20 Signs You've Been in the ICU Waiting Room Too Long

This week has been a journey that I'm sure will shape the rest of my life. I've spent the past 6 days in San Diego with family as my uncle has battled for his life in the ICU. Praise God that he is a miracle working God who hears the prayers of His people. And although I've been reflecting deeply and will continue to do so, over dinner last night, we all had a good laugh over the signs of being too long in the ICU waiting room...

1. You answer the "volunteer" phone and give instructions to other families from nurses.
2. You know every other visitor by name.
3. You escort visitors to the door of their patient.
4. You know the exact time of day the air conditioning will kick in.
5. Your idea of entertainment is visiting the cafeteria.
6. You've actually pondered every piece of art on the hospital grounds.
7. The people at the coffee cart know you by name and suggest a punch card.
8. You know what bathrooms have the shortest lines.
9. You know what hallway has the best cell phone reception.
10. You get upset when your corner table is taken by newbies and thus start leaving behind "reserved" signs.
11. You can tell volunteers which therapy dog is the best behaved.
12. The sweet old lady at the front desk will no longer validate your parking.
13. You've actually seen the same special on the cafeteria menu more than once.
14. You've begun purchasing magazines in Spanish from the gift shop because you've read all the English ones.
15. You know what all the secret hospital codes spoken over the intercom mean.
16. You know no longer get nervous at the announcement of "infant code Adam," because it will inevitably be resolved 30 second later.
17. You know where the best parking spots are located.
18. You see the hospital on the news from the waiting room television.
19. Your idea of celebratory drinks is another round of coffee.
20. You train a new visitors on ICU Waiting Room protocol when you are released to the 5th floor.

Thank you God for life!

Offering up the Scales

Every week at kid's church we transition from singing to our lesson with offering. As soon as the offering buckets come out, I watch small hands shoot into the air, as young, excited voices squeal, "Pick me! Pick me!" After careful selection, one boy and one girl will join me in the front each waiting to be handed a bucket. When I say "Go!" they'll weave back and forth in each aisle making sure every child has the chance to give in the offering if they'd like. They race back to the front, and I ask for a drum roll as the buckets are carefully placed on the scale. A stampede of expectation fills the room as the scales tilt to the right then tilt back to the left before coming to a final stop.

"It looks like the boys took it for speed today, but the girls took it for weight." A cheer goes up from the pint-sized crowd, and then I ask the final question: "But does it really matter who was faster at gathering offering today or who gave more?"

I wait for their reply in unison. "No."

"That's right. No. It all goes to the same place, and God isn't worried about how much you give. He's looking at your heart."

He's looking at my heart. I've been contemplating balance in my life lately, and just today, a mentor from my time in college pulled me into his office and started drawing pictures of scales. As he explained a larger picture of balance, I couldn't stop thinking about offering in kid's church.

There are certain places in my life where I have a heart to give more. I pour in time and resource, but the bucket still feels so light. And although I tell God that these are the places I truly want to invest all of me, I know I'm called at the moment to a different bucket. The other bucket seems to be overflowing, but I often hold back thinking if I truly invest all of me in this bucket, I won't have anything left for the other seemingly more important container. There are times I want to invest more into the lighter container, but the second bucket demands resources that I can't give to the first. And I feel myself at constant odds with God questioning the buckets, wondering why in some areas of my life more is demanded while in others I'm released to less. If I was in charge the scales would be flipped.

God reminded me today that it all goes to the same place. If I am faithful to put what I have in the bucket, to give what is asked no matter how big that contribution must be or how small it has to be, God will take and multiply the rest.

Before we ever take the offering, I always ask the kids why we give. The responses vary, "To help poor people. Because it's good. etc." But I pass the microphone from kid to kid until I get the answer I seek--"Worship."

"That's right, kids." I'll say. All we have belongs to God and we give back as worship to Him.

And God doesn't discriminate between the buckets, because it all goes to the same place when it comes out of the same heart.

Arguments with Perfect

I can't tell you how many times in relationship I've had to admit to being wrong. Whether I'm in a business meeting conceding to someone's idea, working issues out with family members, or learning to communicate more aptly with a friend, there have been several moments of "You were right, and I was wrong."

