...and the things that are not...

held for the healing...

2012-01-01T11:04:00.000-08:00

hello 2012! where has the time gone?

i am going to attempt to keep up with this again. writing has always been a way for me to get thoughts out to process and reflect. i don't really even care who reads.

jb (the hubs) sent me to florida to visit my family for a reunion after Christmas. i love the beach...sand and water and sun. due to the fact that i was staying in a hotel room with my sis, her hubby, and my three nephews, i tried to get some alone time each day i was there by walking along the beach in the morning, right after i woke up.

it was on the second day that i had a glimpse of the eternal in my life. i have to back up a bit to explain the whole situation.

in march of 2011, i had visited my mom in san antonio after she had broken her hip. on the flight back (or at least i think it was on the flight back), i developed a blood clot in my leg that embolized to my lungs (dvt + pe for those who are medically inclined). i didn't have many symptoms from the blood clot going to my lungs right away...i incidentally noted that my leg felt heavy at work that day, and later one went to the bathroom to discover that my leg was swollen and purple. i walked down to the ER at Chippenham (where i was working at the time), with the chief complaint of "i think i have a dvt." they did a ct scan of my chest and discovered massive pulmonary emboli scattered throughout both lungs with "large clot burden." i was in the icu for 2 days, and in the hospital for 3 days total. jb was worried. i was placed on blood thinning medication for the past 9 months. it was weird being a patient, sort of embarrassing, and definitely scary.

i had just quit my job, but luckily did not have any lapses in health insurance. i started at vcu a month later, feeling fairly well. but about 3-4 weeks after i started, a doctor who worked in the ER walked in the hospital and collapsed on the ramp leading from the parking deck. she essentially had the same condition i did, only her hospital course was far more dramatic. her heart stopped twice, and she went straight from the ER to the operating room, where they cracked her chest and performed a life-saving blood clot removal. i started to realize how lucky i was and how serious my illness could have been. needless to say, i developed significant anxiety from this. i saw my primary care doctor and enlisted the help of friends and family to pray for me because i just didn't feel right. jb was a huge source of support, and luckily the whole ordeal brought us closer together. but i know me being a hot mess for months was not what he had signed up for when we had gotten hitched 6 months previously. we learned a lot about the "in sickness and in health" part of our wedding vows.

all summer and fall, i had tried to get back into exercising; i had been training for a 10K prior to the dvt/pe, had lost some weight, and was feeling pretty good. but after 6 weeks with some activity restrictions and probably from the blood clots in the lungs, i felt out of shape. i gained the 25 lbs. i had lost...and then some. i got anxiety about leaving the house to exercise, mainly because i didn't want to be somewhere where i couldn't get help easily. i tried to walk with people, but felt out of shape. jb bought me a treadmill for Christmas (at my request), so i could train at home and feel like i could get help quickly if i needed it.

but really, the walks on the beach were the first time that i have felt good about walking and being outside. i was walking fairly slowly (18-19 minute miles), not really trying to push myself, listening to some praise music for encouragement. on my way back to the hotel, a song came on that had been in my mind for months, although i didn't realize it until i heard it again. the song is called "recovery" by eric peters, my former young life leader when i was in high school. i had told a friend a few weeks ago that i felt like i was in recovery from my illness, and that this word gave me a lot more freedom than feeling like i should be "completely healed" or "redeemed." i think i may have even mentioned the song, but i hadn't really heard it in a few years at least.

so the song came on, and i was listening to the lyrics, and these in particular struck me --

"at the admission of my failures you allowed my past to die.
held for the healing.
i found, i found, i found recovery."

the sun had risen, but the sky was still pastels...orange and yellow and green and blue. the sunlight reflected off the water in a way that it appeared iridescent. the air was cool. the beach was not deserted, but the people were scarce enough for me to feel alone. i stopped and took off my shoes. i pushed rewind and listened again. i felt my Father telling me i was going to be ok, and that he had preserved my life for His purpose. that i can admit when i feel weak, and i don't have to have it all together. because really...who has it all together?

i picked up a shell on which to write "recovery" to put in the backyard of the schmidt's (we have an altar of sorts in the vein of Joshua 4 ). i might write more on that topic later.

i feel at peace.

grace and blessings to you.

Olympics! and some thoughts on China...

2008-08-12T18:09:00.000-07:00

I am completely fascinated by the Olympics. I loved watching the opening ceremonies this past Friday. It is interesting that this year's Olympics are in Beijing. I visited China a few years back (December 2004-January 2005). My sister and her husband were teaching English at a university in northern China. I was lucky to have tour guides who were fluent in Chinese. I don't know how I would have gotten around without them. It was difficult enough to get through customs by myself...I was so relieved when I finally found my sister. Because it is like Disney World everywhere you go in China. Everywhere you go, there are just MASSES of people. And a lot of times, these masses of people will be waiting in line to go somewhere. Or at least that is what I assume was happening. I really couldn't figure out what they were waiting in line for sometimes. Because of these masses of people, China has become very efficient at moving people around, with their railways, highly organized bus system, and millions (I'm probably not exaggerating...too much) of taxi cab drivers. I think there was a program to train some or most of the cab drivers to speak English prior to the Olympics so that the incoming tourists would be able to get where they were going, but I don't know how successful they were. Back in 2004, the cab drivers spoke either one very rehearsed phrase or no English.

Back to the masses of people...

Another cultural difference that I noticed in China is that most of the Chinese people do not have as much of a sense of individuality as most Americans do. There are approximately 50 distinct ethnic groups in China; they had a part of the opening ceremonies dedicated to illustrating the traditional dress of some of these groups. However, it is difficult for an outsider (i.e., me and probably other Americans) to notice the subtle differences in the appearances of the people from these groups. Americans definitely stand out in China. Many times, people would stop and take pictures of my sister and I or my brother-in-law because we were white. Or maybe they thought we were celebrities. If we caught them doing it, we would ask them to be in the picture with us, so it wouldn't be so weird that this random person was taking pictures of us like paparazzi. I was always able to find my brother-in-law in a crowd, simply because he is tall and towers over many of the Chinese.

This loss of the sense of individuality was evident in the opening games. The first act of the creative portion of the opening games was a lot (maybe two thousands) of drummers acting in concert, with a formidable effect. There were not many solo acts (a lone dancer, the girl singing, maybe a few others), but I think that China definitely portrayed the ability to coordinate the efforts of many to create an overall picture that was breathtaking. And yes, it did take the individual learning their part, but if you just had one person running around the arena, it wouldn't have the same effect. But two thousand people forming perfect concentric circles...now that's pretty awesome.

The other thing I enjoyed about the opening ceremonies was the geography lesson that I got. There were so many countries that I had never heard of! Craziness...

socially awkward...

2008-07-13T18:06:00.000-07:00

as i spend more time at work than i do in social settings, i have noticed that i am not as adept as i once was in the usual social situations. it has gotten to the point where i think i might have a bit of social anxiety. it's not entirely my fault...i think that medical school and residency makes you somewhat socially awkward. you're just not as good at talking about non-medical stuff anymore. i used to be more well-rounded prior to all this doctoring business.

one example is that a few weeks ago, i went out with some friends to a bar to go dancing. fun night...fun friends...not people that i feel awkward with at all. but i was approached by a guy who (i guess) was trying to pick me up. he used the "can i buy you a drink?" line. and my response was...drum roll, please..."i already have a drink." not that i would have married the guy, but i feel sort of like baby on dirty dancing..."i carried a watermelon?"

i went to a church group tonight on the south side of richmond, and i was trying to tell my friend alicia that i was a little scared about it. then i thought about it when i got home and realized how stupid i'm being. why do i care what people think about me? and why do i think that they're thinking about me anyway? i'm selfish/self-centered. i'm praying that God will help me look beyond myself to do the work He has for me.

again...

