i have to write it down before i forget. grace and truth often come so swiftly it takes years to recover.
i dont know what triggered my memory of this day.
it was the beginning of summer. skid row. the place with so many misconceptions and so many broken expectations. a forgotten mass of people waiting for just one person to say, "I still believe in you."
and there we were, the five of us. mental illness, drug abuse, homelessness, child custody battle, rape just five broken women wanting to just be.
i was so nervous that day as i waited for them. People said, "You're going to go on a field trip to the beach with four homeless women from skid row by yourself? Stop trying to save the world. What difference is it going to make?"
Blunted by the deception of their lies, nervous from my own insecurities and sobered by the realities of what I had undertaken I pursued on. Packed lunches, got bus tokens, got cash for ice cream and decided to believe even when i couldn't see.
i wish i could express the intense freedom we felt as we pulled away from the smells, trash, screams, crack pipes and indifference. as we looked back and saw that even if it were for a few hours, we could get away.
and as the ocean breeze met us and the water spilled over our toes, we were one. D., C., M., C. and I. It was the great equalizer. Watching my teachers, my sisters, my friends, enjoying themselves, finding companionship and support from one another, feeling like women again.
i saw the labels drift off into the salted air. the stigma of poverty vanish. we were all poor in spirit and we needed on another.
i wonder what it would be like if we saw past all the labels. the boxes we place on ourselves and one another. if we could just be people in need. a woman who needs help. a man who needs a job. a child who needs a friend. it shouldn't matter why. it shouldn't matter whose fault. it shouldn't matter how much we can give of ourselves. what matters is that we do something.
something. small or big. something that requires more than writing a check or reading google news.
because who knows if my sisters even remember that day. who knows if it was a huge deal to them. but it was something. it was an attempt to break down walls. an attempt to find freedom. one step away from hell toward something better.
i think God can use that. if He can multiply five loaves and fishes into 5000, i think he can multiply what mediocrities we offer up.
so my resolution yet again:
do something. help one. look toward. give. look up. don't ever give into cowardly pessimism that says change isn't possible.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
it's only the beginning
"We are now in one of the most truly prophetic moments in the history of America. The poor and very poor are sleeping with self-destruction. The working and middle classes are struggling against paralyzing pessimism and privileged are swinging between cynicism and hedonism. Yes, these are the circumstances that people of conscience must operate under during this moment of national truth or consequences.
We have witnessed the breakdown of the social systems that nurture our children. Our rootless children… have no cultural armor to protect them while negotiating the terrors and traumas of daily life. Young people need a community to sustain them, so that they can look death in the face and deal with disease, dread and despair. These days we are in deep trouble.
The audacity of hope won the 2008 Democratic primary, yet we are still living in the shadow of the vicious realignment of the American electorate, provoked by the media's negative appeals to race and gender and the right-wing propaganda that bashes vulnerable groups… Real hope is grounded in a particularly messy struggle and it can be betrayed by naïve projections of a better future that ignore the necessity of doing the real work. So what we are talking about is hope on a tightrope."
- Dr. Cornel West
Sunday, November 2, 2008
waking up
there is so much more to life than what seems.
today, i woke up to the sound of tennis balls hitting asphalt. the sound of screen doors sliding open to let in the santa ana winds. the sounds of small dogs barking at birds, fellow dogs or cats in the distance. the sound of children playing on the green grass outside my apartment. the blinds let in just the right amount of light. i could taste the newness of the day.
2 months ago. today i woke up to the first of five prayers. to the chants of submission of devotion. i woke up to the massive faith of an entire nation, willing itself for God. i woke up to the smells of hummus and pita. i heard the breeze hit my balcony window. the eerie chants lingering in the hot air.
