Delays and Detours

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. And although that is a mathematical truth, it is not reality in life.

There's birth and then there's death - 2 points.  But the life between those points is more like a roller coaster than a straight line. There's ups and downs, sharp turns and straight-a-ways. There's times you grasp the bar, white-knuckled, and screech with fear. There's times you throw your hands up in the air and squeal with delight, and times in between in which you just recover.

But this life isn't a carnival ride, It's real, and it's every day. And sometimes I just can't see past the 'downs' .

And then I read God's promise in Matt 28:20  I am with you all the days and on every occasion.  He's with me in the rain and in the rainbow.  He's with me in the darkest night and the brightest day.

A couple of years ago, I was driving the interstate and saw the sign "detour ahead". I groaned. I was alone in the car, but almost audibly, I heard these words: (I pulled off and wrote them down)

                Don't be discouraged in the hard stuff.
                Don't dispair the bad stuff.
               Don't be be dismayed with the delays and detours.
        For I AM the All Wise, All Powerful, Always Present God.

Amen and Amen.

His creation

 I quilt, I scrapbook, I plant my garden, I write.  That sounds like a list of hobbies. But it's more than that. Much more.  It's soul work.
 Creating.  Taking random thoughts, or objects, and through great effort, slowly transforming them into a unique being.

 Maybe it has to do with 'slowly'. My world is so fast paced.
 Maybe it has to do with 'mine'. I escape into me and my creation.
 Maybe it has to do with 'single focus'.  No multi-tasking here. All other demands are set aside.
 Probably, it's because,  as I change it, it changes me. I am at peace, I am content.

In the beginning, it's just me and an idea. As I work it and rework it, I become bonded to it.  And by  the time it is finished, I am in love with it.

Genesis 1:27 So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him.
Psalm 139:13  For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb. 

If I fall in love with my creations, I can only imagine what God feels about His; what He feels for me!

                                     The Creation
                               by James Weldon Johnson

Then God sat down--
On the side of a hill where he could think;
By a deep, wide river he sat down;
With his head in his hands,
God thought and thought,
Till he thought: I'll make me a man!

Up from the bed of the river
God scooped the clay;
And by the bank of the river
He kneeled him down;
And there the great God Almighty
Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky,
Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night,
Who rounded the earth in the middle of his hand;
This great God,
Like a mammy bending over her baby,
Kneeled down in the dust
Toiling over a lump of clay
Till he shaped it in is his own image;

Then into it he blew the breath of life,
And man became a living soul.
Amen.Amen. 
       for the entire Poem, (and I encourage you to do it, cause it is good!)
                                double click on this link 
                 https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-creation/

Can you feel the love?   Like a mammy bending over her baby.  That kind of love. The great God Almighty kneeled in the dust, toiled over a lump of clay, didn't stop until it was perfect.  That kind of love!

                              Oh how He loves you. Oh how He loves me. 
                                         Oh how He loves you and me.

 Slow down, escape, focus, change. Be at Peace.

to the girls of Sue Mitchell's girl scout troop

An open letter to the girls of Sue Mitchell’s Girl Scout troop,                                       Jan. 3, 2018

    My heart goes out to each of you as you are dealing with Amber’s death. Having faced death before, I’ve learned a bit about how to live in the life after death. I hope you will let me share.

    First of all, grief is not something you will “get over” or “get through”. Grief is now part of your life’s journey. While she was alive, you were profoundly changed by your relationship with Amber  and now, you are profoundly changed by her death. You cannot go “back to the way it was”, or  “back to normal”. But here is the hope: The pain you feel now will not always be this constant or this sharp. You will find a new normal, a good normal, even, a happy normal.   So how do you do that?

1.  Realize that grief is different than depression, but also realize that you can get “stuck in grief” and with that comes depression.

   Right now, the crying, the loneliness, the ‘sinking into the memories, unable to function kind’ of sadness is typical.  But as time goes by,  you will make a decision, either consciously or unconsciously: Does grief control me, or do I control grief? 

2.  Acknowledge that although grief is a permanent presence in your life, you get to make the rules about what he (grief) can do, and when he can do it. 

3. Beware of the ambushes.  Memories are great, until they come at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and you lose it in the middle of Krogers and strangers wanna call you an ambulance and they don’t understand that your heart is broken, and the ER can’t fix it. 

4. Put your grief in a box.  It’s a bit of embarrassing to have a full blown grief attack at  Krogers, or at work, or in the middle of family Christmas, so what do you do with grief when he wants to run uncontrolled in your life?  You put him in a box.  Not a cardboard box, but a box in your mind. You might think that it would be a good thing to put the lid on tight and never open it because if you do, all the memories and pain and grief will come out. But if you don’t control when that lid comes off, it becomes like a ‘Jack-in-the-box’ and the crank turns and turns and without warning, it pops open and all the contents fly out all over everyone around.

