there was hope.
Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your king is coming to you;
righteous and having salvation is he,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
As for you also, because of the blood of my covenant with you,
I will set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.
Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope;
today I declare that I will restore to you double.
On that day the LORD their God will save them,
as the flock of his people;
for like the jewels of a crown
they shall shine on his land.
For how great is his goodness, and how great his beauty!
Zechariah 9:9, 11, 12, 16, 17a; ESV
Sunday, January 23
Tuesday, January 18
God Still Is
The last two days at work were rough. Really rough. Not because I don't love what I do, and not because of my co-workers, but rather for what I have seen. For what I have seen has made my heart ache in a way that it has not ached since I was in Africa.
When I was in Tchad, every day brought more suffering into my scope of awareness. Granted, my time in Tchad was not solely filled with sorrow and suffering; there was joy, too. But my eyes were opened to the pain and suffering around me in the listless eyes of those too exhausted to weep anymore, in the mother's sobs over the death of her child, in the harsh cruelty of a desert land. And I think that I had forgotten, in part, that sorrow and despair are not confined to foreign lands.
The last two days at work, I was assigned to check IVs on several floors, including the hospice unit and the oncology (cancer) floor. I don't know if I had just been blind and my eyes were finally re-opened in the last two days, or if there has just been a sudden increase in the amount of suffering recently, but whatever the case, I was made more aware of the pain and suffering that exists all around me.
One man was sleeping-- peacefully, it seemed. His daughter was outside the room on the phone, and I overheard her in a strained voice explaining to another family member what the doctors had told her. "He only has a few more weeks at most. So right now we're just trying to keep him comfortable. They said that as time goes on, he will just start sleeping more and more..." Her voice trailed off.
On Sunday, I had changed out an old IV for an elderly woman on hospice unit who was very much still with it. She had many family members in the room, and she talked back and forth with each of them. Monday, I walked in to check her IV, and the family members were still there, chatting with each other while she lay in bed, awake, but with eyes closed from tiredness. A tiredness that seemed less like a tiredness from lack of sleep and more like a tiredness of fighting.
I had greeted a man on Sunday in hospice and asked, "How are you doing today?" "Oh, pretty good, pretty good," he had replied with a polite smile. I chatted for a minute and commented on the sunshine coming into his large window. Monday morning, I asked again, in cheerful tones, "How are you today?" His reply was as discouraging as the grey sky outside the window. "Not very well today. I'm worried sick about my wife. She's here in the hospital too, and I can't seem to get a hold of her." We talked a bit, and I gave him some advice on how he might get in touch with his wife. I tried to remain cheerful as I bid him goodbye.
The next room on hospice was an even sharper blow to my heart. An older man, a mere skeleton of himself, sat in bed with hollow eyes that remained completely unpenetrated by my cheery, upbeat demeanor. He responded to my questions, but I felt like I was interacting with a shadow of a man rather than a real human. I can't hardly explain what it was in his eyes and voice that struck me so deeply, except to say that where life should have been, an apathy devoid of hope had settled in.
But what really pierced my heart was seeing a dear friend of mine in the hospital. It's like a nightmare really. To see someone your own age very ill and fatigued. It made me realize once again that Satan is no respecter of persons. Evil has no regard for age, innocence, or character and attacks indiscriminately and brutally.
I can't tell you how many times I came close to crying at work yesterday because I lost count. But in the solitude of my car on my way home, I listened to a song of home-- heaven-- and cried. I can't remember the last time my heart ached so badly to be home, to be rid of the seemingly endless pain and sorrow caused by the absence of Love-- the presence of Satan and sin.
Somehow, through all that happened, I was really beginning to feel that God was very far away. But when I got home, I saw something posted by a friend, and it reminded me that despite all the suffering and pain, God still is. And in the end, Love wins. Here's the full poem:
Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The Carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
'There is no peace on earth,' I said;
'For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!'
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
'God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!'
When I was in Tchad, every day brought more suffering into my scope of awareness. Granted, my time in Tchad was not solely filled with sorrow and suffering; there was joy, too. But my eyes were opened to the pain and suffering around me in the listless eyes of those too exhausted to weep anymore, in the mother's sobs over the death of her child, in the harsh cruelty of a desert land. And I think that I had forgotten, in part, that sorrow and despair are not confined to foreign lands.
The last two days at work, I was assigned to check IVs on several floors, including the hospice unit and the oncology (cancer) floor. I don't know if I had just been blind and my eyes were finally re-opened in the last two days, or if there has just been a sudden increase in the amount of suffering recently, but whatever the case, I was made more aware of the pain and suffering that exists all around me.