3 months ago. today i woke up to a melting pot of religion. to the high and lows of Buddhist monks straining to find breath. to the smells of new rain and trash. today i woke up and scratched the redness off my skin. to the creaking fan in my grandmother's house. to the many dogs barking at no one. i woke up to the familiarity of home. the smells of fresh tea and curry cooking in the kitchen.
a year ago. today i woke up to the sound of reggae music barreling through tin walls. the sound of clothes being dashed against rocks in attempts to be clean. i woke up to the husky belts of women singing as they nursed their children and cooked ugi. i woke in the arms of a beautiful man, dancing and singing to the sounds of his heritage. to the smells of simplicity and the stench of abject poverty. to the humility of not knowing.
a year ago. today i woke up to the sounds of mariachi music and sirens. to the screams of children playing at 7am because their parents had to drop them off 0ne hour early to make their three jobs. i woke up to the sounds of helicopters flying in the distance and car horns. to the smells of community and faith. i woke up to the newness of justice and the veracity of servanthood.
three years ago. i woke up to the sounds of girls singing in the distance. to the smells of fish, rice and adobo. i woke up in the humidity of it, the smell of morning. i woke up to the clinks and clanks of dishes as breakfast was being prepared. i peered out my window and saw the piles of tin and cloth, called home. the rivers of dirt, debris and dreams laying stagnant next to a city of greed. i woke up to the sound of women trying to be free.
before. i woke up to the screams, the frustration in my blood's voice. the tension of love misread and misheard. i woke up and heard the slams of doors, the breaking of glass, the bruising of skin. today i woke up to the ominous silence of uncertainty. the richness of fear and the vulnerability of childhood. today i woke up to the past.
now. i woke up and thought, what's the purpose? what is my end goal? what is the point of my existence? there is a deep longing for meaning. i wake up and search for it everyday. to figure out why God allows what He allows. Why God permits what He permits. Why God says no when i desperately want a yes. today i woke up and i asked...why?
today, i woke up to the sound of tennis balls hitting asphalt. the sound of screen doors sliding open to let in the santa ana winds. the sounds of small dogs barking at birds, fellow dogs or cats in the distance. the sound of children playing on the green grass outside my apartment. the blinds let in just the right amount of light. i could taste the newness of the day.
2 months ago. today i woke up to the first of five prayers. to the chants of submission of devotion. i woke up to the massive faith of an entire nation, willing itself for God. i woke up to the smells of hummus and pita. i heard the breeze hit my balcony window. the eerie chants lingering in the hot air.
3 months ago. today i woke up to a melting pot of religion. to the high and lows of Buddhist monks straining to find breath. to the smells of new rain and trash. today i woke up and scratched the redness off my skin. to the creaking fan in my grandmother's house. to the many dogs barking at no one. i woke up to the familiarity of home. the smells of fresh tea and curry cooking in the kitchen.
a year ago. today i woke up to the sound of reggae music barreling through tin walls. the sound of clothes being dashed against rocks in attempts to be clean. i woke up to the husky belts of women singing as they nursed their children and cooked ugi. i woke in the arms of a beautiful man, dancing and singing to the sounds of his heritage. to the smells of simplicity and the stench of abject poverty. to the humility of not knowing.
a year ago. today i woke up to the sounds of mariachi music and sirens. to the screams of children playing at 7am because their parents had to drop them off 0ne hour early to make their three jobs. i woke up to the sounds of helicopters flying in the distance and car horns. to the smells of community and faith. i woke up to the newness of justice and the veracity of servanthood.
three years ago. i woke up to the sounds of girls singing in the distance. to the smells of fish, rice and adobo. i woke up in the humidity of it, the smell of morning. i woke up to the clinks and clanks of dishes as breakfast was being prepared. i peered out my window and saw the piles of tin and cloth, called home. the rivers of dirt, debris and dreams laying stagnant next to a city of greed. i woke up to the sound of women trying to be free.
before. i woke up to the screams, the frustration in my blood's voice. the tension of love misread and misheard. i woke up and heard the slams of doors, the breaking of glass, the bruising of skin. today i woke up to the ominous silence of uncertainty. the richness of fear and the vulnerability of childhood. today i woke up to the past.
now. i woke up and thought, what's the purpose? what is my end goal? what is the point of my existence? there is a deep longing for meaning. i wake up and search for it everyday. to figure out why God allows what He allows. Why God permits what He permits. Why God says no when i desperately want a yes. today i woke up and i asked...why?
