The Unexpected Life

By the time I finished my second year in college, I was weary of pain, suffering, and death. I had lost my first patient not in the hospital at UVa but during the summer following my first-year while working as a nursing assistant in a Shenandoah Valley nursing home. My patient was a bed-ridden, octogenarian who had no children and no wife; he had suffered a stroke several years before. Every need the man had, every function, every dignity needed to be provided by the nurses and nursing assistants charged with his care. His death was not considered a tragedy by even the extended family who came to see him punctually very Sunday.

My second year at the University, I experienced death in a completely different context. I lost a child – not a patient, but a tiny, beautiful dusky skinned almost two-year old who came to play with me every Monday during my volunteer shift on the medical center’s play terrace. He was a fixtuxe there, practically a mascot- a drug baby, no family, no visitors ever, but a child whose inner glow lit a room whenever he entered. He was always the highlight of my week.

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Nightmares are part of a life I came to accept many years ago. Mostly they’re predictable; mostly I awaken knowing exactly what happened, even go to bed  knowing what will happen. Sometimes, there are long periods in between when there will be relief from the episodes, and how I am grateful for those!

Since Jug came to stay 13 months ago, he adapted quickly to the nightmares. Jug was never trained to expect those horrible, middle of the night interruptions – to deal with them, but within 2 weeks of living with me that beautiful, stubborn dog had his part in the action down pat, and I could rely on him leaping on the bed, licking my face until I awoke (Yuck!), then whimpering until I was sitting up, fully awake, fully coherent (well, at least as coherent as I was going to be sans coffee) with the light turned on. I didn’t know how he knew. Maybe I was screaming or crying, but my amazing dog woke me up every single time.

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One of the features of Phoenix city planning is large areas of sunken ground intended to be drainage basins during monsoon season that during the rest of the year we desert dwellers use as parks. In fact, the city has named them parks, and I am fortunate enough to live within a mile of three of them: Turtle Basin Park, Quail Run Basin Park, and Grovers Basin Park. These basin parks have trails that meander through or around them, trees and shrubs at the top, and large grassy areas at the bottom (perfect for year round soccer if that’s your “thing,” and in Arizona that seems to be a lot of people’s “thing”). In the summer storm season, if Arizona is lucky, these basins fill with the desert’s much coveted water.

While soccer is not my “thing,” running tends to be, and most days I end up running in/around/through at least one of these parks. Sunday was one of those prefect Sonoran blue-sky winter days, almost 70°, birds chirping, children out riding bikes – glorious!  So, I jogged my way past the houses and schools and +55 mobile communities to a park that has a relatively circular path. I like this one; it’s almost like I can set autopilot. No thinking, no planning. (Just have to be careful no tripping.). I can loose myself in the breathing, find myself in the connection of prayer, but Sunday before I get to that place of connection something caught my attention. Continue reading →

Once more I’m awake long before what promises to be a glorious winter desert sunrise. The sky is again painted that fabulous indigo, decorated with its pinpoints of star-shine, and my breath crystallizes in the pure pre-dawn crispness as I exhale deeply staring up into the Heavens. Sometimes I desperately hate insomnia, but other times, like today, I comprehend it as a tender gift, an offering to join Him in a what is, at this moment, His still, peace-filled world where the only sounds are the soft song of wind chimes overhead and whisper of wind moving through the trees.

When He draws me from sleep this early, there is normally a request waiting, a gentle tapping at my soul: “There’s something you need to consider, something I’d like you to say.” And in the frosted early morning air, He reminds me of a single word but an enormous concept, something with which I have been wrestling for months: forgiveness.

It should be so easy, shouldn’t it? Two little words: “I’m sorry,” whether to be said or received. “I’m sorry,” there, not so bad. But it just doesn’t work that way. Those two precious little words get stuck somewhere between out hearts and our heads, and that logjam often breaks those same fragile hearts, fragments relationships, and severs deep connections; sometimes those can be restored, sometimes not. Sometimes they’re never meant to be, but forgiveness as an element of our character is always intended to be essential to who we are. Continue reading →

Sleep ebbed early this morning, leaving me to climb out of bed long before the sun awoke. Jug, of course, just cared that he went outside and was fed. So, with Jug on my heels, I opened the door, and stepped onto the patio. The sky, dyed a deep indigo, lit bright with individual points of clear light, momentarily iced me (Almost literally – it was freakishly cold.) in place with simple gratitude that I was witness to such a bravura display.

On the frosty air I could smell the cold, crisp winter, but there was the merest tendril of something else, something intangible yet completely, substantially present -change. I grew up with change, learned not to fear it (greatly), but this – this felt different. This felt just a bit like exhilarated anticipation.

I can’t say this is new. No, in fact, I believe this creature has slowly been approaching, making a decided effort not to scare me into my tower for months, possibly even a few years. This will be a break with tradition, with complacency, with the absolute known. And I believe the unhurried, measured approach has been His. After all, He knows me wholly, knows my heart, knows my tendency to run. So, it would be His deliberate pace to prepare me for a new chapter, even a complete new book. (Don’t you love that about Him? How greatly He individually knows and cares for you?) Continue reading →

Rain came to the desert this week in torrential downpours -steel grey skies, flooded washes, and delicious smelling Creosote. You can smell rain coming in the desert for miles away from the distinctive smell of that wet Creosote – one of my (oddly) favorite things about the desert. Rain, however, in a place that sees so little of it, does make driving a bit more challenging. I made the normal two-hour drive to Tucson yesterday in three, rain pounding down the whole stretch of interstate, and while the streets in parts of that Southern Arizona town were completely flooded, the mountains surrounding the city were capped by snow and fog – absolutely magnificent.

