moved her breakfast tray closer to her bed. I made sure she didn’t need anything else, checked that her call light was in reach, and left the room in high spirits as I went to introduce myself to my other patients.
When I came back into the room an hour later, she was still in a fair mood. I took her temperature, pulse, and respirations, and she was extremely easy to comply with... until I brought out the blood pressure cuff. Her eyes immediately got wide and she started screaming that she wanted my instructor to take her blood pressure because I was a student and didn’t know what I was doing. Her screams could be heard down the hall, and I remember walking out of her room full of embarrassment while I looked for my instructor. When I found her, she explained to me that this was normal behavior for this patient, and that Summer would eventually let me take her blood pressure. Of course my instructor accompanied me to reassure her (and me).
After that day I learned that I would have to tune into Summer’s attitude and how she would react to procedures each day in order to get work done effectively. It was difficult for all of us to handle her. She was incontinent, obese, and refused to get out of bed. It took three of us to clean her up, but that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was her screaming in anger and fright as we rolled her from one side to the other. I think the time that it ‘clicked’, the moment that I actually felt her grief and pain and saw her as a human more than just a patient, was one day when a few of us needed to clean her up. After hurling insults at each one of us, she grabbed my hand, and with tears rolling down her face she asked God to take her away from this painful world.
I wanted to weep. So what if she’s bipolar? Who wouldn’t feel fear and anger at the world when they were stuck in a nursing home bed with three nursing students cleaning parts that only their mother had cleaned when they were just infants? When weakness has taken over the body and confusion has consumed the mind, who wouldn’t ask God to take their very soul away from this sorrowful planet?
Of course we nursing students have all learned the art of talking in a soothing voice to calm our patients, but it doesn’t always come easily. It sometimes comes as a duty, something we have been taught to do. But I can say that in that very moment my heart went out to Summer and I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to soothe her. And I wanted to cry with her. It wasn’t a duty of a nurse any more to speak to her in a calm voice, it was a pressing desire for her to feel safe.
After that I was able to see every Alzheimer patient the way I saw Summer: as a vulnerable human being who has been moved to a strange place with strange people, and has little control over their lives due to their confusion that they don’t really know about. My eyes have been changed from seeing patients who wouldn’t remember me from day to day, to seeing people who have lived full, satisfying lives. People who were wrapping up their journey in this world, only to begin their journey this life was made living for.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Carboncillo
Carboncillo was the best place any 9 year old kid would want to live. Set in the mountains of Ecuador, and surrounded by forest and meadows, Carboncillo was a 30 minute drive away from the smallest town, and then another 15 minute walk down the rocky road from where the bus let you off. I remember waking up in the cold cabin room with the amber sun peaking through my window onto my wrinkled, faded sleeping bag. The warmth in the living room would hit me as I walked out of my cold room to the fireplace to warm myself up. Cafe con leche would be heating on the stove, and the smell of eggs and toast would drift past me, drawing me to the kitchen where breakfast was waiting. After breakfast my sister and I would run out to the meadow, the crisp, morning air caressing our faces and hands. The mist would be so thick it was like walking on a thin cloud with the tips of the tallest grass peeking through the the top.
We would run along the clay trail past the creek that emptied into the watering hole where there was buried treasure waiting to be discovered. And that trail would lead us to the endless meadow. The meadow surrounded by hills on all sides but one where the sun set at 6 every day, painting the skies bright colors of orange, yellow, pink, and purple. Our little cowgirl hats would bounce on our heads as we ran through the wide expansion laughing and twirling in the wind. We would take the trail through the S shaped pine tree forest and come out on the other side of the meadow where the horses were tied up. Rolling up the rope into one hand , we would hop on bare back and go wherever the horses took us.
I remember talking about the hard life of a 9 year old kid, not realizing how easy I really had it back then. We would do tricks, my sister and I. We would see who could stand on the horses rump the longest, or who could turn from facing frontward to facing backward while the horse was running. Sometimes the horses would take off running with us on their backs, and we, having no reins, would have no choice but to ride where they took us.