Friday, September 12, 2008
Glory Be
there is something so beautiful in it. in the way it sounds when it comes out across every corner of the city.
the sincerity in it. the humble ritual, yet avid insistence.
its funny that what I remember most about my time in Bethlehem was a 5 minute period.
i was in the hotel room. J. was gone. just me and Bethlehem. I was overlooking this valley, the valley that the book of Revelations claims is where the last battle will take place before the end of the world.
i heard it. softly at first and then as i recognized it, it became louder. more magnetic.
i went out onto the balcony and sat. still in my towel, i looked across the valley.
the beautiful sound kept going. a wind picked up, carrying the sound even closer to my corner of Bethlehem.
i couldn't help but start praying in tongues. it was too difficult to not be overcome by the spirit the wind and the sound carried.
i looked toward the moon and star, towering from every other street corner. loud speakers jutting out from their roof tops.
its as if the whole world stopped in that moment, to glorify God. to praise Allah. to give Him due worship.
the sound stopped. but its beauty hung in the air. lingering, squeezing, melting through the nothingness of my unbelief. the nothingness of my religiosity.
i looked out toward the valley. God was there. lingering, squeezing, melting through. He looked out toward the moon and star. the loud speakers that proclaim His name five times a day. He smiled. The wind carried Him away. Away toward His resting place. Perhaps toward the Church of Nativity. Toward the 10 mosques located throughout Bethlehem. Toward the gray wall separating nations.
i thought about devotion, about relentless faith. about worship. about reverence...a term so foreign in the West.
about the many forms God takes. the many ways He is praised. about the ways myself and perhaps a Muslim woman in the outskirts of Palestine have something in common...
our desperate need for God.
but let's not be fooled.
she has something, i don't. she has something i long for. she has something i am too self-focussed to grasp.
Submission.
the sincerity in it. the humble ritual, yet avid insistence.
its funny that what I remember most about my time in Bethlehem was a 5 minute period.
i was in the hotel room. J. was gone. just me and Bethlehem. I was overlooking this valley, the valley that the book of Revelations claims is where the last battle will take place before the end of the world.
i heard it. softly at first and then as i recognized it, it became louder. more magnetic.
i went out onto the balcony and sat. still in my towel, i looked across the valley.
the beautiful sound kept going. a wind picked up, carrying the sound even closer to my corner of Bethlehem.
i couldn't help but start praying in tongues. it was too difficult to not be overcome by the spirit the wind and the sound carried.
i looked toward the moon and star, towering from every other street corner. loud speakers jutting out from their roof tops.
its as if the whole world stopped in that moment, to glorify God. to praise Allah. to give Him due worship.
the sound stopped. but its beauty hung in the air. lingering, squeezing, melting through the nothingness of my unbelief. the nothingness of my religiosity.
i looked out toward the valley. God was there. lingering, squeezing, melting through. He looked out toward the moon and star. the loud speakers that proclaim His name five times a day. He smiled. The wind carried Him away. Away toward His resting place. Perhaps toward the Church of Nativity. Toward the 10 mosques located throughout Bethlehem. Toward the gray wall separating nations.
i thought about devotion, about relentless faith. about worship. about reverence...a term so foreign in the West.
about the many forms God takes. the many ways He is praised. about the ways myself and perhaps a Muslim woman in the outskirts of Palestine have something in common...
our desperate need for God.
but let's not be fooled.
she has something, i don't. she has something i long for. she has something i am too self-focussed to grasp.
Submission.
Friday, August 29, 2008
July 28th to August 25th
I found this crushed piece of paper next to my expired malaria pills this morning. It was a prayer or maybe a mini persuasive essay I had written exactly a year ago. A week before leaving for Africa. It was on this makeshift flyer and memories flash of the desperation I had to write these thoughts down anywhere space permitted.
"It's hard to hear over the noise of this world. The noise of expectation, the noise of titles. The noise of consistent wanting, of consistent running toward a non-existent entity. It's hard to see over the elusive mirage of reason. The voices that say you're never enough. The constant clanging of greed and satisfaction. The need for more and yet the sneaking desire for less.
It's hard to hear the silence of truth. The nothingness of the answer. The simplicity of it. The fleeting beauty of the realization that the answer will never be in front of us, but always within us. Our purpose is not to seek truth, but be truth. Our purpose is not to preach truth, but live truth."