2008-07-04T17:42:00.000-07:00

so, it's been a while since i've written anything, but several of my friends here in richmond are avid bloggers (alicia, daniel, keila, brent, anne, dave...just to name a few). i decided to try it out again, but honestly haven't thought of much to say. i usually like to write novels. i'd like to summarize the year but don't know how to begin. i'd like to say that my life is dandy but am not sure if that's the truth. i can say i'm sure that God has me in richmond for a purpose, but i can't say that i'm all that happy about it at times. and i still long for Home. i'm not sure if i will ever call this place home, or if i even have a home at this point. i feel like i'm wandering...and this nomadic life is hard. i struggle sometimes to catch my breath and am trying to see what God is doing or where he is leading, but i can't see the cloud or the fire, and i can't taste the manna. and what's scaring me most of all is that i am not trusting that He is taking care of me.

the better story...

2007-01-21T15:03:00.000-08:00

According to Yann Martel, author of The Life of Pi, the book was born out of a conversation with an elderly Indian gentleman, who made the bold claim, "I have a story that will make you believe in God."

You should read this book.

Part One of the book chronicles Piscine Patel's ("known to all as Pi") early childhood and the details of his religious background. Born into a bright orange Hindu, introduced to Christ by a friendly Father Martin in Munnar, and wooed to the green of Islam by plain-featured Muslim mystic/baker, he practices all three religions interchangeably and without excuse. Even when confronted by three religious leaders, who agree on only one point ("...he can’t be a Hindu, a Christian and a Muslim. It's impossible. He must choose."), Pi defends his piety.

"I just want to love God."

Part One ends with another bold claim: "This story has a happy ending." It is statement that I had to go back and reread a few times during Part Two, which starts out with a shipwreck and a scared Pi crying out to Jesus, Mary, Muhammad, and Vishnu for help. Sometimes it seems as if there can be no happy ending to this story. I don’t want to give away too much, but Pi spends almost 7 months at sea in a "genuine, regulation lifeboat," an experience in which he is forced to renounce his vegetarian beliefs but not his faith in God, which is (to me) impressive.

I read his story in awe and reverence. Then, like a slap in the face by a flying fish (one of the events in the story), there is a twist at the end of the book of M. Night Shyamalan proportions. A Mr. Okamoto, who is investigating the cause of the shipwreck with the ship's sole survivor, is forced to choose between two accounts...one that is beautiful and horrifying and miraculous and epic, and one that may be slightly more plausible but ugly and equally horrifying. Belief in either one requires a significant amount of faith, because the only one who can testify to the validity of either fable is Pi himself. The plausibility of the second story is based on my realm of knowledge...on what I think is believable and true. But, as Pi puts it himself, "You can't prove which story is true and which is not. You must take my word for it...So tell me, since it makes no factual difference to you and you can't prove the question either way, which story do you prefer? Which is the better story?" Mr. Okamoto decides that the beautiful story is the better story. Pi replies, "Thank you. And so it goes with God."

I don’t want to read too much into a work of fiction, which, according to the author is "the selective transforming of reality." But this book has made me think more about faith and doubt than my recent attempt to read the bible from cover to cover. I think Chapter 22 sums it up for me:

"I can well imagine an atheist's last words: '‘White, white! L-L-Love! My God!'--and the deathbed leap of faith. Whereas the agnostic, if he stays true to his reasonable self, if he stays beholden to dry, yeastless factuality, might try to explain the warm light bathing him by saying, 'Possibly a f-f-failing oxygenation of the b-b-brain,' and, to the very end, lack imagination and miss the better story."

and the things that are not...

2007-01-14T20:31:00.002-08:00

and the things that are not...

i have been contemplating that phrase over the past couple of weeks. it sits in this bible passage:

"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things--and the things that are not--to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: 'Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.'"

this is encouraging to me...God picking the foolish things and the weak things, the lowly things and the despised things--and the things that are not. it is as if God purposefully picks the benchwarmers, not the superstars. He sees the scrawny kid on the playground, the one with downcast eyes and red cheeks, the one who has stopped hoping for the first round pick and started praying that he will be second-to-last instead of last (again). God sees this kid and says, "you. I want you."

this is the God that i have come to love. the One who chooses the things that are not. He is a God Who sees the big picture. He doesn't just see us as we are at that particular point in time...when we are weak/needy/foolish/lowly/despised. He sees the potential. He sees us as we will be, not just as we are.

i have not been particularly wise or strong over the past few weeks, which is probably why i have not written anything particularly "spiritual" lately. somewhere along the line, i forgot what i was worth. i stopped seeing what He sees in me, and i started buying into the lies the world sells me. it is so hard to trust sometimes, and my faith falters on a pretty regular basis, but it was harder to find it lately. i am lucky that God pursues me, even when i don't particularly want Him to. i have also been lucky that in the past few weeks, i have heard God say again, "you. I want you."

God, i am so grateful that when i am scared and stumbling, You don't give up on me. i'm thankful that when my faith is small, You are still big. i'm so glad that i don't have to be strong or wise. i pray for faith...that i may know You more...and in knowing You more, that i might trust You more. amen.

carolina blue...

2007-01-14T20:31:00.001-08:00

It is chilly in Chapel Hill Saturday evening. I parked in the municipal parking lot ($0.65 per 30 minutes -- much better than the parking in NYC, which is where I was last week) and walked the to Spanky's Bar & Grill. I expected a younger crowd, simply judging from the name, but I sat next to a pair of tables with what looked like older couples getting together for weekly conversation and pints of Guinness. I felt a little out of place because I was drinking Bass out of a bottle. That, and the fact I was about half the age of anyone in the little bar besides the wait staff. The large window I sat next to framed the brick buildings across the street, decorated with white lights and people in Carolina blue scarves. Or maybe Duke blue. I'm still getting used to the subtleties. I poured the beer into the glass provided (quite expertly, I might add, with just the right amount of head), and it stayed cold until the last ounce or so. I don't like warm beer, but I didn't want to waste it, so I finished it.

I walked outside to see three guys in long hair and acid-washed jean jackets walk by, smelling of high school and adidas cologne. Which, incidentally, are the same smell. I had forgotten momentarily that the 80s were back, so seeing them kind of threw me. I wear a denim jacket as well, so I definitely fit in with this group. Except that I was an old lady who didn't even get carded at the bar I just went to, and the last time I smelled adidas cologne was in 1998. Crazy how some smells fling memories into consciousness.

I am trying to figure out where I fit in. I am interviewing at a bunch of schools to see where I can get a residency. It is hard to judge a program based on one or two days of a formal interview. I am sure they don't get a true impression of who I am, since I will probably never ever wear a suit in their presence again after I interview. Never ever. I think we should all interview in scrubs...one less variable to be judged. Some people make checklists and take a bunch of notes to try and figure out where they will rank the places they interview at. I am mainly going on a gut-instinct-type feeling, which is sort of contrary to what I usually do. I guess I'll find out where I end up in March.

