(aka – Failure Part II)
When you stop and think about it, it’s almost like God is smarter than us. Like, maybe His way of thinking about things is better. Maybe.
It’s true, and simple, and absolutely imperative. Yet, just so readily, I forget.
Life “works” about 98% of the time. Sort of like a really sneaky, effective trap. Just enough love, success, power, joy, attention, and positive reinforcement to almost make us believe that we’ve got it all – all because of us. The thing I am starting to realize is that there is always that 2% that we will never come close to achieving. That ultimately crucial 2% that feels so disproportionally significant.
My greatest attempts will never impress everyone. And I am on the road to becoming ultimately grateful that they won’t.
I am becoming just so thankful that God’s system functions according to completely different principles than our own. I am so thankful that it isn’t about earning or proving anything. Because, if it were – I would be found wanting.
If God’s love were based on my personal merits, I wouldn’t deserve it. If a relationship with Him was dependant on my character, I wouldn’t be worthy. If His grace were based on my goodness, I wouldn’t be able to receive it. I know, beyond on a shadow of a doubt, that I would fail. My life thus far is a testimony to that.
What an incredible gift then, that He has given us: Love that is truly unconditional - that functions, not only in spite of our failures, imperfections, and sin, but because of them. Because I could never earn grace.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Life before the internet
I know it had to exist. If I dig down really deep inside me, I can even muster up my own memories of this so-called existence without the world wide web (as Kate & I like to refer to it). But, for the life of me, I have no idea how we conquered our demons and made it out alive.
On too many times than I am willing to admit, I have sat and pondered this dilemma – What did people do before the internet? How did one convert lbs to kgs in a pinch? Where did you get directions to a new or unknown location? How did one finish a movie without pausing it and researching IMDb to assess where she knows that actor from and why she can’t bring herself to buy him as a villain? And, hypothetically, how would one begin the process of finding that one program out there in the world that has the potential to teach everything one requires to become the most competent outback nurse possible? (hypothetically)
Most importantly, when life’s really big questions arise, how were they solved? Big questions, like, who were the gypsies? Why did they have such darn cool jewellery? What was their mandate in life? Was there a deeper reason that they had to resort to thievery for their livelihood? Is there a way I can become a modern-day gypsy? If I am accepted, will I be forced to deny my lifelong pursuit of righteousness and adopt felony as a way life? Where do I get the skirts and the headwraps?
When these types of things pop into my brilliant whirlwind of a brain, I now have the tools to deal with them.
But, woe to you, poor inhabitants of 1989, what did you do???
On too many times than I am willing to admit, I have sat and pondered this dilemma – What did people do before the internet? How did one convert lbs to kgs in a pinch? Where did you get directions to a new or unknown location? How did one finish a movie without pausing it and researching IMDb to assess where she knows that actor from and why she can’t bring herself to buy him as a villain? And, hypothetically, how would one begin the process of finding that one program out there in the world that has the potential to teach everything one requires to become the most competent outback nurse possible? (hypothetically)
Most importantly, when life’s really big questions arise, how were they solved? Big questions, like, who were the gypsies? Why did they have such darn cool jewellery? What was their mandate in life? Was there a deeper reason that they had to resort to thievery for their livelihood? Is there a way I can become a modern-day gypsy? If I am accepted, will I be forced to deny my lifelong pursuit of righteousness and adopt felony as a way life? Where do I get the skirts and the headwraps?
When these types of things pop into my brilliant whirlwind of a brain, I now have the tools to deal with them.
But, woe to you, poor inhabitants of 1989, what did you do???
Friday, May 29, 2009
Failure
There’s this secret they don’t tell you in nursing school. I am guessing that they fail to elude to it in med school, physiotherapy, occupational therapy, respiratory therapy, or social work programs either. It hits you like a hurricane at first. You adapt to it over time. Then sometimes it comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your feet all over again, sometimes even stronger than the first time, because you thought you had it beat.
