Fear has always been a companion in my life, and most of the time, I welcomed him to some extent. Ironically, he felt safe enough and I would allow him to tag along as I walked through my day. I guess I’d liken him in some regard to my little brother (no offense, Paul), always following one step behind.
Sometimes, he annoyed me a bit, getting in the way when I needed him to leave me alone. On other occasions, he’d embarrass me at the least opportune times. I couldn’t always hide him and it was obvious to everyone around that Fear was with me.
And then, in my weakest moments, I’d let his presence overshadow me. That’s when it would get really ugly. A moment in time would pass when I knew I should say something, do something, offer something, or be something to someone else but with his strong arms wrapped around my own will, I gave in to Fear. Too easily. Not even putting up a fight.
Fear won.
After thirty years of letting Fear bully me, I decided enough was enough. It’s time to fight back. Fear may still exist and hide in the corners of my heart and my mind, but I refuse to allow him to have the control he once had.
Well, at least I’m attempting to try.
I realized Fear isn’t only affecting me but humankind as well. As I look around today, I see him latching on to most people I encounter. Their hearts are on fire for their dreams, yet Fear tells them those dreams are impossible.
These people want to have a family, go back to school, quit their job and move to Africa, volunteer at a shelter, stand up for justice, ask a question, right a wrong, or even say hi to their neighbor, but Fear soaks into their bloodstream and prevents them from taking a step in the beautiful, wonderful, difficult life that lays in front of them.
Fear wants to stop our stories.
And with the pain and brokenness and hurt in this world, we simply can’t let it. The human race needs a hope and faith and light now more than ever.
The Ancient Scriptures say through the love of Christ, we are to be that hope. That light. Burning brightly on a hill.
Not hidden in the darkness of a shadow by a nemesis named Fear.
Yet, we can’t go at it by ourselves. I think that’s why so many of us get so close to crossing over the border from darkness into light.
From Fear into boldness.
However we know that once we take that step into that which illuminates, we’ll be exposed.
Naked.
Ashamed.
Broken.
Possibly alone, and desperately longing to go into hiding again.
We know what it’s like to have Fear screaming in our heads.
The way our minds tell us to run, our hearts palpitate, our hands sweat, our voices tremble, our bodies toss and turn in an ocean of confining sheets as the ceiling moves in closer and closer.
Fear’s voice is loud.
Earthshatteringly loud.
But our voices are louder.
Yet most of us don’t know that.
We don’t know the power we have when we fight Fear back. Fear isn’t strong. He’s derived from something ultimately weak and powerless.
Have you noticed how we’re often impressed by people who appear to be fearless? The ones who fly to the moon. Chase tornadoes. Enter dangerous war zones. Skydive. Speak in front of thousands of people. Stand up to cancer. Raise money and adopt a child that isn’t their flesh and blood?
Why are we so inspired by them?
Because deep down, we are them.
We all share those characteristics. They’re divinely human.
Just like us.
Something subconsciously in us begins to glow when we see people overcome Fear. Their actions push us to find that divine piece (or is it peace?) within ourselves in order that we may also overcome Fear.
A majority of people in the world live with some kind of baggage. A shame. A weight. A burden. A question.
And Fear continues to tell us that we’re alone.
And that we can’t speak freely.
But Fear is wrong.
We are not alone.
Regardless of what shame, what question, what trepidation, what history, what anxiety, whatever you are carrying deep inside, you are not alone.
And you can speak freely.
-from Anne Jackson's Permission to Speak Freely-
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
One Bloody Night in the ER...
David was a shepherd boy. This David* was a young boy with a C-collar and a scalp lac secondary to a bathtub accident. Injury-wise, nothing critical really. I mean, there was no LOC, amnesia, AMS, neck pain, or fractures. The C-collar was cleared and we moved on to assess the situation with the lac. No biggie—2.5 cm, nothing a few staples couldn’t fix in a hot second. Socially, David’s story was quite similar to many of the other patients we serve at the county hospital—poor, living with grandma and several other children, young mom in and out of the home, no dad to speak of, sleeping on the floor of a one-bedroom apartment. I left to write my note and patiently wait to present him to my attending who would most likely say, “Okay. Staple him up and write his discharge.” Easy enough.
About 5 minutes into my note the nurse came over to say that my patient was bleeding pretty bad and that the grandmother was asking for me. I kept writing, knowing that it probably was nothing urgent as he was fine just minutes ago. Upon completing my note, I lackadaisically walked over and pulled back the curtain to find my patient sitting in a pool of his own blood. Four-letter words flooded my mind. Alerting my attending to the situation at hand, I was reprimanded for failing to hold pressure on the wound. Frustration washed over me. Seriously?! It was barely even bleeding 5 minutes ago, I swear. Just my luck.
Now the blood was pouring from his head. Knowing that we are unable to sew or staple actively bleeding wounds because a hematoma will form at the site, I firmly gasped David’s head to apply some pressure. He screamed bloody murder and fought me something fierce. He was too strong for me. There was no way. Blood was gushing from the wound and flying everywhere as he fought against me. I feared for the demise of my new white shoes. The nurse laid on him as I braced his head. Our 2 woman team had finally defeated our 5 year old muscle man, and I pressed down on the gusher as hard as I could showing it who really was boss. I prayed that David’s blood-curdling screams could maybe turn into some blood-clotting.
5 minutes past. Nothing. 10. Nothing. 20. Nothing. Half an hour and the booger was still oozing like there was no tomorrow.
Grandma was in the corner hysterical, chanting the name of Jesus as if she was going to coax a genie out of a bottle or something. The nurse had left to attend to other patients, and I was left to my own devices to keep young David pinned down on my own. He was still fighting me and it became a war of who would tire first. Covered in blood, sweat, and David’s tears I was wearing out, but determined to complete the relatively simple task given to me, hold pressure. Pinned under my weight, I held pressure with one hand and stroked his face, catching his tears with the other as he cried out for his mom who was nowhere to be found. Eventually, his screams turned to mild cries to mere whimpers as he drove himself to sheer exhaustion.
As time passed I was able to loosen my grip on David a bit, but his grip on my heart only tightened. As he began to relax I was able to hold his head and stroke his back giving him some of the affection and comfort that a young hurting boy so much needs. My mind wondered to what his life at home must be like and what it must be like for a young boy to live without a father in a pretty rough neighborhood. I began to pray that God would father him and raise him up to be an incredible man after His own heart that would break the cycle of brokenness and poverty in his family. I prayed that against all odds, despite all outlooks and circumstance, that the Lord would break through to him and rescue him. My spirit truly cried out for his young heart and life. An hour passed. Then two. And while the blood was still ‘a flowin’ I was sure that my spirit had prayed the kid into being the next Billy Graham or at least something to that effect.
I can’t help but think about the anointing of God on King David’s life. When he was anointed to be king he was only a young shepherd boy. In fact, he was originally overlooked because of his lowliness and age. But the Lord spoke rather clearly to the situation when he said, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature…. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart." In the end, God raised David up to be a mighty king and accomplish many great things. And not only that, God raised David up to be known as a man after His own heart.
In this blog, I will never use the real names of my patients and will often change identifying factors so as to guard their confidentiality (and protect my behind too for that matter :0). In this account, I changed the young boy’s name to David. Why? Because the Lord is going to father him and guide him and love him and rescue him and raise him up to be a mighty man of God that chases after the heart of the Lord. Why? Not because his life circumstances will point him to that end but simply because the God of all hope is able.
That bloody night in the EC, I learned a lot. I learned that scalp lacs bleed—a lot. I mean, you would have thought the child lost a limb or something. I learned that I am weaker than a 5 year old boy. I learned to sew a few stitches. But most of all, I learned to pray. I learned to catch a vision for all that could be and cry out to the Lord that it simply would be.
I will probably never see David again—that is until the Lord raises him up to be the next Billy Graham. Just playing. But really, the possibilities are endless. And God is able. More than able.
*Names and certain identifying facts are changed in this blog so as to respect the confidentiality of the patients whose stories are told.
About 5 minutes into my note the nurse came over to say that my patient was bleeding pretty bad and that the grandmother was asking for me. I kept writing, knowing that it probably was nothing urgent as he was fine just minutes ago. Upon completing my note, I lackadaisically walked over and pulled back the curtain to find my patient sitting in a pool of his own blood. Four-letter words flooded my mind. Alerting my attending to the situation at hand, I was reprimanded for failing to hold pressure on the wound. Frustration washed over me. Seriously?! It was barely even bleeding 5 minutes ago, I swear. Just my luck.
Now the blood was pouring from his head. Knowing that we are unable to sew or staple actively bleeding wounds because a hematoma will form at the site, I firmly gasped David’s head to apply some pressure. He screamed bloody murder and fought me something fierce. He was too strong for me. There was no way. Blood was gushing from the wound and flying everywhere as he fought against me. I feared for the demise of my new white shoes. The nurse laid on him as I braced his head. Our 2 woman team had finally defeated our 5 year old muscle man, and I pressed down on the gusher as hard as I could showing it who really was boss. I prayed that David’s blood-curdling screams could maybe turn into some blood-clotting.