It was still chilly on Sunday morning, but the sun was bright and it warmed up quickly. I walked to a church by the hotel. I happened to go on a day where this church offered communion. In the midst of figuring out where I fit in, I forgot that I am part of a Body. It was comforting and familiar to worship with other people with whom I share beliefs. It was also comforting to know that I don't have to worry about where I wind up; wherever I match is where God wants me to be. I am feeling much more at peace about the whole decision-making process.

On a side note, with all this traveling, I didn't get a chance to go home for the Thanksgiving holiday, and now I'm feeling a little homesick. I was lucky enough to see my parents in October, and two months is by no means the longest I have gone without seeing them. I have seen my sister and her family a bunch as I stay the night with them before flights out of DFW. But for some reason, as I travel, I am acutely aware of how important my family is and how much I miss them. Loneliness is a good motivator to encourage reliance and dependence on my God, but it also is hard. Please pray.

"When so many are lonely as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone." -- Tennessee Williams

collision...

2007-01-14T20:29:00.002-08:00

I love being involved in a field where so many different academic disciplines collide. Historically, there were only four academic disciplines: theology, medicine, jurisprudence, and the arts. If you look for a definition of "medicine" on wikipedia, you come up with this:

"Medicine is the branch of health science and the sector of public life concerned with maintaining or restoring human health through the study, diagnosis, treatment and possible prevention of disease and injury. It is both an area of knowledge -- a science of body systems, their diseases and treatment -- and the applied practice of that knowledge."

While this is a decent and concise definition of what I do on a daily basis, I would submit to you that it is much more. When you talk about "restoring human health through the study, diagnosis, treatment, and possible prevention of disease and injury," there just isn't one magic pill that I can prescribe that will take care of all of that. The restoration of health often involves taking much more interest in how and why the patient is sick, rather than just diagnosing and treating their illness. Restoration of health also requires that when a patient comes to see me in clinic with a chief complaint of "hypertension and refills," I need to distinguish if that is her real complaint, or if her true complaint is that she can't afford the $59 a month that she has been paying for her medications. And then I need to figure out how I can help her.

I think if I ever decide to go back to school in the future (I mean, um, after I get out of school), I would want to get a Ph.D. in sociology or social anthropology, studying the effect of inequity on access to medical care. It is easy to document an "outcome gap" (which is a horrible euphemism that basically means given a certain medical condition, a poor person is more likely to have a worse outcome than a rich person) and show that it is caused, at least in part, by differential access to increasingly effective technologies [Paul Farmer in Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights, and the New War on the Poor]. I think that what I can do now is make sure that I am providing equitable care for all of my patients, regardless of their race, sex, socioeconomic status, etc.

There is a famous statue depicting Lady Justice, where she holds the scales of justice and wears a blindfold. I do not have the luxury of wearing the blindfold of Lady Justice, and I'm not sure if I would want to. I want to be able to truly see people. I pray that I will not be blinded.

So here's my definition of medicine: medicine is the collision of science and sociology, affected by business and law and politics, and beatified by the arts and theology.

When we come to you
Our rags are torn off us
And you listen all over our naked body.
As to the cause of our illness
One glance at our rags would
Tell you more. It is the same cause that wears out
Our bodies and our clothes.

The pain in our shoulder comes
You say, from the damp; and this is also the reason
For the stain on the wall of our flat.
So tell us:
Where does the damp come from?
--Bertolt Brecht, "A Worker's Speech to a Doctor"

exposing the lies...

2007-01-14T20:29:00.001-08:00

The church that I go to here in Shreveport, Broadmoor Baptist, recently hosted a 3-session series by a guy named Justin Peters. The sessions were collectively entitled "A Call for Discernment." I had no intention of attending any of them; as a rule, I generally try to avoid spending too much time in a church building. My family came in to town the weekend it started, though, so I missed church at its appointed Sunday morning time and decided to go to the evening service, which happened to be "Session 1: Dangerous Doctrines." I had no idea what this was going to be about. I also did not think that I would go to all three sessions, but I was hooked after the first night.

Justin Peters has both a Masters of Divinity and a Masters of Theology degree. He also suffers from a relatively mild case of cerebral palsy. His purpose for giving this seminar series was to expose the lies of the Word of Faith movement (the people who are on TBN--Benny Hinn, Kenneth and Gloria Copeland, Paul and Jane Crouch, etc.)...the "health and wealth"/prosperity gospel preachers. Here I shall digress a little...

I always thought of TBN as a cheesy Christian broadcasting network. I never really watched much of it, but flipping through the channels, I would see Jan Crouch with her purple wigs, plastic face, and fake eyelashes and just groan. And then vomit. Because if she was the type of Christian that gets televised, what must the secular world think of us? I would make fun of her and Benny, with his trademark hair and white suits. I mean, honestly, his part starts just above his ear. He can't think that looks good. It struck me as odd that they sit on these velvet and gold thrones. But I did not realize how sinister the Word of Faith movement really is...

Back on track...Basically, Justin Peters talked about the doctrine of the Word of Faith (WoF) movement, which has its origins in the metaphysical cultic movements (New Thought, New Age, Christian Science). Many of the doctrines that WoF embraces are in direct conflict with God's Word, and many of their beliefs tend to deify humans and make God more human. Such as the doctrine of "positive confession" ("name it, claim it"); this doctrine says that we can speak things into existence. Justin encouraged us not to just take what he was saying and believe it, but to be as the Boreans ("for they received the Word with great eagerness, searching the Scriptures daily to see whether these things were so..."). And that was basically what Justin was doing anyway. He would put up video clips of the WoF teachers and let them dig their own grave, metaphorically speaking. Then Justin would expose their lies with the Truth.

The last session was entitled "The Hurt of Healing." I was particularly intrigued...as a doctor-to-be, I was interested in how this would be presented. I knew it was a topic near to Justin's heart, since he has cerebral palsy and was told by a faith healer that he was not healed because he did not have enough faith. So I thought maybe Justin might be a little biased, and in a way, he is. But that doesn't mean that he is wrong. WoF will say that it is ALWAYS God's will that you be healed. They also qualify this healing by saying that you have to have a sense of expectation (believe that God will heal you), money ("sow a seed of faith"), and the right heart and perseverance (keep believing and giving money).

The last thing that Justin showed us was memorable for me. Gloria Copeland was quoted several times as saying that it is not viable that your illness could glorify God. Justin put a few of her video clips in front of a video of a guy named Garwin Dobbins, who has a rare disease called myositis ossificans progressiva, singing "I Can Only Imagine" with Phillips, Craig, & Dean. I was sobbing by the end of the video clips. Because I saw.

This angers me, people. It makes me furious. It also scares the shit out of me. There are people posing as teachers in the church who are letting people believe that if they give enough money, they will eventually be healed. And these false prophets are living in $10 million homes and staying in hotel rooms that cost $10,000 a night...bought with money obtained from manipulating the hopes of God's people. I don't think that people who follow Benny Hinn or the others are necessarily bad people, but I do think that they have been deceived by them. I believe that healing does occur, and not just with medicines, but I also believe that what I am doing is not completely secular. I believe that God most definitely can be and is glorified through people's illnesses, Mrs. Copeland. It is viable that God be glorified in and through suffering. I have seen it. I saw it in Mr. Dobbins. I have seen it in a dear friend of mine, who at age 27 has breast cancer and is having a double mastectomy. I watched God be glorified in the suffering of many of my patients. He is a big God, and He is not limited just because someone says that He can't be glorified in a certain situation.

"But false prophets also arose among the people, even as there shall be false teachers among you, who privily shall bring in damnable heresies." 2 Peter 2:1

a levite and his concubine...

