I moved away from home, across the mountains into the high desert country. It's different here. I've plunged into a new world of strange people, places, sights, smells, sounds, and rules to follow. There were things I expected--forfeiting a full two weeks' sleep as I adjusted to the irritating whine of the refrigerator in my one-room cottage. There were things I didn't expect, namely, the intimidating clouds of green mosquito-like insects called "midgies" that not only plaster my windshield, but when congregated by the millions on buildings at night, have the eery effect of making the walls appear as if they are swaying. But these are temporal things. Refrigerators and midgies will both be consumed when the elements melt with fervent heat. As my aunt says, to console us when earthly things go awry, "It's all going to burn in the end."
Here, in this place that smells of hot sand and sagebrush, I've met new people. I'm subordinate to most of them as I start this new job on the bottom rung of the proverbial corporate ladder. But I have a secret--this is one ladder I'm not going to climb. No one here would understand, so I don't bother to explain. I smile and nod, work as hard as I know how, and I hold on to the hope set before me. To outside eyes, I am camouflaged into the fabric of all the other young white female nurses eager to start their careers in modern-day America. But strip away the veneer, and there is little common ground.
See, I've noticed there are a lot of women in the healthcare business. Nursing is a traditionally female-dominated profession, and it still is. But with the muddling of the gender-roles in contemporary society, women have galloped into the sunset, often dragging their families behind or dumping them somewhere along the highway to false success. One once told her husband when they were newly married, Just so you know, I love you and all that, but you don't complete me. I would be fine without you. You're welcome to join my life, and it sure would be better to have you along, but this is my show. To her credit, they've made it work for several decades, so apparently they came to an agreement. But I still can't imagine ever telling my husband that he's welcome to hop in the saddle behind me, as long as I get to hold the reigns.
So many women around me are chasing dreams that are illusion. Hailed as innovative and visionary, yet my spirit intuits aggression from them. Women whose reputations precede them as shrewd, wise, and tempered prove to be a disappointment when their true character comes out as unmistakably self-centered. They think they've juggled the traditional roles of mother-and-homemaker with their career success.They think their children are successful for winning scholarships, graduating with honors, and making buku bucks in their own careers. Blind to the truth of their failure, they cannot see the cesspool of materialism and self-interest that engulfs their lives, nor the great void left by an unfulfilled true purpose.
So what is the answer? Is there truly no place for strong-willed, visionary women? Must they stuff their giftedness and vent their frustration in vigorous housecleaning? Of course not. The Creator would not design something that is intrinsically useless, nor something that must be broken in order to be properly useful. All of His created order is crafted with precision and intentional purpose. Strong-minded women have a place in the kingdom. I have to admit, I write this from the perspective of a woman who is not strong. Staunch in convictions, yes, but more apt to drift away from a fight and find the path of lesser resistance. I hate confrontation. Instead of taking this bull by the horns and seeking to reform the minds of women in my workplace, my default is to hunker down, keep a low profile, and make it work. I'm good at making things work, and this is not always good. As such, it is with both admiration and dread that I identify a strong woman. I'm always wondering, Which kind of Type A are you?
But God doesn't possess my faults. He is not intimidated by gung-ho gals. He made them such. What He asks from them is what He asks from each of us: To turn from our self-love, to receive of His grace, and to pursue holiness with singular devotion. It must be willing submission and obedience to Him; He does the rest. The infinite variables of each equation are all factored in perfectly, and He is able to masterfully engineer a unique being who is tempered, strong, pure, happy and blessed in her individualized strengths. I can't explain how He does it, time after time, woman after woman, but He does. He takes these selfish hearts, runs them through the fire, purifies them, and tunes them to His Spirit. There is no other way. All self-improvement journeys fade out and dead-end at some point, but the road that is narrow winds ever upward, ending at the gates of the celestial city where all visions, inspirations, and dreams find their culmination.
Showing posts with label nursing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nursing. Show all posts
Monday, July 29, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
"True Greatness"
I graduated from nursing school last Friday. At the Pinning Ceremony, I delivered this speech to my graduating class and the audience. I wrote it a couple months ago after my classmates asked me to speak at the ceremony. I wrote it from start to finish in one sitting; it just flowed out, and I knew it was the message I had to give to them. To my knowledge, there is no recording of the actual speech, but here are my notes, reconstructed as best I can remember, for I didn't really use them once I got started.