After a full day of riding and exploring new, unfound trails, we would tie the horses back up in the meadow and head back to the cabin, the sun setting behind us. A warm fire would be going when we walked through the door, and dad would be fanning the flames with and old newspaper. We would take our boots off at the door, and hang our soaking wet socks above the fireplace to dry. Mom would be in the kitchen cooking chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with hot chocolate on the side. After eating, we'd all curl up in the living room where the fire was going, and we would get lost in our books, in the cabin, 15 minutes from the road, where the bus would pick us up the next morning and take us 30 minutes back to the nearest town.
We would run along the clay trail past the creek that emptied into the watering hole where there was buried treasure waiting to be discovered. And that trail would lead us to the endless meadow. The meadow surrounded by hills on all sides but one where the sun set at 6 every day, painting the skies bright colors of orange, yellow, pink, and purple. Our little cowgirl hats would bounce on our heads as we ran through the wide expansion laughing and twirling in the wind. We would take the trail through the S shaped pine tree forest and come out on the other side of the meadow where the horses were tied up. Rolling up the rope into one hand , we would hop on bare back and go wherever the horses took us.
I remember talking about the hard life of a 9 year old kid, not realizing how easy I really had it back then. We would do tricks, my sister and I. We would see who could stand on the horses rump the longest, or who could turn from facing frontward to facing backward while the horse was running. Sometimes the horses would take off running with us on their backs, and we, having no reins, would have no choice but to ride where they took us.
After a full day of riding and exploring new, unfound trails, we would tie the horses back up in the meadow and head back to the cabin, the sun setting behind us. A warm fire would be going when we walked through the door, and dad would be fanning the flames with and old newspaper. We would take our boots off at the door, and hang our soaking wet socks above the fireplace to dry. Mom would be in the kitchen cooking chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with hot chocolate on the side. After eating, we'd all curl up in the living room where the fire was going, and we would get lost in our books, in the cabin, 15 minutes from the road, where the bus would pick us up the next morning and take us 30 minutes back to the nearest town.
Monday, June 21, 2010
A Burr, a City, and a Jesus
Lately I’ve been having this feeling. A feeling of unrest. A feeling telling me that I could be doing more with my life in the present than going to school and cleaning houses. A missionary speaker at church the other day described this feeling as a “burr under the saddle”- if you’ve ever ridden a horse with a burr under its saddle, you would know, because it’d be agitated and restless. I don’t know exactly what my burr is, but I feel like God is the one who put it there. Even though I should be perfectly content just going to school, and even though we can afford only having Michael work, I feel like God has a higher calling for me here.
I should say Florence Nightingale has provided a bit of inspiration for me. I’ve been reading her biography. She grew up in a well-to-do family in the mid 1800’s, and back then, if you were an upper class woman, you didn’t have to worry about getting a job. All you had to worry about was finding a wealthy husband, and having the ability to throw social gatherings. But Florence must have felt this “burr” too, because she was discontent with that lifestyle. Instead of living a life of sewing, reading, and gossiping, she snuck out to work at a local hospital. Despite the various proposals she had from wealthy, respectable men, (even one she loved back!), she knew she would be discontent living the life of luxury when so many people needed her nursing abilities. When the Crimean war broke out, Florence left all she had and risked her life serving on the battlefield as a nurse.
Florence is an inspiration. I don’t by any means feel a calling to leave Michael to join the military and be a nurse on the battlefield, but I do feel like I need to sacrifice this easygoing lifestyle and make a bigger difference in the community where people need to see Jesus.
About a year ago I worked as a CNA at a nursing home here in Martinsville. I was going through a lot at the time, and working at the nursing home full time, (with another part time job in the afternoons) proved to be too much for me, so I quit after only 2 weeks. I know it was the right decision at the time. But now, a year later, I look back and remember how much some of the people- both staff and residence- needed a kind word or just an ear to listen. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much those people needed Jesus. Some of them were already Christians, and merely needed encouragement or someone there who shared their beliefs. Others just needed to see Jesus in other people- through their works and attitude. I’m not quite sure yet, but I feel like this could be the burr God has put under my saddle. I could either ignore it and miss out on a grand adventure God has mapped out for me, or I could accept it and be a servant of God to people who need Him right here in Martinsville.