   For a while, keep that box on a low shelf in your mind. Open it a lot.  Open it intentionally, on your terms.  Choose when and how you will grieve. As time goes by, you’ll find that you will open it less and less.  You may feel guilty about that. You might feel like you are forgetting Amber, and that you are dishonoring her memory. But that’s just part of walking your journey.  I remember laying on Emily’s grave about 6 months out.  The guy mowing the cemetery stopped to check on me.  I told him that I felt guilty that I was only coming once a week instead of every day.  He told me “I’ve been watching you.  You’re right on schedule. That’s just the way it is. It means you’re healing up.”  Those words freed me from the obligation to stay stuck in the same spot in my journey.  He freed me from being stuck in grief.  You will always have that box with you, and amazingly, one day when you open that box, you’ll discover that those same memories that cause you so much pain now, have morphed into your prized possession. 

5.  Give your grief a job. Like having a benefit, or writing a note to Adrianna. Like “adopting a kid” in a 3^rd world country, or setting up a scholarship, or volunteering to feed the homeless. Easing someone else’s suffering, somehow, eases yours.  And somehow, it will give meaning to a meaningless death. Amber is like a stone thrown into a pond. Her life rippled into ours.   And her ripples will continue with anything you do to honor of her memory.

6. Be gentle with yourself and with others.  Your grief is proportional to the relationship you had with Amber. Just as your relationship with Amber was different from everyone else’s, so your grief will be different as well.  Don’t put expectations on others to grieve the same as you. And don’t expect yourself to grieve the same way others do.  All that will do is to isolate you from the other people who loved Amber, too.

   That's enough for now.  Keep on walking.  And if you find yourself stuck, call me, text me, friend me.  618-889-0587

  I send you love and hugs,

Anne

Two years of Travel Nursing.

There's something alluring about traveling. It’s like a honeymoon.  

Two years of travel nursing.

Two years of being the “new nurse”. Two years of new co-workers and new friends.  Two years of new nursing experiences, tips and techniques.

Two years of being a tourist. Two years of adventures. Two years of new places, new people.

Two years of limbo living in a 34 foot motorhome.  Two years of missing family milestones. Two years of being a visitor at my own family's gatherings.

It’s enough. We’re done. Ray and I have taken off our travel shoes ( for a time).   We are part of a village.  We are committed to the people who are committed to us. And part of that commitment means being present; present in the good times and the hard.  So the motorhome has a “for sale” sign on it and we bought a house near our family.

My heart is content. We’re  home.

Control and Trust

 We watched a movie the other night.  "War Room".  It's about a woman in a failing marriage who learns to pray, to trust God, rather than trust in herself.

 I like to feel like I am in control. I want to have input in any given situation. I want to know who is going to do what, and when and where and how it is going to affect me and mine. Being in control makes me feel safe.

   But really, it comes down to trust.  Who, but I, do I trust take care of me.  As a Christian, I like to say that I trust God, the Father. But in reality, I'm pretty independent in my decision making, and then I ask God to bless my choices. 

   My career move into travel nursing has been a challenge to my need for control.  There are a lot of "unknowns" in this adventure.  But I believe that God sets my feet in the paths I should go. And I believe in divine appointments, those not-so-coincidental meetings that just happen.

   Up to this point, things have gone well.   After each assignment, it's been easy to see why I have been in that particular place at that particular time.  In one place, I was there to help a mother do her birth in the manner she wanted-all natural. In another place, I was there to encourage a mom who unexpectedly gave birth to a baby with Down Syndrome.  In another, I was there to help a family start down their journey of grief after a loss of their baby.   (I am, in no way, saying that without me, these things wouldn't have been done.  There are excellent nurses in each of those hospitals who would have done what I did.  But I am saying that in those situations, God used me to "help in the way that I have been helped.)   And in every assignment,  I have met staff that have blessed me more than I have blessed them.

   But this choice of assignments, is challenging me to really trust God.  Right here, right now, is where  the rubber hits the road.  And that is only figuratively, because Ray and I have chosen not to take a travel assignment this next 13 weeks.  We have a grand baby due to be born within the next week or so and want to spend a few months at home. 

    The plan is that I will pick up shifts at my home hospital.  But the availability of shifts is dependent on high census or low staffing.  And that's something I can't control. AAUUGGHH
    
  I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach when I am not in control of a situation. That anxiety is the barometer that lets me know when I am not fully trusting God to take care of me.

   Watching that movie was not a coincidence.  It was a divine appointment. God used that movie to show me that even when I think that I have no control of a situation, I still do.  I control my response to that situation.  Am I going to trust in me, or am I going to trust in God?
  