After reading it, I laughed to myself because I just spent one month in the country I was born in and yet more than ever this noise, the noise I write about above, was so loud, it almost consumed me. There's a way in which the beauty of simplicity in my homeland is being attacked by this competitive need for comparison. It attacks the simplicity that makes Sri Lanka most probably the most generous and hospitable nation.
My country left me broken and yet renewed. Most of the time I felt like I was naked in the schoolyard and everyone was pointing and laughing. But they weren't laughing at my nudity because ironically enough, they were naked too. My country broke me, leaving me this shell of a woman grasping desperately for anything to define me. Anything to hang on to. And yet I don't regret my trip in the least. I don't regret the feeling I got as I walked through its streets and smiled at my fellow Sri Lankans. I don't regret the feeling I got as I held hands with my loved ones during my grandfather's memorial.
There were many fleeting moments of beauty, ways in which God reminded me He was watching out for me:
Mr. G. and his gift, Fr. G. and his unwavering enthusiasm for the Lord, my beloved cousins who became my brothers and sisters, our makeshift prayer group in Israel, my aunts and their unceasing need to give, my uncles and their incredible generosity, K. whom we met on the beach, the Don Bosco boys, M. who came across the world to see me, D. who became my lifeline, my friends here who replied to my frantic texts before i realized the expense, A. who wiped my tears as I cried in Capernaum, H. our Jewish tour guide who knew the Bible 10 x more than me, J. who without question always showed me love, S. who became my dear friend, N. who remembered me more than I deserve, and of course Jesus whom I met intimately as I went through Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nazareth and Galilee, walking on the same earth He walked on.
What I learned...yet again:
For when we are weak, then we are strong.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
It's official
It happened today. It may see trivial to many, but to me it was the beginning of something.
I walked onto the floor, after getting maybe 2 hours of sleep. I sounded out a prayer: "Please God, help me see you in every patient I care for today. Just you." And I told myself, I will do my best. Even though I feel completely inadequate, so drained, so lifeless.
God very seriously answered my prayer. I walked onto the floor and its like every patient was a little sliver of God's heart. I couldn't believe it. As I fed my patient and gave him his medications, he took my hand and thanked me. He was so genuinely grateful for just my presence.
And it was in that very moment. Something happened and I knew, this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. I looked into his eyes and I wanted to thank him.
But God wasn't done with me. Praise Him for that.
Even as a child there were two things that embodied healthcare for me: stethoscopes and giving shots. I mean if I could do that, then I was complete. I mean I was real. I was right there in the crux of things.
It's funny how now my stethoscope has become this appendage. I feel naked without it. And I do nothing but use it to listen to breath sounds and heart beats and bowel sounds...etc.
But today, God took it an extra step. I'm not going to lie, I was praying for it all day. The word came...my patient had high blood sugar. Well ordinarily, this wouldn't mean anything. But today, it meant something different.
Today, it meant this: I was going to give my first injection...
Ok, I know this may sound overly dramatic and crazy...but bear with me. I mean come on...its taking a needle and sticking someone. It's the ultimate trust right? Someone who is already so sick, then allows you to stick a needle in them and trusts you to do it right.
And when my nurse told me I was going to have my chance, I freaked out. Haha. Of course I would. I started pacing. What the hell did I get myself into?
I started practicing with pens. Ok, so grab the syringe like this and jab. Wait, hold it like a dart right? Ok, but how do I stick and then inject the medication with the same hand? Ok, where do I stick them again? What if I hit the bone? No, I won't hit the bone, it's a small injection. Ok, but what if they really get hurt...it'll be my fault. What if they don't want a student nurse?
But when I got there, it's like I had been doing it all my life. My second patient said she didn't even feel it go in. AH! Victory!
I walked out of that room and God was next me. He looked at me and said, welcome. Welcome to my new profession. I felt so accomplished. Like I had jumped over this huge hurdle.
I mean in reality, its nothing. I mean its an injection, there are much harder things... But its like as I injected my first syringe, I injected away my old self. I injected my doubt that I'm supposed to be a nurse. I injected my fears about making mistakes. I injected my apprehension and got back peace.
So there it is.
Today, I became a nurse.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
It shifted so easily it seems
She's the woman I never thought she could be.
Grace overcame her. He finally won. She finally stopped running or maybe He finally caught up with her.
