Sobbing and Driving

Today at work on the oncology unit...
a little old lady broke my heart.

She had been in an immense amount of pain all day long.
The kind where she just ached with the slightest movements.

But it was time for her to go downstairs for an xray and we had to move her from her bed onto a cot.

She had some visitors, maybe 5 or 6 of her friends. They were all talking up a storm and chatting away to each other since that's what visitors do.

The room suddenly became busy with the task we were trying to accomplish and maybe 3 other staff memebers were in the room, busy figuring out where to put the cart, move the IV, and the like.


The room was loud and full of people.
It was busy with everyday toils and troubles.
But in the middle of this commotion she gently reached up and touched my arm and softly said "would you just tell Jesus to come and take me already?"

Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart sank.
No one else in that caotic room heard her but me.

...Days like this make me sob on the drive home.

Truly an Honor

My very best friend got married this weekend and it was a pretty big deal for me. We've been through a lot together and what a huge milestone to be there for. I was her maid of honor, which is so special because I'm pretty sure we made a promise to each other in jr. high that we'd be each other maids of honor. And when I started thinking about...it truly is an honor (maybe that's why they call it that.) So I decided to share the speech I gave at the reception just because 1) I thought it was a pretty good speech if I do say so myself and 2) to show just how good of friends we've been.

"Lindsey and I met in Kindergarden, but our relationship started to actually developed in 2nd grade. We had our desks right beside one another and we called each other our "study buddies." Lindsey got sick for awhile and had to be in the hospital for quite sometime and it wasn't until then that I really started to miss her for some reason. I cried one day in the middle of class because I missed her so much so I was sent to the counselor's office to "talk about it." The counselor came up with an idea to help me not miss her as much and so she traced me on some posterboard and I cut it out and decorated it as if it were Lindsey. I called that my "Fake Lindsey" and sat it in the desk right next to me until she came back to school. In 4th grade, Lindsey and I figured out a way to help each other cheat on our pop quizzes. And in Jr. High she was the friend I could rely on to always tell boys when I liked them and if they liked me back. In High School, I don't know if there was ever a single class we were actually allowed to sit by each other in because we always got in trouble for talking too much. We've never missed one another's birthday. One year, Lindsey actually waited to have her own birthday party just so I could come to it. I've spent more nights at her house than I have my own, and I'm pretty sure my parents owe her parents money for the groceries I've ate. When it came time to go to college, we sadly had to go to different schools. But, there were definitely phone calls to help ease the difficult transition. We've even made the long drive a couple time just to cry to each other when things are hard and we still make lunch dates just to catch up.

I share all these small details about Lindsey and I's relationship for a couple of reasons. Mainly, it's because I just don't want to share her.
But she's an amazing person who could help you out with whatever you need. You can trust her with anything, whether it be a secret or a big decision and....she'll never leave your side."

As you can see, Lindsey means a whole lot to me and I love that God gives us friends like this that just aren't there for the big day, but everything that leads up to it and all the rest that follows.

meg

Wrestling for Peace

Today I feel peace.

...and i'm not really sure why. But it feels fantastic.

Actually it's because someone told me the truth yesterday. That:

"The wrestling is all a part of it"

This kind of truth no one has ever really spoken to me before. Not my parents. Not any past experiences. Not even Disney or those silly romantic comedies.

Why has no one spread this truth around?? Better yet, what's the lie I've believed for 21 years! That the wrestling is uncalled for or some kind of sign that something is very wrong here.

The wrestling seems to be what makes it all worth it. And I feel at peace with that.

Here's a quote that I came across as well:
"Part of the beauty of life is the reirth of peace following turmoil and pain" -Lee Ann Hoff

So I guess if I just expect times to wrestle the rest of my life...then they'll be times of peace to follow.

meg

Absolutes

Living a life of absolutes. Is that what we long for? A foundation to stand our feet on, a structure to lean against, or just a general idea to know where we're going?

I was trying to think if the awkwardness experienced in middle school/jr. high was better or worse than the sense of awkwardness I feel in this period of life right now: A lack of general direction. Uneasiness as to what path to walk down. Hesitation that any or all of the decisions I make may be wrong or not the best.

I know in a couple of years I'll be past this stage and looking back upset if I don't embrace this time. Everything just seems so uncertain. The most stable thing I have right now is that my lease lasts for one entire year. But anything past that is one big ???

I've always lived a life of absolutes. My dad has always had the same job. I've lived in the same house. Gone to the same school for all 13 years. I've always known I want to be a nurse. And the biggest decision I ever had to make was whether to keep playing flute or quit the volleyball team. Ha. How silly that seems now but I'm pretty sure I cried over it.

I think I'm beginning to realize that the more I try to sit down and figure this all out I just waste time and make myself anxious. So I'm making a pledge to love it right now and honor the mystery.

That's probably why I get urges such as jumping in a car and driving to Boston. I hope that never fades, nor the unique person who brings that out in me.

meg

Independence Day

July 4th. A day that will forever be ingrained in us as Americans to celebrate or at least recognize. We can't even really help it. Businesses are closed. Grocery stores are packed with people. And even if you tried to live in a shell...you'd at least hear the fireworks. But for what?? Our "Independence"? Our "Freedom"? The lie we tell ourselves that we're no longer "suffering"?

