The Night Before Christmas (Un-poem)

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through God's house...

...was hustle and bustle.

As the fire of sunset burned in the west, the bleating of sheep and cooing of doves echoed among the cold stone pillars. The moneylenders, after a hard day's cheating, waited patiently with cash in hand for the pharisees to end their protracted and ebullient prayers long enough to receive their portion of the proceeds.

In a place not prominent, but hidden in shadows, a wizened man offered up an infinitely simpler prayer from the depths of his heart. The passage of years had dimmed his sight, but not his certainty, for he knew that God cannot lie.

"How long, oh Lord?" he whispered as he rocked back and forth, the intensity of his petition moving him body and soul. A tear of longing slid down his cheek as he remembered all who died without seeing the promise: Abraham "...all peoples on earth will be blessed through you;" Isaac; Jacob "...the scepter will not depart from Judah, nor the ruler's staff from between his feet, until Shiloh comes." Even Isaiah, who had so described his coming, had died without seeing the Messiah.

As he settled his aching bones on the unforgiving stone floor, Simeon's heart cried out. Messiah had been promised, but Simeon had a special promise from the Lord: he would not die until he saw Emmanuel.

Meanwhile, in the court of women, Anna the Prophetess prepared for another night in the temple. The crowd swirled around her, going home to waiting families and welcoming hearth fires. But still she stayed, as she had for so many years of her widowhood. God had become her family, her warmth, her comfort, and her ever-living joy. She praised Him for the promise that He would rescue Jerusalem, freeing the captives from their bondage, healing the blind and lame, and bringing the hearts of men back to the Lord.

Just weeks later, those who waited and watched for Messiah in the Temple were rewarded. Simeon rejoiced, saying,

"Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel."

Anna was quick to add her praise and tell everyone else who searched for Messiah that He had come at last.


We didn't have to wait. This all happened so long ago that we take it for granted. We forget that millenia passed when people longed for God's friendship; when the people of Israel quaked before the mountain of fire that shook and smoked with His power. They delivered their animals for slaughter day after day and year after year, waiting. The prophets saw amazing visions, revelations of God's power and radiant majesty, but even they did not see the unveiling of the mystery.

Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses and his parents, Rahab, Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel... the list in Hebrews is amazing. But what is more amazing is what follows: "These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised." (Hebrews 11:39)

After the centuries of restless waiting and watching, the Messiah came! He came and completed the work of redemption; he died and entered God's presence, presenting his blood as the perfect sacrifice that satisfied God's perfect justice; his death fulfilled the requirement. "The wages of sin is death," but he took all the payment. The way has been cleared for us to have a relationship with God! We can enter into His presence with joyful boldness, knowing that we will be accepted because of Christ. WE have received the promise!

What should we do with this knowledge? The author of Hebrews tells us quite plainly:
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."

This is a challenge to us. As we remember Christ's birth during this happy season, let this be the Christmas inspiration that lasts long past December: remember those who waited long for His coming and their challenge to run the race marked out for us.

Dulcinea vs. Aldonza

This is a long one, but bear with me. :-)

We watched a movie this afternoon. Made in 1972, Man of La Mancha chronicles the adventures of the famous Don Quixote in his quest as the last knight errant to rid the world of evil.

I can't recommend the movie, really; I had expected a light-hearted musical in the tradition of Easter Parade or In the Good Ol' Summertime. What I got instead was a philosophical debate with catchy tunes thrown in. The musical presents a contest between idealism and realism in the dark confines of the Inquisitors' dungeon, illustrated by Don Quixote's outrageous behavior.

The elderly gentleman is the hero of the story. Though he is mad, seeing giants and castles where there are only windmills and decrepit inns, he is the noble one who strives not only to be good, but to do good.

Don Quixote and his squire, Sancho, arrive at a grubby inn where a caravan of muleteers are doing their best to seduce the fiery scullery maid, Aldonza, who repeatedly slaps their hands away. She has been badly used and abused; her anger is visible in every word she says and move she makes. Hard and cynical, she sarcastically replies to their comments with the song, "It's All the Same," where she makes very clear she knows what the men want, but that it's only available for a price. All through the song she strides through the mob of scoundrels seated around the tables in the dirty inn courtyard, singing defiantly that once the price is paid she doesn't care who paid it, since men are all the same.

Then Don Quixote literally rides onto the scene. In his eyes, the gray, drab, dirty inn is a fine castle; the disreputable inn keeper is the noble lord and keeper of the fortress. After an undignified dismount from his horse and a brief word with the inn-keeper, Don Quixote suddenly stops, staring in awe.