2007-01-14T20:27:00.002-08:00

There is a story in the bible that in some versions is titled "A Levite and His Concubine." The passage in its entirety can be read in Judges 19-20. Warning: this passage may be a little shocking to the faint of heart...a tale of sex and woe and revenge.

Here is a brief synopsis of this story: a Levite takes a concubine from her home in Bethlehem, but she was unfaithful to him and goes running back to Bethlehem to stay with her father. After four months, the Levite goes to find her and tries to persuade her to leave. The father-in-law invites him to stay for a few nights, and when the man tries to leave after four days, the father-in-law tricks him into staying an extra night. Then the father-in-law makes them a little late in leaving the next day, and the traveling party has difficulty figuring out where to spend the night. The end up in a square in Gibeah for the night, and an old man asks them, "Where are you going? Where did you come from?" When the travelers explain that they are looking for a place to stay, the old man invites them in, with the words "You are welcome at my house. Let me supply whatever you need. Only don't spend the night in the square." Then some of the "wicked men of the city" surround his house and try and get the old man to send the Levite out "so we can have sex with him." I'm sure at this point the Levite was sweating buckets, but the old man came to his defense and offered to send out his virgin daughter and the Levite's concubine instead. The Levite ends up just sending out the concubine, who was "raped and abused throughout the night, and at dawn they let her go." She ends up falling down dead in the doorway of the house, with her hands on the threshold. The Levite takes her home on his donkey, and when he gets home, he cuts up the concubine into twelve parts and sends them to all the areas of Israel. This starts a huge war, with eleven of the tribes against the tribe of Benjamin.

There are a few stories in the bible that disturb me...this happens to be one of them. First of all, I want to feel sorry for the concubine, but I find myself thinking, "Well, she shouldn't have been at her dad's house in the first place." She was unfaithful, and then she ran and hid. I can relate because I tend to do this as well in my relationship with God, but I'm still not as sympathetic towards her as I could be. I also got a little mad at the father for wasting a few days...who knows what would have happened had the traveling party made it to Gibeah the night before, or left a little earlier that morning?

Again, because I have more of a heathen's appreciation of the bible, I'm trying to figure out the symbolism of the concubine being torn apart for the twelve tribes. Was she merely a macabre message, a call-to-arms for the other 11 tribes? Or does she represent the modern-day church? There is so much disunity, at least among the churches in America..it seems as though the Body of Christ is completely dismembered. I think that is because Americans like dichotomy; we like black-and-white; we like being divided among party lines and watching football rivalries. A lot of us (myself included) are more comfortable worshiping in a place where everyone looks a lot like us, thinks like us, votes like us, etc. Is it because we make new Christians look like us ("domesticating you until you look just like me" -- Derek Webb) or because we church shop until we find a church that fits well. I don't know. I'm guilty of the whole church shopping..it took a while, and I'm still not completely comfortable at the place where I am, although I'm pretty sure I would be less comfortable at other places.

Also, the questions of the old man are somewhat piercing for me..."Where are you going? Where did you come from?" I'm assuming he was just talking about their journey, and the answers would obviously be a town or city. But for me, when I think about my "journey" or "walk" (which I've been forced to do a lot lately, thanks to a good pastor), the old man's questions become a little more poignant. A friend and I were talking about this a while ago. I'm definitely not even close to where I want to be on my walk/spiritual journey, but I'm nowhere near where I was 4 years ago, or a year ago, or even 3 months ago.

Sorry that my line of thinking is somewhat tangential. I would love to hear your thoughts (not someone else's researched exegesis) about the concubine and her Levite. Or just email me and let me know your answers to "Where are you going? Where did you come from?"

empty room...

2007-01-14T20:27:00.001-08:00

The sun was shining through the window as I entered his room this morning. The light scattered across the standard hospital-issued pink blanket and underneath the partitioning curtain. A new patient was on his way, but right then I was the only one in the room. Yesterday, there was a steady stream of family members and doctors and nurses and respiratory therapists, in and out and in and out. I was one of those people...

Four days ago, he was commenting on my "piercing blue eyes" and we were joking about his leftover bloomin' onion, which his family had picked up to try and coax him into eating. We didn't hit it off on our first meeting, but I was able to charm him into liking me. He laughed at my jokes, which made me want to tell more.

I checked in on him around 9:00PM...then 9:30...then around 10:10...then at 11:15. I left the floor to finish up some other things, then checked on him again at 11:45. I left his room, went down the hall into my call room, and cried for a little while. This isn't the first time I've had to deal with a dying patient, but I am not sure if experience makes it easier to deal with. I wondered what people would do if they really knew what death looks like. I took a shower and read a little bit. It was cold in the call room. I laid down on the bed, covered up with a few blankets, and tried to make the shivering stop. I attempted to pray, but I didn't really know how. I didn't know what I wanted God to do. I just wanted Him to show up. My prayers mostly consisted of "please."

He was pronounced dead at 12:43AM. I expected this ending, but it was still hard. I know God could have performed a miracle, and that maybe I would have walked into his room and he would be better, but I also knew that God is God and I am not. Today his room was bright and shiny and clean-smelling...and empty. And so is my heart, to some extent. I'm waiting on God to fill me back up, so I can pour out again. I am realizing more and more how difficult this calling is.

"But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith..."

"So I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well..."

pride...

2007-01-14T20:25:00.000-08:00

I have been in Jeremiah for a while now...inching slowly through some of it and flipping more quickly through other parts. I ran across this verse today in Jeremiah 13 - "But if you do not listen, I will weep in secret because of your pride; my eyes will weep bitterly, overflowing with tears, because the LORD's flock will be taken captive." This pretty much describes what I'm feeling about the church in general right now.

I am not someone who is here to point out other's flaws. I am the first to admit that I'm a heathen, and probably a more accurate description is that I'm a "whore," though not in the "Adam knew his wife" sense. I recently went to a Derek Webb concert, and he sang a song off his CD "Mockingbird." In one of his songs he says this:

"There are two great lies that I've heard:
'The day you eat of the fruit of that tree, you will not surely die,'
and that Jesus Christ was a white, middle-class republican,
and if you wanna be saved you have to learn to be like Him."

We all have this tendency to view Jesus through a cloud of smoke. The pharisees had this picture of what a "messiah" would look like based on their interpretations of the scriptures, and somehow Jesus just didn't fit that mold. He wasn't the kind of King they expected to see. I tend to view God through the screen door of my earthly father, which is probably not fair to either of them. There have been a few occasions where my dad hasn't been able to provide for me when I needed him to, so I sometimes think that God will not be able to (or won't want to) provide for me. I am not sure, but I think a lot of people believe the lie that Jesus was a white, middle-class republican, and maybe that's why they can't believe that He died on a cross for them.

The thing is, even though I'm convicted by Derek's lyrics, I'm not sure half of the church today would be. Probably 80% wouldn't understand what Derek means when he says that one of the lies that he has heard is that Jesus is a white, middle-class republican. Or they would get mad, label him anti-American, and bulldoze his CDs with the Dixie Chicks'. And what is sad is that I don't think he's saying that you have to be a democrat, either. The point is that Jesus is constantly asking us "Who do YOU say that I am?" And I think that our response to that question should be the same as Peter's..."You are the Christ." When you see Jesus as who He really is, stripped of the lies and personal preconceptions and politics...when you see Him naked and nailed to a cross...then you will see that He loves white...middle-class...republican...Americans...and everyone else, too.