To my graduating class, and to you: "True Greatness"
If we look back through history, we see billions of people who lived and died, scores of them lost to obscurity because they lived tolerant, comfortable lives and were never interested in rising out of their apathy to wage war against the evils of their eras. And yet, no matter how many centuries pass, there are a few people whose legacies still burn as bright as the day they broke out of the mold and did something that shocked the world. These people were truly great, not merely because of what they did, but because of why they did it. Their character has stood the test of time, and their vision for reformation was so powerful that they are still spoken of, still studied, still honored today. Imposters come and go, but those people, those few people, who were willing to go against the tide of their popular cultures, willing to do and say what they knew was right, even if they were all alone—these are the men and women who changed the course of history, and I am here today to tell you that you can be numbered among them.
You do not have to live your life as one of the masses, one of the millions addicted to mediocrity. You can be among those few who lived their lives with burning purpose and a far-reaching vision of integrity, honor, greatness, justice, and reformation. True greatness is not the skills of nursing—medications, IV starts, or pathophysiology. It is not about nursing theory, health care reform, evidence based practice or even therapeutic communication. These are important components of nursing practice, but if you do all these things perfectly, you will be only a competent nurse. Right? The OCNE 10 core competencies? I don’t know about you, but basic competency is not what I’m striving for. That’s a low bar. True greatness does not come from being merely competent, from thinking the way that everyone else has always thought. It comes from stepping back from the stage and re-writing the script because you can see a better ending your mind’s eye. It comes from a deeply-held conviction that the standard can, and must be, raised, and no one else is going to do it, therefore, you will.
Consider the people, who, if they had not lived by their unbreakable principles, with such consuming passion, the world today would be far different than it is, and, I think, it would be a lesser world indeed. Look at Hans and Sophie Scholl, the young brother and sister who were committed to peacefully resisting the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler in their native Germany. They wrote and distributed anti-fascist literature, even though their lives were on the line. But they were so passionate about exposing the evils of their era and the Nazi regime’s crimes against humanity that they continued doing what they knew was right—and on February 22, 1943, after being caught and turned over, both were beheaded by guillotine in a German prison. They were 25 and 22 years old. But their vision for true greatness was far bigger than their own lives, and in their deaths they woke their culture up to the evils of their age. There was another man in the same era, Chiune Sugihara, a Japanese diplomat, who was appalled at the mass execution of the Jews in Europe, and came to their aid by writing transit visas in direct disobedience to an Imperial order from his government. In fact, he was still feverishly writing and throwing visas out the back of the train as he was forced to leave Europe. The visas he gave to the Jews saved over six thousand families from extermination. But Chiune Sugihara died in exile in Russia, stripped of his former status and disowned by his country.
Some of the truly great men and women have been dead for hundreds of years, but, thanks to their intense visions for justice, integrity, and true greatness, and their stalwart resolve to do what they knew was right, no matter how high the cost, their contributions to our world illuminate the corridor of history. But in their day, many of these were hated, rejected, misunderstood, persecuted, and even killed for their convictions, because they sought to change the world around them and right what they saw was wrong, and the world resisted as it always has and always will.
If you would be great, truly great, you must count the cost. Are you willing to put your personal comfort, recognition, or reputation on the line for someone else? Are you willing to stand alone, and defend what you know is right, even if it costs you your job? Are you willing to advocate for others when it doesn’t benefit you in the least? Are you able to lay hold of that vision of greatness, to light that torch in your own soul, and carry it through your life, even if you carry it alone? Are you willing to be misunderstood? Rejected? Hated? Are you willing to let someone else get your glory? How much will you lay down in the name of honor, integrity, and justice? If your answer isn’t “everything,” you aren’t ready. It is a paradox that transcends the ages, isn’t it—that true greatness is birthed from total sacrifice?
