Letters to a Little Girl

     Hello again, my trusty blog. How I've missed you! It's been awhile since I've needed you like I used to - in a lonely New England town, on a ship thousands of miles away. This space used to bring me such comfort, knowing that I could at least put my words on a page because none of the people I knew and loved were there to hear them face-to-face. But now they are! And this beloved space has taken a back seat. But I do still have words, and life is forever offering up challenges and changes, and I am still grateful for this way of giving my heart's words a place to stretch their legs. So here goes again :)

     About a month and a half ago, Pat and I were surprised to find that we would be having a girl. A baby girl! I'll admit, this was not the news we were expecting. Somehow, my "knower" had convinced me I was having a boy (silly me), so for weeks we had been dreaming up what he would be like, and I just was giddy at the idea of having a mini-Patrick around! Needless to say, it took more than a moment to adjust my mind's trajectory.

     But then I had the sweetest of thoughts: we are going to have a daughter, and a daughter is a special thing indeed. I am a daughter. And I LOVED being a girl! I loved the relationship I had (and still have!) with my daddy. I loved mimicking my mommy at every turn. I loved being a big sister and having a new, built-in best friend. I look back on my childhood with the rosiest of glasses because it truly was beautiful how my parents took such delight from raising their little girl. And now it's our turn.

     So while I haven't exactly been blogging, I have been writing. I've been writing her letters. Nothing grandiose. Just my thoughts. Just words that may let her know her mom better someday. 

     I want to tell her that she is Precious; not for her looks, or her brains or any other merit she may have someday, but because she is a child of God. Plain and simple.

     I want to give her all of life's joys and spare her all of it's sorrows, but then she wouldn't be able to appreciate the richness of what it is to be human, and I could never steal that from her.

     I want her to know that she comes from a line of brave, God-fearing women who have made incredible sacrifices in their lives and come out stronger for it.

     I want to tell her my story, my triumphs and my mistakes so that she knows that no matter how hard you may fall, God is gracious and somehow makes Beauty out of our blunders.

     I want her to know that some men can't be trusted, but not all men are bad - her daddy and grandpa are living proof of that :)

     I want her to know that there is Right and there is Wrong, and that it's ok to ask the hard questions in pursuit of Truth.

     I want her to feel free to cry, no matter what people may say - there is no shame in giving your heart leave to weep over loss, struggle, injustice or pain (as Gandalf so eloquently puts it, "not all tears are an evil" :)

     I want her to know she is Loved unconditionally, that nothing she could ever do would separate her from us. 

     I want to give her room to be the person that she is meant to be, which means I will strive to hold her with open hands, give her room to fly like I was given, and rejoice with her no matter how far away her dreams may take her.

     I want her to know that I dreamed BIG for her, that I prayed hard for her, and that I loved her fiercely before I held her outside of my body.

Three more months to go - I can't wait to meet her :)

Horizontal Compassion

     So so soooo sorry for my absence! There's something about spring turning into summer and a body turning pregnant that has kept me away from the type-written word. In actuality, I've started journaling, and sometimes you just don't feel like writing the same thing twice, ya know?? More on that soon. Anyway! I've been thinking on this one a little bit. Nothing baby or pregnant or anything, just nursing stuff to chew on. Thanks for still reading, I do love having this space :)

     Way back in nursing school we were introduced to the concept of Lateral, or "Horizontal" Violence. This term references the well-documented phenomenon of nurses psychologically injuring one another, either physically, verbally or behaviorally. As a young woman graduating from a private Christian college with very little work experience, I didn't actually believe this could exist, at first...
     Then I became a nurse. And sadly this concept came to life. Over the past six years I have witnessed nurses belittling one another (in front of staff and patients), nurses undermining others behind their backs, nurses conspiring to get another nurse fired: in short, nurses just treating other nurses poorly. I have theories about why this happens - Maybe it's job dissatisfaction. Maybe it's the stress of working in healthcare. Or maybe it's because many nurses feel trod on, and the only power they can wield is over one another. In truth, I don't know.

I only bring this up because last week I had the wonderful experience of being the recipient of what I shall now call "Horizontal Compassion". Let me paint the picture.