5 minutes past. Nothing. 10. Nothing. 20. Nothing. Half an hour and the booger was still oozing like there was no tomorrow.
Grandma was in the corner hysterical, chanting the name of Jesus as if she was going to coax a genie out of a bottle or something. The nurse had left to attend to other patients, and I was left to my own devices to keep young David pinned down on my own. He was still fighting me and it became a war of who would tire first. Covered in blood, sweat, and David’s tears I was wearing out, but determined to complete the relatively simple task given to me, hold pressure. Pinned under my weight, I held pressure with one hand and stroked his face, catching his tears with the other as he cried out for his mom who was nowhere to be found. Eventually, his screams turned to mild cries to mere whimpers as he drove himself to sheer exhaustion.
As time passed I was able to loosen my grip on David a bit, but his grip on my heart only tightened. As he began to relax I was able to hold his head and stroke his back giving him some of the affection and comfort that a young hurting boy so much needs. My mind wondered to what his life at home must be like and what it must be like for a young boy to live without a father in a pretty rough neighborhood. I began to pray that God would father him and raise him up to be an incredible man after His own heart that would break the cycle of brokenness and poverty in his family. I prayed that against all odds, despite all outlooks and circumstance, that the Lord would break through to him and rescue him. My spirit truly cried out for his young heart and life. An hour passed. Then two. And while the blood was still ‘a flowin’ I was sure that my spirit had prayed the kid into being the next Billy Graham or at least something to that effect.
I can’t help but think about the anointing of God on King David’s life. When he was anointed to be king he was only a young shepherd boy. In fact, he was originally overlooked because of his lowliness and age. But the Lord spoke rather clearly to the situation when he said, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature…. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart." In the end, God raised David up to be a mighty king and accomplish many great things. And not only that, God raised David up to be known as a man after His own heart.
In this blog, I will never use the real names of my patients and will often change identifying factors so as to guard their confidentiality (and protect my behind too for that matter :0). In this account, I changed the young boy’s name to David. Why? Because the Lord is going to father him and guide him and love him and rescue him and raise him up to be a mighty man of God that chases after the heart of the Lord. Why? Not because his life circumstances will point him to that end but simply because the God of all hope is able.
That bloody night in the EC, I learned a lot. I learned that scalp lacs bleed—a lot. I mean, you would have thought the child lost a limb or something. I learned that I am weaker than a 5 year old boy. I learned to sew a few stitches. But most of all, I learned to pray. I learned to catch a vision for all that could be and cry out to the Lord that it simply would be.
I will probably never see David again—that is until the Lord raises him up to be the next Billy Graham. Just playing. But really, the possibilities are endless. And God is able. More than able.
*Names and certain identifying facts are changed in this blog so as to respect the confidentiality of the patients whose stories are told.
Jesus Wants the Rose!
I really love this video.
...we implore you on Christ’s behalf, be reconciled to God. For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.
-2 Corinthians 5:20b-21
For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly....but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us....More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.
-Romans 5:6,8,11
O I am ever thankful that the Lord would want me, the broken rose, breathing new life, restoring me.
What was said to the rose to make it unfold, was said to me here in my chest. So be quiet now and rest. Here is our King. Here is our Love. Here is our God who's come to bring us back to Him. He is the One. He is Jesus....
Thursday, July 02, 2009
The Most Glorious, Trying, Beautiful, Exhausting, Frustrating, Exciting Day Ever- AKA LBJ Day Uno
There is a code to the bathroom door. Who would have ever thought? I asked for it once. The second time I was embarrassed to have forgotten. Was is 2-5-6-1? 3-5-6-1? Or maybe 5-2-6-1? Crap. Can’t even seem to get the dad-gum bathroom code right today. I asked the nurse again and got that same O you poor, stupid med student, your life will never amount to much look I had been getting from every direction, so it seemed, for the majority of the morning. First it was the gauze I couldn’t find that happened to be in every room just under my nose, then the wrong speculum I picked from the closet, followed by a completely off-the-wall totally-wrong diagnosis and the shower of gloves I spilled in the exam room.
LBJ hospital is quite the place. It is exquisite. Truly. Maybe not my first thought walking in the door the first time, honestly, but really. The people are beautiful. I mean, some of them have about the IQ of a rock, but others really surprise you. Getting to serve them is a privilege. Whether talking to them is about as useful as talking to a barn or not, I love it. They are made in the imago dei and they are beautiful.
In true fashion, my first shift in the Pedi EC today was quite the experience. It was surely no different from any other day there, maybe even more calm than usual, who knows, but it made an impression on me already. It was the most glorious, difficult, trying, exciting, rewarding, fun, exhausting day ever.
There was one patient in particular that stands above all the rest, maybe because she was the only one all day I never had to fill out paperwork on or present to someone on the totem pole above me and inevitably feel like the dumbest person alive having overlooked some part of the exam (those of you in my shoes know exactly what I mean :0). I never knew her name—I probably never will. The sight of her precious face made my eyes well with tears, which I quickly choked back knowing that was not the professional, grown-up doctor-type thing to do, or something to that effect.
I knew excitement was coming when someone ran into the EC shouting stuff I could only partially understand. I had no idea what was up but I ran outside with the best of them. As I passed the gloves on the wall I thought I ought grab a pair but not wanting to break suit or be over-zealous I followed everyone else gloveless. I felt like I was in a scene from Grey’s Anatomy, if only for a moment—you know when they run out to the ambulance dock and something crazy, wild happens just as they cut to a commercial break? I just knew I would see Katherine Heigl out there talking to Denny or McDreamy glowing in the sunshine in all his hotness or something bizarre. Ha. Anyhow….
There was quite the crew of folks gathered around the vehicle parked just outside. I stood on my tippy toes to see what all the excitement was about and before I knew it a baby was handed out of the car. Someone called out the time. I noted it in my mind. 3:21. I have no idea why out of the 20 or so medical personnel types gathered around they thought I looked like the appropriate person to hand a fresh child to, but nonetheless, next thing I knew the baby was handed to me. I gladly accepted, gloveless and all. (Though my attending sure didn’t miss the opportunity to fuss me—dang, if only the thought counted!)
I heard her precious cries. She opened her eyes and I felt like she looked straight at me. Welcome to the world, sweet one.
The scene was chaos. Mom was in pain and still needed to deliver the placenta. No one could seem to find the appropriate wrist bands. But I was in my own world with a beautiful baby girl in my arms. O bliss.
I carried her around for what seemed like forever as things were sorted out. I thought of names for her and wondered at what she would be when she grew up. I thought of running as fast as I could and taking her home to be mine!—just kidding. Don’t tell anyone. They will never let me around small children again!
For all the moments I felt like a retard, unable to even open the bathroom door, dropping all my stuff on the floor during a pelvic exam, and answering even the simple questions 100% wrong, there were the moments of tickling cute little kids, having real-life talks with teenagers, and of course, delivering babies in the parking lot. Exhausted? Check. Fulfilled? Double check.
Bring it, day 2!
LBJ hospital is quite the place. It is exquisite. Truly. Maybe not my first thought walking in the door the first time, honestly, but really. The people are beautiful. I mean, some of them have about the IQ of a rock, but others really surprise you. Getting to serve them is a privilege. Whether talking to them is about as useful as talking to a barn or not, I love it. They are made in the imago dei and they are beautiful.
In true fashion, my first shift in the Pedi EC today was quite the experience. It was surely no different from any other day there, maybe even more calm than usual, who knows, but it made an impression on me already. It was the most glorious, difficult, trying, exciting, rewarding, fun, exhausting day ever.
There was one patient in particular that stands above all the rest, maybe because she was the only one all day I never had to fill out paperwork on or present to someone on the totem pole above me and inevitably feel like the dumbest person alive having overlooked some part of the exam (those of you in my shoes know exactly what I mean :0). I never knew her name—I probably never will. The sight of her precious face made my eyes well with tears, which I quickly choked back knowing that was not the professional, grown-up doctor-type thing to do, or something to that effect.
I knew excitement was coming when someone ran into the EC shouting stuff I could only partially understand. I had no idea what was up but I ran outside with the best of them. As I passed the gloves on the wall I thought I ought grab a pair but not wanting to break suit or be over-zealous I followed everyone else gloveless. I felt like I was in a scene from Grey’s Anatomy, if only for a moment—you know when they run out to the ambulance dock and something crazy, wild happens just as they cut to a commercial break? I just knew I would see Katherine Heigl out there talking to Denny or McDreamy glowing in the sunshine in all his hotness or something bizarre. Ha. Anyhow….
There was quite the crew of folks gathered around the vehicle parked just outside. I stood on my tippy toes to see what all the excitement was about and before I knew it a baby was handed out of the car. Someone called out the time. I noted it in my mind. 3:21. I have no idea why out of the 20 or so medical personnel types gathered around they thought I looked like the appropriate person to hand a fresh child to, but nonetheless, next thing I knew the baby was handed to me. I gladly accepted, gloveless and all. (Though my attending sure didn’t miss the opportunity to fuss me—dang, if only the thought counted!)
I heard her precious cries. She opened her eyes and I felt like she looked straight at me. Welcome to the world, sweet one.