   This substantial decrease in income is where the "Trust in God" challenge comes in.   I'll let you know how it goes.


    Proverbs 3:5  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding.  He will make your paths straight. 



 




  

Circles

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

CIRCLES

                                                                              

We all live and move within circles.  We have our circle of family.  We have circles of friends and of co-workers.  And we have circles for special interests and special needs.  Our circles are made up of kindred spirits.  We trust the members inside. They are our safety net when we are vulnerable.  But the reality is that our circles are constantly evolving.  People move in and out of our circles depending on the situations in our lives.

When Emily was born, my circle of friends changed. I struggled with the grief that came with having a child with a disability. I had lost my own identity, the mom I used to be before Emily’s birth. I had lost the child I dreamed that Emily would be. I focused on becoming the mom my family needed me to be.  I was abruptly thrown into a circle with other parents who also had children with disabilities. Those people touched our lives with their words and examples. They dispelled my feelings of aloneness. I took support from those in this circle who were there before me and later, I gave support to those who came after me. 

The circles I knew before Emily was born, changed.  Some people slowly drifted out because we no longer shared the same priorities.  And others, I unknowingly pushed away when I put expectations on them. Those expectations put undue pressure on my friends and set me up for self-initiating disappointment. Eventually I learned that just as I get to choose how, and with whom, I walk my journey, they get to choose how, and with whom, they walk their journey. If others choose to continue to walk with me, I am blessed. And if they choose another path, then I am blessed for the time they did walk with me.  

My circles changed again when Emily died.  I desperately did not want to lose the support within the parent’s circle.  As I faced the challenges of finding a new normal, I clung to the familiarity of those relationships. But the focus of raising Emily had necessitated my being in the circle, and when that focus was gone, the need for the circle was gone.  Gradually it became obvious that I no longer belonged there. For the other parents, I, minus Emily, was an all-too-real reminder of the fragility of life. For me, seeing the intact families was a painful reminder of all that I had lost.  It was fully two years after Emily died that I finally sent a note to the Down Syndrome Association of St. Louis and asked them to take me off the mailing list for their monthly newsletter. That notes was the final event that severed my connection from the circle of parents of children with disabilities.

I became part of a different circle – one for parents whose children have died.  Now grief was my daily focus, and it threatened to consume me.  As my journey took me through the swamp of loss, I experienced many “secondary losses” which heaped grief upon grief. I felt like I would drown in it.  I surrounded myself with people who had traveled this road before me.  When I was lost, they gave me direction.   When I was weak, I relied on their strength.  When I was confused, I used their wisdom.  When I despised myself, I soaked in their love.  And in turn, I gave that support to those who came behind me.

It’s now been nine years since Emily died. Now my question is, “How long do I stay in this circle?” The circle where I expect to be sad every day, where I struggle to allow myself to feel joy, where I feel guilty when I am happy, where I disapprove of myself for wanting to move on, and where I never feel that I have done enough penance for my imagined failings as a mother. I have been tempted to succumb to the black holes of anger, despair, and self-loathing,  but now I am ready to step out of that circle.  I am not looking to forget Emily,  or to forget the people who were so significant in our lives. Her presence was so very significant! It was hard and  it was so wonderfully simple. It was great and it was awful. 

 So, I don’t want your pity and I don’t want your sympathy. I trust God to set my feet on the paths that I should go, and to set the right people in those paths to help me along the way. I trust that He knows all about it, and that He has it all in control. I take comfort that this world is not the end of life.   I now belong to a circle in which my focus is on life instead of on death, a circle in which I celebrate life and embrace both the blessings and cursings that I am given.  

 

One year later

  On October 10th, 2015, Ray and I moved out of our stick-built house and began a journey in travel nursing.  For 12 months now, all of our worldly possessions have fit into a 34-foot motor home and a 10x10 storage unit which holds those few items we can't bear to part with - yet.
  This year, we've put about 2900 miles on the motorhome.  We have parked in 12 campsites and 2 truckstops. We've endured countless detours, enjoyed many adventures and explored the lands and cultures along our routes. We've collected friends and memories and Christmas ornaments.
  I have worked a 13-week nursing assignment in Arlington,Texas, another 13 weeks in Mauston, Wisconsin, and a third 13-week assignment in Columbia, Missouri. I feel a bit like Johnny Appleseed, collecting tidbits and tricks of the trade in one place and spreading it to others.
  There is a trade off in this journey.  The familiar versus the undiscovered,  a comfort-zone versus the uncharted, the expected versus the unknown.
  But the joys outweigh the frustrations, the sweetness surpasses the sours, and the call of the road is stronger than the longing for home. And so, we will continue the journey.
   I feel a bit of kinship with Robert Frost when he wrote this poem:

                                                               The Road not taken
                         

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.