     It was my fourth shift out of six in a week, so I could tell that my personal stores were beginning to run a little low. And for the love, don't you know pregnancy makes you more emotional and stuff?! I now work on an Oncology floor, which means not only providing medical care to potentially dying individuals and their families, but being aware of their emotional needs as well.
     For the previous three shifts I had worked with a patient who was suddenly struck with an extremely aggressive cancer that had numbered her years to a few measly weeks. She was lovely, relatively young, and surrounded by the most caring and supportive family I have seen in years. Her room was adorned with flowers, there was always someone sleeping by her bed at night, her every need was anticipated. Despite the fact that she had stage 4 cancer, she was a woman rich in love and friendship. And each night she was sleepless.
     One night she struggled with pain - no medication would touch it, no position in bed was quite right, there was nothing to be done but comfort her. The next night the struggle was nausea and bloating - every anti emetic was given, every trick in the book attempted to relieve her stomach distention, walks were taken in the wee hours of the morning. The third night was constipation - stool softeners, suppositories, enemas and hemorrhoids. So far, I had 36 hours logged with this patient and after so much perceived failure to simply give her a restful night's sleep, well, you get how I was maybe getting close to quitting.
     By night four, I thought we had her all set. Everything that had been a struggle up til then had been resolved! No more uncontrollable pain, no more heaving nausea, no more stopped up bowels. Finally, we should see some sleep! No...this was not to be. At midnight I was called into her room for an urgent matter: she told me with dismay that she had dry mouth. I assured her that this was normal, brought the usual supply of oral swabs and mouth rinses, and thought that should take care of it. At 12:30am I was called back into her room where she insisted that nothing was helping, and what ought she to do?? At this point, I suggest that maybe her mouth would be less dry if she were able to sleep with it closed. So in an attempt to keep from mouth breathing, she decided to reposition to sleep on her side. Not a good plan. This set off her pain, which set off her nausea, which brought her to tears. With her sister comforting her and me struggling to keep my composure, I excused myself from the room.
     As I passed the nurse's station, my face must have read clear as day because the charge nurse looked up from his computer and said, "Do you need a shoulder?" to which I replied, "I need a muffin" and rounded the corner to give myself a time-out in the break room. This is the point when I would usually just spend a few minutes in frustrated silence and then make some off-hand remark to the next nurse that asked if I was ok, because saying that you're struggling is just not usually well received in the healthcare world. However, this is when my surprise moment happened.

     The charge nurse entered the break room right behind me and asked what happened. As I hesitatingly relayed the situation I had just walked out of, he nodded and listened. And listened. And I soon found myself talking not just about that night, but the last few shifts, and the pressure I had felt growing in that room, and how the buildup of her needs and my helplessness to meet them had been slowly chipping away at my emotional reserves until I literally had nothing left to give...and he listened. And listened. And then, miracle of miracle, he began to affirm me.
     He shared a few of his experiences working in psychiatric nursing. He talked about the toll that caring for the mental and emotional needs of patients can take on nurses if they don't feel free to debrief in a healthy way. And he told me it was ok that I was at my limit - that in order to take care of people, we need to first take care of ourselves. This. Was. HUGE.
     Oftentimes, in nursing, you feel like you always need to "have it". You need to be ready with the answers, have limitless patience, deflect all careless words from patients and families who don't know how to process the health reality they are now in. You stand at the front lines between patients and their providers, walking with them through every minute of your shift, attempting to ease their way. It is taxing work, both on your mind and your soul. Because for 12 hours your needs take a backseat. And to have another nurse acknowledge that, when the issue wasn't clinical and the problem wasn't medical, was priceless.
     And you know what's amazing? After maybe 15 minutes, I went back out onto the floor feeling like a weight had been lifted off my back. Nothing had changed in my patient's condition or needs, but I somehow felt loads better! All because my frustration had been validated. Such a simple gift.

     I was able to care for this woman and her family for a handful more shifts until she passed away last week, surrounded by those she loved. I consider that a privilege. And I truly believe I would have requested not to have her as a patient again if it hadn't been for that nurse taking a moment to see me where I was at, and to show compassion. So I would like to raise a challenge to you, especially those nurses out there. Who do you see around you that's struggling? Who looks like they could use a moment to exhale? Sometimes I know my first instinct is to look away, because we are so very busy and we just don't have time for that right? I disagree - because our patients need EACH of us. And by building one another up, we are actually working toward meeting our patients' need to be cared for by a nurse who "has it" when it counts. It just takes a moment.

