What I Live For

This happened a while back, but I'm just now getting around to writing about it. I know I haven't been a terribly faithful blogger in the last year or so...

Sometimes when I go to work, I wonder why I'm there. I wonder how on earth God can use me when all I'm doing is sticking people with needles and changing dressings on central lines. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. But sometimes I wonder how much purpose I have. Then, I meet patients like her.

I was orienting someone new to our IV team. It was evening shift, and I was feeling like I was just about at the end of my patience. The person I was orienting (we'll call her Felicia) was having a hard time. I was explaining things over and over, and they were just not getting through. So Felicia and I were called to a room to access a port-a-cath, which she had done before with another IV team member (click here and scroll down a bit if you care to know more about port-a-caths and how they're accessed). Outside of the patient's room, I reviewed her on all of the supplies we would need because it's hard to remember it all sometimes. I walked her through the process before we went in, and I hoped it would go well.

The patient (we'll call her Mrs. Ashwood) had asked for her port-a-cath needle to be changed because someone had used a really long needle, and it was sticking too far out of her skin. She was afraid she might bump it on something in the night. As we talked to her, we discovered that several IV team members had tried to access it the day before, and it took multiple attempts. My heart sank. I didn't really want to let Felicia try, but I asked Mrs. Ashwood if it would be alright if she did it while I supervised. She said she didn't mind at all.

Felicia got out her equipment, and very soon after beginning, contaminated her sterile gloves without realizing it. I stopped her, gave her some new gloves, and the process continued. To make a long story shorter, Felicia missed on the first try, but Mrs. Ashwood said she was ok with Felicia trying again. So we trotted off to get more supplies, and I made use of the time to coach Felicia some more. My patience was wearing even thinner, and I really just wanted to access the port myself, but I knew that Felicia needed to try again.

When we returned to Mrs. Ashwood's room, I began talking with her while Felicia got her things ready. She began to open up to me about why she was in the hospital and what she was going through. She had cancer. It had been gone for a while, but just recently they thought they had seen some spots on her liver. The doctors had gone back and forth between being certain it was nothing and telling her that it was a metastasis of her old cancer. Finally, they decided that she had advanced mets cancer in her liver and elsewhere. She was having to make decisions about whether or not to undergo more treatments and which doctors or hospital to go to. She confessed that she wasn't even sure if it was worth it because her prognosis was not good. As she spoke to me, I listened and also told her a little bit about my grandfather and what he had gone through when he had cancer. I nearly began to cry as I talked to her because I realized how similar their stories were.

As Felicia and I finished what we needed to do-- nearly an hour later-- I felt impressed to pray with her. I asked Mrs. Ashwood if that would be alright, and she said she would love that. So I prayed. For peace, for wisdom, but most of all for God's Presence and comfort. When I finished she was crying. She told me that she and her husband had been missionaries for 12 years, and we talked about missions and life in other countries. By the time I left the room, I was nearly in tears. I was amazed at her attitude and positive spirit, and I had told her so when I was in the room. And I was humbled that God had seen fit for us to be in her room long enough for me to be able to help her find comfort and peace in God's hands. It was a good reminder for me that God still knows what He's doing-- even when I'm frustrated and impatient.

Experiences like this are the ones I live for.

Mining, Chemical Equations, and Other Things

I've got a lot on my mind right now. I suppose that's nothing new, but at this very moment, I'm feeling rather flooded with too many thoughts. So please forgive the overflow here; I just need an outlet. And please forgive any randomness or incompleteness of thought.

I don't know a lot about mining for gems, but I have an idea that it's a difficult process. It takes a lot of pressure, tedious work, and maybe even involves a lot of what seems to be excess waste. But somewhere under all the dirt and lava rock layers lies something of great value. Great value. And beauty. And it's worth all the tedious work, all the pressure, all the removal of the unvaluable to find the invaluable. All of these things I know. I have no doubts regarding the value or the fact that it will require great effort to reach the end result of beauty and worth. I have no doubt that it's worth the trouble. But the thought that's running around in my mind at the moment is, how can you be certain there's a gem beneath it all? What if all the work and pressure is being spent on an ordinary rock? And how can you tell the difference between an ordinary rock and a gem without all the work and pressure-- from the outside surface? How do you determine when or if the process should be abandoned? What if you might be about to abandon a real gem? What if you walk away from something of great worth and beauty?

Switching gears, but still related. I love balancing chemical equations. I know, I'm a little bit nerdy. But it's fun; it's a puzzle. Just like scheduling. But that's another topic for another day. In chemical equations, the combination of two or more elements produces something. And on both sides of the equation, everything has to balance out; you can't have more or less than what you started with (in terms of matter) when all is said and done. You have to have the same number of hydrogen/sodium/whatever ions pre-reaction and post-reaction. To me, life doesn't always seem to work like this. Sometimes I wonder as I'm trying to balance on both sides of the equation if maybe I'm coming up one hydrogen short. Everything seems to balance out so well, except for that one little hydrogen ion that seems to be missing. Maybe the problem is me. Maybe I'm just not seeing it; maybe I'm overlooking it. And then I begin to wonder, how important is chemistry in life anyway?

Unrelated now. I came across a profound verse in Exodus yesterday in my devotions. It really deserves a blog post all its own, but for now... here it is.

God saw the people of Israel-- and God knew. Exodus 2:25

This particular verse is referring to the Israelites crying out to God in the oppression of slavery under Egyptian rule. But it really struck me. God saw and God knew. Immediately it called to mind Hagar and Ishmael.

The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur. And he said, 'Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?' She said, 'I am fleeing from my mistress Sarai.'

And the angel of the Lord said to her, 'Behold, you are pregnant and shall bear a son. You shall call his name Ishmael, because the Lord has listened to your affliction.'

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, 'You are a God of seeing,' for she said, 'Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.' Therefore the well was called Beer-lahairoi.

Exodus 16:7, 8, 11, 13, 14

Ishmael means "God hears." And Beer-lahairoi means "the well of the Living One who sees me."

God saw and God knew. In Hagar's utter despair, as she is about to give up, she is reassured that God, the Living One, sees her. He knows her affliction, He knows her despair; He sees it.

Back to the verse in Exodus 2:25 and its context. Just after that verse, God appears to Moses in the burning bush. Just after that verse, God moves. He sees, He knows, and then, He moves, working on our behalf. Because He is the Great God Who Saves.

Maybe it's not so unrelated after all.

Don't Sit Still

I promise I'm going to write something original soon. Really. But until then... This is a really neat article. What a revolutionary idea- to stop squelching children's innate needs to move.

And Then

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

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!'