I am still looking for direction on this one. I haven’t gotten a ‘confirmation’ that this is exactly what God wants me to do, and I certainly don’t want to rush into anything that might not be God’s desire, and end up distracting me from nursing school. I do know that that whatever this 'burr' is, whether it's giving an encouraging word to my neighbor or or buying mosquito nets for people in Africa, as long as it's done in love, for God's glory, it's the right thing. This blog turned out to be longer than I expected, but I think the best way to finish it are the lyrics by chris tomlin that have been running through my head all week, and pretty much sum up my desire to do more in this community.
You're the God of this City
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation
You are
You're the Light in this darkness
You're the Hope to the hopeless
You're the Peace to the restless
You are
There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God
Greater things have yet to come
and greater things are still to be done in this city,
Greater things are yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here.
I should say Florence Nightingale has provided a bit of inspiration for me. I’ve been reading her biography. She grew up in a well-to-do family in the mid 1800’s, and back then, if you were an upper class woman, you didn’t have to worry about getting a job. All you had to worry about was finding a wealthy husband, and having the ability to throw social gatherings. But Florence must have felt this “burr” too, because she was discontent with that lifestyle. Instead of living a life of sewing, reading, and gossiping, she snuck out to work at a local hospital. Despite the various proposals she had from wealthy, respectable men, (even one she loved back!), she knew she would be discontent living the life of luxury when so many people needed her nursing abilities. When the Crimean war broke out, Florence left all she had and risked her life serving on the battlefield as a nurse.
Florence is an inspiration. I don’t by any means feel a calling to leave Michael to join the military and be a nurse on the battlefield, but I do feel like I need to sacrifice this easygoing lifestyle and make a bigger difference in the community where people need to see Jesus.
About a year ago I worked as a CNA at a nursing home here in Martinsville. I was going through a lot at the time, and working at the nursing home full time, (with another part time job in the afternoons) proved to be too much for me, so I quit after only 2 weeks. I know it was the right decision at the time. But now, a year later, I look back and remember how much some of the people- both staff and residence- needed a kind word or just an ear to listen. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much those people needed Jesus. Some of them were already Christians, and merely needed encouragement or someone there who shared their beliefs. Others just needed to see Jesus in other people- through their works and attitude. I’m not quite sure yet, but I feel like this could be the burr God has put under my saddle. I could either ignore it and miss out on a grand adventure God has mapped out for me, or I could accept it and be a servant of God to people who need Him right here in Martinsville.
I am still looking for direction on this one. I haven’t gotten a ‘confirmation’ that this is exactly what God wants me to do, and I certainly don’t want to rush into anything that might not be God’s desire, and end up distracting me from nursing school. I do know that that whatever this 'burr' is, whether it's giving an encouraging word to my neighbor or or buying mosquito nets for people in Africa, as long as it's done in love, for God's glory, it's the right thing. This blog turned out to be longer than I expected, but I think the best way to finish it are the lyrics by chris tomlin that have been running through my head all week, and pretty much sum up my desire to do more in this community.
You're the God of this City
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation
You are
You're the Light in this darkness
You're the Hope to the hopeless
You're the Peace to the restless
You are
There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God
Greater things have yet to come
and greater things are still to be done in this city,
Greater things are yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
I Am Truly Weak
You are proven right when you judge
And justified when You speak.
Truth is Your strongest desire
but I am truly weak.
I take my armor off and bow
I lay it at Your throne
truly You have judged me right
when You have judged these bones.
Surely I was sinful at birth
But that is no excuse
For me to behave like a child
or be deliberately obtuse
Forgive this doubting heart of mine
my spirit can be so bleak
You teach me wisdom in the inmost place
but I am truly weak.
Inspired by Psalm 51:4-6 " Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are proved right when you speak and justified when you judge. Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. Surely you desire truth in the inner part, You teach me wisdom in the inmost place."
And justified when You speak.
Truth is Your strongest desire
but I am truly weak.
I take my armor off and bow
I lay it at Your throne
truly You have judged me right
when You have judged these bones.
Surely I was sinful at birth
But that is no excuse
For me to behave like a child
or be deliberately obtuse
Forgive this doubting heart of mine
my spirit can be so bleak
You teach me wisdom in the inmost place
but I am truly weak.