However, in most of these conversations, there is a middle ground. The other party involved has something they can give on, something they can do better, something deeper to understand. Neither side is perfect, and here is the beauty of learning and growing in human relationship.

However, recently, I've found myself frustrated in these conversations with God. When I'm dissatisfied, when I feel our relationship could be better or my voice should be heard more, God is not in the wrong. He truly has nothing to change, no character flaw, and no imperfection he's bringing to the relationship. There is no room for "I was wrong in this, but you were wrong in that." And I must reconcile myself to the fact that my mind has to be changed, my view enlarged, my position altered. And that kind of trust both terrifies me and excites me as I realize His best laid plans look very different from mine.

And I find myself at another crossroads. I can continuing to be frustrated, or I can trust, change my mind, and ask to see those attitudes that need to be shifted. How do you argue with Perfect but to ask for grace.

Running Lesson #4: In My Own Backyard

First, for those of you who are under the impression that I'm an extremely dedicated runner, I will start this post with the honest confession that I took all of last week off from my customary tri-weekly jogs. I don't have a super good excuse, but feel the need to be honest.

This evening, I took off for a little jaunt partially because I need to get on track if I'm going to finish the half-marathon I've signed up for in July and partially because I've run out of scapegoats for Mark Franklin's daily inquiry, "Dot, how was your run today."

Advised on a new route, I took off on the back roads behind my house. Running amidst cow fields, horse pastures, and wooded hills, I felt like I could put one foot in front of the other indefinitely this evening. The sun sunk low in the sky and the breeze carried the fresh scent of a babbling brook through the air. In the midst of what is shaping up to be a rather busy week, I was at peace.

For the past year-and-a-half, as long as I've lived with the Franklin's, the lovely cow fields, the Thoroughbred horses, and the babbling brook have all been sitting there waiting to greet me, but I never ventured far enough to discover them. Though only steps out of my own front door, I never had the eyes to see or the will to venture forth and discover the undiscovered.

I travel a lot for work. Every time I'm sent to a new city, I do a little research first on things to explore. At times, I'll find a good restaurant. Or maybe I'll visit some historical landmark. Maybe I'll wander through untamed countryside. I'm always amazed at how I, being a stranger, often visit places locals have never been. They know about these places. They've read in magazines or heard about how great such and such place is from someone else, but have yet to experience those things sitting right in their own back yard.

Sometimes I wonder in my own city, in my own sphere of influence, what things am I missing in my own backyard? Maybe it's the girl walking down NE 82nd. I've never stopped a moment to observe the way she walks and the scant clothes hanging off her frame, but If I did, I might look at her with eyes of compassion. Maybe it's the homeless man who's always standing on the freeway off-ramp, but I've never met his gaze as he stares at me through my windshield, cardboard sign in his hand. Maybe it's the child sitting in kid's church for the 10th Sunday in a row, and I've never seen him before and have no idea what his name is or why he frowns while the other children smile. Maybe it's the promise or the greatness in a friend I've become so familiar with that I've boxed them into my idea of what their life is or should be. Maybe it's my job that in the day to day of showing up at the same office every morning I've forgotten to look for the opportunities and growing experiences each day brings.

Whatever the undiscovered landscape may be, I fully embrace the exploration of my own backyard.

Up the Mountain

I sat on the floor of a vacant room last week and listened to the sound of my breathing. No pen, no paper, no Bible in hand, I had been challenged by a friend to sit for an hour in silence and solitude before God. This all seemed rather ridiculous to me at first. How could I meet with God without even his Word in hand? But the sound of my simple breaths brought me to tears.

I heard a preacher say once that the Hebrews didn't really have a phonetic name they could give God. Yaweh was the closest they could come because the name of God was the sound of breath, inhalation and exhalation. In the simple act of breathing, a person is declaring the name of God over and over again. But so often, I don't take the time to breathe. I feel like I have to do and do and do over again. I measure my life by the impact it has, and though I feel impact is important, in the midst of seeking to touch others, have I forgotten to touch God?