The scene was chaos. Mom was in pain and still needed to deliver the placenta. No one could seem to find the appropriate wrist bands. But I was in my own world with a beautiful baby girl in my arms. O bliss.
I carried her around for what seemed like forever as things were sorted out. I thought of names for her and wondered at what she would be when she grew up. I thought of running as fast as I could and taking her home to be mine!—just kidding. Don’t tell anyone. They will never let me around small children again!
For all the moments I felt like a retard, unable to even open the bathroom door, dropping all my stuff on the floor during a pelvic exam, and answering even the simple questions 100% wrong, there were the moments of tickling cute little kids, having real-life talks with teenagers, and of course, delivering babies in the parking lot. Exhausted? Check. Fulfilled? Double check.
Bring it, day 2!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Coffee Shop Creeper
As the words came off of her green pen, I totally knew I was being an ultra creeper. I mean, poor woman was just trying to pull her thoughts together as she enjoyed some coffee, and here I was looking over her shoulder reading her deepest hurts. Only a tinted glass window and a matter of about a foot separated us. She had no idea I could see her every thought on that paper—and I had no idea I would be enough of a creeper to read them. Maybe it was the amount of bacteria I had studied that morning and the antibiotics I was getting mixed up in my mind, anything probably seemed exciting compared to that—even the private musings of a stranger, I guess.
What’s so strange about the whole thing is— 1) I don’t normally go to this coffee shop—it’s too dark, too loud, too crowded, and too overpriced on top of all that. 2) I normally don’t pay a bit of attention to anyone in the coffee shop when I study—the place could get robbed for all I knew and I would still be sorting out the antibiotics I can never seem to keep straight. 3) I don’t have a habit of stalking complete strangers—facebook stalking, definitely, strangers, now that is a little freaky-er.
So, she begins to write: She wishes she was somewhere else. She wishes for a friend, someone to talk to, even a stranger.
O-M-G! Maybe she does know I can see her every word! OMG! I am such a creeper. I try to divert my attention back to the fluoroquinolones. But my eyes keep wandering out the window, trying to decide if she knows I am watching, trying to see what she will write next. She pulls out a small book—a Bible. She begins to pray.
And then it dawns on me—maybe, just maybe, I am the answer to her prayer today. Being personally a little freaked out by my own creeper-ness, I hesitate, say a quick prayer, and head outside.
“Hey, I’m Janice.”
Tears filled her eyes.
About an hour went by of sharing the whole “what’s your name, where are you from, where did you go to college” business. But it was deeper than that too—turns out I was, indeed, the answer to her prayer this afternoon. I gave it my best shot to encourage her and prayed with her before she left. And I, in turn, made a new friend.
I mean, what were the chances of all of this, that I would be sitting at the point of exhaustion and boredom, and that my new friend Becca would just so happen to be sitting outside the window at just the perfect angle for me to catch her need for a listening ear. AND that I would be crazy and random enough to approach her.
Strange how God works, even through window coffee shop creepers sometimes, I guess. His love for us truly is deeper, wider, and higher than we could ever imagine.
What’s so strange about the whole thing is— 1) I don’t normally go to this coffee shop—it’s too dark, too loud, too crowded, and too overpriced on top of all that. 2) I normally don’t pay a bit of attention to anyone in the coffee shop when I study—the place could get robbed for all I knew and I would still be sorting out the antibiotics I can never seem to keep straight. 3) I don’t have a habit of stalking complete strangers—facebook stalking, definitely, strangers, now that is a little freaky-er.
So, she begins to write: She wishes she was somewhere else. She wishes for a friend, someone to talk to, even a stranger.
O-M-G! Maybe she does know I can see her every word! OMG! I am such a creeper. I try to divert my attention back to the fluoroquinolones. But my eyes keep wandering out the window, trying to decide if she knows I am watching, trying to see what she will write next. She pulls out a small book—a Bible. She begins to pray.
And then it dawns on me—maybe, just maybe, I am the answer to her prayer today. Being personally a little freaked out by my own creeper-ness, I hesitate, say a quick prayer, and head outside.
“Hey, I’m Janice.”
Tears filled her eyes.
About an hour went by of sharing the whole “what’s your name, where are you from, where did you go to college” business. But it was deeper than that too—turns out I was, indeed, the answer to her prayer this afternoon. I gave it my best shot to encourage her and prayed with her before she left. And I, in turn, made a new friend.
I mean, what were the chances of all of this, that I would be sitting at the point of exhaustion and boredom, and that my new friend Becca would just so happen to be sitting outside the window at just the perfect angle for me to catch her need for a listening ear. AND that I would be crazy and random enough to approach her.
Strange how God works, even through window coffee shop creepers sometimes, I guess. His love for us truly is deeper, wider, and higher than we could ever imagine.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Let Us...
Let me just first say-- Summer is here in Houston and it is HOT!
Today my friend Joy and I were running around Rice when, about a mile in, I totally ate it. Despite my best efforts to catch myself, I hit the ground and I hit hard. (Wish there was a video for some of you compassionate types who find great joy in witnessing such events.) I wanted to cry, so, naturally, I began laughing. I collected myself, dusted off, and we were back at it in less than 30 seconds. I was hurting. I was sore from a week of pushing myself to begin with, my hands still had rocks in them, and my leg was throbbing. Not to mention--it was well over 90 and I was HOT. I had every reason to stop. And with each step I thought--at least now I have a good excuse! But we pressed on. We were a little sluggish, but we ran til the end and finished strong.
As we picked up the pace the last quarter of a mile or so, I realized that I would have never made it without Joy by my side. I would have fallen, cried, wallowed in self-pity, turned around, and walked with a limp back to my car. I am a wimp--me and pain are NOT friends in the least bit. But Joy encouraged me to keep going and finish hard and strong. And for that I was incredibly grateful--we rounded that last corner with a sprint and it felt great. As I surveyed the damage, a little extra pride bubbled up in my heart knowing that we endured the heat, the fatigue, and the fall.
I can't help but think of this afternoon as a summary of how this past semester has been for me. Community has always been a beautiful word to me, but I don't know that I have ever lived in community the way I have this past semester. The Lord has truly provided immeasureably more than all I could have asked or even imagined. And we have run the race together. We have fought through the valleys of life together. We have fallen and helped each other up. We have prayed. We have cried. We have nearly peed ourselves in laughter. We have shared meals and life stories and burdens and moments of great victory and joy. We have endured. We have confessed our sin and shame and have loved unconditionally. We have seen God move us and change us. Gosh, incredible would be such a small word to describe what God has so graciously done in us. I am so blessed to have friends who have loved me so deeply, fought in prayer on my behalf, encouraged me to press on through hardship, and rejoiced with me in times of great joy. I know that without them I would have quit long ago--I would have thrown in my towel and said that med school and life in general are just plain too hard. But they have been so faithful to love and to encourage even in my ugliest of moments. And, best yet, they have rejoiced with me in moments of victory.
I thank the Lord constantly for each of you and the way you love the Lord in such beautiful and different ways, the way each of you paint such a glorious picture of who God is and how truly deep, wide, and high His love is for us. Thank you for feeding me, for being my study buddies, for running and sweating with me, for encouraging, for praying, for loving unconditionally.
I love the exhortation of the author of Hebrews, "Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir one another to love and good works, not neglecting meeting together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near."
If I have learned nothing else this semester (and, God, I sure hope I learned a few other things too!), I have learned that the Christian life is meant to be lived together. I love how we are encouraged to let US draw near and let US hold fast and let US consider... We need each other. We need to point each other to Christ. We need to hold fast together. To meet. To pray. To encourage. To draw hope from the source of all life and joy. And we need Jesus--we need Him so desperately to be our way, truth, and life and enable us to be the voice of such hope to those around us.
SO, thank you SO much sweet friends. Words are not enough to describe the way you have revived my spirit and enabled me to run the race with endurance. Thank you for the many, many ways you love unconditionally and encourage so faithfully. It is indeed a pleasure to run side by side with each of you.
May the Lord bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you and be gracious and give you peace. And may there be many, many more miles of sweet fellowship and freedom in Christ.
Today my friend Joy and I were running around Rice when, about a mile in, I totally ate it. Despite my best efforts to catch myself, I hit the ground and I hit hard. (Wish there was a video for some of you compassionate types who find great joy in witnessing such events.) I wanted to cry, so, naturally, I began laughing. I collected myself, dusted off, and we were back at it in less than 30 seconds. I was hurting. I was sore from a week of pushing myself to begin with, my hands still had rocks in them, and my leg was throbbing. Not to mention--it was well over 90 and I was HOT. I had every reason to stop. And with each step I thought--at least now I have a good excuse! But we pressed on. We were a little sluggish, but we ran til the end and finished strong.
As we picked up the pace the last quarter of a mile or so, I realized that I would have never made it without Joy by my side. I would have fallen, cried, wallowed in self-pity, turned around, and walked with a limp back to my car. I am a wimp--me and pain are NOT friends in the least bit. But Joy encouraged me to keep going and finish hard and strong. And for that I was incredibly grateful--we rounded that last corner with a sprint and it felt great. As I surveyed the damage, a little extra pride bubbled up in my heart knowing that we endured the heat, the fatigue, and the fall.