Thoughts on Mother's Day

To all the Mothers out there:
     This past weekend I got the tiniest glimpse of what it feels like to be part of your "day". Mother's Day. One day a year that has been designated to be Your appreciation day. How small that seems, one day. But what an outpouring of Love did I witness on that day! Not necessarily in the gifts department, but in the words department (that's one of my Love Languages, you know).

     For the first time I listened to everyone's praise of their mothers with keen ears. So many thank-you's, so many I-love-you's. Simple but profound acknowledgement of all of the years of dedication that their mothers sowed into their lives. I watched all of these children, young and well grown, give tribute to the women that brought them into this world and wondered if someday my little one will say those things about me. Still in my womb, it makes me tremble to think I have this role in someone's life now. How will I wear it? What kind of mother will I be?
     For the first time I saw the women in my life who have been mothers all this time for the Selfless, Brave, Loving people they must be. Until now I have not imagined their sleepless nights, their countless decisions, their hopes and their fears. I find myself imagining these things now. I haven't held my child outside of my body yet, but it must change you, call you to be more than you ever thought you could be. How does that happen? How do you suddenly become capable of so much subtle sacrifice and fierce love?
     For the first time I felt a kinship with all of them, felt somehow invisibly connected with all of the mothers that are and have been. Something about my womanhood has clicked and I feel it humming through my bones. I get to partake in this rite of passage that has been the way Life is ushered in since our beginning. Mothers have been walking this path for centuries - How I crave their collected wisdom. I have so much to learn, but I somehow feel safe knowing that it's been done countless times before.
     For the first time I wanted to reach out and hug every mother I know. I wanted to tell her how precious she is, how priceless is the work she does, and how much I admire her. It seems so small, Mother's Day, for such a big job. As one of my Favorite Bloggers says, it's Kingdom work, this raising of souls, this molding of little people. What an incredibly daunting, humbling task.

     So now that the day has passed, the cards have been sent and the flowers stand in vases, I want to thank all the mothers that I know. Thank you for rising up to the challenge of nurturing the Lives that have been placed in your care. You are some of the bravest people I know, and I hope you know how AMAZING you are.

My Mom and I

Full to Overflowing

Have you ever had a secret you were bursting to share? 

No, not the juicy, gossipy kind. The beautiful kind - the kind that makes you smile at strangers and wish somebody else knew why you were smiling so that they would smile knowingly with you.

I've been holding onto that kind of secret. 

Which is why I've been so blog silent...

Because when you're holding that kind of secret there's really nothing else you want to talk about, but you know you can't talk about that just yet. So you're left tongue-tied, and feel false writing about anything else. It's like impatience times a hundred.

But that's all over now because the words have finally been set free:

We are having a baby!

(I wish you could see my face as I typed that...I literally cannot stop smiling)

For weeks I have held that secret, that little joy in my chest, shared by only my husband and a handful of others. But last week the big 3 month threshold was crossed and we got to blow the doors wide open on it, letting all our loved ones share in the incredibly good news! 

Somehow sharing the knowing makes it all seem more real.

Which is great, because right now I don't feel pregnant.

I haven't been sick at all. I don't have the adorable round belly yet. 

And Life goes on as usual: 

Work and friends and family, commitments and dinners and phone calls.

But all the while I know in my knower that something has changed. It's like this inevitable trajectory has been set before me that no one else can see yet and that I have virtually no control over. 

It makes me see my mother in a whole new light.

It makes me want to call her everyday and listen to her beaming on the other end of the line 

because she knows. I am suddenly, beautifully awakened to all that she must know. 

Because she has been here before. 

In fact, we were here together, if you think about it.

She and I, at the beginning, starting something absolutely new together.

And now it's my turn...that is incredible to think about. 

Now let's back up here before you get the sickening sensation that I am only irrationally giddy about this whole pregnancy thing: 

A) Despite being on the back side of my twenties and despite being a nurse, I have almost no idea what I'm doing. I sat at our first prenatal appointment hanging on my midwife's every word. It's like everything I was taught in my maternity/delivery semester has been obliterated. This must be what people with dementia feel like, "I know I knew that once..." 