Nursing school did its best to prepare me to do thorough physical assessments. Conscientious tutors laboured over nursing theories that may or may not have no degree of relevance to anything I do now. Anatomy & Physiology profs taught me why sodium-potassium pumps are important. I learned Piaget’s development from Dick Day and 43 278 other Psych 101 students. At some point in the 4 years, I apparently figured out how to give medications, start IV’s, take vital signs, wash my hands like a pro, and sometimes, if the wind is blowing in just the right direction, even offer an effectively therapeutic word of support to a grieving family. As much as I may have doubted it throughout the process, I came out with some degree of an idea of how to be a nurse.
But, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming sense of failure that would come along with it. Four years in, and I think I am just starting to realize its legitimacy and influence in all of our careers.
I am beginning to wonder if that feeling ever goes away – or if it even should. That feeling that things go wrong with a patient as a direct result of my own personal incompetence. I am completely aware that in 99.99999% of cases, this is absolutely not true. Things happen to sick patients because they are sick. People don’t end up in the hospital because they are well. The simplicity of the matter makes its mention almost futile. Nevertheless, I have yet to win the mental battle with myself. Shows like ER, and Grey’s Anatomy, while grossly dramaticized, hollywoodized, and romanticized, elude to these same types of emotional struggles. And despite the exaggerations, the fact that these struggles are reenacted on film means that the emotions portrayed were originally felt by someone – in all probability some other health care worker who, like me, has a hard time moving past his or her insecurities.
And, lets just say that hypothetically, one was able to deny or overcome all of his personal insecurities – and wholeheartedly believe that he had mastered all components of his professional domain. The reality is that said person remains a flawed human being who, despite overwhelming confidence, will still make mistakes.
Take today for instance. In the course of my 12-hour shift I:
- Dropped about 14 things on the floor (arousing plentiful questioning about the potential of my being pregnant – of which there is none)
- Missed my attempts at getting venous blood
- Came down with an acute inability to complete relatively simple mathematical equations – which is actually a required skill in the NICU
If I put any amount of consideration into it, I know I could put together a more thorough list – but, no need to hound on the already unfortunate. Today was challenging in a number of ways, and I walked out of the hospital feeling beaten. Things go wrong. Sometimes because I am human – most times because we are always dealing with people who are already unwell.
But, this is the part that I wish I had known. I knew that being a new nurse would be hard. I knew I wouldn’t know what to do, and I would be overwhelmed and confused and incompetent.
I figured all of that would change when I “grew up”. I feel like I am still waiting. Because I am no longer confused. Most times, I feel fairly competent at what I do. And the majority of the time, the most overwhelming thing I face is how to strategically space the food I bring in my lunch pack throughout the day so that I don’t have a sugar-crash on the drive home.
And yet, despite all of that, I can’t overcome this overwhelming sense of failure. Sometimes, I wonder if it is just human nature and our desire to control situations. When things don’t go the way we wish, we look for ways we could have acted differently and how that might have changed the outcome. Or maybe it is the human tendency to dwell on the negative – despite 99 flawlessly executed acts, we perseverate on the one thing that didn’t go according to our plan.
I hope someday I get there. That place where I am absolutely alright with it all. Where I know that my best is all I can give. When I give my best, I am satisfied. Where I know that what I have to offer is just as important as what everyone else has to offer. Where I know that stuff happens – and it is my responsibility to help it, but won’t always be able to fix it. Where I truly recognize that we are all functioning in this less-than-perfect system and that we would all be better off if we recognized it and helped eachother thrive. Where I realize that Mr. Rogers, my mom, my dance teacher, Big Bird, my Grade 8 teacher, and God weren’t lying when they told me that nobody is perfect. And that that truth needs to be taken, not as an excuse, but as an encouragement to persevere through the moments when a failure is all you see.