"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."
I Corinthians 13:12

personal statement...

2007-01-14T20:24:00.000-08:00

My mother recently assigned me the task of sifting through a box of old papers to determine what would be worthwhile to preserve. Tossing aside miscellaneous announcements, report cards, and certificates, I found three spiral-bound notebooks filled in dark pencil with the deliberate and careful penmanship of someone who has just learned how to write. I read through some of my stories, laughing out loud at several, for who can understand how the mind of a child works? My earliest works of fiction showed my significant struggle with plot development and resolution. For instance, one story was about a princess who lived in a plastic castle that "broke once or twice" and was blown up by pirates while she was out picking berries and flowers. Regrettably, I was unable to restore the princess in her plastic castle to a happily-ever-after ending; the pirates left her with no home to which she could return, and "she is now a poor old Lady who has been dead for a Long time. The End." My aspirations of becoming a writer may have died with her, and it would be almost fifteen years later before I would select medicine as my career. However, the earliest evidence that I would one day enter the field of medicine may be found within the leaves of another notebook:

"Sometimes, they would get a cold or a viras [sic], but they would get over it."--Excerpt from "Mr. & Mrs. Clown," a short story from my third grade writing journal.

As an eight-year-old, I had already discovered one of the absolute truths of medicine: most patients will get better without any intervention. The challenge is to discern the patient who will benefit from a selected treatment from one that may suffer potential harm from the same selected treatment. I am fairly certain that as a young child, I did not understand the profundity of my observation. As a woman in her mid-twenties who is about to become a physician, I partially desire the story to read, "but then they would visit the doctor, who would heal them." Is this not the reason I have entered the field of medicine, to experience the joy of correctly diagnosing and treating a patient, followed by the instantly gratifying and dramatic response of recovery? In humility, I have come to recognize the limitations of the medical field; that sometimes, even with appropriate medical interventions, an ill person will not be healed, and many times, without any medical management at all, a person will spontaneously recover. This is the conundrum of primary care.
I did not always envision myself in a primary care vocation. As I rotated through the third-year clinical clerkships, I tried to keep my options open, but I found that I enjoyed my Internal Medicine and Pediatrics rotations the most. I thought about pursuing a career as an internist but felt that I would benefit from the variety of opportunities available in a combined Internal Medicine-Pediatrics program. Specifically, I look forward to building rapport with patients, whether children or adults, and maintaining that relationship throughout their lifetime. I am passionate about working with people, educating them regarding both their acute and chronic illnesses, and helping them to make informed decisions about treatment options. Training in internal medicine and pediatrics offers the best opportunities for me to meet this purpose. I am hoping to obtain a residency that will allow me to develop my skills as the primary physician for patients and encourage me as I learn how to better diagnose, treat, and care for patients.
I also have the desire to build my career in the academic setting, focusing on medical education. In a sense, teaching and practicing in the academic setting is more of a vocation rather than just a career, at least according to Joris Nauwelaers. Nauwelaers, author of the Wakley Prize Essay, "Eraritjaritjaka," for The Lancet in 2000, defines eraritjaritjaka as "an archaic, poetic expression in Aranda (an aboriginal tribe in Australia), which means: 'filled with desire for something that is lost.'" Nauwelaers talks about his nostalgia for a time when medicine was a profession that demanded a mentoring-type of teaching. The teachers became lifelong examples and felt responsible for the doctors they were making. According to Nauwelaers, now "...since teaching is seen as a mere nuisance, nobody feels responsible for medical education." I disagree with his cynical perspective and have been taught and mentored by teachers who have helped me organize my thoughts and ideas, thus optimizing my approach to patient care. They realized the impact their dedication to teaching made on the education of my classmates and me. I want to be a part of the field of academic medicine as it progresses toward the future and redeems the educational aspects that Nauwelaers worries may have become less of a focus, for redemption is an underlying theme in medicine.

"Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person." - Tennessee Williams

traffic...

2006-12-14T08:19:00.002-08:00

For Matt Day...

I drove to San Antonio last weekend to party with Gran as she turned 80. On my way to Denton to pick up my sister, brother-in-law, and favorite nephew, I got stuck in traffic. I am not used to dealing with traffic; Shreveport has very little in the way of true "traffic," which is one of maybe three good things about living in Shreveport. Ok...one of four good things. I digress. I am ok with traffic, as long as there is a definite cause...a car wreck, perhaps, or a lane closure because of construction. I get frustrated when there is traffic with no identifiable etiology. I also tend to get frustrated when there are dogs running on the side of the road who are moving faster than I am. True story. It took me about an hour to drive the last 10 miles to Denton, which was actually surprising, considering I was stopped for most of that time.

Invariably, because my mind is predictable and certain situations make me think about certain bible stories, I started thinking about the Israelites wandering in the desert. I don't really know why or when this story started coming into my head whenever I'm stuck in traffic. It has been a pretty consistent thought for at least 4-5 years; I remember being stuck in Atlanta traffic for 4 hours once and thinking about the Israelites and their exodus from Egypt to Canaan. Maybe it is because it took the Israelites like 40 years and the entire book of Numbers to get to Canaan. You can read a little about their wanderings in the wilderness here, if you are interested. I once heard that the trip from Egypt to Canaan should have taken a week. I'm not sure if that's true, but it might explain why the Israelites grumbled so much.

I like to think that God had them in the desert to learn specific things about His character...sort of like a quick immersion into the basics of what being God's people looks like. Like, Trusting God 101: Gathering Manna. Or Veterinary Science 3300: Talking Animals. Or maybe Advanced Toxicology: Recognizing and Healing the Serpent Bite. Introduction to Religion: The 10 Commandments. This is merely speculation, since I don't know exactly what God's purposes were to have the Israelites wander around in the wilderness for so long. It might have been punishment for the whole golden calf deal. I like to think it is because if they had made it to the Promised Land right away, they would never have learned that they are desperately needy people. I wonder if any of the Israelites were ever nostalgic for the days in the desert, where they were utterly dependent on God to meet their need in exactly the measure and portion required. Did the taste of milk and honey drive out the memory of sweet water and manna?

Anyways...you can draw your own conclusions/analogies. I'm not sure what God's purposes are for me getting stuck in traffic were, but I like to think that it was to get me back to the basics of learning Who He is and how to trust Him.

the girl and boy...

2006-12-14T08:19:00.001-08:00

"the girl and boy: once upon a time, a boy live alone in a small cottage. then he met a girl. the girl said Hello so the boy said Hello." -- excerpt from my first grade journal

I am in my hometown of Baton Rouge for a few days. I arrived on Friday just in time to make it to Zach's tee ball game. Zach and Nick are my little half-brothers; Zach turns five in July, and Nick is three. They are both very good at acting their ages. A typical conversation with Nick on any given day goes like this:

Nick: "What are you?"
Me: "What do you think?"
Nick: "Are you a dinosaur?"
Me: "Nooooo..."
Nick: "Are you a lion?"
Me: "Noooo..."
Nick: "You're Michelle!"
Me: "Good job, Nick."

(pause)

Nick: "What are you?"
Me: (tickling Nick) "What do you think?"

Zach has become slightly more grown-up and aloof since I last saw him. He no longer wants me to tickle him quite as much, and he won't sing silly songs with me anymore. But he has gotten pretty good at throwing a baseball, although he is still working slightly on his aim. He throws and bats right-handed but picks up a pencil in his left. I think my dad is praying that he will be left-handed and learn how to pitch.