I can't help but think of this afternoon as a summary of how this past semester has been for me. Community has always been a beautiful word to me, but I don't know that I have ever lived in community the way I have this past semester. The Lord has truly provided immeasureably more than all I could have asked or even imagined. And we have run the race together. We have fought through the valleys of life together. We have fallen and helped each other up. We have prayed. We have cried. We have nearly peed ourselves in laughter. We have shared meals and life stories and burdens and moments of great victory and joy. We have endured. We have confessed our sin and shame and have loved unconditionally. We have seen God move us and change us. Gosh, incredible would be such a small word to describe what God has so graciously done in us. I am so blessed to have friends who have loved me so deeply, fought in prayer on my behalf, encouraged me to press on through hardship, and rejoiced with me in times of great joy. I know that without them I would have quit long ago--I would have thrown in my towel and said that med school and life in general are just plain too hard. But they have been so faithful to love and to encourage even in my ugliest of moments. And, best yet, they have rejoiced with me in moments of victory.
I thank the Lord constantly for each of you and the way you love the Lord in such beautiful and different ways, the way each of you paint such a glorious picture of who God is and how truly deep, wide, and high His love is for us. Thank you for feeding me, for being my study buddies, for running and sweating with me, for encouraging, for praying, for loving unconditionally.
I love the exhortation of the author of Hebrews, "Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir one another to love and good works, not neglecting meeting together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near."
If I have learned nothing else this semester (and, God, I sure hope I learned a few other things too!), I have learned that the Christian life is meant to be lived together. I love how we are encouraged to let US draw near and let US hold fast and let US consider... We need each other. We need to point each other to Christ. We need to hold fast together. To meet. To pray. To encourage. To draw hope from the source of all life and joy. And we need Jesus--we need Him so desperately to be our way, truth, and life and enable us to be the voice of such hope to those around us.
SO, thank you SO much sweet friends. Words are not enough to describe the way you have revived my spirit and enabled me to run the race with endurance. Thank you for the many, many ways you love unconditionally and encourage so faithfully. It is indeed a pleasure to run side by side with each of you.
May the Lord bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you and be gracious and give you peace. And may there be many, many more miles of sweet fellowship and freedom in Christ.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Bless the Lord, O My Soul
Bless the LORD, O my soul,
and all that is within me,
bless his holy name!
Bless the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
~King David, Psalm 103:1-5
Beautiful, beautiful words. These words have been like cold water to my thirsty heart recently. May they bless you today as much as they have blessed me this weekend and may you truly be forgiven, healed, redeemed, crowned, satisfied, and renewed. And may we in turn bless the Lord with all that is within us--
Peace,
J
Thursday, April 30, 2009
A Few Thoughts on H1N1, Swine-Origin Influenza A
The alarms have sounded and the world is on alert as everyone watches and waits for something that has been described as “inevitable” and “uncontrollable” by some in authority. While the government responses are not completely unwarranted, they should be seen as preventative and nothing more for now. In my personal opinion, declaring a “national emergency” is a little premature and only serves to scare people into the ED and further enable the spread of disease. Maybe it is all semantics though, as declaring such things allows for the distribution of resources for prevention and early intervention, both very necessary responses at this point.
Be reminded that non-swine origin influenza is VERY common and kills 35,000 people in the US each year. SO what we have seen so far is simply a scratch on the surface. What is of particular concern with influenza of swine origin is its ability to mutate rapidly. However, this is not an uncommon phenomenon with the typical strains of influenza—hence the far less than 100% effectiveness of the vaccine each year.
Many of you have asked my opinion/forecast on this issue. I honestly don’t know that I really have one. Ha. :0) The truth is that no one really knows what is up. It could be a complete wash or a complete disaster, and really, only time will tell. So I guess my only opinion is that no one should be freaking out at this point. Use your common sense and such. And when you get a little worried just grab a slice of bacon or a good pork chop and feel like a conqueror.
This is going to be your most reliable source of information-- http://www.cdc.gov/swineflu/?s_cid=swineFlu_outbreak_001.
And here is something to pass along to your friends who are coming down with something-- http://doihavepigflu.com/.
Be reminded that non-swine origin influenza is VERY common and kills 35,000 people in the US each year. SO what we have seen so far is simply a scratch on the surface. What is of particular concern with influenza of swine origin is its ability to mutate rapidly. However, this is not an uncommon phenomenon with the typical strains of influenza—hence the far less than 100% effectiveness of the vaccine each year.
Many of you have asked my opinion/forecast on this issue. I honestly don’t know that I really have one. Ha. :0) The truth is that no one really knows what is up. It could be a complete wash or a complete disaster, and really, only time will tell. So I guess my only opinion is that no one should be freaking out at this point. Use your common sense and such. And when you get a little worried just grab a slice of bacon or a good pork chop and feel like a conqueror.
This is going to be your most reliable source of information-- http://www.cdc.gov/swineflu/?s_cid=swineFlu_outbreak_001.
And here is something to pass along to your friends who are coming down with something-- http://doihavepigflu.com/.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
A Beautifully Simple Reminder
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?... NO, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death not life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present not things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
-Romans 8:35,37-39-
Never forget it, friends.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
January 20, 2009
What a monumental day in history, what a great day for our country! There is an air of excitement, of anticipation, of hope permeating the nation today. While my day was quite busy jumping from one activity to the next—as I entered the bank several women in their dress suits were everything but standing on their heads attempting to position an antenna just perfectly, as I entered the Learning Resource Center at the med school students were gathered hanging on every word coming from a computer, as I entered the lecture hall my peers were gathered around laptops eagerly awaiting a pivotal moment in history, as I entered a young patient’s room the television was displaying the precious moments.
With so much fanfare, I cannot help but be glad to be an American today. Typically, I am a cynic, and I have been since the rise of Obama began. And while I am still a bit apprehensive, I know that great things are ahead. Obama is not the Messiah, and neither has he claimed to be. But he is a man of great passion, a man capable of motivating and uniting many behind a common cause. And that is a beautiful thing. Today he issued quite the call to our nation to get up, dust off, and work. He reminded us of those who have gone before us sacrificing much so we might live in freedom. He challenged us to set aside childish ways, reminding us that greatness is never a given but rather something that must be earned.
As our nation comes down from the inaugural mountaintop, I pray we will never forget this day. I pray we will learn to live self-less lives and work toward greatness. Today is a beautiful portrait of redemption, of the capacity for change—from a nation of slavery to a young, black man as our fearless leader. What an amazing story, a phenomenal journey. And, yes, indeed, it is a story of hope. While Barack’s story is a glorious picture of hope, President Obama is not our nation’s hope. For everlasting hope springs only from one source. And may our hearts be ever directed toward that source, Jesus Christ, the Hope of the Nations, the Prince of Peace.
May God strengthen President Obama and give him the wisdom to lead a nation amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. So help Him, O God.
With so much fanfare, I cannot help but be glad to be an American today. Typically, I am a cynic, and I have been since the rise of Obama began. And while I am still a bit apprehensive, I know that great things are ahead. Obama is not the Messiah, and neither has he claimed to be. But he is a man of great passion, a man capable of motivating and uniting many behind a common cause. And that is a beautiful thing. Today he issued quite the call to our nation to get up, dust off, and work. He reminded us of those who have gone before us sacrificing much so we might live in freedom. He challenged us to set aside childish ways, reminding us that greatness is never a given but rather something that must be earned.
As our nation comes down from the inaugural mountaintop, I pray we will never forget this day. I pray we will learn to live self-less lives and work toward greatness. Today is a beautiful portrait of redemption, of the capacity for change—from a nation of slavery to a young, black man as our fearless leader. What an amazing story, a phenomenal journey. And, yes, indeed, it is a story of hope. While Barack’s story is a glorious picture of hope, President Obama is not our nation’s hope. For everlasting hope springs only from one source. And may our hearts be ever directed toward that source, Jesus Christ, the Hope of the Nations, the Prince of Peace.
May God strengthen President Obama and give him the wisdom to lead a nation amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. So help Him, O God.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Mountains Moved
Wow. Another semester has already come and gone. Guess it’s true that the time flies when you’re having fun! Or something like that… :0)
I am truly amazed at what the Lord has done in my life in the past several months. I am immeasurably blessed. This semester—a hurricane swept us off of our feet for a few days, America elected its first ever black president, my grandmother had a stroke, it snowed in Houston in December, and, well, a lot of other boring, personal landmarks that I won’t tire you with. So much of it seems so mundane, so normal, but at a closer glance it is far from ordinary.
One morning early in the semester I found myself running on the treadmill watching the sun rise. I was jamming out to the newer Chris Tomlin CD, and I sensed the Lord saying to me, “Better things are yet to come, better things are still to be done….” I sensed Him so clearly saying that though my own fears and failures seemed like mountains, He is in the business of mountain-moving. All things are possible. I knew He was up to something.
God has not in the least bit failed me on His better things promise. He has done immeasurably more than all I could have asked or even imagined. I would like to say that it has been the beautiful way I would have imagined it—you know, beautiful like the sunrise that morning. God would move some of the mountains of fears and failures in my life and others He blew up with dynamite or ripped out of my hands piece by piece. Yeah, that wasn’t a beautiful thing. Painful, unbearably painful at times. But His promise still rang through—BETTER things. I clung so long and hard to what I saw as good, and God said, “No ma’am. No more. Better.”