Because, as far as those of us in this crazy world of health care are concerned, it is going to be tough. At the end of the day, I know that people get sick because there is something wrong with their bodies. And people die because they are sick. And, we get this incredible opportunity to intervene at an absolutely critical moment of their lives and sometimes improve it in a physical, tangible way. And, with this knowledge, I also recognize that viewing every turn for the worse as a failure won’t cut it.
I am not going to even suggest that I am there. It’s probably a long road. Maybe even an unrealistic goal. But, all I will ever be is this passionate, yet so obviously human, nurse – and hopefully someday that won’t feel like a failure.
Nursing school did its best to prepare me to do thorough physical assessments. Conscientious tutors laboured over nursing theories that may or may not have no degree of relevance to anything I do now. Anatomy & Physiology profs taught me why sodium-potassium pumps are important. I learned Piaget’s development from Dick Day and 43 278 other Psych 101 students. At some point in the 4 years, I apparently figured out how to give medications, start IV’s, take vital signs, wash my hands like a pro, and sometimes, if the wind is blowing in just the right direction, even offer an effectively therapeutic word of support to a grieving family. As much as I may have doubted it throughout the process, I came out with some degree of an idea of how to be a nurse.
But, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming sense of failure that would come along with it. Four years in, and I think I am just starting to realize its legitimacy and influence in all of our careers.
I am beginning to wonder if that feeling ever goes away – or if it even should. That feeling that things go wrong with a patient as a direct result of my own personal incompetence. I am completely aware that in 99.99999% of cases, this is absolutely not true. Things happen to sick patients because they are sick. People don’t end up in the hospital because they are well. The simplicity of the matter makes its mention almost futile. Nevertheless, I have yet to win the mental battle with myself. Shows like ER, and Grey’s Anatomy, while grossly dramaticized, hollywoodized, and romanticized, elude to these same types of emotional struggles. And despite the exaggerations, the fact that these struggles are reenacted on film means that the emotions portrayed were originally felt by someone – in all probability some other health care worker who, like me, has a hard time moving past his or her insecurities.
And, lets just say that hypothetically, one was able to deny or overcome all of his personal insecurities – and wholeheartedly believe that he had mastered all components of his professional domain. The reality is that said person remains a flawed human being who, despite overwhelming confidence, will still make mistakes.
Take today for instance. In the course of my 12-hour shift I:
- Dropped about 14 things on the floor (arousing plentiful questioning about the potential of my being pregnant – of which there is none)
- Missed my attempts at getting venous blood
- Came down with an acute inability to complete relatively simple mathematical equations – which is actually a required skill in the NICU
If I put any amount of consideration into it, I know I could put together a more thorough list – but, no need to hound on the already unfortunate. Today was challenging in a number of ways, and I walked out of the hospital feeling beaten. Things go wrong. Sometimes because I am human – most times because we are always dealing with people who are already unwell.
But, this is the part that I wish I had known. I knew that being a new nurse would be hard. I knew I wouldn’t know what to do, and I would be overwhelmed and confused and incompetent.
I figured all of that would change when I “grew up”. I feel like I am still waiting. Because I am no longer confused. Most times, I feel fairly competent at what I do. And the majority of the time, the most overwhelming thing I face is how to strategically space the food I bring in my lunch pack throughout the day so that I don’t have a sugar-crash on the drive home.
And yet, despite all of that, I can’t overcome this overwhelming sense of failure. Sometimes, I wonder if it is just human nature and our desire to control situations. When things don’t go the way we wish, we look for ways we could have acted differently and how that might have changed the outcome. Or maybe it is the human tendency to dwell on the negative – despite 99 flawlessly executed acts, we perseverate on the one thing that didn’t go according to our plan.