"Dulcinea!" he exclaims.

He has caught sight of the bedraggled Aldonza, and his heart is lost forever.

He, of course, is convinced that she is a noblewoman, a pure and lovely treasure, blessed with all the fine graces befitting her exalted lineage. He insists that her name is Dulcinea, and sings her a gentle love song. At first she scoffs, then softens, then hardens her heart to the song that includes the words,

I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea,
And thy name is like a prayer
An angel whispers... Dulcinea... Dulcinea!

The next day, Don Quixote continues to woo his lady, Dulcinea. Aldonza is bewildered by his tender devotion, but hardens her heart toward him.

That night Aldonza is on her way to meet up with a paying customer when she sees Don Quixote, holding prayerful vigil in the courtyard as he prepares to be knighted the next day. She is curious, and she thinks she knows what he is really after. She stops to talk to him, expecting at any moment he will proposition her like every other man she has known. The conversation that followed brought tears to my eyes:

             I know you, milady.
I think you know me not.
             All my years I have known you, your nobility of spirit...
            long have I seen you in my heart.
Your heart doesn't know much about women.
             It knows all, milady.
             Woman is the soul of man...
             the radiance that lights his way.
             Woman is glory.
What do you want of me?
             - Nothing. -
Liar!!
             [humbly] I deserve the rebuke.
             - I ask of milady...
Now we get to it!
              That I may be allowed to serve her...
             that I may hold her in my heart...
             that to her I may dedicate each victory...
             and call upon her in defeat.

  and call upon her in defeat.
             And if at last I give my life...
             I give it in the sacred name of Dulcinea.

"That I may be allowed to serve her, and hold her in my heart..." While she expected the abuse she had known and embraced, he held out pure devotion and gentility. Even as she went to prostitute herself, he pledged his undying love to her.

As we were watching that scene, a little thought popped into my head: I am Aldonza. We all are.

God cherishes us. He loves us with a deep, everlasting love that makes any love we know seem empty by comparison, just like in the story where Don Quixote's innocent, pure devotion is contrasted with the mule-driver's leering lust.

But we aren't ready to believe it; we don't really trust that God loves us that much. Like Aldonza, we're waiting for the axe to fall; He loves us this much because He wants something out of it. And every time something bad happens in our lives, we yell out, "Now we get to it!" He's just been playing with us in the good times to win us over and bring us hope so He can have the fun of smashing it.

But His heart is breaking! He really does love us, with no reservations, despite of who we are, despite what we've done, and despite how we will fail in the future. He sees us as His bride, pure and spotless, and everything that comes to us is part of His loving us. He doesn't have ulterior motives; what could we possibly give him? He is devoted to us; He has pledged himself to us, to be our defender, our rock, our knight in shining armor.

The last scene we see of Aldonza is after Don Quixote's death as she and Sancho grieve together. He calls her by her given name, but she gently corrects him. Her encounter with Don Quixote's love has changed her; she wants to live up to the vision he saw of her. She takes the name he gave her: Dulcinea.

The question for my heart is, has my encounter with God's love changed me the same way? Am I willing to leave the familiarity of sin to embark on the adventure of trusting God's tender love? To give up the life I have now to live up to the life He wants me to have?

I want to. By HIS grace (the power and desire to do His will!), I will!

Workmanship

I am making a new purse.

We are having special meetings at church.

These are related.

Life Action is a team that has taken over my church. But that's not a bad thing; that's what they are supposed to do. They are preachers, musicians, family pastors, and children's ministry workers that travel from church to church bringing a special message of personal revival. While the team is here, we don't have to cover the music, or preschool, or anything. The team takes care of it all so that the church folks can just attend the service and listen.

There are special meetings every night except Friday and Saturday for two weeks. It's not an old-fashioned revival, with a pulpit-pounding preacher thundering for the audience to walk the aisle. It's not about evangelism, but about personal, individual revival for members of the church.

We spent the first few meetings talking about what prevents revival and what kind of heart God revives. In the revival prevention area, I heard many things that I considered part of my personality, not anything so nasty as sin: stubbornness, claiming my rights, and insisting that I am right, among others. After an honest inventory, I wondered how I think I'm such a great person, when there are so many things wrong in so many areas of my life.