I love how King David put it, “Where can I go from Your presence? If I go up to the Heavens You are there. If I make my bed in the depths You are there. Even if I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me fast.”
I sure can relate. I have lived on the mountain-top with God at times. I have been that “good ‘lil Christian girl” and, well, I have been the converse as well. I have made my bed in the depths. But not for one second has God forsaken me. Not for one second has He said, “Okay, I am done with you, fool.” He has taken me with His right hand as said, “My beloved, you are mine.”
And that, my friend, is the story of redemption—of mountains moved.
Praise God for all He’s done and all He’s yet to do.
I am truly amazed at what the Lord has done in my life in the past several months. I am immeasurably blessed. This semester—a hurricane swept us off of our feet for a few days, America elected its first ever black president, my grandmother had a stroke, it snowed in Houston in December, and, well, a lot of other boring, personal landmarks that I won’t tire you with. So much of it seems so mundane, so normal, but at a closer glance it is far from ordinary.
One morning early in the semester I found myself running on the treadmill watching the sun rise. I was jamming out to the newer Chris Tomlin CD, and I sensed the Lord saying to me, “Better things are yet to come, better things are still to be done….” I sensed Him so clearly saying that though my own fears and failures seemed like mountains, He is in the business of mountain-moving. All things are possible. I knew He was up to something.
God has not in the least bit failed me on His better things promise. He has done immeasurably more than all I could have asked or even imagined. I would like to say that it has been the beautiful way I would have imagined it—you know, beautiful like the sunrise that morning. God would move some of the mountains of fears and failures in my life and others He blew up with dynamite or ripped out of my hands piece by piece. Yeah, that wasn’t a beautiful thing. Painful, unbearably painful at times. But His promise still rang through—BETTER things. I clung so long and hard to what I saw as good, and God said, “No ma’am. No more. Better.”
I love how King David put it, “Where can I go from Your presence? If I go up to the Heavens You are there. If I make my bed in the depths You are there. Even if I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me fast.”
I sure can relate. I have lived on the mountain-top with God at times. I have been that “good ‘lil Christian girl” and, well, I have been the converse as well. I have made my bed in the depths. But not for one second has God forsaken me. Not for one second has He said, “Okay, I am done with you, fool.” He has taken me with His right hand as said, “My beloved, you are mine.”
And that, my friend, is the story of redemption—of mountains moved.
Praise God for all He’s done and all He’s yet to do.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Hillbilly Joe Wins Shoplifter Catcher Hero Award
I love the evergreen scent that stands as a greeter upon entrance to the grocery store. I love the twinkling lights that litter the neighbors’ yards and homes. I love the festive songs and melodies of which most everyone knows the ever so familiar words. I love the home-cooked meals—sitting long and talking much. I love the gatherings and the spirit of giving and togetherness. I love the vacation to rest and to spend with family and old friends.
This is Christmas to me—the celebration of the Hope of the nations, the Light of the world. My Savior, my King, and yet my closest Friend. And what a better way to celebrate than to celebrate life itself? Enjoying those I love and savoring the sweet moments in this life.
Today during an excursion to Wal-Mart I witnessed one customer escorting another customer back into the store in a pair of hand-cuffs with a store manager trailing behind pushing a buggy of expensive goodies. Now, I am not quite sure who carries a set of hand-cuffs in tow to grab some groceries at the store, but this typical Hillbilly Joe in his worn jeans and camo hat appears to have been in just the right place at the right time to win the Shoplifter Catcher Hero of the Day Award. As I watched the rather interesting scene unfold, I thought back to just hours before as I had read of a crowd trampling a Wal-Mart employee to his death in New York.
I cannot fathom, even in my wildest of dreams, what could be of such great value for which a man’s life would be taken in such vanity and absurdity—especially something within the four walls of Wal-Mart. I mean, seriously now, folks?! What in Wal-Mart could a mob possibly want THAT bad?!
I just don’t get it. This constant rat race for more, more, more. When will enough be enough? Do we really need another iPhone, video game, television, GPS, Blackberry, camera, _(fill in the blank with some other fancy electronic device)_. Yes, the technology out there these days is fascinating, and while none of it is bad in and of itself—it is becoming our ruin. Apparently, Americans are willing to trample each other for the latest and greatest gadgets and widgets. Why is the evergreen scent at the grocery store entrance and the smell of a freshly baked apple pie not enough anymore? Why do we spend so little time with the ones we love and so much time with our gadgets and widgets?
I pray this Christmas our yearning would be to sit long and talk much—that we would treasure the ones we love and we would celebrate Jesus, our Life and Joy. The tinsel and lights are nice, but they are mostly just cheap Made In China crap.
So, all that to say—Enjoy the festivities, give great gifts, drink a little extra eggnog (ya know that good kind :0), sing the familiar songs with pride, but by all means don’t trample your neighbors. And have a very Merry Christmas! :0)
This is Christmas to me—the celebration of the Hope of the nations, the Light of the world. My Savior, my King, and yet my closest Friend. And what a better way to celebrate than to celebrate life itself? Enjoying those I love and savoring the sweet moments in this life.
Today during an excursion to Wal-Mart I witnessed one customer escorting another customer back into the store in a pair of hand-cuffs with a store manager trailing behind pushing a buggy of expensive goodies. Now, I am not quite sure who carries a set of hand-cuffs in tow to grab some groceries at the store, but this typical Hillbilly Joe in his worn jeans and camo hat appears to have been in just the right place at the right time to win the Shoplifter Catcher Hero of the Day Award. As I watched the rather interesting scene unfold, I thought back to just hours before as I had read of a crowd trampling a Wal-Mart employee to his death in New York.
I cannot fathom, even in my wildest of dreams, what could be of such great value for which a man’s life would be taken in such vanity and absurdity—especially something within the four walls of Wal-Mart. I mean, seriously now, folks?! What in Wal-Mart could a mob possibly want THAT bad?!
I just don’t get it. This constant rat race for more, more, more. When will enough be enough? Do we really need another iPhone, video game, television, GPS, Blackberry, camera, _(fill in the blank with some other fancy electronic device)_. Yes, the technology out there these days is fascinating, and while none of it is bad in and of itself—it is becoming our ruin. Apparently, Americans are willing to trample each other for the latest and greatest gadgets and widgets. Why is the evergreen scent at the grocery store entrance and the smell of a freshly baked apple pie not enough anymore? Why do we spend so little time with the ones we love and so much time with our gadgets and widgets?
I pray this Christmas our yearning would be to sit long and talk much—that we would treasure the ones we love and we would celebrate Jesus, our Life and Joy. The tinsel and lights are nice, but they are mostly just cheap Made In China crap.
So, all that to say—Enjoy the festivities, give great gifts, drink a little extra eggnog (ya know that good kind :0), sing the familiar songs with pride, but by all means don’t trample your neighbors. And have a very Merry Christmas! :0)
Monday, September 15, 2008
Where Your Treasure Is...
Late Wednesday evening I scurried rather franticly to gather every trinket and treasure I considered of irreplaceable value from my apartment. I had just arrived home from a nice dinner hosted by the Harris County Academy of Family Physicians and was ready to settle down for the night with thoughts of healthcare problems and solutions floating freely in my mind. I flipped on the television to quickly check on the status of the storm lingering in the gulf only to find that I was set to be a direct target. Mandatory evacuations for Galveston island and some surrounding areas were to begin promptly in the morning. A quick run-through of things such as the flooding the med center can receive from a small storm and the age of the building in which I live, not to mention the traffic that was sure to ensue in the morning prompted me to begin thinking about leaving. It was late, but I knew it was the best option to pack my belongings and head to my parents’ house just a little north. While they were predicted to be hit rather hard by the storm as well, it would surely be better to be together.
Thursday relatives from the bay area began to flood our home with their dogs and hamsters. Dogs were fighting and hamsters were squealing. Emotions were high as we watched the storm swirl into their homes on the gulf. The storm came and went in all its terror, and while I could give quite the long narrative about that terror, I will spare you.
In all of this I have learned a few things. I think hurricanes tend to truly unveil one’s character or lack-there-of. As I gathered my trinket and treasure pile Wednesday evening I was somewhat overwhelmed by my own pettiness. Just a few days prior I had read Jesus’ words to His disciples,
Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
I pray that I would find my treasure where moth and rust do not destroy and thieves cannot break in and steal. I pray that my heart would rest in Christ more than earthen treasures—that I would truly learn to value the things He values. O God, change our hearts that we would find our hope, our life, our everything in You.
Today I also have a long list of things for which I am grateful:
· Life
· My family
· Faithful friends
· A cool breeze
· Sunrise
· A roof over my head
· A comfy bed
· Food
· Running water
· Air conditioning
· Internet
· Electricity
· Refrigeration
· Clean, dry clothes
· Phone service
· A few more days without school
· Those willing to work around the clock to bring life back to normal as quickly as possible
· A government able to provide needed aid within a matter of a few hours after a disaster
· A God who is faithful even in my pettiness and selfishness
· Much, much, more
Thursday relatives from the bay area began to flood our home with their dogs and hamsters. Dogs were fighting and hamsters were squealing. Emotions were high as we watched the storm swirl into their homes on the gulf. The storm came and went in all its terror, and while I could give quite the long narrative about that terror, I will spare you.