I hope someday I get there. That place where I am absolutely alright with it all. Where I know that my best is all I can give. When I give my best, I am satisfied. Where I know that what I have to offer is just as important as what everyone else has to offer. Where I know that stuff happens – and it is my responsibility to help it, but won’t always be able to fix it. Where I truly recognize that we are all functioning in this less-than-perfect system and that we would all be better off if we recognized it and helped eachother thrive. Where I realize that Mr. Rogers, my mom, my dance teacher, Big Bird, my Grade 8 teacher, and God weren’t lying when they told me that nobody is perfect. And that that truth needs to be taken, not as an excuse, but as an encouragement to persevere through the moments when a failure is all you see.
Because, as far as those of us in this crazy world of health care are concerned, it is going to be tough. At the end of the day, I know that people get sick because there is something wrong with their bodies. And people die because they are sick. And, we get this incredible opportunity to intervene at an absolutely critical moment of their lives and sometimes improve it in a physical, tangible way. And, with this knowledge, I also recognize that viewing every turn for the worse as a failure won’t cut it.
I am not going to even suggest that I am there. It’s probably a long road. Maybe even an unrealistic goal. But, all I will ever be is this passionate, yet so obviously human, nurse – and hopefully someday that won’t feel like a failure.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Something along the road
There is a wee bit of irony I realize. Posting to a "Jenn in Africa" blog, when Jenn is, according to the untrained eye, very much not in Africa.
It seems that aside from a very brief hiatus to the tropical island of St.Martin, the majority of this last year has found me in Canada - the true north strong and free, if you will. And, I have no complaints about this beautiful country or the beloved family and friends I found here. Or anything here really. I know that I have been blessed beyond belief. I know that I have been given so much in almost every area of my life.
And I know that "to whom much has been given, much is expected". I think that is why things like this rock me to the core. Why after watching it 5 times in a row, I have yet to dry my eyes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSdP6PqsbJY
"Something along the road cut me to the soul". Every line. Every face. Every single little clip of Sara Groves re-enacting contrived significant moments with the locals reminds me of a friend or a moment that I can't let go. Reminds me of the 6 months that destroyed the girl I used to be, and made me the slightly idealistic, irresponsible, unconventional, yet still drastically naive girl that I am today. Someone who believes that her efforts to change a broken, hurting world through direct service is worthwhile. Someone who thinks that changing lives doesn't always mean saving lives, but that a changed life is worth the effort. Someone who thinks that every single person's story is worth hearing. And that the very act of listening to a story brings healing.
These past few weeks, I have been reliving my 6 months in Africa. I have been trying to make decisions about how to proceed with my career. I have been craving the peace that I know can come from nothing other than holding a small African baby to your chest and having him fall asleep.
And, the only conclusive deduction I have made is that my heart has been absolutely broken. It wasn't about finding myself. It wasn't about seeing the world. I havn't gotten over it. This is just the beginning.
I am on the brink of some fairly significant change (as far as my tiny, insignificant life is concerned) and I woke up this morning with this emotion that I couldn't even initially identify. I really have no idea where I am going in this next phase of life, however long it may be. But that excites me, because I also know that only when I am open and seeking God does He have the potential to knock me off of my feet with His plans. And, I absolutely know where the plan will eventually lead me. Back to my heart and to the people who broke it in a way that I will forever be grateful for. And, for one of the first times since I came home from Africa last summer, I have this incredible sense of hope.
It seems that aside from a very brief hiatus to the tropical island of St.Martin, the majority of this last year has found me in Canada - the true north strong and free, if you will. And, I have no complaints about this beautiful country or the beloved family and friends I found here. Or anything here really. I know that I have been blessed beyond belief. I know that I have been given so much in almost every area of my life.
And I know that "to whom much has been given, much is expected". I think that is why things like this rock me to the core. Why after watching it 5 times in a row, I have yet to dry my eyes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSdP6PqsbJY
"Something along the road cut me to the soul". Every line. Every face. Every single little clip of Sara Groves re-enacting contrived significant moments with the locals reminds me of a friend or a moment that I can't let go. Reminds me of the 6 months that destroyed the girl I used to be, and made me the slightly idealistic, irresponsible, unconventional, yet still drastically naive girl that I am today. Someone who believes that her efforts to change a broken, hurting world through direct service is worthwhile. Someone who thinks that changing lives doesn't always mean saving lives, but that a changed life is worth the effort. Someone who thinks that every single person's story is worth hearing. And that the very act of listening to a story brings healing.
