Coffee, flavored. Hot Ragatoni from a can.
5 patients, fast asleep.
IV's hung.
Meds given.
Charting completed -- for now.
I was dreading coming to work tonight. Because, even after all the night shifts I have worked, there is still that looming question: what will happen? will i know what to do?
In many ways, I just wanted to stay at home with my family, hanging out with little brothers that make the world go around. It was storming right before I left; dark grey clouds, slippery blowing clouds scudding across the sky like fallen leaves hurrying downstream. Going somewhere to blow some trees down. Somehow it seemed to reflect the emotions of my own heart.
There are so many questions hovering over me right now. Questions about the future...about the past...about who I am and who I am becoming. Sometimes I think over-analyze; you know, "borrow trouble" as my mom always warned me against as a little girl. But lately the questions have been dominating the canvas and I find myself in a near constant battle to fight through those heavy clouds and into the sunlight of solid answers.
I'm not a big fan of not knowing what to expect.
But I stand on the front porch and watch the approaching storm, then wander out into the garden to see what's growing in spite of it all. The garden is a carpet of green, rising and falling in waves of undulating heights and textures. It's the season for growing. The earth is changing to bring forth fruit.
The corn is just coming ripe, ears fat and blonde-tassled. I peel back the layers and resist the urge to collect an armful for supper. There isn't time before work. Ambling back to the house, I am stretching time into a long green ribbon. Even 5 minutes holds infinite value when you know it is all you have. So, I embrace my 5 minutes, wringing every bit of sensation from them. The world is crystal clear--how the colors emerge! My bare feet step lightly through fresh-mown grass; a bit of thunder echoes far away. The sky trembles as the clouds scuttle by and the world is so alive. Something about it makes me feel alive too.
I do a cartwheel across the cool grass. I feel like a kid again.
The road to the hospital is long and under construction. It has been for months and months.
And I can't help but think...it's the season for changing things. Even me.
"Jesus," I tell Him--my faithful passenger seat friend, "here we go again. Thank you for coming along...not just to drop me off at the door or pick me up in the morning, but to stay right at my side every second."
There is something infintely comforting about this reality: Jesus, at my side, always. Period.
The reality of His presence wherever I go has become more and more clear. It is the one thing constant in this world of uncertainties. I choose to live its reality every moment of every day. Jesus is my companion, regardless of time, place, or event. I need Him desperately, just to get through. Moment by moment, I depend on Him.
Call me co-dependent. I think it's just fine.
And as I swerve between orange lane markers, upended asphalt, excavators, and huge earth movers I remember that change and growth never happen without outside intervention and a little discomfort.
The future in about 6 months is all unknown. An empty sheet. A blank canvas.
I feel like a garden, coming into bloom but unsure of what the crop will be.
I feel like a highway, torn up and rearranged; dusty, re-directed, a little disoriented. But while I wait for my change to come, I feel that the work is quietly going on within me. Something is being carved out--the completed work remains to be seen, but there are signs of progress that keep me hoping in my Savior's promise to finish what He has started.
So the B-Wing is asleep. My styrofoam cup is empty. The ER is looking quiet and if I'm lucky I won't fall asleep on the job.
And I walk knowing that the Lord of creation will perfect those things great and small, which conern me.
Fruits of summer