After these sessions that seemed about as reviving as getting repeatedly whacked with a two-by-four (the Spirit's conviction! Ouch!), we had a message about grace last night. It was wonderfully refreshing to hear that grace is the power and desire to do what God wants. I've felt guilty about not wanting to read my Bible, not wanting to pray, not wanting to do what may be right. But just like I can ask for God's grace in other areas, I can ask for the desire to do what He wants me to do. It doesn't mean that I won't read the Bible if I don't feel like it. It was just a freeing realization that God's grace, the grace that covers me, is available to me whenever I ask for it. I don't need to feel guilty that I need grace! Thank you, Lord!

Tonight we had a talk about confession and repentance. We had a long list of things, a kind of checklist or inventory to remind us of things that we need to confess. I stopped checking after the first 18 boxes or so; out of 70-something sins, if I had that many so far, I might as well just go through and confess each one unless I found an exception. I never realized how much ratty junk there was in my life.

I have been constructing a purse for the past couple of weeks. I haven't had much time to work on it, but I spent some more time on it this week and now it's almost done. It's related to a project I finished a few months ago: a purse made out of old ties.

The last project, the purse I carry now, is one that I made out of ties Scott bought for me at the charity shop. I found a pattern on the internet, and modified it slightly (I like outside pockets and a zipper instead of a magnetic snap-flap) to make a one-of-a-kind handbag. It's huge, though, and pretty heavy, even when it's relatively empty. So I thought I'd use the scraps left from that project to make another one.

As I was working on my new purse, trying to trim the seams from the beautiful yet horribly difficult lining fabric, I started thinking about my big purse. It's pretty. It has many different colors and textures, handy pockets on the outside, and a nice zipper top. The handle is wide so it doesn't dig into my shoulder. I have gotten oodles of compliments from complete strangers about how nice my purse is.

But I know better.

I know that spot on the zipper where I had to cut it off because it was too long, then sew it up so that the zipper couldn't fly off the end.

I can point out the places it's fraying because I couldn't finish the seam properly.

The zipper doesn't go all the way to the end, leaving a little spot unfinished on the zipper extending fabric, so that fabric frays and there's a small hole.

I see the crooked seams, the unfinished spots, the handle that never got finished the way I wanted, and a dozen other things that no one else notices.

But I notice. Because I made it. I wanted it to be better than that. When other people look at it, they see the contrasting colors and the unique design. When I look at it, I see how it has fallen short of the standard.

*Bing!* There's the connection. It connected in my head just as slowly as it has connected here. That's why these church meetings are so good and important; they're helping me see some of the frayed edges that I haven't let God sew up properly. They're a constant eyesore to him, but I've been able to overlook them, only noticing the nicer parts of myself.

Now the magnifying glass is out, and I've been forced to see my sin for what it is: plain, ugly, putrid, sickening sin.

But God doesn't point out these things to sink me beneath waves of despair. He hasn't thrown me out. He wants better for me. He wants to fix the problem, not just with patches and fabric glue, but by re-making me entirely, into the image of His Son, Jesus.

And He will. He promised.

I can rest, "being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you [and me!] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."(Philippians 1:6)

All good gifts come from the Father of lights... and music!

Ode to Joy! Hear the voices soaring and the intricate counterpoint of the strings! The harmony! But especially after the rest of the 9th... you can't appreciate that sudden burst of ecstasy until you've listened to the quiet, even melancholy passages that precede it.... then suddenly the choir bursts forth and the whole orchestra resounds with rejoicing. And Beethoven was deaf when he wrote it! Oh, God, what a gift you have given to us in music! If this earthly choir, sculpted out of the dust by your hands, can stir my soul and lift my heart to You, how much more the throng that will surround Your throne, and the angelic choirs that sing, forever, Holy!

Fresh

I think our society has some mixed up ideas.

Fresh fruit, for instance. In our country, most of the time buying fresh fruit means driving down to the supermarket, wheeling a shopping cart through the gleaming aisles, and making selections from the displays of apples that were shipped weeks ago, tomatoes that were plucked green, and bananas desperately trying to ripen under the glare of the florescent lights. Blackberries and raspberries of uniform size and shape rest in their little plastic jails, *er* cartons, smug and safe.

So what? What's wrong with some convenience? After all, that way we can get fruit in the winter so we don't get scurvy and have our teeth fall out.

There's nothing wrong with convenience. The problem is when we don't remember that there's something missing...