These past few weeks, I have been reliving my 6 months in Africa. I have been trying to make decisions about how to proceed with my career. I have been craving the peace that I know can come from nothing other than holding a small African baby to your chest and having him fall asleep.
And, the only conclusive deduction I have made is that my heart has been absolutely broken. It wasn't about finding myself. It wasn't about seeing the world. I havn't gotten over it. This is just the beginning.
I am on the brink of some fairly significant change (as far as my tiny, insignificant life is concerned) and I woke up this morning with this emotion that I couldn't even initially identify. I really have no idea where I am going in this next phase of life, however long it may be. But that excites me, because I also know that only when I am open and seeking God does He have the potential to knock me off of my feet with His plans. And, I absolutely know where the plan will eventually lead me. Back to my heart and to the people who broke it in a way that I will forever be grateful for. And, for one of the first times since I came home from Africa last summer, I have this incredible sense of hope.
Friday, January 2, 2009
If God is good
My Ali is home.
“I don't want to be seduced by my culture into thinking I need to have or be or do anything other than what God would have me have and be and do.”
Saturday, December 27, 2008
My socially responsible Christmas
Every Christmas, 75 000 coloured bulbs lights light up Victoria park in London Ontario. I just happened to be in town for the official “lighting of the lights” kick-off celebration. Always one for organized fun, I attended the festivities with a friend. We stood and counted down to the inevitable flip-of-the-switch with the crowd of thousands of locals, drinking our starbucks coffee out of our red paper cups. As the crowd cheered, the park became illuminated with tiny lights, for the first of many nights to come. We looked out into the brightly lit surroundings. Took sips from our $5.00 coffee. Looked at our red cups. Laughed at the irony.
“Merry Christmas white middle-class North America!” my sarcastic friend said. “Enjoy your lights!”
It really is ironic. I just came from a country that hasn’t had electricity since the war and are thrilled to finally have street lights.
If you’re reading this, my consistent moral dilemma with living a holy, God-centered, socially-responsible life in North America is probably not news to you. It’s not that Africa ruined me. At the risk of sounding like a catharsis-seeking, back-pack-clad, Europe-bound college grad, I would instead say it helped me find me. I would never want to go back to the me that I was before. I want to continually engulf myself in situations that will challenge me to become more like the me that I am sure God always had planned.
It’s harder here. It’s been six months since I could hop in a landrover on a Saturday morning, drive for half an hour down a pot-hole-filled dirt road and end up serving as a human jungle-gym for 25 filthy, beautiful, little orphans. Six months since I rocked Baby Greg to sleep at night. Six months since I taught patients how to clean their surgical wounds in Liberian English. Six months since I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was serving. That I was right exactly where God wanted me to be. Doing exactly what he desired.
But now I am here. And, as surprising as this may sound, critical analysis of randomized control trials evaluating the efficacy of intensive behavioural intervention doesn’t feel nearly as purposeful as any of the above mentioned activities. And, I drink Starbucks. And our family Christmas just involved the exchange of two GPS’s, an ipod, a children’s videocamera, a digital photo-frame, a cushy computer-desk-chair, and some very pretty boots (unfortunately not for me)…all of which were received with gracious gratitude, but also, all of which we would continue to go on eating, sleeping, and breathing without.
So, how does it work? Because, here is where we are. Wherever we find ourselves, that is where we have been placed. And that is where we are expected to live holy, righteous, admirable, outstanding lives. And it has to be possible. Because we all aren’t called to live in the bush in West Africa. We all aren’t called preach to thousands on Sunday mornings. We all aren’t capable of running a charitable organization.