As a nurse, you meet people in their darkest hours, when they are broken, worn down, and afraid. Their bodies are injured or failing, and their souls may be in turmoil. You have an incredible privilege to be an agent of healing in these critical times. You have the knowledge and the skills to mend what is broken, to correct what is imbalanced. But until you have a drive that comes from within, that fuels your spirit and keeps you going even if your body is worn down, you will only be going through the motions, and the purpose is null and void, because you have no passion, no higher vision, no burning motivation to go above and beyond the call of duty for any reason other than selfish reasons. To be a nurse is to be a servant, and to be a servant is to give until you have nothing left to give, and then to keep on giving. You might ask, “What about compassion fatigue? And the importance of self-care? We can’t just give and give.” I’m not talking about a sacrifice that drains you dry and burns you out. I’m talking about understanding that the heart of nursing is to reject the stereotyped ideals of glamour, recognition, adrenaline, money—whatever it is that may have lured you into nursing to begin with. I’m talking about cultivating a heart attitude of servant hood and humility, which, although simple and modest, are in fact the cornerstones of true greatness. May it never said of us that we were the ones who were lovers of self and comfort, that we were the ones who lacked vision, and that it was on our watch that the ship went down. What a tragedy, and a shame.
You, too, can change the trajectory of the future. Is that really so lofty a goal? I don’t think so. What if, in two hundred years, long after you’re dead and gone, what you did with your life was still influencing people, changing the way they think, and shaping a world of people who do not even exist right now. That is a vision of true greatness. That is something worthy of relentless, lifelong pursuit. That is a goal that far surpasses basic competency. And that is why I am both proud and humbled—if it is possible for such opposing states to exist in one being—to be numbered among you today. Because, in this auditorium, on this day, in this year, there are people who, I believe, will choose to aim higher and reform the face of the culture in a way that changes the world for generations to come. You may have all the things you need, minus one: that undying, passionate, all-consuming vision of true greatness and sacrifice. If you make that choice, to go against the tide, to rise up and claim that vision as your own—you, my friend, will be unstoppable and your influence will reach so much farther than you can imagine.
That is my prayer for you, as we go out from this place. Remember it. Some of you I may not see again after this day has passed, but remember this, and go out from here with purpose and vision for true greatness. Thank you, my friends, and God be with you all.
To my graduating class, and to you: "True Greatness"
.............................
When
asked if I would speak to you, I thought of all the typical things one hears at
graduations—lots of thank-you’s, nostalgic reminiscing on the academic
experience, examples of personal growth achieved over the last few years, etc. There
is a time for such sentiments, but I’m not here to tell you any of that. I want
to give you a benediction, a farewell, and a vision for true greatness in our
new roles as nurses in a changing culture.
If we look back through history, we see billions of people who lived and died, scores of them lost to obscurity because they lived tolerant, comfortable lives and were never interested in rising out of their apathy to wage war against the evils of their eras. And yet, no matter how many centuries pass, there are a few people whose legacies still burn as bright as the day they broke out of the mold and did something that shocked the world. These people were truly great, not merely because of what they did, but because of why they did it. Their character has stood the test of time, and their vision for reformation was so powerful that they are still spoken of, still studied, still honored today. Imposters come and go, but those people, those few people, who were willing to go against the tide of their popular cultures, willing to do and say what they knew was right, even if they were all alone—these are the men and women who changed the course of history, and I am here today to tell you that you can be numbered among them.
You do not have to live your life as one of the masses, one of the millions addicted to mediocrity. You can be among those few who lived their lives with burning purpose and a far-reaching vision of integrity, honor, greatness, justice, and reformation. True greatness is not the skills of nursing—medications, IV starts, or pathophysiology. It is not about nursing theory, health care reform, evidence based practice or even therapeutic communication. These are important components of nursing practice, but if you do all these things perfectly, you will be only a competent nurse. Right? The OCNE 10 core competencies? I don’t know about you, but basic competency is not what I’m striving for. That’s a low bar. True greatness does not come from being merely competent, from thinking the way that everyone else has always thought. It comes from stepping back from the stage and re-writing the script because you can see a better ending your mind’s eye. It comes from a deeply-held conviction that the standard can, and must be, raised, and no one else is going to do it, therefore, you will.