A few weeks ago, I watched the movie The Count of Monte Cristo for the first time. I wanted to leave the room when Edmund Dantes was thrown into prison, not because it's a horrifically gory piece of the movie, but because he sat there for seven years and didn't do anything. I found myself wondering what he had left to live for if he was just going to sit there for the rest of his life and impact no one. And although, I firmly believe that we are created for relationship in our lives, God convicted me that I was forgetting about the most important relationship of them all--my relationship with Him. Maybe sometimes I'm so concerned about ministering to others, that I forget to sit with God and minister to Him and allow Him to minister to me. I focus so much on the doing and not the being, and even when I spend time with God, it's to do and not be. I play a worship song, or write in my journal, or sit and read the Bible all in an effort to make God think the best of me or to prove something to Him. And I forget it's He who initiated, He who first took the step towards me, and no amount of work will change what He's already done. It's like I want to earn what He has already freely given.

I've been thinking a lot lately about Moses and how he spent forty days and forty nights with God on Mount Sinai. He took nothing up the mountain--it was just him and God alone together in a quiet place. God invited Moses and the people of Israel into a covenant relationship as Moses sat alone with God, and God spoke to him as a man speaks with a friend. When Moses came down the mountain, he carried the presence of God with him and the presence of the God came to rest on the people. This is how all the nations of the world knew there was something different about the Israelites: the presence of God went with them.

I'm coming to realize I can't earn God's favor, I can accept it; I can't work for his grace, I can receive it; and I can't love God unless I allow Him to first love me. I've always wanted my life to be measured by my love for God and my love for others, but now I'm seeing things differently. How can I love God and others if I'm not first loved by God? My prayer is that I would learn to not only love God but to be loved by God. From that place impact will flow as my heart becomes His.

So I hear the invitation to come up the mountain, and as I take a moment to slow down and listen to the sound of my breathing, I know that I am because of I Am.

When I Grow Up...

So, I'm beginning this blog because a friend urged me to practice the writing skills I paid thousands of dollars to attain. I was a writing and literature major in college and sadly have done little with my degree other than read and write lots of emails. To all the teachers who dedicated so much time reading my ramblings in college while offering patient suggestions on how I might become the next Hemingway, this blog is for you.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want to be when I grow up, which is ironic, because I'm a 23 year old college graduate with a job that could very well become a career. It's funny how your view of yourself changes over time. When I was 9, I wanted to be a Plymouth Plantation reenacter and live my life as a pilgrim. When I was 14, I wanted to be the next Mia Hamm and bring home a World Cup trophy. When I was 17, I wanted to be a summer camp director and spend my life going by the name Joey. And when I was 18 and thinking about college I wanted to be a teacher--first and elementary teacher, then a high school teacher, then a high school English teacher.

So, here I am a year post college and still wondering what I am going to do with that degree. The more I think about my interests, the more I'm convinced I don't want to be a teacher. I'm left wondering when I'll settle on a direction and finally be able to answer the questions, "Hey there little girl, what do you want to be when you grow up?" And, I say little girl, because in many ways I still feel like the dreamy 8-year-old looking at life with all it's possibilities. I also feel clueless and unsettled thinking by now I should have a good answer, but maybe to have an answer is to miss the point.

God works in each of our lives differently. Some feel a calling when they are young to one specific path or plan. You've heard the story about Billy who knew from the time he was 5 he was going to be an actor or Suzy who at age 7 dreamed of being a doctor. And Billy goes on to be an actor and Suzy goes on to be a doctor and I keep asking God why I can't be them. But, I'm not Billy or Suzy, and through all my changing dreams of life a few things have remained: I want to love God, and I want to demonstrate His love to others.

And here, I take a deep breath, because I'm realizing, I don't have to have my life figured out. God orders my steps, and as I seek him, He moves. It's almost exciting in a way not to know what the next chapter of life holds and not to have a concrete idea of where I'll end up. It's like waiting until Christmas morning to open your present--the promise is there, but you don't know what the promise is until finally your parents say, "Ok, you can open up your package." And, all in good time, God will reveal His plans for me as I keep seeking Him first and His kingdom.

So, for all you twenty somethings out there, still trying to figure out your life, know you're not the only one. God already has my life figured out, so I'm not going to worry about it.