Which leads me to believe that it has to be in the little things. Wherever life places you, it has to be possible to live an absolutely God-honouring life. Even in white, middle-class North-America. Even while taking part in the consumerism-driven version of Christmas that our society has created.
Because, there is nothing wrong with the mini-lights. There is nothing wrong with the GPS. And, I refuse to think there is anything wrong with boots (and if there is, that will need to be an entirely different blog, because I just have way too many feelings about boots to express here). I think there is only something wrong with them all if we care about them more than the other things.
Those “little things” - the everyday choices that we can make to be the person God wants us to be in the time and place we are in- were part of this Christmas as well. We received “red” gifts from my brother, because, (in his own words) “As we intentionally sow/spend with companies that are intentionally generous... they will be motivated to continue because they'll see profit and benefit”. I bought a mosquito net on behalf of everyone in my family, for a family in Liberia. We cut out all the extra stuff that you usually get for Christmas, to make the stockings and the bottom of the tree look more full, but that nobody really needs or at the end of the day even wants. We’re definitely not single-handedly saving the world. But maybe we are starting to think about the fact that our little choices have the potential to do so.
I just read a quote from Steven Harper about how we may be living in the most prosperous, peaceful land in the world. If he is right, then we are blessed. And there has to be a way to live in this land without a sense of guilt. To invest in our economy and find joy in the blessings, yet still live with a deliberate awareness of our responsibility to enrich others out of our blessing. I am not claiming to have figured this out. But, I hoping I am starting to find the right path.
“Merry Christmas white middle-class North America!” my sarcastic friend said. “Enjoy your lights!”
It really is ironic. I just came from a country that hasn’t had electricity since the war and are thrilled to finally have street lights.
If you’re reading this, my consistent moral dilemma with living a holy, God-centered, socially-responsible life in North America is probably not news to you. It’s not that Africa ruined me. At the risk of sounding like a catharsis-seeking, back-pack-clad, Europe-bound college grad, I would instead say it helped me find me. I would never want to go back to the me that I was before. I want to continually engulf myself in situations that will challenge me to become more like the me that I am sure God always had planned.
It’s harder here. It’s been six months since I could hop in a landrover on a Saturday morning, drive for half an hour down a pot-hole-filled dirt road and end up serving as a human jungle-gym for 25 filthy, beautiful, little orphans. Six months since I rocked Baby Greg to sleep at night. Six months since I taught patients how to clean their surgical wounds in Liberian English. Six months since I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was serving. That I was right exactly where God wanted me to be. Doing exactly what he desired.
But now I am here. And, as surprising as this may sound, critical analysis of randomized control trials evaluating the efficacy of intensive behavioural intervention doesn’t feel nearly as purposeful as any of the above mentioned activities. And, I drink Starbucks. And our family Christmas just involved the exchange of two GPS’s, an ipod, a children’s videocamera, a digital photo-frame, a cushy computer-desk-chair, and some very pretty boots (unfortunately not for me)…all of which were received with gracious gratitude, but also, all of which we would continue to go on eating, sleeping, and breathing without.
So, how does it work? Because, here is where we are. Wherever we find ourselves, that is where we have been placed. And that is where we are expected to live holy, righteous, admirable, outstanding lives. And it has to be possible. Because we all aren’t called to live in the bush in West Africa. We all aren’t called preach to thousands on Sunday mornings. We all aren’t capable of running a charitable organization.
Which leads me to believe that it has to be in the little things. Wherever life places you, it has to be possible to live an absolutely God-honouring life. Even in white, middle-class North-America. Even while taking part in the consumerism-driven version of Christmas that our society has created.
Because, there is nothing wrong with the mini-lights. There is nothing wrong with the GPS. And, I refuse to think there is anything wrong with boots (and if there is, that will need to be an entirely different blog, because I just have way too many feelings about boots to express here). I think there is only something wrong with them all if we care about them more than the other things.