As I am being reborn so is she. Change always happened so drastically for us. We never knew when we might be calling the police again. We never knew what color bruises we would have the next day. We never knew how locked the doors needed to be.
But it shifted. We never knew that one day she would wake up and want a different life. Never knew that decorating my apartment would make her want her own. Never knew that me sitting alone in Redlands, crying over my broken wine glass, instead of running back home to security, would make her want her own life.
Change always happens so drastically for us.
So here I sit, totally stunned by the power of God. Totally stunned by the persistence of God to answer prayers I prayed at the age of 7. Totally amazed by a God who knows exactly the needs of His children and when to fulfill them.
So I write this as a prayer of thanksgiving. It's been 29 years for her. 24 years for me. 29 years for him.
Thank you that you are the ultimate Healer. Thank you that I can thank you now for blessings to come. Thank you for loving us so much that you never ever give up. Thank you that you know how much we can handle. Thank you for a love that surpasses all understanding.
Thank you for change. For a break in the cycle. For revelation. For grace. For mercy.
To you, my half, I love you more than life itself. I give you over to Him. I submit your life and lovingly impart you over. You are no longer mine. You are no longer his. You belong to something so much bigger. A wider, deeper, revolution. I submit you and say I trust. Love and be loved. Let Him open up spaces within you and heal the brokenness. Let Him unleash the fire within you so that it may strengthen your bones and carry you on to sweet rest. Let Him love you the way your father loved you. Let Him see you the way your father saw you. Allow Him to re-grow the parts within you that have died. You are no longer defined by these 29 years. You are no longer defined by the abuse. You are the daughter of the Most High. The daughter of the living and true God. Give yourself over to healing and be born anew.
To you, my other half, I love you more than life itself. I give your life over to Him. I submit you and trust God for healing. For refuge. For revelation. For sustenance. For a deep, profound, break in the curves of your soul. You weren't born for this my love. You weren't meant for this. Your beauty is transcendent. Your life an array of colors mixing and separating. Your being unique in all its nature. Allow Him to release you unto mercy. You are forgiven. I forgive you. Forgive me. Love and be loved. Heal and be healed. See and be seen. Be born anew.
And I looked up and everything had shifted.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Nothing
My shoes, filled with rain and shit, made gurgling sounds as I walked slowly and reluctantly back.
My clothes caked with doubt. I reeked of guilt. The mud held on to me like crust on a bottom of a dirty pan. It slowed me down and yet it was so familiar. It's stench, so easy to get used to.
As I neared it, the mud had dried. A wind picked up and pieces of it started flaking of. It left a trail as if to remind me of how far I had come.
And then He saw me.
From a wide expanse, I looked up and all I could see were His eyes. And then all I remember is being embraced. The embrace stunned me and I hated it. I hated its love. The idealism of such radical forgiveness. This embrace of dependency. How dare He embrace me when I'm so dirty. Doesn't He have some damn pride?
His embrace turned into tears. And the saltiness cut through. I tasted it across my cheeks. Why was He so happy? I don't get it.
We didn't speak. We just walked onward.
Once inside, the velvet felt itchy against my skin. I wasn't used to it. The smells in His house were familiar, but still so distant. I ached for normalcy. But then I chose to come back. Now I wasn't so sure.
Here He's in charge. Here love is in control and not me. Here, money has no value. Here, I apparently can dress any way I want to. Here, apparently when I look in the mirror, I see an image of goodness. I don't get it.
But my utter confusion and frustration didn't deter His strange joy. He worked busily in the kitchen making me food. I was really hungry. He put on the music I apparently loved when I was little. When I was being etched together, He played this for me He claims.
I felt stifled by all of this and yet longed for it at the same time. Every inch of my body kept saying, you're gonna pay for this later. This goodness isn't going to last. You have work to keep this charade up. Work you fuck up. Work and keep working so at least you'll have food and a place to sleep.
So I got up and started to sweep. I secretly went through His massive house and started dusting. He was so happy in this kitchen, He didn't realize I was gone until He saw me washing His car.
He rushed toward me with tears in His eyes. He put His hand on my hand and dropped the sponge in the bucket. I looked at him. Shit! I'm doing it wrong probably. He asked me where my robe was and I why I was wearing my old clothes.