One man was sleeping-- peacefully, it seemed. His daughter was outside the room on the phone, and I overheard her in a strained voice explaining to another family member what the doctors had told her. "He only has a few more weeks at most. So right now we're just trying to keep him comfortable. They said that as time goes on, he will just start sleeping more and more..." Her voice trailed off.
On Sunday, I had changed out an old IV for an elderly woman on hospice unit who was very much still with it. She had many family members in the room, and she talked back and forth with each of them. Monday, I walked in to check her IV, and the family members were still there, chatting with each other while she lay in bed, awake, but with eyes closed from tiredness. A tiredness that seemed less like a tiredness from lack of sleep and more like a tiredness of fighting.
I had greeted a man on Sunday in hospice and asked, "How are you doing today?" "Oh, pretty good, pretty good," he had replied with a polite smile. I chatted for a minute and commented on the sunshine coming into his large window. Monday morning, I asked again, in cheerful tones, "How are you today?" His reply was as discouraging as the grey sky outside the window. "Not very well today. I'm worried sick about my wife. She's here in the hospital too, and I can't seem to get a hold of her." We talked a bit, and I gave him some advice on how he might get in touch with his wife. I tried to remain cheerful as I bid him goodbye.
The next room on hospice was an even sharper blow to my heart. An older man, a mere skeleton of himself, sat in bed with hollow eyes that remained completely unpenetrated by my cheery, upbeat demeanor. He responded to my questions, but I felt like I was interacting with a shadow of a man rather than a real human. I can't hardly explain what it was in his eyes and voice that struck me so deeply, except to say that where life should have been, an apathy devoid of hope had settled in.
But what really pierced my heart was seeing a dear friend of mine in the hospital. It's like a nightmare really. To see someone your own age very ill and fatigued. It made me realize once again that Satan is no respecter of persons. Evil has no regard for age, innocence, or character and attacks indiscriminately and brutally.
I can't tell you how many times I came close to crying at work yesterday because I lost count. But in the solitude of my car on my way home, I listened to a song of home-- heaven-- and cried. I can't remember the last time my heart ached so badly to be home, to be rid of the seemingly endless pain and sorrow caused by the absence of Love-- the presence of Satan and sin.
Somehow, through all that happened, I was really beginning to feel that God was very far away. But when I got home, I saw something posted by a friend, and it reminded me that despite all the suffering and pain, God still is. And in the end, Love wins. Here's the full poem:
Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The Carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
'There is no peace on earth,' I said;
'For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!'
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
'God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!'
Tuesday, December 21
Footprints in the Snow (A Snapshot of My Heart)
Before me lies a dismal scene—
Barren trees,
Muddied fields (with splotched patches of green),
and a cold, gray sky.
Raising my eyes heavenward
I wonder at my ability
To make such a mess of
Your Creation.
With upturned face,
Eyes closed,
and a whispered prayer,
Hope rises.
As light greets my opening eyes
Thick, heavy snowflakes
Fall with grace
To cover over this dead, wintry soul.
Before me lies a new scene—
Elegant, snow-covered trees,
A pure, white blanket,
and a bright, clear sky.
Raising my eyes heavenward
I wonder at Your ability
To make such beauty in
Your Creation.
And with gratitude and love,
I walk forward in grace
Leaving only footprints in the snow.
Barren trees,
Muddied fields (with splotched patches of green),
and a cold, gray sky.
Raising my eyes heavenward
I wonder at my ability
To make such a mess of
Your Creation.
With upturned face,
Eyes closed,
and a whispered prayer,
Hope rises.
As light greets my opening eyes
Thick, heavy snowflakes
Fall with grace
To cover over this dead, wintry soul.
Before me lies a new scene—Elegant, snow-covered trees,
A pure, white blanket,
and a bright, clear sky.
Raising my eyes heavenward
I wonder at Your ability
To make such beauty in
Your Creation.
And with gratitude and love,
I walk forward in grace
Leaving only footprints in the snow.
Friday, December 3
Thanksgiving
(Late, I know...)
A few days before Thanksgiving, I was lying in bed thinking about Thanksgiving. I had been super busy with work and hadn't really had any time at all to realize that Thanksgiving was almost upon me and I hadn't taken much time to enjoy the season of gratitude. This was a tragedy that needed rectifying, and so I lay awake and took a little time for reflection.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Usually it's hard for me to pick a favorite something because there is much weighing of pros and cons and difficulty deciding which pros are actually more weighty and deserve to be considered "best." But really, Thanksgiving is it for me-- my favorite. This is true for several reasons. First, because when I was growing up, Thanksgiving meant family. We always had a giant family reunion at Thanksgiving, and I love and crave time with people I love. Also, Thanksgiving foods are some of my favorite foods, especially pumpkin pie. And there is something so inviting about the colors and scents associated with autumn and Thanksgiving; they seem warm and welcoming at a time when the outside world is dull, chilly, and fast becoming lifeless. (Yes, Margie, I did just refer to autumn as inviting and warm. And I do like it...)