Hot, thick sunshine pulling beads of sweat onto my skin. Thick grass soft under my bare feet. Blackberry canes nodding in the breeze that tickles my face. Soft fruit falling into my fingers. A blackberry as big around as a quarter and so full of Tennessee rain and sunshine that it explodes sun-warmed sweetness into my mouth. I don't even have to chew; it's so ripe it just melts away. Moving into the shade of the vine's thick leaves and marveling at the sudden drop in temperature just inches away from the sun's bright rays. Shiny black fruit that begs to be gathered. Fruit so fresh that I have to swat the ants off of it and fight for territory with the wasps. It takes some time, some sweat, and some effort. But the experience is about more than just getting the berries picked; there's something in the gathering that I could never experience by picking up a pound of blackberries in the store.

Our society constantly seeks "fresh," new ideas. We package up things like friendship and communication in little plastic jails, *er* cartons, and label them cell phones (BlackBerry!), text messaging, and facebook.

There is nothing wrong with the convenience of these services. They can keep us from getting scurvy and having our teeth fall out... in other words, from completely losing contact with people that live far away. But when we don't have to put in the time, sweat, and effort, we lose the full experience. Friendship can be hard; but after quality time cultivating and nurturing it, we experience sweetness that can't be wrapped up in cellophane.

I think this also applies to my relationship with God.

There are lots of "fresh" new ideas... new books, new worship songs, new Bible study curricula, new ideas for outreach, all available in the "grocery store" of the Christian market, and even the Christian church. There is nothing wrong with these things (as long as they stick to Scripture!), and they might even keep my teeth from falling out... I mean, help encourage me to walk uprightly in a fallen world.

But if I put my effort and concentration into these things, trusting them to be the full experience of God, I miss something. I miss Him. I miss out on the One who delights in using the simple and foolish things to shame the wise of this world. I miss the sweetness of passionate prayer. I miss the sunny delight of learning from Him in His word. I miss the dry times of yelling at God to do something, anything, to let me know He's still there. I miss the enveloping comfort of finding out that He is.

A relationship with God requires time, sweat, and effort. And a lot of times there are ants and wasps that have to be shooed away. But the reward is the experience...

... experiencing God.

Hospital Happenings

Hospitals smell funny.

However, since I have chosen nursing as my profession, I guess I should just get used to it. My new job is helping in that area; every day I am exposed to the various lovely aromas that accompany patient care, from festering wound to Clostridium difficile diarrhea to plain, ordinary body odor. Charming, wouldn't you agree?

The good thing about the hospital is that it has climate control. My last job was moving books around in a warehouse that was originally constructed as a Guinness World Record project: Largest Solar Oven. It was converted into a warehouse by the installation of ceiling fans that are excellent at driving the hot air from the ceiling down upon the heads of workers, making them wish that it weren't quite so expensive to move to Alaska.

While I was sad to leave my friends at my old job, when I resigned in May I was looking forward to working inside a real building with climate control. Now I work at a Veteran's Administration hospital as a student nurse technician. I clean up patients, clean up poop, and run errands for nurses and patients. Oh, and I measure blood pressures once per shift.

The work itself is not the exciting part. I enjoy my job because of all the people I get to meet. All of our patients have served our country in the armed forces. We have veterans from every conflict from WWII through OIF (Operation Iraqi Freedom). Most of our patients are in the 40+ age range. The veterans get free service at the VA hospital, so they are more grateful and less demanding than patients I've encountered in other hospitals. A lot of "my guys" are native to this area, too, and have good Southern manners, always saying "yes ma'am," even though I'm the age of some of their grandchildren!

There have been some interesting characters I've encountered, and my next postings will be about a few of them.

One patient, fifty years my senior, kept telling me what a fine young lady I was. It was rather awkward, as I was feeding him his breakfast at the time, trying to get him to eat his pureed french toast and struggling to keep his oxygen mask on between bites. I felt kind of rude to say, "Well, thank you. HERE, take another bite," but the day before it had taken him more than an hour to eat breakfast, and I needed to move on to other duties. The gentleman told me I was going to break some young man's heart. I replied that I hoped not, as I was engaged to one young man and had no intention of breaking his heart. My patient sighed.

"How old are you?" he asked
"Twenty-two."
He sighed again. "Too young. And I'm married. It wouldn't work."
No, it wouldn't work. Ever. Ever. But he was a sweet old man, who was nice to all the staff, so I didn't want to be rude. Poor guy.