Those “little things” - the everyday choices that we can make to be the person God wants us to be in the time and place we are in- were part of this Christmas as well. We received “red” gifts from my brother, because, (in his own words) “As we intentionally sow/spend with companies that are intentionally generous... they will be motivated to continue because they'll see profit and benefit”. I bought a mosquito net on behalf of everyone in my family, for a family in Liberia. We cut out all the extra stuff that you usually get for Christmas, to make the stockings and the bottom of the tree look more full, but that nobody really needs or at the end of the day even wants. We’re definitely not single-handedly saving the world. But maybe we are starting to think about the fact that our little choices have the potential to do so.
I just read a quote from Steven Harper about how we may be living in the most prosperous, peaceful land in the world. If he is right, then we are blessed. And there has to be a way to live in this land without a sense of guilt. To invest in our economy and find joy in the blessings, yet still live with a deliberate awareness of our responsibility to enrich others out of our blessing. I am not claiming to have figured this out. But, I hoping I am starting to find the right path.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Anywhere but here
My brain is on overtime.
Nevermind the ceaseless articles to be read, papers to be written, exams to be marked, presentations to be prepared, meetings to attend, sleepless nights to spend pouring over textbooks that I am sure were written solely for the pleasure of the author. That I can take. I have been a student before. The expectations are ridiculous and one has to literally sacrifice everything else in their world to buy into what University is selling. But I can handle that. I am actually pretty good at it.
This whole analytical thing is what might “push me over the edge” - “Give me a run for my money”. I could go on. (nothing like a good colloquialism to put a smile on my face)
I just keep thinking. Wondering whether I am doing the right thing. Wondering why God didn’t want me to stay in Africa. Somebody’s gotta be there. Why not me? I am right here. Totally willing. Send me.
But don’t worry, my brain doesn’t stop there. Twenty-six years of obsessive overanalysis of every aspect of my life wouldn’t allow me to settle for such a one-dimensional approach to my future. Because, I am all about the making connections. Nursing school taught me to find themes. And, you see, I think that perhaps that my brain likes to see the “grass as always greener on the other side” (last one…promise).
Grad school is hard. I wonder why I ever left a full-time job in exchange for this. I wonder how, in the matter of just a few months, I went from a world where I experienced more love and purpose than I ever thought imaginable to this seemingly self-indulgent world with a goal so far off that I can't even see it. And, as much as hindsight encourges me to idealize everything about my African life, I have a stark understanding that the far-off land of my dreams is just so horrifically full of pain that it is hard to imagine what I could ever acheive, even if I devoted the rest of my life trying. I just read a movie review on my brother’s blog of a documentary (Darwin’s Nightmare) about perch fishing in Tanzania, which is as far from my idea and associations with fishing than I am from Africa. I wonder why there is so much sadness and hurt and pain in this world. I wonder what I can do about it. Almost everybody we come into contact with is suffering. From something. Sometimes, it can all just get so absolutely overwhelming to the point where I wonder how I will ever realize my goal of changing the world. I wonder why I am right here, right now.
The good news is, I am not figuring out this life on my own.
Kate and I had just the greatest talk the other day about how all anyone can do is their small part. We would be foolish to think we are capable of something more.
And, despite all of the confusion and stress and chaos of this new life I have found myself in, at the end of two years, I will have helped some parents in Ontario optimize their babies’ development. Parents who have the threat of a diagnosis looming over them like a sentence. Babies who might not otherwise have had much attention. Not much hope. Might not have grown up to be the best that they could be. I hope I can help them do that.
And, I’ve got just the greatest God I could ever hope for. Because I know that in the confusion, He is my direction. When I feel that I would rather be anywhere but here, He shows me exactly why I am here. And that gives me faith to keep at this.
I used to listen to this song a lot when I was on the ship. I think I liked it mostly because the whole concept of “storms” was quite relevant on the coast of West Africa. But, here, in Canada, facing a different type of storm, I am just as in need of direction and strength. And I couldn't be more thankful that it is right there for me the moment I ask for it.