Consider the people, who, if they had not lived by their unbreakable principles, with such consuming passion, the world today would be far different than it is, and, I think, it would be a lesser world indeed. Look at Hans and Sophie Scholl, the young brother and sister who were committed to peacefully resisting the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler in their native Germany. They wrote and distributed anti-fascist literature, even though their lives were on the line. But they were so passionate about exposing the evils of their era and the Nazi regime’s crimes against humanity that they continued doing what they knew was right—and on February 22, 1943, after being caught and turned over, both were beheaded by guillotine in a German prison. They were 25 and 22 years old. But their vision for true greatness was far bigger than their own lives, and in their deaths they woke their culture up to the evils of their age. There was another man in the same era, Chiune Sugihara, a Japanese diplomat, who was appalled at the mass execution of the Jews in Europe, and came to their aid by writing transit visas in direct disobedience to an Imperial order from his government. In fact, he was still feverishly writing and throwing visas out the back of the train as he was forced to leave Europe. The visas he gave to the Jews saved over six thousand families from extermination. But Chiune Sugihara died in exile in Russia, stripped of his former status and disowned by his country.
Some of the truly great men and women have been dead for hundreds of years, but, thanks to their intense visions for justice, integrity, and true greatness, and their stalwart resolve to do what they knew was right, no matter how high the cost, their contributions to our world illuminate the corridor of history. But in their day, many of these were hated, rejected, misunderstood, persecuted, and even killed for their convictions, because they sought to change the world around them and right what they saw was wrong, and the world resisted as it always has and always will.
If you would be great, truly great, you must count the cost. Are you willing to put your personal comfort, recognition, or reputation on the line for someone else? Are you willing to stand alone, and defend what you know is right, even if it costs you your job? Are you willing to advocate for others when it doesn’t benefit you in the least? Are you able to lay hold of that vision of greatness, to light that torch in your own soul, and carry it through your life, even if you carry it alone? Are you willing to be misunderstood? Rejected? Hated? Are you willing to let someone else get your glory? How much will you lay down in the name of honor, integrity, and justice? If your answer isn’t “everything,” you aren’t ready. It is a paradox that transcends the ages, isn’t it—that true greatness is birthed from total sacrifice?
As a nurse, you meet people in their darkest hours, when they are broken, worn down, and afraid. Their bodies are injured or failing, and their souls may be in turmoil. You have an incredible privilege to be an agent of healing in these critical times. You have the knowledge and the skills to mend what is broken, to correct what is imbalanced. But until you have a drive that comes from within, that fuels your spirit and keeps you going even if your body is worn down, you will only be going through the motions, and the purpose is null and void, because you have no passion, no higher vision, no burning motivation to go above and beyond the call of duty for any reason other than selfish reasons. To be a nurse is to be a servant, and to be a servant is to give until you have nothing left to give, and then to keep on giving. You might ask, “What about compassion fatigue? And the importance of self-care? We can’t just give and give.” I’m not talking about a sacrifice that drains you dry and burns you out. I’m talking about understanding that the heart of nursing is to reject the stereotyped ideals of glamour, recognition, adrenaline, money—whatever it is that may have lured you into nursing to begin with. I’m talking about cultivating a heart attitude of servant hood and humility, which, although simple and modest, are in fact the cornerstones of true greatness. May it never said of us that we were the ones who were lovers of self and comfort, that we were the ones who lacked vision, and that it was on our watch that the ship went down. What a tragedy, and a shame.
You, too, can change the trajectory of the future. Is that really so lofty a goal? I don’t think so. What if, in two hundred years, long after you’re dead and gone, what you did with your life was still influencing people, changing the way they think, and shaping a world of people who do not even exist right now. That is a vision of true greatness. That is something worthy of relentless, lifelong pursuit. That is a goal that far surpasses basic competency. And that is why I am both proud and humbled—if it is possible for such opposing states to exist in one being—to be numbered among you today. Because, in this auditorium, on this day, in this year, there are people who, I believe, will choose to aim higher and reform the face of the culture in a way that changes the world for generations to come. You may have all the things you need, minus one: that undying, passionate, all-consuming vision of true greatness and sacrifice. If you make that choice, to go against the tide, to rise up and claim that vision as your own—you, my friend, will be unstoppable and your influence will reach so much farther than you can imagine.