One of my less strenuous jobs at work is sitting. Yes, I did indeed say "sitting." Sometimes we have patients who cannot be left alone. Some people keep trying to get out of bed. That isn't a problem, except that often they are too weak to walk, so they fall and get subdural hematomas. Well, they could get subdural hematomas, at least one per patient. We would get in mondo heaps of trouble if that happened, so we assign one staff member to sit with the patient and keep him sitting down, unless his family is present to take care of him.
I sat with Mr. R. last week. He told me about his travels across Asia with the military. He was in the Korean war and spent some time in Seoul. The last time he saw it, though, it was still a rough, poverty-stricken place.
"I sure wish I could go back and see it now," he said wistfully. And loudly. Like many hard-of-hearing patients, his normal tone of voice was only slightly softer than a megaphone-wielding crowd-control officer.

Mr. R. also told me an interesting story. After his military service, he owned his own tree-trimming business. Tree trimming as in pruning branches outside, not decorating for Christmas. Apparently pruning is much more dangerous than preparing for the holiday season. He told me he had an accident that did permanent damage to his legs.
"Did you climb up in the trees to trim them?" I queried.
"Naw, I had a machine to take me up there. But I got the big head [which evidently makes one top-heavy] and fell out of the tree, 'bout thirty feet to the gravel driveway." I made appropriate facial expressions of horror while he continued.
"They thought I was dead, until one lady noticed the sheet [over me] rising and falling. I reckon if they hadn't, I'd a woke up at the cold storage bin in the morgue!"

Something I really admire about some of these guys is how they retain a sense of humor, even in very trying circumstances. Not long after I arrived to work at the VA, the nurses on my floor received a note from a patient thanking them for taking such good care of him "while I was there gittin' my leg sawed off. [sic]"

You've gotta love 'em!

Whew, long post.

I have a few more stories, but it's time for Bible study right now. I'll have to write up more adventures later!

A new horizon

I am writing from the tiny keyboard of my fiancé's bargain iPhone that has no phone service. It is a lot easier to type when we're not hurtling down the interstate. Here this actually is not much different from writing with regard to speed. Punctuation is harder, but I might survive for short bursts.
I will write soon about some of my hospital adventures, like the little old man who showed symptoms of Nightingale syndrome, or the gentleman who got "the big head" and narrowly escaped spending a night in the morgue...while still alive!

Thanks for letting me play with your iPhone, Scott!

Exercise-induced meditations

I love running. If it weren't for the huffing, puffing, sore muscles, and gasping for air, I'd run a lot more often. To tell the truth, I don't really like to run just to run. Throw in a soccer ball and I'm excited to run for as long as I can keep going, but merely going on and on, step after step, for as long as you can for no apparent reason... I find that not so thrilling.

But spring days, overflowing with the melodies of bluebirds and mockingbirds and saturated with the heady scent of honeysuckle, have a way of charming into exercise even the most resistant. Thus the friendly sun found me heading out at a brisk jog to enjoy the day and get some needed cardio exercise.

Things were wonderful. I wasn't even tired or out of breath. But at the end of the driveway, things got more difficult.

I love Tennessee, and the Lord has blessed us with a nice, cozy house in a great location. The only problem is that we live in a hole. Not a real hole, of course, but a dip in the land that makes it impossible to go more than 2 blocks without climbing a massive hill. These hills are usually only navigated by motor-driven vehicles or small, specially-trained burros. In fact, they probably start the burro training program here... that way, when they get to the Grand Canyon it's a piece of cake.

So the decision goes like this:
End of driveway-> Right-> dead end, turn right-> straight=go around the block and end up at my driveway again. Short trip, not long enough to qualify as exercise, so have to go with another option.
End of driveway->Right->Left-> Right= HUGE hill, steep, and looong. And after you get to the top, you can go left down the hill and have to come up again at the end of the workout, or you can keep going up the hill to circle around and see if you can keep going long enough to make it to where it goes downhill. My legs get sore just looking at that hill.

But if I turn left out of my driveway, the road circles around and THERE'S THE SAME HILL! Like it's following me, taunting me! Less steep, but twice as long, one must go up part way, then cut over to another street, then keep going up till the sidewalk runs out.... and then you have to turn right again and keep going up!! Crazy!

The last option is the one I chose today. I had never gone up that way before, but to my surprise, it was a bit easier than the short, steep hill. The road ends up just a block down from where the steep hill is, so it's just a long way round to the top. By the time I got there I was wondering why I had thought it was cool enough to go jogging outside instead of setting up the fan in front of my elliptical machine.