Zach and Nick both think that I am hilarious.

I love them immensely.

My dad actually lives in Zachary now, which is north of Baton Rouge. My mom just recently moved from southeast Baton Rouge to near Prairieville, which is even more south and more east of Baton Rouge. So they live about an hour and a half away from each other. I drove to my mom's new place today after church and was roped in to helping her unpack some boxes. (Note: it is easy to persuade people to help you unpack when there is no walkway for you to give a tour of the place.) So we unpacked our way through to the kitchen, where we unpacked some more. My mom wanted me to go through a box of my old papers and help her decide what to keep. In the box, I found three spiral notebooks. One of them has Handy smurf with a pencil behind his ear and "Time to get Smurfin!" on the front. I think the oldest one is from first grade...the first entry says "Chapter 1: I Just traded peneils with Mary now I have seven pencils." I misspelled pencils at first, but made a nice recovery (I thought) by spelling it correctly the second time. I also like the fact that I decided to not just number my writings but assign them chapters.

One of my earliest works of non-fiction reads like this (from third grade, I think):
"Chapter 1: I went to Arkansaus. It was fun. We went to Lake Ouitia mountains. We went swimming everyday. We found quartz. We saw fish that bite. I had a nestle crunch bar. We went camping. We heard chackatias. We saw a slide show about snakes. We saw a Dr. Seuss Movie about The legend of the Lorax. We had a good time. But We saw fireworks on the lake. We learned how to skip a Rock. We got a giant walking stick in our car!"

With some added commentary:
Chapter 1: I went to Arkansaus [Arkansas]. It was fun. We went to Lake Ouitia [Ouachita] mountains. We went swimming everyday. We found quartz. We saw fish that bite. I had a nestle crunch bar. [This may appear to be random and in no way related to the vacation, but chocolate has apparently always played a really big role in my life.] We went camping. We heard chackatias. [cicadas...can you blame me for not knowing how to spell that one?] We saw a slide show about snakes. [I actually just saw another slide show about snakes in our Toxicology course last week...this being about 20 years later.] We saw a Dr. Seuss Movie about The legend of the Lorax. We had a good time. But We saw fireworks on the lake. We learned how to skip a Rock. We got a giant walking stick in our car!" [The giant walking stick is the only story that all of us remember about the trip. This was also the trip where my brother Daniel (now 23) stuck a rock up his nose and almost had to be carted to the emergency room, but luckily, he sneezed. He does not remember that story; he may have unconsciously repressed it. However, he does recall the giant walking stick.]

I have ceased writing fiction, but this is probably a good thing. Looking back at earlier works, I struggled with plot development.

"Chapter 12: Once a princess Lived in a castle that was made out of plastic. It broke once or twice. B she fixed it she was very neat. But one day the pirates blew up her Castle while she was picking berries and flowers. She picked two basket of berries and two bouquets of flowers. Then she went home, but there was no home. Of course the pirites blew it all up. She is now a poor old Lady who has been dead for a Long time."

I'm sorry if you were disappointed at the ending. I would have liked restoration of the plastic castle as well, but I have let the story stand as is.

And perhaps the most interesting evidence that I would eventually enter the world of infectious disease...

"Mr. & Mrs. Clown: Mr. and Mrs. Clown were very funny neighbors. Sometimes, they dressed up as clowns. Sometimes, they dress up as comidiens. Sometimes, they dressed up as sad clowns. Every day they were happy because they made people laugh. Sometimes, they would get a cold or a viras, but they would get over it. Sometimes, they would go on a vacaition. No laughs then. But one day they moved. I moved with them. It was fun. We went on a rollercoster! "I've never been on a rollercoster"! I exclaimed. I went to a fair but I've never went on the rollercoster before. Sometimes we won prizes. But we never everer went on a rollercoster. I thanked them so much, why I even hugged them. Thanks Mr. & Mrs. Clown."

Such wise words: "Sometimes, they would get a cold or a viras [virus], but they would get over it." Little did I know that I held the secret of the medical field...what we really don't want you to know. Probably 85% of the time, you will just get over whatever ails you. Physicians can treat you symptomatically, but your body is made so that it heals itself. The trick is distinguishing the 85% from the 15% who are actually sick and would benefit from medicine. The entire healthcare field hinges on this distinction. But we make a lot of our money off of people who would get better without any intervention.

Kids are funny. I am glad that I found some of my old work. "I hope you enjoyed it as well!" I exclaimed. I will have to remember to thank you for reading this, why even hug you.

purchased...

2006-12-14T08:18:00.001-08:00

I've been reading a book in the bible called Hosea for the past week or so. In a nutshell, it's about redemption, but I feel like every time I open it up, there's another crevasse to explore to its depth...another light-reflecting/illuminating facet. The book has definitely kept me busy in my thoughts this week. One of the things that I keep coming back to is chapter 3, mainly because it's short and profound. Basically, God tells Hosea to love his wife again, who has gone off and become a prostitute. So Hosea goes, and when he finds her he has to buy her back with fifteen shekels of silver and a bunch of barley. I'm not sure if he was all that excited to find her. I wonder if Hosea was pissed off that he had to buy her at all or disappointed because his beloved wife cost so little. Fifteen shekels was not all that much back then. Joseph was sold into Egypt for twenty. If a bull gored a slave, the owner of the bull had to pay the master of the slave thirty shekels and kill the bull. So the damaged slave was worth about twice as much as Hosea's wife. Of course, the barley was probably worth about 75 shekels or so, but still...it seems like a meager price for a beloved bride, even if she was "spoiled."

I've been thinking a lot about worth...about what defines it and how it is measured...about what makes things valuable and what makes things rubbish. I think that God values different things than we do. In His economy, people are worth much more than anything else. Obviously, our value system in America is screwed up. (*Side note: I censored myself and used the word "screwed" instead of a much stronger word. But I really, really wanted to use the stronger word.) We turn everything on its head and create idols out of mortal/tangible things...then waste our time worshiping the decaying rubbish heap disguised as the golden calf and hoping that it will somehow save us. I'm not much different than Hosea's wife...I can be a cheap whore. I can be bought with a winning smile or a pair of deep blue eyes; I can be allured by recognition and money or the hope of the good life. I am trying not to be, but I am still guilty of having "exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things." Hrmmm...what a great definition for sin.

What is even more amazing is that God continues to pursue me in my harlotry. Ruthlessly...relentless...He does not give up on me. I have learned a whole lot about His character through the times when I'm out being a prodigal. I've learned even more about His love and faithfulness when I try to come back home as a slave. He automatically elevates me to bride...a costly redemption, but paid in full. Amazing grace.

infections and inequalities...

2006-12-14T08:17:00.001-08:00

I would consider myself a pretty avid reader. I always have books stacked on my desk and nightstand, strewn around my car. I try and pass on books that I think others will enjoy...it makes me happy when they actually do enjoy them. It makes me sad when I can tell that they didn't read them. There have been a few books that have inspired/challenged me about medicine...so here is my journey, told through books.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made, by Dr. Paul Brand (with Philip Yancey) -- I picked this one off of the shelf at a Christian bookstore in 1999. I liked Psalm 139, and I had no idea what the book was about, but I took it home and devoured it. I read it a second time the next day. I have read it probably 4 or 5 times since. Dr. Brand challenges us to view the similarities between the human body and the church...to look at cells and chemistry and see the deeper meaning behind them. It was amazing. I started off college in 1998 thinking I was an engineering major; I stayed an engineering major for about 5 minutes into my first math class, where the professor literally did not speak a lick of English. I walked out of the classroom and went directly to the Junior Division counselors, where I dropped all of my classes and rescheduled as a psych major. After reading this book, I wasn't sure I wanted to be a doctor, but I knew I wanted to go into some kind of scientific field. I ended up loving microbiology, and so I switched my major spring of my sophomore year to micro.