B) I hold absolutely no illusions that all will be rosy once the birth is over. Haha, no. That's when things get real. Not 48 hours after the most defining physical experience in most women's lives, the hospital actually sends you home with this wee helpless thing that is totally dependent on YOU. No how-to book, no "come back if this doesn't work out", just a smile and a wave and this new little life is in your hands. How's that for responsibility?

But while I'm anxious about the not knowing and nervous about being a parent, there is this unexplainable contentedness at feeling made for the part. Like joy finding a home.

It's amazing how you can know you were made to do something without ever having done it. 

Maybe it's intuition, or maybe that's what they mean when they say "motherhood", but something has kick-started that was there all along. Lying dormant. Waiting for the go ahead. 

And now the time has finally come.

Before this year is out I am going to be a mother, 

and it feels completely right.

Having Eyes to See

Ok, I'm ready to face it - I have had a hard time approaching this blog since we moved to Seattle...

Slightly irrelevant but still hilarious old photo :)
"Buddy...is this how you see??"

     Not because nothing has happened - on the contrary, many great 'somethings' have happened! We are settling in beautifully to this city that does spring so well; enjoying the many friends that are now close at hand, and reveling in the fact that we don't have to pack in a month's time. We get to stay...I never thought I'd be so happy to say that out loud.

Much more current (less funny) photo

     The fact is I am ready to dig deep and get to know the earth beneath my feet a little more than the past 12 months' worth of nomadic living has allowed. But I've been trying to reconcile the premise of this blog with the fact that we are no longer traveling, in the traditional sense.

The passports are tucked away.

We've unpacked the boxes.

We mean to stay.

     Does that mean that I've lost my platform to tell our tales or recount life's joys? My heart tells me no. If I'm honest, every great journey I've been on has included moments of discovery that had very little to do with geography. Sure, it's easier to contemplate poverty when you're walking through a Guinean marketplace, or to ponder mortality when you're at the bedside of an end-of-life patient making the brave choice to let go. But in order to be impacted by my circumstances, I have had to be in a state of heart to receive the impact - to be affected by the world around me. To have eyes to see. 

     This past week I visited a lovely local church who's pastor preached on this very subject, using John 9 as his source: the miracle of the blind man receiving sight. A man born blind becomes the topic of debate among Jesus' disciples as they try to determine whether it was his sin or his parent's that made him blind. Jesus rejects both suggestions, stating that actually, this man was made this way to display God's glory. "While I am in the world, I am the Light of the World", He proclaims. He then proceeds to spit on the ground, turn the dirt into mud, and wipe this mud on the blind man's eyes. The man is sent to wash his eyes in the Pool of Siloam and he returns seeing. 

     If you're a literary buff, this is about as plain as allegory gets - The Light of the World gave a man SIGHT...amazing on so many levels. But my one take-away this week was that it doesn't matter where we are, if we see things in light of the Light, we can see. Ok, let me clarify - I just read that and maybe it's muddy. If I allow Christ to be the eyes thru which I see the world, then it doesn't matter if I'm in Washington or in Africa, He can use me to touch those around me. Right. Here. Plain and simple. There are needs here that are just as important as starving children. There is such a thing as poverty of the soul. There is suffering that doesn't meet your eyes when you pass it on the street. I want to see, Lord how badly I want to see.

One of our brilliant sunsets

     So I've come to the conclusion that there is more than one way to travel in life. Whether you're mobile or stationary, you are on a journey. One can choose to travel the world and another can live in the same town for 50 years. Both can grow. Both will experience change. And both can impact others and live richly. I believe that now. So my husband and I have decided to plant for a time, and see what journeys of the heart we will be taken on :)

Oh Washington, how I missed thee

What a beautiful, overcast day! Call me crazy, but lately I love the rain :) 

     I write this from one of the myriads of coffee shops here in Seattle, Washington. It's another cloudy day - I'd say it has rained one out of every three, but I don't mind. I remember sitting in a very similar coffee shop this time last year, in New Haven, Connecticut. Without any idea of the many miles yet to be laid before our fee. The many miles til home. It was an exciting time, full of promise. And now a year later, we've come full circle, back to Washington. I sit in my own neighborhood, sipping an iced mocha, looking out at the pale grey sky; this is our home.