But jogging on the path that winds around the school at the top of the hill, I began to enjoy it. Darlene Zschech and the Hillsongs team were pumping music into my ears, but not loud enough to drown out the birdsong in the trees next to the path.

Behold He comes
Riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun
At the trumpet call

One of my many favorite songs. I looked up at the maples and saw them waving in the breeze, reminding me of the ancient prophecy, "..and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."

The path curved around and I could see the dazzling sunshine on the Appalaichan mountains as the next lines played:

So lift your voice
It's the year of Jubilee
And out of Zion's hills salvation comes!


That song and the next one carried me down the hill, but then I had to start going up again. Thankfully my circuit around to get to the top had taken so long that I didn't have to run all the way to the top again, but stopped for my cool down just a little ways up.

The cool down was long; after all, I had to get all the way back to my house. The jogging trail winds through the campus of the local high school, and I had the opportunity to pick tiny yellow flowers from the manicured grass. As I rounded a bend I was greeted by an unexpected cascade of tiny white roses spilling out of a patch of woods. I stopped to smell them, and for the bad idea, try to pick some. I found out that tiny roses doesn't mean tiny thorns. Ouch.

Back up the hill, across the street, and down the hill again to the road where I live. The breeze played gently with the neighborhood trees, and my musings turned to the wind.

I love being outside and feeling a fresh breeze; one of the things I love about living near the mountains is the abundance of wind, whether it is a light, tricksy zephyr or a walloping, boisterous blow. Maybe that's why I so enjoy the Bible verses that connect wind with the Spirit of God, the breath of God, and the workings of God. We see so often in Scripture that God controls the wind and sends it where He wants it. Sometimes when I am alone outside I imagine the breeze that brushes my cheek is really the fingertip of God. And when a breath of wind puffs my bangs out of my eyes, I imagine my Heavenly Father smoothing it back, just like my earthly Dad does sometimes.

It is beautiful to be alive on a day like today, with a gentle, caressing wind playing with my hair and the warm kiss of sunshine on my face.

Even if I did have to exercise to enjoy it.

Idolatry?

A few nights ago I looked up at the moon as it sent slivers of silver through the window, and I wondered why people used to worship it. It's not like the sun; it's not as bright, it doesn't give warmth, and it doesn't look like it really does anything. Did people worship it just because it was a shiny thing up in the sky? How foolish and backward.

An instant later I realized that I do things just as stupid every day. I idolize my grades at school; not that I consciously put them on some high plane or really put school first in my life, but I seem to think that my test scores somehow determine my future. In my mind I attribute to them more power than they actually have, a power that only God has. If I really believe that God is in control of my future and can do whatever He wants with me, even if I fail a test or (even worse!) a whole class, He has already taken that into account when mapping out my destiny. He is in control and will do what He wants, whether or not I make an A-, B-, or F!

That doesn't mean I won't study; I will still do my best to use the talents that God has given me to learn as much as I can. But it means that I can trust God with everything, and ask Him for brokenness without saying, "take every area of my life except my grades. I must make good grades..."

It's good to get rid of that burden.

Just as it applied to the pagans who sacrificed constantly to appease the moon god, Jesus' appeal reaches through the centuries and into my life: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Hoo-rah!

Almost done with another semester!

One more test. Two final exams. About five dozen projects. Then we're done till fall! Happy happy happiness.

Going to Mexico this summer. I was kindof disappointed that I won't get to go to the ship Doulos this summer, but now I'm thinking it's probably for the best. So instead of going overseas for two months, I'll be heading down to Mexico for a week. I think we're planning to do some clinic work down there, and maybe some education projects, as well as construction. I'm looking forward to it!

I should go get busy again... or take a nap. Nap sounds gooooood....

Where....am... I?

I rubbed my eyes groggily before literally dragging myself out of bed. The numbers on my blaring alarm clock read 4:45. In the morning.

"Oh, what a beautifully wonderful day to go to clinicals," I thought, sarcasm being my only refuge that early in the morning, when dreams were still dancing before my eyes.

I groaned and stumbled, bleary-eyed, towards the door to the bathroom, where I turned on the heater to get dressed without freezing. But as I slowly became capable of thinking (a very slow process sometimes!), an idea began to press itself inside my brain.

Sleep deprivation. Check.

I followed the though thread: in my research for my thesis, I keep finding that nursing students feel isolated because they study all the time.

Social isolation. Check.

This was getting interesting. The thought started to bloom in earnest as I realized nursing school tests (which already appeared on my blog a few weeks ago) are notorious for their harshness and obscurity.