In all of this I have learned a few things. I think hurricanes tend to truly unveil one’s character or lack-there-of. As I gathered my trinket and treasure pile Wednesday evening I was somewhat overwhelmed by my own pettiness. Just a few days prior I had read Jesus’ words to His disciples,
Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
I pray that I would find my treasure where moth and rust do not destroy and thieves cannot break in and steal. I pray that my heart would rest in Christ more than earthen treasures—that I would truly learn to value the things He values. O God, change our hearts that we would find our hope, our life, our everything in You.
Today I also have a long list of things for which I am grateful:
· Life
· My family
· Faithful friends
· A cool breeze
· Sunrise
· A roof over my head
· A comfy bed
· Food
· Running water
· Air conditioning
· Internet
· Electricity
· Refrigeration
· Clean, dry clothes
· Phone service
· A few more days without school
· Those willing to work around the clock to bring life back to normal as quickly as possible
· A government able to provide needed aid within a matter of a few hours after a disaster
· A God who is faithful even in my pettiness and selfishness
· Much, much, more
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Bacon & Syrup
As Kylie was directed to her room in the Four Seasons Retreat Center, she discovered her room was named January. She stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to enter. “My dad was murdered in January. I can’t go in there.”
Hope would not eat lunch today. The memories of what would truly be the best week of her young life flooded her mind along with the horrors of what lies ahead. It was too much for her 8 year-old mind to process—too much for my 23 year-old mind to comprehend.
It was a party fit for a king as we celebrated everyone’s birthday on Wednesday. There were horses and carnival games and even presents for everyone. To top in all off, a cake with the face of every child neatly created to look unmistakably like them. Each one lit up all they discovered their personal look-alike atop the masterpiece. And to think—many have never had their birth celebrated.
The girls loaded on the trailer for their hayride and I caught them just in time to come along. As we rolled slowly through the fields and meadows, they were mesmerized by everything. Songs of hope and freedom poured from their young hearts, and my heart was filled to overflowing.
Zechariah wrote a prayer more honest and insightful than most church people will ever pray. His words were simple, but the implications were clear—he knows he desperately needs Jesus to forgive him for his sins and to be near to him. And on top of all that, he wants help getting his mom back.
It was everything I could do to get my feet on the floor at 6:45 am each day this week. The 15 hour work days were taking a toll on me, and I could envision all the pots and pans awaiting me in the kitchen along with the unwanted bacon and syrup smell that would permeate my clothes all day. As I drug myself out of bed and into the retreat center, Laura grinned ear to ear and ran for me with the sweetest embrace. As I struggled to hold my eyes open will serving breakfast, a 7 year-old delight named Ruby bashfully said, “You’re pretty” and scurried off.
These are only snippets, at best, from my week, a week of working in the kitchen for a unique camp. I have seen countless campers come through Camp Tejas, where I have been working off and on since 2003, but never before have I served a group quite like this one. You see, each and every camper was a foster child. Yes, I was aware of this as I awoke Monday morning. But as the children poured off the bus that afternoon, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of what their young eyes had seen and what their young hearts had experienced already.
As the bus pulled away this afternoon, six of us stood uniformly in a straight line in our purple shirts, waving, with tears streaming down our faces. Those kids changed us. Those kids ripped our hearts out. And I am not sure we will ever be the same again.
None of us could have ever imagined that hopeless and fatherless Kylie would give her life to God the Father on a bunk bed in January—her sadness would be turned to joy. The month of horrors would soon become the month of her redemption. None of us could have ever imagined that children from such unspeakable circumstances would sing God’s praises at the top of their lungs. We never expected to see eyes full of such sorrow leave full of hope and life.
And we could not have dreamed that their young lives would impact us so deeply.
And to think of the incredible blessing I received by spending my week asking if they would like one or two pancakes and if they wanted gravy on top or on the side.
This is indeed something worth giving my life for—even if I end the day smelling like bacon and syrup.
All names have been changed to protect the identity of the children.
Hope would not eat lunch today. The memories of what would truly be the best week of her young life flooded her mind along with the horrors of what lies ahead. It was too much for her 8 year-old mind to process—too much for my 23 year-old mind to comprehend.
It was a party fit for a king as we celebrated everyone’s birthday on Wednesday. There were horses and carnival games and even presents for everyone. To top in all off, a cake with the face of every child neatly created to look unmistakably like them. Each one lit up all they discovered their personal look-alike atop the masterpiece. And to think—many have never had their birth celebrated.
The girls loaded on the trailer for their hayride and I caught them just in time to come along. As we rolled slowly through the fields and meadows, they were mesmerized by everything. Songs of hope and freedom poured from their young hearts, and my heart was filled to overflowing.
Zechariah wrote a prayer more honest and insightful than most church people will ever pray. His words were simple, but the implications were clear—he knows he desperately needs Jesus to forgive him for his sins and to be near to him. And on top of all that, he wants help getting his mom back.
It was everything I could do to get my feet on the floor at 6:45 am each day this week. The 15 hour work days were taking a toll on me, and I could envision all the pots and pans awaiting me in the kitchen along with the unwanted bacon and syrup smell that would permeate my clothes all day. As I drug myself out of bed and into the retreat center, Laura grinned ear to ear and ran for me with the sweetest embrace. As I struggled to hold my eyes open will serving breakfast, a 7 year-old delight named Ruby bashfully said, “You’re pretty” and scurried off.
These are only snippets, at best, from my week, a week of working in the kitchen for a unique camp. I have seen countless campers come through Camp Tejas, where I have been working off and on since 2003, but never before have I served a group quite like this one. You see, each and every camper was a foster child. Yes, I was aware of this as I awoke Monday morning. But as the children poured off the bus that afternoon, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of what their young eyes had seen and what their young hearts had experienced already.
As the bus pulled away this afternoon, six of us stood uniformly in a straight line in our purple shirts, waving, with tears streaming down our faces. Those kids changed us. Those kids ripped our hearts out. And I am not sure we will ever be the same again.
None of us could have ever imagined that hopeless and fatherless Kylie would give her life to God the Father on a bunk bed in January—her sadness would be turned to joy. The month of horrors would soon become the month of her redemption. None of us could have ever imagined that children from such unspeakable circumstances would sing God’s praises at the top of their lungs. We never expected to see eyes full of such sorrow leave full of hope and life.
And we could not have dreamed that their young lives would impact us so deeply.
And to think of the incredible blessing I received by spending my week asking if they would like one or two pancakes and if they wanted gravy on top or on the side.
This is indeed something worth giving my life for—even if I end the day smelling like bacon and syrup.
All names have been changed to protect the identity of the children.
Friday, June 20, 2008
When I Grow Up....
My hopes were high as I walked into Hospital Policlinico Monday morning. I had yet to see a pregnant woman in this country much less one in labor. However, rumor is there are an average of 12 births every day at Policlinico. I put on my freshly ironed scrubs and braced myself for a morning sure to be full of babies! After meeting Dr. Rojas I was ushered into a classroom, standing room only, with doctors, residents, and med students. If there is anything we have learned in our time in the hospitals here it is that the classroom is never good. After 2 hours of a pre-eclampsia lecture in Spanish I was, needless to say, disappointed.
Tuesday I arrived bound and determined to find labor and delivery and deliver some babies! I succeeded in the former but miserably failed in the latter. After several hours in L&D and not a single woman in labor, I decided to head home.
Being the stubborn woman that I am, Wednesday morning I decided I wouldn´t give up. Third time is a charm, I figured. I hesitantly suited up and headed into L&D. In the dressing room I kept hearing the word pre-eclampsia but could not quite put everything together. I stepped across the sterile threshold in my surgical garb--no one. Again, not a single woman in labor.
Sitting in the break room watching Scooby Doo in Spanish, I noticed the phone sure was ringing a lot more than normal and everyone was beginning to stir. Trying not to get too excited, I knew something exciting was about to happen.
In rolls a pregnant woman! However, I was a little confused because she did not appear to be in labor, nor did she appear to be full-term. The OR was being prepped so I knew a C-section was in order. Tears rolled down the woman´s face. The phrases "26 weeks" and "pre-eclampsia" were being thrown around. And I knew ever too clearly exactly what was about to happen. Doctors and nurses alike gathered around in an effort to provide a combination of comfort and reality. They were deeply concerned. As the first incision was made I thought--I want to be an OB/GYN. I want care for women at their most vulnerable and exciting times in life.
Before I knew it a baby boy no larger than my hand was taken from his safe, secure home nearly 14 weeks before his time. Like a little girl observing the work of her father, I watched every move of the neonatologist carefully. I was completely enamored by this little 26 weeker. At only 600 grams, he was perfect in every way. Ten tiny fingers grasping for comfort. Ten tiny toes kicking in the air. I pressed my stethoscope against his chest and heard his tiny heart beating and his lungs working so hard for some air. And his cry--at his cry everyone went still and tears filled my eyes. Standing by his side I thought--I want to be a neonatologist. I want to help the little ones fight for life.