This holiday gets sillier and sillier the older I get. And it's simply because I'm slowly realizing that we're not as independent as we think we are. We're not "free" in ways we wish we could be. And suffering? Take a look around.

June has been a month of brokenness for me. A heartbreak. A reality check. A refocus on my life perspective. And I've had it so programmed in me to not share any of it. So that I appear "independent." And to have pride that I "figured it out" on my own. But this 4th of July, I hit rock bottom and thought that this whole theory is a lie someone told our country and we fight everyday to try and believe it.

I hate being weak. I hate even more to have people see me at my weakest. No one likes to "seem" helpless or cry out for help in moments of desperation. It's the American way-to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and keep trudging through this hard knock life. But something inside me has wondered if this way is really working for all of us. It's not for me. And that's a confession.

Every shower I've taken in the past month, I've sat on the floor crying for 20 minutes or so hoping no one can hear. I hold back my tears when I'm with friends. And when people ask me how I'm doing I'll just mention that I've been working a lot. I struggle wanting to be in Anderson because its a place that is making me stay in this weak state for the moment being, so I'll constantly make plans with friends in other cities to get away. And this July 4th was the epitome of it all: maybe the weakest I've been yet. 11 people stayed at my house for the weekend celebration...and not one of them probably knew that I cried myself to sleep or left the parade early to be alone. And the next day when I laid in my bed for literally 6 hours I decided to run away. I went crazy. I got in my car and drove to the interstate, not having a clue what I was doing. I knew I had snapped. I knew that I was weak.

I was headed toward Louisville, only because I saw a sign and an hour and half into it I stopped to think how crazy I actually was. My phone rang and it was my grandpa who I rarely talk to and he said he was just wondering what I was doing. I had to lie and said I was with friends. But it hit me that there was no need to keep pretending like I was this independent. I was alone and scared and missing out on a cookout simply because I don't let people see me when I'm weak.

I'm a perfectionist by nature and it's always driven me to the grave. How in the world did I get this idea in my head that it's all got to be together? Don't let anyone see me like this? Get the wrinkles ironed out so no one notices?

It's with this realization that I pray our relationship grows from dependence...not just on each other but from the support around us. The conversations I've had in the past month have been the most meaningful that I'm sure they ever could have been without this bump in the road. And for the people who are watching, reconciliation is happening before your very eyes. I want to thank every single one of you for the support you've given...whether you know it or not. It's huge. Life marking. Needed. For both of us.

I made it back to Anderson just in time for the fireworks. And I watched them burst in delight thinking that I tried to run away but ended back home. My home of support...of growth...and of freedom to learn how to mend the broken pieces back together. 

meg

Lost

Everyone knows that feeling when you've lost something. You dissect your entire brain with some hopes you'll remember where you had it last. When I was 8, I was playing in the yard and I noticed that one of my favorite necklaces had fallen off. I got so sad because it was my favorite necklace at the time and not many 8 year olds have jewelry so it meant a lot to me. I was crying and looking all over my big back yard for it, thinking it would just jump out at me. I was on my hands and knees, feeling all around in the grass and finally my mom had to tell me that its really hard to ever find jewelry in the grass since it could be anywhere, so I should probably just realize that it was gone. I didn't want to accept that so I retraced my steps. Every step. I looked in the sandbox because I had been there before. I went to the front yard, even though I had only been in the back yard...but you never know. I looked in my room. Back outside. Back in my room. Back in the sandbox. Nowhere.

That necklace had no significance in my life at all as an eight year old. In fact, I can't even remember what it looked like. But I do remember the search I spent trying to find it. And I've been like that ever since. Maybe everybody is. There just seems to be some kind of deep hope that maybe...just maybe...it'll turn up.

That search to find something you've lost. The desperation felt that hopefully its not gone forever. The frantic panic of hoping its not too late to get it back. The hope that it will be found and everything will go back to normal as it was before.

These feelings come out of me when I lose my favorite pen, the big green water bottle I keep with me, my really pretty pearl earrings, and one of the greatest friends I've ever shared my life with.

These Flowers

These flowers represent grace.

They represent friendship and love.

Most of all, they represent hope and forgiveness.

What do we do when we feel like a rug has been pulled right from under our feet? My mom tells me that's all life really is--Just going along believing everything is shimmering in the sunlight...then suddenly you're on the floor, dirt under your nails, and a big bruise you didn't ask for. And you somehow know that whatever that was is going to hurt tomorrow.

I've been searching, asking, and even crying out for guidance. I've asked all around for a story I could relate to and follow the steps exactly...to know what to do next. But there is none, or at least I haven't found it yet...secretly I'm thankful because that means I get to write it myself. But where do I go from here??

To guard one's heart or to give it up to love...hurt...break...bleed...heal...and bleed some more. That's the question. The decision. The risk. The fear.

There's a sacredness in questioning everything, but sometimes the process of it leaves us in a fog that seems to take a lifetime to clear. The gut wrenching part of it is when you're the one who's being questioned. Your purpose is put on trial. Your contributes are being weighed.

This suddenly has become my story...from partnership to a fine examination. And as I felt anger swell up inside me to be against this very thing that is beyond my control, these flowers remind me...and remind him...that there's grace in the end. And grace translates to "it's ok."

-meg