Intense questioning. Check.

So sleep deprivation, social isolation, and intense questioning... for a moment I wondered if I was a nursing student or a detained "enemy combatant" at Gitmo!

No, I know that's ridiculous. They get free food and recreation time every day. :-)

All joking aside, it is a good program. It has to be hard because nurses can't afford to make mistakes; people's lives are in the balance.

But it would be nice if we had recreation time every day. :-)

Lullaby....

There is nothing that puts me to sleep faster than Mr. M, one of my former teachers, expounding the fascinating topic of 4th grade-level grammar to a group of bored university students.

Writing papers comes in a close second. Just finished a paper on bioterrorism. Fascinating subject, really, but for some reason, the rhythmic clicking of my keyboard was more soothing than Brahms' lullaby. So the clicking got slower, and slower and slower..... yes, I was falling asleep while typing.

Apparently, my paper was not scary enough. Bioterror is scary, especially considering viral hemorrhagic fevers (my topic). But though scary enough to keep some people awake at night, not enough to keep me awake at 5:55 in the evening.

Maybe I just need some food to wake me up.

No, what made me wake up was the pounding of little feet running down the hallway of my house. My niece is here for a few days, and Dad sent her to get Aunt Rachel to come to supper. My niece is absolutely adorable. Both of them are, but one lives farther away so I don't see her as much... too far away to come get me for supper, anyway.

I'd better go get nourishment before I fall asleep again.

Spring Break!

At last, it has come! Spring break!

My teachers graciously assigned us myraids of paperwork so we wouldn't get bored. :-)

No, we've had the assignments for quite a while, so I got most of mine done ahead of time so I can spend my spring break like other college students.... working on my Honors thesis! Wait, what did you say? The beach?? THAT'S what people do for spring break?

Well, instead of storing up some liver poisoning and sun cancer for my future, I will be contributing to the sadly small body of knowledge about nursing education. I hope. It all depends on whether or not I got enough data in my interviews to draw conclusions or not. I hope I don't have to do all my interviews over again!

But before I settle down to work, I'm off to a "women's ministry planning retreat" with a group of ladies from church. That should be fun. And then off for the weekend, then back to work.


Time to go!

On a roll...

Wow! Another post! That must mean I have something really interesting/exciting to share, right?

Nope. It means I finished my test (see picture at left) and I have an hour before I have to be back in class.

There are some interesting things about nursing school tests. Usually on a test, there is a right answer, and three wrong answers to each multiple choice question. In nursing school, there are two right answers-- each one was in your notes, each one was in your textbook as something you should do, but you must remember which one comes FIRST.

Example: Your patient is 10 minutes post-op. Patient is pale with tachycardia and thready pulse. You suspect hemorrage. What do you do first?
A.) The hokey-pokey and turn yourself around
B.) Check under the patient's sheet to see if blood is pooling beneath patient
C.) Take patient's blood pressure
D.) HA!! Gotcha! You were HOPING to see an option to choose both B and C because they're BOTH RIGHT but you CAN'T because this is nursing school!! *cackle* You can only vacillate hopelessly between the two answers, knowing that whichever one you pick you will be WRONG! Ha ha!

It's very demoralizing to have your test cackle at you.

But usually, with each question, there are two answers that are just silly. And two that are so close... I still don't remember what the right answer was for the above question. Or what course it was in. I remember thinking, "If the patient is so soon out of the operating room, we would have a cuff on him to take BP... so I would hit the button the machine to take his BP while I'm looking under the sheet.... but that's not an option... is my test really cackling at me? Weird."

One thing that helps is that you never select "Notify physician." Or almost never. And the answer is not administer antispsychotics and apply restraints, unless it is referring to fellow nursing students who are standing up, screaming, and tearing out their hair as their tests cackle in unison across the classroom.

Two more words of advice: Kegel Exercises. If it's urinary, and not an infection, it's Kegel Exercises.

Well, that wasted about fifteen minutes. Forty-five to go.

I don't know how I would make it through without the Lord's help. He has given me such a peace about tests over the past few months that I've hardly been anxious at all. Even my huge HESI test (that covers the past 3 semesters of material and if you don't pass you have to repeat all your courses), I was nervous about beforehand, but the day of the test I was as calm as a sea cucumber. I think I was calm because so many people were praying for me!

I'm very thankful God has given me the opportunity to be in university and study nursing. I'm glad to be here and learn.

Even if my tests do cackle.