Ten Fingers for God: The Life and Work of Dr. Paul Brand, by Dorothy Clarke Wilson -- Naturally, after reading a book by Dr. Brand, I wanted to know more about his life. I read about his life growing up in India, about his reluctance to go into medicine, about how God used his training in woodworking and house-building to lead him to orthopedics, and how he made so many advances in the modern understanding of leprosy as a disease. Being a micro major at this point, I loved hearing about the bug that causes leprosy...the tiny, slow-growing organism that invades nerves at their most superficial points (it apparently likes cooler temperatures than 98.6). It was neat to hear about his experiences using the new "wonder drug" during WWII -- penicillin. I was both fascinated and repulsed by some of the stories. I considered medicine as a career, but I wasn't certain of my own abilities. I did well in school, but I since I didn't think I was going to be a doctor, I didn't try and get straight A's. I also took random classes like "Intro to Anthropology" and "Greek and Roman Mythology." But I eventually found myself in medical school. I was as shocked as you are, I'm sure. J

Mountains Beyond Mountains, by Tracy Kidder -- This book made me incredibly uncomfortable. I was exhausted after I read it the first time. The book chronicles some of the work of Dr. Paul Farmer as he built and staffed a hospital in Haiti and served the people there. As an M.D. with a Ph.D. in anthropology, he views medicine and sociology as inextricably linked. He fights a noble battle against those that say that it is a waste of money to provide modern-day healthcare to "resource-poor settings" (a euphemism for third-world countries, so that we don't have to think about the shitty conditions that these people live in). Dr. Farmer is an Infectious Disease doctor, and he states several times in his book after telling a case story about the experience of a patient who narrowly escapes the jaws of death, only to be rescued by an antibiotic..."It's almost as if they had a treatable infectious disease." I could taste his sarcasm. I long for the passion and grit to be an advocate for the poor and the weak. When I was trying to make my decision about what kind of medicine I wanted to practice, it seemed obvious with my background in micro and my love for infectious disease that internal medicine/I.D. would be a great fit.

Right now, I am reading a book called Infections and Inequalities: The Modern Plagues by Paul Farmer. I guess that I should say, more accurately, that I'm reading the introduction to this book. It's incredible. I will have to give a more thorough book report when I get past the intro.

"Infections and inequalities: in a wealthy country, the specter of biological warfare...triggers a sort of officially blessed paranoia. In a poor country tightly bound to the rich one, real infections continue to kill off the poor, and we are told sternly to look harder for cheaper, more 'cost-effective' interventions. At best, those of us working in places like Haiti can hope for trickle-down funds if the plagues of the poor are classed as 'U.S. security interests.'"
Paul Farmer

"Medical statistics will be our standard of measurement: we will weigh life for life and see where the dead lie thicker, among the workers or among the privileged."
Rudolph Virchow, 1848

mosaic...

2006-12-14T08:16:00.001-08:00

One of my friends recently wrote a blog about being a "cracked pot." Mainly it was about how he felt broken and damaged, but how his cracks and crevasses and wounds allowed living water to flow out. And this makes him attractive to other people who are broken and wounded and searching for living water, which he can easily share because water flows out of a cracked pot.

It reminded me of a women's retreat I had gone on in college. I was excited about this retreat...my church back in Baton Rouge has some of the strongest and humblest women I have ever encountered. I wanted to go so that they would share those womanly "steel magnolia" secrets...how to be the perfect combination of strength and beauty and softness and integrity. The leader of the retreat spoke about being "cracked pots," and how God either breaks us or allows us to be broken so that He can better use us to minister to others. I guess we can better spill living water or salt or light...pick your own biblical metaphor...if we have some cracks. We live in this world, and we're supposed to interact with it. It's hard for someone to fulfill their duties as the salt of the earth when they stay in a salt shaker (thanks Becky Pippen!).

At that point in my life (the time of the retreat), there had been about two times in my life where I felt like I had been completely shattered beyond repair. I think that I would add one since then...so three total now. When this shattering happens, I look around and wonder a few things: (1) how in the world did this happen? (2) why did it happen? and (3) where are all of the pieces? The shards have been scattered...I look around and can't find pieces that I thought would be integral to the structure and integrity of my clay pot. I think that God somehow causes some of those pieces that I was depending on to be completely removed or turned to dust and blown away so that I can no longer depend on them. I look around at the pieces that are left and try and make sense of them on my own, but I can only come up with less than adequate ways of trying to solve the puzzle. I like to think that God decides to keep some pieces so that He can use them in making the new pot...more like a mosaic than starting over completely from pliable clay. I don't think I make good clay. I would like to say that I remain soft and compliant to His will, able to be shaped and molded. This, however, is not reality; anyone who knows me would probably add a hearty Baptist "AMEN!" to that statement. I know that I am susceptible to being baked and hardened by situations...wandering in a desert, for instance. Or playing with fire (figuratively speaking, of course).

This entire blog was probably too allegorical and all over the place, but I have been told by many people (including a therapist) that I view the world in metaphors, and it helps me deal with my own insecurities without having to be too transparent. :) So there you go. It's also after midnight, and I'm stuck at the hospital, (where I can't ever really sleep) on psych call...which is bound to anyone slightly crazy.

patchwork quilts and fruit

2006-12-14T08:15:00.000-08:00

My life is a patchwork quilt of ideas and thoughts, the material gleaned and scavenged from authors, musicians, philosophers, and other people who have walked and thought before me. I've stitched their ideas and thoughts together with the threads of my own perceptions...trying to create something that will one day be beautiful and complete. Sometimes I insert a piece of fabric only to take out the scissors later...the piece didn't quite fit right or add to the pattern of the quilt. At times, I can't see the whole pattern of the quilt. Sometimes a person comes along, looks at the quilt, and says, "Here...this piece goes right here." And I will let them add to the quilt because they stepped back, took a really good look, and saw what I was trying to create better than I did. There are other times when someone looks and says, "Look here...your stitches are a little off. Let's rip this piece out." And it hurts, but a lot of times they are right. I want to hold on to that piece, but it needs to be removed. I have been lucky enough to have friends tell me when a piece is ugly.

I think that God has been doing this a lot in my life recently...adding pieces and removing others. Jesus used another analogy for this process...a vine and its branches. The pruning is not easy, but it is necessary. Sometimes I feel like He prunes all the way to the stump, getting rid of all the dead branches and rotten fruit that I've been holding. Sometimes I feel like He prunes away fruit that looks good to me but needs to go away so that branch can bear a better bunch of grapes. And fruit can look good, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it is good fruit. It might taste bad or be made of plastic. Bearing plastic fruit is one of my worst fears...I want to be as real and honest as I can be. I think one of the worst things about being a medical student is that you have to look/act like you have it all together, even if you don't. I usually don't. This attitude has become more prevalent in Christian culture...please don't show me your struggles or sin, because then I might have to show you mine, and I prefer to hide behind my fig leaves. I'm not saying we should confess everything to each other, but maybe it's part of why we are supposed to fellowship with each other. It helps that were not the only person in the world who is being pruned. It helps to know that we're all attached to the same Vine.

why baptists normally don't hold church services on Friday night...