That is my prayer for you, as we go out from this place. Remember it. Some of you I may not see again after this day has passed, but remember this, and go out from here with purpose and vision for true greatness. Thank you, my friends, and God be with you all.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Winds of Change
Since my last blog post, I have indeed been accepted at the three-and-a-half-hour away little hospital, and if all goes as planned, I will start a few weeks after graduation, as soon as I've obtained my RN license. I mustn't complain--how good and gracious of the Lord to provide me with a job so soon! And not too far away; I can still come home often enough. Some folks are looking across the country for work. I am grateful. Really.
But I am a little afraid. Humans weren't designed to live alone, least of all women, and least of those, young women. How will I be safe? Will there be a good church? Who will be my new friends and influences? How can I let go of everything I love here? It's icy there in the winter--will my car be able to handle it? What if I get mugged leaving a noc shift? This is, of course, the point where some begin to snicker at me, and as one lady made all too plain by her scissor-snipping hand motions and a tawdry joke, I am apparently far too attached and dependent on the people I love. "Time to cut the apron strings, sweetie."
Nonsense. I have deliberately rejected that senseless, thoughtless custom of our deluded culture: that kicking-them-out-of-the-nest at eighteen, out-of-their-parents'-hair-and-into-the-world-alone ideology that is hopelessly flawed when examined against Scripture. I've seen it fail--miserably so--and have no desire to become a lonely, selfish, unhelpful person, who is not accountable to anyone for anything and has no good reason to do anything other than whatever I darn well please whenever I have the fancy to do it. Such begins the spiraling descent into apathy, sin, folly, and a host of other spiritual maladies. Granted, I'm not eighteen anymore. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."
I desire to be a useful woman, integrated into a community of people, relied upon, held accountable for my life and my choices, needed, remembered, cared for, not forgotten, watched out for, missed, loved . . . everything that I have here in my home, my family, my church and my small-town community. And yet, He leads me away from it all, and I trust Him, but there is mingled with it a dose of fear.
I had, of course, always planned on leaving home someday. But I hadn't envisioned it quite like this--to a place where I know not one soul, by myself. Other people do it all the time, but the pure commonality of it hardly qualifies it as the best scenario--unless it is God who ordains such a situation to be mine to live, for this time.
So, like the boy Samuel, I wake in the night, surrounded by the comforts of a familiar life, but I sense a change in the air. And, not knowing for certain what it is, I can only speak the same words as he: "Speak, LORD, for your servant hears."
But I am a little afraid. Humans weren't designed to live alone, least of all women, and least of those, young women. How will I be safe? Will there be a good church? Who will be my new friends and influences? How can I let go of everything I love here? It's icy there in the winter--will my car be able to handle it? What if I get mugged leaving a noc shift? This is, of course, the point where some begin to snicker at me, and as one lady made all too plain by her scissor-snipping hand motions and a tawdry joke, I am apparently far too attached and dependent on the people I love. "Time to cut the apron strings, sweetie."
Nonsense. I have deliberately rejected that senseless, thoughtless custom of our deluded culture: that kicking-them-out-of-the-nest at eighteen, out-of-their-parents'-hair-and-into-the-world-alone ideology that is hopelessly flawed when examined against Scripture. I've seen it fail--miserably so--and have no desire to become a lonely, selfish, unhelpful person, who is not accountable to anyone for anything and has no good reason to do anything other than whatever I darn well please whenever I have the fancy to do it. Such begins the spiraling descent into apathy, sin, folly, and a host of other spiritual maladies. Granted, I'm not eighteen anymore. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."
I desire to be a useful woman, integrated into a community of people, relied upon, held accountable for my life and my choices, needed, remembered, cared for, not forgotten, watched out for, missed, loved . . . everything that I have here in my home, my family, my church and my small-town community. And yet, He leads me away from it all, and I trust Him, but there is mingled with it a dose of fear.
I had, of course, always planned on leaving home someday. But I hadn't envisioned it quite like this--to a place where I know not one soul, by myself. Other people do it all the time, but the pure commonality of it hardly qualifies it as the best scenario--unless it is God who ordains such a situation to be mine to live, for this time.