Thursday I found myself at the side of Steven, an 8 month old with a cleft lip. With just a quick glance at his cute little face your heart broke. I was amazed at the simplicity and yet delicacy of the repair surgery. Upon completion, Steven looked much like any other 8 month old with only a small scar in the place of his cleft. I rocked him and held him close as he whimpered during recovery. I couldn´t help but think how many children around the world I have seen with cleft lips and what a difference such a simple surgery would make in their lives. By the end of the morning I thought--I want to be a pediatric surgeon.
Needless to say, I have found the opportunities in medicine to be endless. In part, that ignites fear in me. In part, it kindles such excitement. I fear that I will never be able to choose which path to take! However, I know that no matter where I find myself, I will be doing the very thing for which I long--making a difference in others´ lives.
In Greek there are two words for life--bios and zoe. Bios is the root of biology meaning the type of life that lives and breathes. Zoe is far less superficial, a quality of life and not just life itself, a life full of hope and joy. What a joy to bring not just bios life but zoe life also into the lives of others! I pray that God would truly use my hands to be an instrument of healing and hope, an instrument of life. Not just living, breathing life, but life abundant.
What a privilege we have to know Him and serve Him. May we never take it for granted a single day. May we walk in the joy that says, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you" (Psalm 16:2).
Tuesday I arrived bound and determined to find labor and delivery and deliver some babies! I succeeded in the former but miserably failed in the latter. After several hours in L&D and not a single woman in labor, I decided to head home.
Being the stubborn woman that I am, Wednesday morning I decided I wouldn´t give up. Third time is a charm, I figured. I hesitantly suited up and headed into L&D. In the dressing room I kept hearing the word pre-eclampsia but could not quite put everything together. I stepped across the sterile threshold in my surgical garb--no one. Again, not a single woman in labor.
Sitting in the break room watching Scooby Doo in Spanish, I noticed the phone sure was ringing a lot more than normal and everyone was beginning to stir. Trying not to get too excited, I knew something exciting was about to happen.
In rolls a pregnant woman! However, I was a little confused because she did not appear to be in labor, nor did she appear to be full-term. The OR was being prepped so I knew a C-section was in order. Tears rolled down the woman´s face. The phrases "26 weeks" and "pre-eclampsia" were being thrown around. And I knew ever too clearly exactly what was about to happen. Doctors and nurses alike gathered around in an effort to provide a combination of comfort and reality. They were deeply concerned. As the first incision was made I thought--I want to be an OB/GYN. I want care for women at their most vulnerable and exciting times in life.
Before I knew it a baby boy no larger than my hand was taken from his safe, secure home nearly 14 weeks before his time. Like a little girl observing the work of her father, I watched every move of the neonatologist carefully. I was completely enamored by this little 26 weeker. At only 600 grams, he was perfect in every way. Ten tiny fingers grasping for comfort. Ten tiny toes kicking in the air. I pressed my stethoscope against his chest and heard his tiny heart beating and his lungs working so hard for some air. And his cry--at his cry everyone went still and tears filled my eyes. Standing by his side I thought--I want to be a neonatologist. I want to help the little ones fight for life.
Thursday I found myself at the side of Steven, an 8 month old with a cleft lip. With just a quick glance at his cute little face your heart broke. I was amazed at the simplicity and yet delicacy of the repair surgery. Upon completion, Steven looked much like any other 8 month old with only a small scar in the place of his cleft. I rocked him and held him close as he whimpered during recovery. I couldn´t help but think how many children around the world I have seen with cleft lips and what a difference such a simple surgery would make in their lives. By the end of the morning I thought--I want to be a pediatric surgeon.
Needless to say, I have found the opportunities in medicine to be endless. In part, that ignites fear in me. In part, it kindles such excitement. I fear that I will never be able to choose which path to take! However, I know that no matter where I find myself, I will be doing the very thing for which I long--making a difference in others´ lives.
In Greek there are two words for life--bios and zoe. Bios is the root of biology meaning the type of life that lives and breathes. Zoe is far less superficial, a quality of life and not just life itself, a life full of hope and joy. What a joy to bring not just bios life but zoe life also into the lives of others! I pray that God would truly use my hands to be an instrument of healing and hope, an instrument of life. Not just living, breathing life, but life abundant.
What a privilege we have to know Him and serve Him. May we never take it for granted a single day. May we walk in the joy that says, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you" (Psalm 16:2).
Monday, June 16, 2008
He Is No Fool....
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."
-Jim Elliot, missionary to the Ecuadorian Amazon
This weekend was a weekend to remember forever. After 9 hours of winding roads through the Andes and expeditions where roads are unheard of we arrived in the Amazon jungle. The phrase "off the beaten path" took on an entirely new meaning as we navigated over rocks and through small creeks.
The jungle is indescribable—its beauty and wealth are beyond words.
When we arrived on Friday evening we were greeted by monkeys in the town square. Our guide joined us, and we journeyed further into the jungle as the sun set, taking in all the beauty. We arrived at a small camp, gathered our belongings, and hiked about a mile to our huts just off the river. After dinner, we trekked through the jungle exploring the world of creatures surrounding us—insects large and small.
Anxious to see the full beauty of our surroundings the next morning, we opened our door to a world of color and wonder. The jungle was everything we could have imagined and more.
Saturday was full of adventure as we hiked and canoed through the glorious surroundings. We tasted of the jungle fruits and even learned how to shoot blow darts for hunting. We learned about the jungle animals and the jungle life. Our day concluded with a swim in the river, dinner, a fire with jungle juice and jungle stories as we lounged in hammocks.
One experience is more striking than all the others, however. While canoeing down the Rio Napa, our guide told me a very familiar story from a world of personal experience. He recounted the story of Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Ed McCulley, Pete Fleming, and Roger Youderian. As we cruised past a rocky beach he said, "There. Right there they gave their lives for the Waodani." He told the story so beautifully in a language I am still struggling to grasp. But while I did not catch his every word—I heard it all and I saw it all in his countenance. He spoke of how those men and their families changed the jungle. He spoke of personal change in the life of his grandfather through the hope of Jesus that ultimately brought change to his entire family. He thanked God for the life that he has and privilege he has of knowing Jesus and experiencing the beauty of God´s creation everyday in the jungle. It was a powerful moment that is difficult to describe. I have heard the story of these men and even seen the movie, but to hear it from the lips of one changed by their sacrifice was remarkable. To see the very location where they gave their lives and even experience a glimpse of their lives in the jungle for a few short days sparked something in me.
I was ever so gently reminded that the Gospel is worth my life, every part of me. As we were riding home, I opened a book I have been reading, "When I Don´t Desire God" by John Piper. As I read, Piper recounted the sacrifice of these men saying that their joy in Him was the power behind their obedience and faith. Coincidence? I think not.
I am so grateful for a patient God who will go to such incredible lengths to remind me that my life is His and He is truly all I need. Every sacrifice is so small compared to His glory. And ultimately, "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Riobamba, Ecuador
Greetings from Riobamba, Ecuador! After only 5 days in Ecuador, I must admit that it is very difficult to write in English—my mind is overflowing with Spanish words and phrases! What a beautiful country!
There are beautiful flowers everywhere!
The city is surrounded by mountains on each side. It is gorgeous. Here is one of the many volcanoes in Ecuador.
More pics to come soon!
I am staying with a family here, mi mama y mi pape. I am truly part of the family. Mi mama calls me ¨mi hija¨ meaning my daughter. Every day I awake to kisses, every afternoon I receive kisses when I come home, and every night I am sent to bed with a kiss. That is a lot of kisses! The people here are very affectionate (obviously!), and family is more important than anything else in the world. Every day I walk home for lunch and eat the biggest meal you have even seen with mama, pape, and the other children. It is truly amazing. I love it. I have heard of such family dynamics but to actually be apart of it is quite an experience.
My first day with my family I failed to make it home for lunch. I just didn´t know better. When I got home that evening mi mama gave me 5 or 6 kisses and said she was worried all day with tears in her eyes. She talked all evening about how much she worried. Tuesday evening a group of us gringos went to watch a futbol game, and when I asked mi pape if I could go he replied with of course but if you want to invite all your friends to our casa you can. They are so generous and overflowing with love!
The hospital here is rather primitive. The past 2 days I have observed multiple surgeries, and I am always amazed at exactly what goes on—from the sterile procedure (or last thereof) to the procedure itself. It is a blessing to get to learn medical Spanish. I will definitely need it in the next few years!
I am learning so many things beyond a language and a culture—things about myself, things about God, and so much more. I am blown away that the Lord would bring me to such a foreign land to show me more of His beauty. He is so good. What more is there to say?
¨I was when I was happiest that I longed most…The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all the beauty came from.¨ CS Lewis in Till We Have Faces
There are beautiful flowers everywhere!
The city is surrounded by mountains on each side. It is gorgeous. Here is one of the many volcanoes in Ecuador.
More pics to come soon!