I told him I didn't want to get it dirty. I mean I can't screw up other people's things.
He looked down sadly and led me into the house and walked back into the kitchen. He started cooking again.
I was so fucking confused. What do you want me from me I screamed. What do you fucking want from me??
He came out of the kitchen with a chocolate cake in His hands and placed it in front of me. He found the cloak and put it around the chair I was sitting on. He turned down the music and brought in a chair and sat right in front of me. And then He just looked into my eyes.
And I asked Him again, just tell me what you want. I'll do it. I mean whatever. I don't care anymore.
He kept silent. He took my hand and kissed it.
He looked up and leaned into my ear and whispered...
"Nothing."
My clothes caked with doubt. I reeked of guilt. The mud held on to me like crust on a bottom of a dirty pan. It slowed me down and yet it was so familiar. It's stench, so easy to get used to.
As I neared it, the mud had dried. A wind picked up and pieces of it started flaking of. It left a trail as if to remind me of how far I had come.
And then He saw me.
From a wide expanse, I looked up and all I could see were His eyes. And then all I remember is being embraced. The embrace stunned me and I hated it. I hated its love. The idealism of such radical forgiveness. This embrace of dependency. How dare He embrace me when I'm so dirty. Doesn't He have some damn pride?
His embrace turned into tears. And the saltiness cut through. I tasted it across my cheeks. Why was He so happy? I don't get it.
We didn't speak. We just walked onward.
Once inside, the velvet felt itchy against my skin. I wasn't used to it. The smells in His house were familiar, but still so distant. I ached for normalcy. But then I chose to come back. Now I wasn't so sure.
Here He's in charge. Here love is in control and not me. Here, money has no value. Here, I apparently can dress any way I want to. Here, apparently when I look in the mirror, I see an image of goodness. I don't get it.
But my utter confusion and frustration didn't deter His strange joy. He worked busily in the kitchen making me food. I was really hungry. He put on the music I apparently loved when I was little. When I was being etched together, He played this for me He claims.
I felt stifled by all of this and yet longed for it at the same time. Every inch of my body kept saying, you're gonna pay for this later. This goodness isn't going to last. You have work to keep this charade up. Work you fuck up. Work and keep working so at least you'll have food and a place to sleep.
So I got up and started to sweep. I secretly went through His massive house and started dusting. He was so happy in this kitchen, He didn't realize I was gone until He saw me washing His car.
He rushed toward me with tears in His eyes. He put His hand on my hand and dropped the sponge in the bucket. I looked at him. Shit! I'm doing it wrong probably. He asked me where my robe was and I why I was wearing my old clothes.
I told him I didn't want to get it dirty. I mean I can't screw up other people's things.
He looked down sadly and led me into the house and walked back into the kitchen. He started cooking again.
I was so fucking confused. What do you want me from me I screamed. What do you fucking want from me??
He came out of the kitchen with a chocolate cake in His hands and placed it in front of me. He found the cloak and put it around the chair I was sitting on. He turned down the music and brought in a chair and sat right in front of me. And then He just looked into my eyes.
And I asked Him again, just tell me what you want. I'll do it. I mean whatever. I don't care anymore.
He kept silent. He took my hand and kissed it.
He looked up and leaned into my ear and whispered...
"Nothing."
Friday, April 18, 2008
i really was actually happy
It's funny when you realize how much you actually love doing something you swore you would hate.
Tres Leches cake, homemade Boba, Thai food, Sri Lankan delights, apple cider, El Pollo Loco chicken, bracelets, necklaces, flowers and lots and lots of love capped off my last day at Providence St. Joseph. Not to mention the doctors jokingly offering me employment when I'm done with school and the nurses not so jokingly exclaiming that I can be their physician later in life.
Somewhere down the line, working a 9-5 (actually 11-7) job as a secretary became part of my calling and part of my journey. Somewhere down the line, stapling kardexes to med sheets, reading the scribbles of doctors, answering the many requests of patients, smelling the overwhelming scents of wounds and feces and observing the service of nurses became what I was "supposed" to be doing.
