Repair

I recently had a wonderful conversation with a new friend. She made a very simple comment to me. She said "If I do something wrong, please tell me so that I can repair it." We went on to discuss this for several minutes, because I was intrigued by her courage. She said that she felt relationships were built on repairing wrongs. We both know that everyone makes mistakes.

I place high value on relationships in my life. In my experience, the most valuable and secure relationships have had repairs made. Some are bigger repairs than others. I just think one of the most important things we have to be able to do is to tell the other person honestly: "That hurt." Then, the other person can repair it. When we keep our hurt to ourselves, not sharing it, it festers. Pure and simple, it festers. We then end up expressing our hurt in other ways like 'forgetting' a birthday, ignoring the other person, not returning calls.

I have one thing I simply cannot understand. Perhaps by asking the question out loud, I will find an answer. Why do people insist on pretending that they are not hurt? It seems as if they think they are just too tough, to good, to important not to bleed. Everyone bleeds, everyone gets hurt. That is simply part of being human. I guess some people don't want to see the humanity in each of us. I just feel like there are people out there bleeding, not wanting to admit they are hurt. Then, of course, something always happens and the person acts out. I really think that some people don't understand that they are acting out of hurt. They can always find something to justify their actions. Perhaps it is a sense of being perfect. Maybe it is a lack of ability to see their own hurtful actions towards others.

This post seems a bit cryptic, I have a bunch of ideas going through my head, and I guess I like getting them out of my head and out to the universe. I am a thinker, a ponderer and a pilgrim. I also like to think that deep down inside, I repair things. Perhaps, even heal things. Of course the only real thing I can repair is myself......uhm. That might be the next post.

Cool!

SO, I work as a nurse in the emergency department. Sometimes, I make small talk with patients while I am doing procedures. Today, I talked a bit with a young lady as I was starting an IV and drawing blood. I tried to listen to her story and give her some encouragement. She had dropped out of school, and was wandering around looking for a job. I didn't think too much about our little talk. I just want to see people succeed. As I went to take her paperwork upon discharge, she looked at me with pride and told me something. She said that when she got her high school diploma, she was going to bring it up to the hospital and show it to me. I was humbled, saying that I hoped that I was around when she did. I guess I managed to give her a little hope, maybe even direction in life. She seemed pretty sure of her desire to go back to school, wanting to make a better life for herself.
I love my job, and get goose bumps when I think about the impact that I get to have on some people. I am humbled every day when I consider the authority I hold with people who are vulnerable.
I hope this lady brings her diploma up to show me. I pray that I am at work that day. I told her that I believe that she will. I told her that she was a survivor!
Cool! She really did seem to listen, and better yet: BELIEVE.

Chanting

I read a book a couple of years ago titled 'The Cloister Walk'. I'd be quoting from this book right now, but I lent it to one of my token Baptist friends. It is book, written by a poet who spent some time in a Monastery. In this book, she talked about chanting the Psalms. She talked about how the Monks would use their breath in certain ways, sing in such a way that their voice would meld into the others. There is a real majesty as to why the psalms are chanted certain ways and why. I know very little about all of this, but I started paying attention. I was at a retreat a few months ago, and really participated for the first time. I don't sing well, but I could try to hide my voice among retreatants and nuns. By the third day, I had even gotten a little bit comfortable with it. It became a meditation, a quieting of my mind. The words took on some meaning for me, they became alive.
Last weekend, I had an appointment at the Episcopal Convent. I timed it so that I could participate in Diurnum and chant the Psalms. My 5 year old tagged along with me for this appointment He loves going and has made several friends there. So, he sat with me in the chapel. I approached the service with great reverence, only to find my child sitting beside me grinning from ear to ear. He even tickled me at one point. I found it quite beautiful and whole. I could be solemn and reverent, while being rubbed and prodded. He could be a five year old and absorb the sounds, and sights. I can only imagine what goes through his mind as he sits in a church service. He seems to understand it so much better than most.
So, it came to me that there are several times when I get to see who I am in the context of an experience. I am someone who has mostly let my kids tag along. Because of this, I have a 5 year old who loves to go spend time at a convent! He learns something new every time he goes, and we have much to talk about. At the same time, I was able to feed myself with Spiritual Direction, chanting the psalms and lunch with great people. There are times to go alone, and there are times to share it with others.
I am very, very grateful for this place of friendship, retreat and community for me. They even let Carter ring the bell!