So, like the boy Samuel, I wake in the night, surrounded by the comforts of a familiar life, but I sense a change in the air. And, not knowing for certain what it is, I can only speak the same words as he: "Speak, LORD, for your servant hears."
Monday, April 8, 2013
Standing in the Sun
Today was one of those quintessentially spring-ish days. Every year I fall in love with spring more and more, and it is a bit of a sorrow to me that the last five years--including this one--have found me mired in school work and unable to run outside, fling open my arms to the sun, smell the damp dirt and kiss my little goats' furry faces at every chance. But, in a way, the obligatory leash of The Nursing Program (yes, capitalized) has made me behold with a fresh wonder the glory of this time of year, particularly today, as I strain against the cord of annotated bibliography assignments. I lean out my second story window, take out the screen, and close my eyes as the bamboo wind chimes sing in the garden and the shaggy orchard grass glows in the last slanting rays of the sun. And I think, in this life, this quick, spinning, brief life, what more could there be than to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with my God? (Micah 6:8)
I woke up this morning from a deep, good, sweet sleep, and I awoke with the startling realization that my life is magnificently blessed. Who am I to be the receiver of a life so charmed? My parents are still married, and actually love each other (29 years and counting!). My one sister (of whom I am jealously protective) is six years into one of the most blessed marriages I've had the privilege of watching. My four younger brothers (whom I love with dreadful fierceness) are rising up, growing into the kinds of men who cast off the shabby farce of weak-minded manhood, instead asking hard questions and seeking true answers--a search that is changing them from boys to warriors before my eyes. My niece (2 years old) and nephew (4 weeks old) thrive and grow in a pure, earnest home with a mama and a papa who fear God and love his commandments.
And then there is me.
Somewhere in the middle of this bustling mini-universe that is our family, there is a 22 year old woman standing in the light of the Son, and it blinds me sometimes, when I turn my face into His glory. I'm walking, as we all are walking, and I see the junction just ahead. It's fast approaching, and when I get there, this road ends where a thousand others begin, and I'll have to pick one or stand forever on the sidewalk, watching the traffic rush by. But, it's so hard to choose. In two months I'll be done with nursing school. The pursuit that ate up the end of my teen years and launched me solidly into my twenties, forever out of childhood and into adulthood, will be over, and I'll have to move on--maybe literally.
You see, in my hometown, which is rather small and out-of-the-way, there aren't many (if any) jobs for new nurses. Quite frankly, it's just a bad time to be graduating from nursing school. Five years ago would have been a lot better. Five years from now it may be again--but I'm in the slump years, and I know it was meant to be so. I know He has not forgotten me. I know the joy of the LORD is my strength, and that I am doing this not for a good job or a paycheck or to impress anybody by having the "RN" letters behind my name, but I am doing this so that I may be of greater service to my Lord, wherever and whenever and however He should choose to use me. And if he never uses this profession, this skill set that is "nursing" which I have learned (though the thought is hard to swallow at the moment), I will not insist on using it. If He closes every door that I have knocked upon, I know it is because He knows better than I. Doors have already closed to me; even this afternoon I could scratch out another possibility on my list of hopefuls. And, for the first time, there is the possibility that I might have to leave all that I love and move away to find a job as a nurse, which brings me to some serious introspection: is it worth it? What is the point of what I'm doing? How much will I shell out in the name of Nursing? And, more importantly, it drives me into the Living Word to see what God is telling me to do, especially when each plan and sub-plan of mine are gently and firmly shut down.
But here is something surprising: as much as I hope for such-and-such opportunity to work out, and as much as I pursue it diligently, fill out the necessary applications and present myself as best I can, I have found an abiding equilibrium in knowing that it is He who ordains the future, and it is He who will orchestrate my life into a pleasing symphony of praise. When I get the letter, or answer the phone and receive the message of rejection (and I have, several times), it gets easier with each one--which is ironic, considering that rejection is generally depressing. But I am standing in the sun today; it warms and cheers my body, and I stand in the Son every day; He warms and cheers my soul. Being rejected has become almost exciting; I get to say, "Well, that wasn't it, was it, Lord?" And I smile, both in trust and bewilderment.