Because I know I am not going to change the world. But, I need to be here, now, changing whatever small pieces of the world that I can.
How long have I been in this storm?
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head
If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If I'd see you
This darkness would turn to light
And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright
I know you didn't bring me out here to drown
So why am I ten feet under and upside down
Barely surviving has become my purpose
Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface
If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If i'd see you
This darkness would turn to light
And I will walk on water
You will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright
- Lifehouse "Storm"
Nevermind the ceaseless articles to be read, papers to be written, exams to be marked, presentations to be prepared, meetings to attend, sleepless nights to spend pouring over textbooks that I am sure were written solely for the pleasure of the author. That I can take. I have been a student before. The expectations are ridiculous and one has to literally sacrifice everything else in their world to buy into what University is selling. But I can handle that. I am actually pretty good at it.
This whole analytical thing is what might “push me over the edge” - “Give me a run for my money”. I could go on. (nothing like a good colloquialism to put a smile on my face)
I just keep thinking. Wondering whether I am doing the right thing. Wondering why God didn’t want me to stay in Africa. Somebody’s gotta be there. Why not me? I am right here. Totally willing. Send me.
But don’t worry, my brain doesn’t stop there. Twenty-six years of obsessive overanalysis of every aspect of my life wouldn’t allow me to settle for such a one-dimensional approach to my future. Because, I am all about the making connections. Nursing school taught me to find themes. And, you see, I think that perhaps that my brain likes to see the “grass as always greener on the other side” (last one…promise).
Grad school is hard. I wonder why I ever left a full-time job in exchange for this. I wonder how, in the matter of just a few months, I went from a world where I experienced more love and purpose than I ever thought imaginable to this seemingly self-indulgent world with a goal so far off that I can't even see it. And, as much as hindsight encourges me to idealize everything about my African life, I have a stark understanding that the far-off land of my dreams is just so horrifically full of pain that it is hard to imagine what I could ever acheive, even if I devoted the rest of my life trying. I just read a movie review on my brother’s blog of a documentary (Darwin’s Nightmare) about perch fishing in Tanzania, which is as far from my idea and associations with fishing than I am from Africa. I wonder why there is so much sadness and hurt and pain in this world. I wonder what I can do about it. Almost everybody we come into contact with is suffering. From something. Sometimes, it can all just get so absolutely overwhelming to the point where I wonder how I will ever realize my goal of changing the world. I wonder why I am right here, right now.
The good news is, I am not figuring out this life on my own.
Kate and I had just the greatest talk the other day about how all anyone can do is their small part. We would be foolish to think we are capable of something more.
And, despite all of the confusion and stress and chaos of this new life I have found myself in, at the end of two years, I will have helped some parents in Ontario optimize their babies’ development. Parents who have the threat of a diagnosis looming over them like a sentence. Babies who might not otherwise have had much attention. Not much hope. Might not have grown up to be the best that they could be. I hope I can help them do that.
And, I’ve got just the greatest God I could ever hope for. Because I know that in the confusion, He is my direction. When I feel that I would rather be anywhere but here, He shows me exactly why I am here. And that gives me faith to keep at this.
I used to listen to this song a lot when I was on the ship. I think I liked it mostly because the whole concept of “storms” was quite relevant on the coast of West Africa. But, here, in Canada, facing a different type of storm, I am just as in need of direction and strength. And I couldn't be more thankful that it is right there for me the moment I ask for it.
Because I know I am not going to change the world. But, I need to be here, now, changing whatever small pieces of the world that I can.
How long have I been in this storm?
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head
If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If I'd see you
This darkness would turn to light
And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright
I know you didn't bring me out here to drown
So why am I ten feet under and upside down
Barely surviving has become my purpose
Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface
If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If i'd see you
This darkness would turn to light
And I will walk on water
You will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright
- Lifehouse "Storm"
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