Inspired by Psalm 51:4-6 " Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are proved right when you speak and justified when you judge. Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. Surely you desire truth in the inner part, You teach me wisdom in the inmost place."
Saturday, May 15, 2010
School has ended. This past week that I have been out of school I have found myself spending endless hours reading books for fun and watching my favorite movies. It has been refreshing. I have read/watched stories unfold that have recharged me, inspired me, evoked emotions that have long been forgotten, and instilled dreams that have long been buried. It has been nice to take a step back from the rush of school and assess my life for what it is.
I've come to realize that my relationship with God has been slipping, and it is time to pick up slack on my part and start digging in the Word to get to know my Savior on a deeper level. I have also noticed that I've lost focus on my dreams and begun questioning myself. Why am I here and where am I going? It seems the business of daily living- cooking, cleaning, doing homework, walking the dog, taking out the trash- occupies our minds so much that we lose focus of the future and pay attention instead to what needs to be done now. I sometimes feel like Martha. While Mary was clinging to everything Jesus said, Martha was focusing more on the work that needed to be done. I want so much to live life at a slower pace and take time to listen to the Spirit.
I've come to realize that my relationship with God has been slipping, and it is time to pick up slack on my part and start digging in the Word to get to know my Savior on a deeper level. I have also noticed that I've lost focus on my dreams and begun questioning myself. Why am I here and where am I going? It seems the business of daily living- cooking, cleaning, doing homework, walking the dog, taking out the trash- occupies our minds so much that we lose focus of the future and pay attention instead to what needs to be done now. I sometimes feel like Martha. While Mary was clinging to everything Jesus said, Martha was focusing more on the work that needed to be done. I want so much to live life at a slower pace and take time to listen to the Spirit.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
"Surely God has abandoned us"
"When God didn't answer their prayers, they mourned saying, 'surely God has abandoned us'".
I have had this phrase stuck in my head for the past two weeks. It's relative to what I'm feeling. Everything seems to be falling apart, and though I seek God out and ask for mercy or wisdom, no answer comes. I used to find God in solitude. I would sit outside in the cool breeze alone, and I could almost hear His voice directing me. Comforting me. But lately when I seek him out, I hear nothing. I just end up being stuck with my own troublesome thoughts. And maybe that's the problem- I need to clear my mind before seeking God out.
With everything going on, I'm confused as to whether I heard God right when He told me to pursue nursing. Unbidden thoughts come into my head saying He was just playing with my mind. Or that he pulled me halfway through and then, after all the mistakes I've made, just kind of gave up on me. I know in my head this isn't true. He's pulled me through so many times in my life, and that's what I have to look back to to reassure myself He's going to save me from myself again. But satan plants the seeds of doubt, and sometimes I let those seeds grow a little further than I should.
"When you are in distress and all these things have happened to you, then in later days you will return to the LORD your God and obey him. For the LORD your God is a merciful God; he will not abandon or destroy you...." Deuteronomy 4:30-31
I have had this phrase stuck in my head for the past two weeks. It's relative to what I'm feeling. Everything seems to be falling apart, and though I seek God out and ask for mercy or wisdom, no answer comes. I used to find God in solitude. I would sit outside in the cool breeze alone, and I could almost hear His voice directing me. Comforting me. But lately when I seek him out, I hear nothing. I just end up being stuck with my own troublesome thoughts. And maybe that's the problem- I need to clear my mind before seeking God out.
With everything going on, I'm confused as to whether I heard God right when He told me to pursue nursing. Unbidden thoughts come into my head saying He was just playing with my mind. Or that he pulled me halfway through and then, after all the mistakes I've made, just kind of gave up on me. I know in my head this isn't true. He's pulled me through so many times in my life, and that's what I have to look back to to reassure myself He's going to save me from myself again. But satan plants the seeds of doubt, and sometimes I let those seeds grow a little further than I should.
"When you are in distress and all these things have happened to you, then in later days you will return to the LORD your God and obey him. For the LORD your God is a merciful God; he will not abandon or destroy you...." Deuteronomy 4:30-31
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Hope and Rest
I have just finished reading the third book of the riveting Mark of the Lion Series by Francine Rivers. For the past three weeks those books have sucked me in to the fictional lives of unshakeable Christians in the early church living in Rome, Ephesus, and Germania. Each day I have found myself yearning for a few hours, or even precious minutes to feel the pages of these moving stories envelope me, holding me captive from my surroundings and yet helping me escape from the stress and business of my everyday life.