Wow, another post!

This would be a really good time for me to go do something more productive, but I am tired of being sensible.

The question actually is, now that I'm not fasting, what will I choose to eat? And how much?

My boyfriend Scott and his community group just did a month-long media fast: no movies, television, radio/music player, or novels for a month. Mere days before I found out they were going to do it, I was thinking about it myself. The point was to find out how much time you have to pray and put your energy into constructive things if you cut out distractions. So I joined them, from 90 miles away. Almost. I did read a novel and listen to my mp3 player (worship music) while I exercised. I've tried praying while running before, and I don't usually make it past, "Oh, Lord, really, please help me survive this! And I hope it's been twenty minutes by now..... WHAT?? Only thirty seconds?" *groan* Oh, and while I studied, I put some worship music on. So I was keeping the spirit, if not the letter.

The first two weeks were the hardest. It took about a week just to get out of the habit of turning on the radio wherever I go, and to stop turning on the TV all the time.

Before I continue, I must comment that I have the most wonderful parents ever. You see, they (and I!) like to watch TV while we eat supper, especially since NCIS runs all the time here. We would mute the commercials and talk about how things went through the day, and what was going on. But they knew it would be really hard for me if they kept doing that (I did kinda tell them it would be nice to eat together at the table so I didn't have to eat by myself in my room!). So they gave up their TV time while I was around so it wouldn't be distracting for me. Aren't they great?

I wonder what I've learned....
1.) I do have more time than I thought.
2.) I still wasted time on my discussion boards at school, and next time I should limit myself on that, too.
3.) Set realistic goals.
4.) I don't ever want to live by myself. Mom and Dad were gone for a long weekend to my brother's house in Kentucky, and with them gone and no TV, no Adventures in Odyssey (yes, I do still listen to those...), no radio/music, and no people around the house... I was as lonely as a non-conformist lemming. (does that sound as funny outside as it did inside my head?) Grandma and Grandpa were here, of course, but Grandpa usually has the TV on downstairs, and sometimes conversation can be difficult. The most fun was when some people from church came over for a game night. But the rest of the time was not so fun! I think that was the first weekend of the fast, so I was in withdrawal, too. :-)

Well, it's getting time to pack up my computer for the night.

Goodnight!

No Part 2

Some people believe that aliens came from outer space and planted the seed of life here on earth. I scoff at such ridiculous notions. Life was already here; they planted care plans.

That is the only explanation I can think of for care plans. Or maybe it was a group of professors sitting around laughing and thinking about what they could do to discourage and weed out students:
"Hey, I know! We'll assign them more paperwork! Oh, oh, and just to make it fun, they'll have to copy out most of the patient's medical chart! Ha ha! And then, then, they'll have to look up all the thirty zillion medications we have them on and list the entire drug guide listing for each one!"
"*giggle* That is such a wonderful idea! And we won't have them start doing this until right before they're due, so they don't know what they're doing!"
"Ho ho, but you guys are missing the best part of all: we'll have them start doing it right around the time they go out into the hospitals and see that these care plans, that they've spent hours mounting up to years of their lives making, are completely useless in the real world!" [here the whole conference of teachers collapses into paroxysms of uncontrollable mirth]

I like most of my teachers, and don't want to think ill of them. That's why I prefer the alien theory.

I can see the point of careplans a little bit, especially in the beginning. In a care plan you look at the problems the patient is having that the nurse (and NOT the doctor) can do something about. Then you set a measurable goal for your client, list the things you would do to achieve that goal, and evaluate how well things worked. You have to have several of these client problems (from Fluid Imbalance to Risk for Injury to Ineffective Coping), even more goals for both short and long term, and enough nursing interventions to make your fingers cramp when you try to type them up. *sigh* Not bad for the beginning. But to have them count for such a huge part of our clinical grades, when we will not ever use them in practice, seems a bit much. I shouldn't complain; I should just be thankful we only have three this semester instead of one every week!


In case you were wondering, there is no second part for the first part I put about my summer on the ship. Though the rest of what I did in the summer was ok, it was mainly work. Oh, and a family reunion where we had 30 people at the house for a weekend. That was so much fun! The air conditioning stopped working so it was really hot in the kitchen, but otherwise it was great.

I have been wondering what the future of this blog really is.

Thank you to the people who do actually read it. Maybe someone will read it. Maybe if I posted more often...


Time for sleepin'. (yes, actually, I am a college student that goes to bed early. Sometimes I'm asleep before my grandparents!)