But most of all, I love Thanksgiving because it puts my heart in a spirit of gratitude that I don't have often enough. As I was lying in bed, I began to pray a prayer of thanks to God because I realized how incredibly blessed I am. I have two jobs that I absolutely love in a time when some have difficulty finding one job they may not really like. I have a family by whom I am deeply loved and cherished. God has blessed me with the most phenomenal friends; friends who have supported and encouraged me, drawing me closer to God through their words and the lives they live, and I know I am unworthy of such friends. Fairly recently, God has brought into my life an amazingly talented and considerate boyfriend who desires to live for and serve God. My physical needs have been more than met, and I want for nothing. In the past two years, I have seen God work in my life and the lives of others more times than I can count and in unquantifiable ways. Having my eyes opened in such a way has strengthened my faith and made God more real to me than He has ever been before. I am richly, abundantly blessed beyond what I ever could have asked.
But as I lay awake in bed thinking about all of these blessings in my life, I realized that as happy as each of these blessings have made me, they are not ultimately what I am grateful for. Because as I lay awake in bed reflecting on the physical blessings in my life, my mind was turned to the Source of those blessings. He is what I am most grateful for; not because of the good gifts and blessings He has showered me with, but because He is the Source of goodness, life, abundance, and genuine, deep joy.
May this spirit of gratitude remain in my heart. May my life be one of thanks giving in all seasons.
A few days before Thanksgiving, I was lying in bed thinking about Thanksgiving. I had been super busy with work and hadn't really had any time at all to realize that Thanksgiving was almost upon me and I hadn't taken much time to enjoy the season of gratitude. This was a tragedy that needed rectifying, and so I lay awake and took a little time for reflection.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Usually it's hard for me to pick a favorite something because there is much weighing of pros and cons and difficulty deciding which pros are actually more weighty and deserve to be considered "best." But really, Thanksgiving is it for me-- my favorite. This is true for several reasons. First, because when I was growing up, Thanksgiving meant family. We always had a giant family reunion at Thanksgiving, and I love and crave time with people I love. Also, Thanksgiving foods are some of my favorite foods, especially pumpkin pie. And there is something so inviting about the colors and scents associated with autumn and Thanksgiving; they seem warm and welcoming at a time when the outside world is dull, chilly, and fast becoming lifeless. (Yes, Margie, I did just refer to autumn as inviting and warm. And I do like it...)
But most of all, I love Thanksgiving because it puts my heart in a spirit of gratitude that I don't have often enough. As I was lying in bed, I began to pray a prayer of thanks to God because I realized how incredibly blessed I am. I have two jobs that I absolutely love in a time when some have difficulty finding one job they may not really like. I have a family by whom I am deeply loved and cherished. God has blessed me with the most phenomenal friends; friends who have supported and encouraged me, drawing me closer to God through their words and the lives they live, and I know I am unworthy of such friends. Fairly recently, God has brought into my life an amazingly talented and considerate boyfriend who desires to live for and serve God. My physical needs have been more than met, and I want for nothing. In the past two years, I have seen God work in my life and the lives of others more times than I can count and in unquantifiable ways. Having my eyes opened in such a way has strengthened my faith and made God more real to me than He has ever been before. I am richly, abundantly blessed beyond what I ever could have asked.
But as I lay awake in bed thinking about all of these blessings in my life, I realized that as happy as each of these blessings have made me, they are not ultimately what I am grateful for. Because as I lay awake in bed reflecting on the physical blessings in my life, my mind was turned to the Source of those blessings. He is what I am most grateful for; not because of the good gifts and blessings He has showered me with, but because He is the Source of goodness, life, abundance, and genuine, deep joy.
May this spirit of gratitude remain in my heart. May my life be one of thanks giving in all seasons.
Saturday, November 20
Don't Forget...
The other day at work I was doing floor checks, which mostly consists of walking room to room, checking IVs to make sure they're still good, and sometimes doing some minor "patient education." I walked into one room where a very elderly lady was sitting up in bed. Her daughter and granddaughter were keeping her company.
After checking her IV, I said, "If your IV ever starts to hurt, just let your nurse know right away."
Her face became quite animated, and she exclaimed to her granddaughter, "You'd better write that down, or else I might forget!"
After checking her IV, I said, "If your IV ever starts to hurt, just let your nurse know right away."
Her face became quite animated, and she exclaimed to her granddaughter, "You'd better write that down, or else I might forget!"
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