Scared

On some level, I think that I am always scared. At least a little bit scared. I am scared of not being able to pay my bills, so I go to work. I am scared of running out of food, so I go to the grocery store. I am scared that the animals and children will go hungry, so I make sure they are fed. I think this is almost like a tension that exists in my life, in every one's life.
So, being a bit scared can be a good thing. I think that I am starting to be able to figure some things out. I am more aware of what I am deeply scared of. I have also stopped being scared of many things. Here is an incomplete list of things I am NOT scared of:
I am not scared of loosing friends.
I am not scared of being judged.
I am not scared of being humiliated.
I am not scared of speaking up.
I am not scared of sharing love.
I am not scared of receiving love.
I am not scared of standing for Justice.
I am not scared of being excluded.

The reason I am not scared of these things is simple. I remain scared of something bigger than all of that.

I am scared of stopping short of the woman I am supposed to be.

A mission

I had the most interesting talk with a new doctor last night. We were discussing the 'state' of health care in our country. Insurance companies, lobbyists, corporations, institutions. It is enough to drive a health care provider crazy. At the end of the conversation, I said "Sometimes, I wonder why I ever became a nurse." His response surprised me, and I am not easily surprised. He said something like "When you start questioning what you are doing, it is time to do what I did. I went on a mission to the Himalayans and reminded myself why I became a doctor." He said it was hard, but it made him so thankful to be able to help others. In the mountains of India, there are no insurance companies, forms or all of the other things that get between a doctor and a patient. There are just people needing help and people willing to give it.
I have been asked to participate in a medical mission to Vietnam next year. I was initially excited about the opportunity to go to a place where my father served in the army. Then, reality set in. I can't afford the thousands of dollars for the trip. And quite frankly, I hate asking for any help. Yet, something is playing in the back of my mind. Is it possible for me to do this? Is this something that I am supposed to do? Could I find the money, earn the money or be given money? Could I possibly just simply ask for help?
I don't ask for help well, and I probably do an even worse job of accepting it. I was raised with the whole 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' thing.
It would be an honor and privilege to go on a mission and serve the greater good in another country. I am seriously considering trying to make a go of this. If I do, I'll have to let people know that I need help, money and lots of prayers.
Was this doctor just making an off the wall comment, or was he challenging me to take on a mission? Who the heck knows? We'll see.

Ayla's quote

This quote is from last book of the Clan of the Cave Bear series. It is my favorite one, and it rang so true for me.
"She had never asked, she had always been chosen, and for each acceptance she bore a mark, a scar that she would carry always. It was the sacrifice she'd had to make. Now she was being chosen again. She could still decline, but if she didn't refuse now, she was committed for life. It crossed her mind that the scars would always remind her that there were consequences to being chosen, responsibilities that came with acceptance."
page 610, The land of the Painted Caves, by Jean M. Auel

Writer's block

I guess one of the reasons I have not posted in awhile is simple. I don't feel like I can say what I really, really want to. Therefore, I say nothing. It sounds a bit childish, and there is a pretty long story behind all of this. Yet, right now, I am in no man's land. I have learned a very hard lesson lately. When I put some of my thoughts out to the world, people can use them. They can use them as a part of their own story, building relationships. Or, people can use my words to malign, humiliate or shame me.
This is a bit of a stumbling block for me right now, and I am trying to noodle my way through this one. I think the hardest part for me is simple, I cannot control what people will do with my words. I can simply try to remain true to my own story, and not be afraid to speak up. I don't like acting out of fear, or desperation.
One thing is certain, I love it when I hear people tell me how my writing has touched them. I learned, recently, that someone has one of my posts up on her refrigerator. That makes me so grateful for the risks that I have taken here, and lucky to be a part of another person's story.
So, forgive me while I pout for a little while. I've gotten my feelings hurt. One thing I have learned for sure: I will never, ever, ever quit telling my story. I want my kids and other people to know one thing about me. I have absolutely NO shame in who I am, or where I come from. I am simply a human being on a journey. My journey, no body else's. I may share it with you by publishing a blog, but I will not give it to you. It is not yours to take.