Last night, I was accompanied by both Jug and my younger nephew, Z, who rode together in the backseat as we made our way from my parents’ home to my brother’s. As I was concentrating on the my own driving and that of the other’s around me for the fifteen-minute car ride, Z kept up a steady stream of conversation from behind me. I never know what is going to come out of that child’s mouth; so, time alone with him is always a delightful adventure. Last evening, his mind was focused on other-worldly things. Continue reading →

I returned to the Valley of the Sun in 2002 to accept a job as a high school nurse in Phoenix in an “inner city school.” I, having been an Air Force nurse, thought, “1700 kids on a tough campus, no big deal. I can handle this. We train for anything.” Au contraire, mon frère.

I arrived for my first day on the same day the kids did. I was completely ignorant to all things school nursing, but blissfully so. I was too naïve to realize the filing system left by my predecessor was no system at all. The annual reports due to the state – huh, I didn’t know there were any. The mandatory immunization tracking for both students and faculty – was that really a thing? And the faculty in-services (You think the military and private companies have mandatory training, wait until you sit through yet another school nurse led “Bloodborne pathogens: don’t get one” in-service, or the de rigeuer “Epi-pens in the classroom: they’re your friend” lecture complete with demonstration.), didn’t know I was supposed to schedule those eye-glazing presentations until the first semester was almost over, and believe you me, NO faculty member was in a hurry to alert me. All of that filing, reporting, tracking, in-servicing was supposed to fit somewhere in between the 70-80 students I was seeing in my office a day. Continue reading →

I saw the sunset over the Pacific on Christmas Day, as I reached out for the heart of God in this, one of my “thin places.” In case you’re wondering, His arms caught me, held me, and did not let go.

So, this morning, once the marine layer had burned from the sky- thankfully early, as often happens in December- this thin-blooded Arizona girl, pulled on her running tights, two long sleeved running shirts, running jacket, running hat, and gloves, laced up her shoes, plugged one ear with an iPod earbud (because both ears would be dangerous), and dragged Jug out for a morning run along the coast. I trusted I would find Him waiting for me, visible in ways perceptible and comprehensible to me, and I was not disappointed.

Along Ocean Boulevard, the sky shone cloudlessly azure, and the sea winds pleasantly chilled my face and tingled my nose. Past the Hotel del Coronado, all along the shoreline I listened (with the free ear) as the surf rolled onto the beach. And my heart, I’m sure gleamed. Down we ran past couples, families, other runners, and other dogs, and with every foot strike I could hear His voice calling to me, “Do you feel me? Do you see me? Do you hear me? I AM RIGHT HERE.”

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Christmas Eve found me in the front pew of a charming California stone church with clerestory stained glass windows and an actual nave dominated by  a majestic stained glass depiction of Emmanuel as shepherd, the One for whom we’ve made this pilgrimage at all. The pews behind me were filled with those also seeking Him, and the social halls received live streaming for the church’s parishioners who were unfortunate enough to arrive less than an hour before schedule.  My row was filled not with my biological family but instead one of my chosen families with whom I have shared life for more than 20 years – heartaches and heartbeats, tears and laughter, hopes and desolation, and all surviving multiple continents. This was not my home church, not even my hometown, but this was where I had chosen to be.

I had driven 6 hours almost on a whim. I had come because I felt the need for a thin place. Do you know the concept? The Catholic priest, Fr. Richard Rohr, ascribes the idea of a “thin place,” a place where God is close enough to touch, close enough to feel, to the Celts. “The edge is a holy place, or as the Celts called it, ‘a thin place’ and you have to be taught how to live there.” (Richard Rohr, Life on the Edge: Understanding the Prophetic Position, 2011.) But there is some debate about whether the concept predates the Celts; I’m not about to argue. My only care is that I needed my “thin place.” I needed to touch God. Continue reading →

In the South we have levels of “tacky.” I can’t speak for other parts of the country; I’m just sharing my personal knowledge. Take it for what it’s worth. The lowest and, therefore, semi-acceptable level, allowing for discreet display is “fun.”

No where else in the country is the word “fun” nuanced in such a way, but if you have ever attended any gift-giving occasion in the land of true Southerners, you, my friend, know exactly that of which I speak.  Gift opened, and you watch as the receivers eyes glazed slightly, lips pursed a tad, and after the slightest of pauses exclaimed in the sugary sweetest of voices, “Oh, how FUN!”

The second level of “tacky,” is just that – “tacky.” Acceptability at this level and appropriateness of display of “tacky” vary widely unless, of course, you belong to the DAR, Junior League, or Daughters of the Confederacy. I’m pretty sure it’s in the by-laws of these organizations that displays of tacky are barred for all members, and are, in fact, cause for immediate dismissal. Continue reading →