In these telltale sagas, I followed the lives of simple Christians, witnessing the power of Christ in gladiator arenas, in Germanian tribes, and through slavery. I saw the power of prayer unfold, and watched as people's lives got flipped upside down by the mysteries of Jesus. In these stories I felt Christ's presence all around. I experienced little fear, and was constantly astonished at what Christ could do. Though these are only fictional accounts that a brilliant author wrote, I know similar things have happened in the early church. I had unshakeable faith when reading these stories, and each day and night I itched to read more. They made me feel safe, because in the end, I knew God's will would prevail.
But the last pages of the series have been read, and now instead of hungering for the next adventure to begin, I feel bereft, wondering, "what now"? I've read these accounts of witnesses for Christ. I read how they endured some of the daily troubles I still endure today- impatience, fear, anxiety... the list can go on. And even though I applauded those characters to do what was right and to push those troubling thoughts from their minds, I find myself struggling in my own life with them. I know what the "what now" is. I know what God is asking of me- to follow Christ's example, just as the character in the books did. When they faced trials of many kinds, they found hope in the Lord. They loved and forgave their enemies. They prayed unceasingly. And I know this is what Christ asks of me. To find hope in him. "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." Psalms 62:5-6 When life gets hard, and doubts and fears arise, that is when it is most important to find hope in God.
In Matthew 11:28-30, Christ said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." The only way I can find rest for my soul and peace for my mind is through Christ.
In these telltale sagas, I followed the lives of simple Christians, witnessing the power of Christ in gladiator arenas, in Germanian tribes, and through slavery. I saw the power of prayer unfold, and watched as people's lives got flipped upside down by the mysteries of Jesus. In these stories I felt Christ's presence all around. I experienced little fear, and was constantly astonished at what Christ could do. Though these are only fictional accounts that a brilliant author wrote, I know similar things have happened in the early church. I had unshakeable faith when reading these stories, and each day and night I itched to read more. They made me feel safe, because in the end, I knew God's will would prevail.
But the last pages of the series have been read, and now instead of hungering for the next adventure to begin, I feel bereft, wondering, "what now"? I've read these accounts of witnesses for Christ. I read how they endured some of the daily troubles I still endure today- impatience, fear, anxiety... the list can go on. And even though I applauded those characters to do what was right and to push those troubling thoughts from their minds, I find myself struggling in my own life with them. I know what the "what now" is. I know what God is asking of me- to follow Christ's example, just as the character in the books did. When they faced trials of many kinds, they found hope in the Lord. They loved and forgave their enemies. They prayed unceasingly. And I know this is what Christ asks of me. To find hope in him. "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." Psalms 62:5-6 When life gets hard, and doubts and fears arise, that is when it is most important to find hope in God.
In Matthew 11:28-30, Christ said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." The only way I can find rest for my soul and peace for my mind is through Christ.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Forgive.
In a distant land far, far away ,
a maiden sat and gazed
O’er the crystal Agean sea
with blue waters appraised.
And on the rock she did reside
were written these sincere words
“all men who hate shall not forget
their sins for they are cursed.”
A sailor who sailed these waters oft
Who wrote this parable
Had made it through a dreadful storm
None since were comparable
His life had flashed before his eyes
His enemies- they did laugh
He decided then he must forgive
Before God invoked His wrath
And forgive he did, For his life was spared
And he sailed to his home land
He forgave the hated, loved his enemies
No longer did he shift in sand.
a maiden sat and gazed
O’er the crystal Agean sea
with blue waters appraised.
And on the rock she did reside
were written these sincere words
“all men who hate shall not forget
their sins for they are cursed.”
A sailor who sailed these waters oft
Who wrote this parable
Had made it through a dreadful storm
None since were comparable
His life had flashed before his eyes
His enemies- they did laugh
He decided then he must forgive
Before God invoked His wrath
And forgive he did, For his life was spared
And he sailed to his home land
He forgave the hated, loved his enemies
No longer did he shift in sand.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Can You Use Even Me?