The Emerald City just last week, Mt. Rainier gleaming in the distance

     We have spent the last few weeks settling into our new place, reacquainting ourselves with the many boxes we had left in storage. It was overwhelming to see all of the things we have lived without for the past year. And slightly odd to unwrap them, remembering how I had saved them and now not remembering why. Let's just say we did quite a bit of purging, lol.

Tackling the storage unit!

     We have also been able to reconnect with friends and family in the area - something we have been really looking forward to! From old nursing school friends to old groomsmen, aunts and second cousins, I am amazed at the amount of loved ones God has placed nearby during this time. It's about the biggest blessing I could ask for.

     Gearge Moore suggests that "A man travels the world over in search of what he needs, and returns home to find it." I'm not sure whether I agree with this entirely, but there is something poetically truthful about it. There is really no place like home. And while I know that no address on earth is permanent, it feels good to call this place home right now :)

     Anyway, instead of just talking and talking, I've decided to include a few photos from a recent adventure to the Olympic Peninsula with my dear friend Becky and a troupe of new friends. We decided to take a day trip across the Sound and hike Mt. Walker! 

Riding the Kingston ferry

The start of the trail up Mt. Walker

Onward and upward!

The higher up we got, the more engulfed in cloud we became :)

The girls at the top! 2,000 ft elevation gain in 2 miles
That's how we roll...

No view? No problem! We're on top of a mountain!

I am so thankful for this place, this time, and the many adventures to be had right in our backyard!

The Space Between

Hello my happy little blog, I'm back :)

     Patrick and I have officially been state-side for over a month, and it's honestly good to be here! I've purposely kept away from blogging these past few weeks to give myself room to just 'be' during what I knew would be a significant transition. And I'm so thankful I did. We were welcomed back by the people that make home a place of the heart rather than a place on the map. From the minute we stepped off the plane we were surrounded by loved ones. We enjoyed plugging back in to our family and friends amidst the Christmas hustle bustle...

New Christmas presents #1 and #2 -
bear hat and revived polaroid-esque camera!

A gift from my raven-haired "twin" Lauren!

Second Annual Mother-in-law Christmas Tea!

Surprise visit from my dear friend Rachel
(and a much-needed shirt)

My beautiful family

     Anyway, over the past month I have tried to process the amazing experience we left behind while crashing headlong into the culture shock I knew was coming. After all, we returned to America in the middle of the biggest commercial season of the year. I wish I could express how strange it was to walk through a pristine shopping mall after knowing the muddy, crowded alleys of a Guinean market. How novel it was to see cars driving down the road in an orderly fashion. How odd it was to see babies lugged around in carseats, not wrapped tightly to their mother's back. How startling it was to see our enormous hospital towers all aglow. I wish I could tell you that coming home felt like coming home.

     But it didn't. We were not the same as when we left, and "home" wasn't the same either. Yes, we spent four months overseas, but this truth has very little to do with Africa. We left Spokane 12 months ago with a one-way ticket to the East Coast, putting all our eggs in the travel nursing basket and trusting God to carry it. We leaned into Him and, though we had no permanent address, my husband and I learned to make a home in the space between us. We were changed simply by the act of leaving.

     So returning to Spokane was like trying on an old sweater I forgot I had - comfy, full of memories, but not meant to wear everyday. Rekindling a life there just wouldn't be right. What was can never be again, and it would be a shame to try to make it so. Let it stay beautiful in my mind's chronology of our lives, that's where it can live forever. Just like our time on the East Coast. Just like our time with Mercy Ships. Not meant to last, but to stretch our minds to embrace different ways of life and fill our hearts with love for people we wouldn't have encountered had we stayed. I think back on the patients I had in New Haven, in Baltimore, in Guinea. I think on the friends we made while back East or onboard the Ship. Though my heart is wrung by the distance, I have no regrets. I would rather remember them fondly and shed tears of loss than to never have added them to our lives.

     It's with this in mind that I look on our next steps with anticipation. In a week's time we will be planting roots in Seattle, Washington, a city we both know and love. We signed a lease for a great little loft in the Fremont neighborhood and we each begin new jobs in February. To say we're excited is a HUGE understatement! It is such a joy to be back in the Northwest, putting down roots, investing in friendships, and building community again. The possibilities seem endless :)