A year ago, I sobbed when I realized I would have to take off yet another year before starting grad school. I cussed out God. I called Him a betrayer, a liar. I sobbed when I got my last medical school rejection and when a trusted friend and fellow healthcare worker told me that he had been praying for me and perhaps being a doctor wasn't for me.
And yet during this unplanned year, this mistake in the master plan dictated by Shannon and Shannon alone, I went to Africa and my world was changed. I entered into a relationship with a great guy and was able to listen to God when He said he's not the one. I was able to take classes at community colleges, something I thought I was too good for, and realize that the education there was 10 times better than the UCLA education I received for $40,000. And I became financially independent, able to move out of my house, able to pay for bills and able to now enter nursing school knowing exactly what type of life I have in store for me.
So I proclaim boldly that this year was indeed not a waste. I fall on my knees in repentance for mistrusting God. And I re-surrender my life to Him because He CLEARLY knows best. I constantly put God in a box and I'm pretty sure He hates it as much as I do.
So today ends the two years I took off since graduating UCLA. It's been such a fun ride. After working as a case manager on Skid Row, going to Africa, learning from wise nurses about healthcare, I better not ever second guess God's plans for me.
Here's to the next phase. *clink*
Tres Leches cake, homemade Boba, Thai food, Sri Lankan delights, apple cider, El Pollo Loco chicken, bracelets, necklaces, flowers and lots and lots of love capped off my last day at Providence St. Joseph. Not to mention the doctors jokingly offering me employment when I'm done with school and the nurses not so jokingly exclaiming that I can be their physician later in life.
Somewhere down the line, working a 9-5 (actually 11-7) job as a secretary became part of my calling and part of my journey. Somewhere down the line, stapling kardexes to med sheets, reading the scribbles of doctors, answering the many requests of patients, smelling the overwhelming scents of wounds and feces and observing the service of nurses became what I was "supposed" to be doing.
A year ago, I sobbed when I realized I would have to take off yet another year before starting grad school. I cussed out God. I called Him a betrayer, a liar. I sobbed when I got my last medical school rejection and when a trusted friend and fellow healthcare worker told me that he had been praying for me and perhaps being a doctor wasn't for me.
And yet during this unplanned year, this mistake in the master plan dictated by Shannon and Shannon alone, I went to Africa and my world was changed. I entered into a relationship with a great guy and was able to listen to God when He said he's not the one. I was able to take classes at community colleges, something I thought I was too good for, and realize that the education there was 10 times better than the UCLA education I received for $40,000. And I became financially independent, able to move out of my house, able to pay for bills and able to now enter nursing school knowing exactly what type of life I have in store for me.
So I proclaim boldly that this year was indeed not a waste. I fall on my knees in repentance for mistrusting God. And I re-surrender my life to Him because He CLEARLY knows best. I constantly put God in a box and I'm pretty sure He hates it as much as I do.
So today ends the two years I took off since graduating UCLA. It's been such a fun ride. After working as a case manager on Skid Row, going to Africa, learning from wise nurses about healthcare, I better not ever second guess God's plans for me.
Here's to the next phase. *clink*
Monday, April 14, 2008
i looked up and everything was different
it's like being newly birthed. a fledgling bud, a new leaf, a fresh gray hair that made itself known for the first time.
it's like crawling out of a self-inflicted cage and destroying it completely. watching its shreds fly into the wind. seeing its pieces turn into embers. its smoke giving off an aroma of alabaster. a smoke seen by the Pharisees when she weeped that day at the feet of Jesus. a smoke which stifled many as she dared to touch the robe of One who believed she could be different.
i no longer answer to you. you world, both friend and foe, stranger and neighbor, church and bar, mirror and billboard. i refuse you. i deny you authority.
i am just me. and as i looked up, me met Her and everything was different.
it's like crawling out of a self-inflicted cage and destroying it completely. watching its shreds fly into the wind. seeing its pieces turn into embers. its smoke giving off an aroma of alabaster. a smoke seen by the Pharisees when she weeped that day at the feet of Jesus. a smoke which stifled many as she dared to touch the robe of One who believed she could be different.
i no longer answer to you. you world, both friend and foe, stranger and neighbor, church and bar, mirror and billboard. i refuse you. i deny you authority.
i am just me. and as i looked up, me met Her and everything was different.
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