I am staying with a family here, mi mama y mi pape. I am truly part of the family. Mi mama calls me ¨mi hija¨ meaning my daughter. Every day I awake to kisses, every afternoon I receive kisses when I come home, and every night I am sent to bed with a kiss. That is a lot of kisses! The people here are very affectionate (obviously!), and family is more important than anything else in the world. Every day I walk home for lunch and eat the biggest meal you have even seen with mama, pape, and the other children. It is truly amazing. I love it. I have heard of such family dynamics but to actually be apart of it is quite an experience.
My first day with my family I failed to make it home for lunch. I just didn´t know better. When I got home that evening mi mama gave me 5 or 6 kisses and said she was worried all day with tears in her eyes. She talked all evening about how much she worried. Tuesday evening a group of us gringos went to watch a futbol game, and when I asked mi pape if I could go he replied with of course but if you want to invite all your friends to our casa you can. They are so generous and overflowing with love!
The hospital here is rather primitive. The past 2 days I have observed multiple surgeries, and I am always amazed at exactly what goes on—from the sterile procedure (or last thereof) to the procedure itself. It is a blessing to get to learn medical Spanish. I will definitely need it in the next few years!
I am learning so many things beyond a language and a culture—things about myself, things about God, and so much more. I am blown away that the Lord would bring me to such a foreign land to show me more of His beauty. He is so good. What more is there to say?
¨I was when I was happiest that I longed most…The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all the beauty came from.¨ CS Lewis in Till We Have Faces
Friday, May 30, 2008
Ecuador!
What a day! After traveling since 7am this morning, I have finally arrived in Ecuador! I am so excited to be here.
I flew through Panama City, Panama this morning and had quite a lengthy lay-over there. I met a woman in the airport from Ecuador who now lives in the states and was traveling to her daughter´s wedding in Quito. She helped me figure out how to get out of the airport in Panama for some fresh air--which was a pretty involved process of talking the customs officials into letting us leave and promising we would come back. She soon became my traveling companion--but she never told me her name and after spending several hours with her I felt awkward asking!
When I arrived in Quito after dark I was a little nervous about what my next move would be. I could 1) Wait 2 hours in the circus they call the airport in hopes of finding some of the guys from school who were on the next flight or 2) Brave the taxi on my own with my broken Spanish. And I chose neither because my nameless traveling angel companion offered me a ride to my hotel! It worked out perfect because I didn´t have to fight the airport crowd, and I didn´t have to worry about riding down dark alleys in a taxi on my own. Now, I just hope the guys can find their way to this place!
So, what a smooth trip so far! All my luggage also made it which is quite a miracle itself because I checked in 2 minutes before the cut-off time.
This is going to be quite the summer....
I flew through Panama City, Panama this morning and had quite a lengthy lay-over there. I met a woman in the airport from Ecuador who now lives in the states and was traveling to her daughter´s wedding in Quito. She helped me figure out how to get out of the airport in Panama for some fresh air--which was a pretty involved process of talking the customs officials into letting us leave and promising we would come back. She soon became my traveling companion--but she never told me her name and after spending several hours with her I felt awkward asking!
When I arrived in Quito after dark I was a little nervous about what my next move would be. I could 1) Wait 2 hours in the circus they call the airport in hopes of finding some of the guys from school who were on the next flight or 2) Brave the taxi on my own with my broken Spanish. And I chose neither because my nameless traveling angel companion offered me a ride to my hotel! It worked out perfect because I didn´t have to fight the airport crowd, and I didn´t have to worry about riding down dark alleys in a taxi on my own. Now, I just hope the guys can find their way to this place!
So, what a smooth trip so far! All my luggage also made it which is quite a miracle itself because I checked in 2 minutes before the cut-off time.
This is going to be quite the summer....
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Need for Validation
It is in all of us—some far much deeper than others. Some buried under years of harsh realities and hurtful, discouraging, scarring remarks.
We all need to feel valuable, worthwhile. We need to know that our aspirations are not indeed ridiculous and that our hard work is not in vain.
We all need validation.
I am feeling that need today….
We all need to feel valuable, worthwhile. We need to know that our aspirations are not indeed ridiculous and that our hard work is not in vain.
We all need validation.
I am feeling that need today….
Monday, April 21, 2008
Slavery and Joy Unspeakable
"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize." 1 Corinthians 9:24-27
This verse is so extreme. Beating my body? Slavery? Yeah, right. I think to myself, Is this really necessary? Do I have to? But, for one reason or another this verse has been resonanting in me quite a lot lately.
Maybe it was the blister my shoe was rubbing on my foot today during my jog that made me feel as if I was beating my body. Or maybe it has been the amount of information that I have forced myself to learn over the past few months. Or perhaps it is something far deeper--
I know that as Paul writes to the church in Corinth that he is speaking of far more than a physical race; he was speaking to more than just blisters and muscle aches and fatigue. He was writing to souls weary from attempts to live holy lives in a demanding culture. He was writing to those who had lost site of the eternal prize and were begining to forfeit a imperishable medal for mere, this-worldly rubbish. Can you relate?
I am finding that if I don't beat my body and make it my slave then I soon become its slave. My desires become selfish and my motives less than desireable. I am exhausted by the war within me and ultimately I lose. I thought I would have this figured out by now. I thought this should be much easier by now, but as the days go by the uphill slope is only getting steeper and the battle more intense.
But beating my body is so difficult and extreme. How can I possibily live that way? How can I possibily deny myself of the things my flesh longs for so deeply? I can barely make myself run an extra step when my feet hurt or get my wretched self out of the bed in the mornings. How will I ever be able to maintain those things engrained in the depths of my being? How will I ever live this holy live and run the race without looking back?
So many questions. I think I have missed the point completely though. Really.
I mean, I am running after a prize. As Paul writes, "I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air...." This isn't all for nothing. The athletes that will compete in Beijiing this summer have spent their lives preparing for the races ahead of them--they have not trained because they have to but because they are going after a prize. A name. Fame. They are doing the very thing they love.
How much more is at stake in our lives? This is no run around a track or leap over a stick we are talking about here. This is life. And not only do we have an eternal prize at stake, ultimately our own joy is up for grabs.
Psalm 16:11 says, "You will teach me how to live a holy life. Being with You will fill me with joy unspeakable; at Your right hand I will find pleasure forever." This is a verse I try so passionately to live by because I know that while I push so hard to make my flesh my slave, God supplies joy beyond measure. He lays out the path of life before us and is faithful to show us the way. And He never asks us to walk alone. The icing on the cake--in His hand are pleasures forevermore.
This is precisely where I went wrong. I too quickly forgot the provision of God for me. I forgot that though beating my body sounds pretty intense--He is supplying my needs and filling me with joy that is not found in any of my earthly pursuits. He is filling me with the life found solely in Him--and a joyous life it is indeed.
This verse is so extreme. Beating my body? Slavery? Yeah, right. I think to myself, Is this really necessary? Do I have to? But, for one reason or another this verse has been resonanting in me quite a lot lately.
Maybe it was the blister my shoe was rubbing on my foot today during my jog that made me feel as if I was beating my body. Or maybe it has been the amount of information that I have forced myself to learn over the past few months. Or perhaps it is something far deeper--
I know that as Paul writes to the church in Corinth that he is speaking of far more than a physical race; he was speaking to more than just blisters and muscle aches and fatigue. He was writing to souls weary from attempts to live holy lives in a demanding culture. He was writing to those who had lost site of the eternal prize and were begining to forfeit a imperishable medal for mere, this-worldly rubbish. Can you relate?
I am finding that if I don't beat my body and make it my slave then I soon become its slave. My desires become selfish and my motives less than desireable. I am exhausted by the war within me and ultimately I lose. I thought I would have this figured out by now. I thought this should be much easier by now, but as the days go by the uphill slope is only getting steeper and the battle more intense.
But beating my body is so difficult and extreme. How can I possibily live that way? How can I possibily deny myself of the things my flesh longs for so deeply? I can barely make myself run an extra step when my feet hurt or get my wretched self out of the bed in the mornings. How will I ever be able to maintain those things engrained in the depths of my being? How will I ever live this holy live and run the race without looking back?
So many questions. I think I have missed the point completely though. Really.
I mean, I am running after a prize. As Paul writes, "I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air...." This isn't all for nothing. The athletes that will compete in Beijiing this summer have spent their lives preparing for the races ahead of them--they have not trained because they have to but because they are going after a prize. A name. Fame. They are doing the very thing they love.
How much more is at stake in our lives? This is no run around a track or leap over a stick we are talking about here. This is life. And not only do we have an eternal prize at stake, ultimately our own joy is up for grabs.
Psalm 16:11 says, "You will teach me how to live a holy life. Being with You will fill me with joy unspeakable; at Your right hand I will find pleasure forever." This is a verse I try so passionately to live by because I know that while I push so hard to make my flesh my slave, God supplies joy beyond measure. He lays out the path of life before us and is faithful to show us the way. And He never asks us to walk alone. The icing on the cake--in His hand are pleasures forevermore.
This is precisely where I went wrong. I too quickly forgot the provision of God for me. I forgot that though beating my body sounds pretty intense--He is supplying my needs and filling me with joy that is not found in any of my earthly pursuits. He is filling me with the life found solely in Him--and a joyous life it is indeed.
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