In the meantime, not knowing what the remaining year holds, and not even knowing where I will be in eight weeks, I'm surprised by His peace that allows me to notice and delight in the piano's muted arpeggios as the boys practice their music downstairs, the winter pear tree by the garden gate that just burst into a snowy froth of blossoms, and the delectable smell of the waffles some good soul is making for dinner. All is well when one walks humbly, trustingly, and quietly before the LORD of heaven and earth.
I woke up this morning from a deep, good, sweet sleep, and I awoke with the startling realization that my life is magnificently blessed. Who am I to be the receiver of a life so charmed? My parents are still married, and actually love each other (29 years and counting!). My one sister (of whom I am jealously protective) is six years into one of the most blessed marriages I've had the privilege of watching. My four younger brothers (whom I love with dreadful fierceness) are rising up, growing into the kinds of men who cast off the shabby farce of weak-minded manhood, instead asking hard questions and seeking true answers--a search that is changing them from boys to warriors before my eyes. My niece (2 years old) and nephew (4 weeks old) thrive and grow in a pure, earnest home with a mama and a papa who fear God and love his commandments.
And then there is me.
Somewhere in the middle of this bustling mini-universe that is our family, there is a 22 year old woman standing in the light of the Son, and it blinds me sometimes, when I turn my face into His glory. I'm walking, as we all are walking, and I see the junction just ahead. It's fast approaching, and when I get there, this road ends where a thousand others begin, and I'll have to pick one or stand forever on the sidewalk, watching the traffic rush by. But, it's so hard to choose. In two months I'll be done with nursing school. The pursuit that ate up the end of my teen years and launched me solidly into my twenties, forever out of childhood and into adulthood, will be over, and I'll have to move on--maybe literally.
You see, in my hometown, which is rather small and out-of-the-way, there aren't many (if any) jobs for new nurses. Quite frankly, it's just a bad time to be graduating from nursing school. Five years ago would have been a lot better. Five years from now it may be again--but I'm in the slump years, and I know it was meant to be so. I know He has not forgotten me. I know the joy of the LORD is my strength, and that I am doing this not for a good job or a paycheck or to impress anybody by having the "RN" letters behind my name, but I am doing this so that I may be of greater service to my Lord, wherever and whenever and however He should choose to use me. And if he never uses this profession, this skill set that is "nursing" which I have learned (though the thought is hard to swallow at the moment), I will not insist on using it. If He closes every door that I have knocked upon, I know it is because He knows better than I. Doors have already closed to me; even this afternoon I could scratch out another possibility on my list of hopefuls. And, for the first time, there is the possibility that I might have to leave all that I love and move away to find a job as a nurse, which brings me to some serious introspection: is it worth it? What is the point of what I'm doing? How much will I shell out in the name of Nursing? And, more importantly, it drives me into the Living Word to see what God is telling me to do, especially when each plan and sub-plan of mine are gently and firmly shut down.
But here is something surprising: as much as I hope for such-and-such opportunity to work out, and as much as I pursue it diligently, fill out the necessary applications and present myself as best I can, I have found an abiding equilibrium in knowing that it is He who ordains the future, and it is He who will orchestrate my life into a pleasing symphony of praise. When I get the letter, or answer the phone and receive the message of rejection (and I have, several times), it gets easier with each one--which is ironic, considering that rejection is generally depressing. But I am standing in the sun today; it warms and cheers my body, and I stand in the Son every day; He warms and cheers my soul. Being rejected has become almost exciting; I get to say, "Well, that wasn't it, was it, Lord?" And I smile, both in trust and bewilderment.
In the meantime, not knowing what the remaining year holds, and not even knowing where I will be in eight weeks, I'm surprised by His peace that allows me to notice and delight in the piano's muted arpeggios as the boys practice their music downstairs, the winter pear tree by the garden gate that just burst into a snowy froth of blossoms, and the delectable smell of the waffles some good soul is making for dinner. All is well when one walks humbly, trustingly, and quietly before the LORD of heaven and earth.
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