The other day Michael was playing So Great A Salvation by the O.C. Supertones on his guitar. I've heard this song dozens of times before, but never really sat down and listened to the lyrics. However, while michael was singing, I took time to sit and just listen, and found that the lyrics really apply to my life and my current situation (minus the "ask God for a wife" part....) What I mean by my current situation is that I feel really inadequate for the job God has asked me to do, which is to serve him by being a nurse. I've never had the best grades, had the most motivation, or had the best critical thinking skills, but for some reason God still chose me for this job. Why does He think I can do it? I still have absolutely no idea. Don't get me wrong, I've wanted to be a nurse for a long time, and still want to be one, but I'm not the brightest student, and you pretty much have to be smart and have sharp critical thinking skills to be nurse. I mean, you're dealing with people's lives. I've often questioned if this is really what God wants me to do, considering my IQ, but He's made it clear various ways that this is my calling. And it truly is by His power alone that I made it this far. It seems like along the way, there have been plenty of dead ends and road blocks where I would think that I misunderstood that God wanted me to do this. But then those road blocks would be knocked down opening the opportunity once again for me to do as God has asked. Basically, this song has helped me to look back and reflect on all God has done to help me get this far. I still question why He would choose me, or if I could do the job adequately, but it's not really my place to question God's judgement. It's my place to do what He asks, and if He thinks I can do the job, then I'll try my best!
So Great A SalvationBy the O.C. Supertones
Woke up this morning
And I just had to thank God for my life
Just read through James' book
Start to pray and ask God for a wife
It's a time of devotion
As I sit and speak to my God unseen
Why should he listen? Well I love him and he's in love with me
But, Why me God? Why should you choose me?
On your team God, can you use even me?
I think a few years back
On a road that headed to nowhere
Now that you found me
I can see that you were always there
So great a salvation
But to you my Jesus what am I worth?
It's quiet times like this
I feel I get a glimpse of heaven right here on earth
But, Why me God? why should you choose me?
On your team God, can you use even me?
Oh, hold me in your arms of love
Sometimes I swear I feel your heartbeat
I could never ever thank you enough
But here's my life for whatever it's worth
So Great A SalvationBy the O.C. Supertones
Woke up this morning
And I just had to thank God for my life
Just read through James' book
Start to pray and ask God for a wife
It's a time of devotion
As I sit and speak to my God unseen
Why should he listen? Well I love him and he's in love with me
But, Why me God? Why should you choose me?
On your team God, can you use even me?
I think a few years back
On a road that headed to nowhere
Now that you found me
I can see that you were always there
So great a salvation
But to you my Jesus what am I worth?
It's quiet times like this
I feel I get a glimpse of heaven right here on earth
But, Why me God? why should you choose me?
On your team God, can you use even me?
Oh, hold me in your arms of love
Sometimes I swear I feel your heartbeat
I could never ever thank you enough
But here's my life for whatever it's worth
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Hopes for this year...
My reason for starting up this new blog is to put in writing my spiritual journey this year. To reflect each day/week/month on my steps of getting from point A to point B in my walk with God. Just as I had already stated in my previous blog, my new year's resolution is to be more Christian (more like Christ), by the end of the year than I am now. To become an imitation of Christ. When I look back on the past three years, I don't see any point where I had grown at all in my spiritual walk. I am at the same "level" now, if not at a lower "level", than I was when I packed up to go to China 3 1/2 years ago. I guess what I'm hoping for with this blog is to write what mistakes I've made and how I can fix them, what steps I need to take to become more like Christ, what areas I need to work on to become more selfless, and to learn how to love people unconditionally. I truly hope that I get farther in my journey this year than I have in the past.
Friday, January 1, 2010
2010
This is the start of the year twenty-ten. I made a few new year's resolutions, and am hoping to keep them this year. I hope to become a better person in the next 12 months. I yearn to be more like Christ, and am planning on taking action to be more like him. I was thinking yesterday about how some of us call ourselves Christians. I don't know the exact translation of that word, but I do know that it means something along the lines of being Christ-like. So my new years resolution: Be a Christian. Be like Christ.
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