2006-12-14T08:13:00.000-08:00

*disclaimer...this was not written to defend or offend any one denomination...merely an attempt to somehow reconcile my Catholic upbringing with my current Baptist situation, and to somehow make sense out of my own faith*

I went to a Good Friday service at my church tonight. I was raised Catholic, and holy week is actually something that the Catholics do quite well. There is nothing like a Good Friday mass at a Catholic church to make you take a good long look at the cross. The service I went to tonight, however, was not at a Catholic church. It did have communion, and I was grateful for that part of worship. This church does not have communion often, which I think is sad. Communion is something that I feel should be an integral part of worship among fellow believers. It is a very intimate time, a reminder not only of sacrifice and covenent love, but also of the sustaining life that we experience in Christ. That being said, I think it cheapens it slightly to reiterate over and over again that the wafer and grape juice are merely symbols. I understand that transubstantiation (where the Catholics believe that the bread and wine actually become the body and blood of Christ) is a hard doctrine to swallow (no pun intended) as a Baptist, but I think they carry it a little too far to the other side. Is there some middle ground somewhere? And I hesitate a little to criticize, because I want the Baptist church to have communion more often, so I applaud the fact that they offered it tonight. I was left feeling a little unsatisfied with the grape juice, though, and am sipping my glass of wine as I write this.

I also had the privilege of sitting next to an obnoxious drunk during the service, which again brought me back to my days as a Catholic. At first I thought this person might have been a little hard of hearing, since she was probably in her late 50s or early 60s and talking pretty loudly before the service, but then I could smell the unmistakable smell of ethanol emanating from her. I caught myself being judgmental at first, but then I started smiling. I was truly glad she was there. I liked watching the people turn around in disgust and look at her as she made loud comments during the service. I almost defended her when the deacon shushed her as he passed out "the elements." I think she may have been disappointed when she found out that the grape juice was, um, unfermented. It turns out that she was Episcopalian. I haven't had that much fun at this particular church in a long time. I wanted to invite her out for a glass of wine afterwards, but I guess that would be "enabling."

from Easter...What Do You Think?

2006-12-14T08:11:00.000-08:00

Each year around this time, I tend to go back to the gospels and read about the week before Jesus was crucified. There's a lot of material...the writers of the gospels obviously considered this period pretty important. Today I was particularly struck by a story about two sons:

"What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work today in the vineyard.'
'I will not,' he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
"Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, 'I will, sir,' but he did not go.
"Which of the two did what his father wanted?"
"The first," they answered.
Jesus said to them, "I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you."
Matthew 21:28-31

What do you think? I think there would be a lot of "Christians" who would be pissed off to know that there are prostitutes and tax collectors entering the kingdom of God ahead of them. I like how King James says it..."the publicans and the harlots." Or, let's be even more brutally honest...what if the passage said, "I tell you the truth, the homosexuals and Democrats are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you"?

What do you think? I think that this passage reminds me of another tale of two sons, more commonly known as the "prodigal son." This is the story where the rebellious/promiscuous/prodigal son comes home smelling like a pig and gets the royal treatment. What most people don't remember is that the other son gets jealous of him and won't join in the party. I think that the same judgmental attitude exists in the church today. I think we fail our brothers and sisters when we compare ourselves to them and come out smelling less like a pig. I think we are deceiving ourselves if we think our sin is "better" just because it's easier to hide. I think the fig leaves we sew for ourselves are inadequate at best and downright pornographic at worst. Because they do little to hide our nakedness from a Holy Father.

What do you think? There is only one other place where Jesus says, "what do you think?" (Matthew 22:41) And I think that the question "What do you think about the Christ?" is the most important question you will ever have to answer.

Mr. Rogers

2006-12-14T08:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like Mr. Rogers. I guess should explain. See, every day, I get up, take a shower, and drive to school. When I get out of my car, I take my short white coat from where it lives on the back of my seat, put it on, and throw my stethoscope around my neck. Then I walk the short distance to the hospital and be a fake doctor all day. Afterwards, I walk the short distance back to my car, take off my white coat, and put on my jean jacket (if I was feeling particularly rock star-ish that morning) or sweatshirt, and head home. I don't have a zippered cardigan, and I don't change my shoes to slippers, but the idea is basically the same. The ritual is comforting. But unlike the dichotomy in my outerwear, I don't shift gears as fast. I am still thinking about a patient I saw in clinic last week, wondering if her recent blood clot in her leg and anemia is pointing toward an occult malignancy somewhere...maybe colon cancer? I'm not sure which is worse...not being able to distance myself from people who are hurting, or hardening my heart to where I can no longer see that they are hurting. I hope it gets easier.

"Put me together, one heart and mind; then, undivided, I'll worship in joyful fear."

...100 things...

2006-12-14T06:28:00.000-08:00

1. I am watching Ryan Adams on Austin City Limits right now.
2. I am trying to decide whether he would be a better musician if he wasn't on so many mind-altering substances, or whether he would stink and be totally uninspired. Either way, I wish he wasn't so wacked out.
3. I usually play my guitar after watching concerts because I feel inspired to create music.
4. I usually get frustrated doing this because I'm very mediocre, and any kind of lyrics I try to create are not really poetic.
5. One my favorite lyrics that I ever wrote is "unexpected beauty in these shards."
6. One of my friends, Eric, could be a poet, but he chooses to live his life making video games.
7. The only video game I've ever been good at is Tetris.
8. One of my favorite TV shows to watch is America's Funniest Home Videos. They always makes me laugh (the videos, not necessarily the hosts' commentary).
9. Another one of my favorite TV shows is Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. It always makes me cry.
10. My Sunday evening ritual is to watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, eat popsicles, and cry.
11. Popsicles are quite possibly my favorite thing to eat.
12. Except maybe Chinese food.
13. Or chocolate.
14. A dessert without chocolate should have a different name.
15. I would like to have a different middle name.
16. My middle name is Patricia. Ugh.
17. So my full name is Michelle Patricia Nalepa.
18. That has 24 letters in it.
19. My full name does not fit on any scantron.
20. I only have like three more scantron tests to take. Ever. I think maybe I have a couple more computer tests, but not very many more scantron tests.
21. People who don't have to take tests anymore make me jealous.
22. I really am a HUGE Nerd. Note the capital "N."
23. I think that the show "Beauty and the Geek" should have a season where the guys are the "beauties" and the girls are the "geeks."
24. I would totally apply to be on that show as a geek.
25. I am pretty much a sucker for reality TV, especially if it is done poorly.
26. I tried to live on $3 a day one week last semester.
27. This was a self-induced experiment to show I could empathize with poverty.
28. I only lasted 2 days.
29. I binged on a sandwich from Subway.
30. It wasn't very good.
31. I felt guilty afterwards.
32. Once, my school had us take the city bus to the Providence House (a homeless shelter in Shreveport), and do a community service project there. The point of having us take the city bus was to show us how people who don't have transportation can sometimes have trouble getting to places in a timely manner.
33. My friends and I drove to the downtown bus station and tried to take the bus from there instead of catching the bus right by the school.
34. The person selling the tokens looked at us like we were crazy and told us the Providence House was a block west of the station.
35. We ended up walking to the Providence House.
36. I think we missed the point of the assignment.
37. It's probably not the only time I have missed the point of an assignment in medical school.
38. I'm sick of being in school, but...
39. ...I'm scared of being in the working world.
40. I still have no idea what I want to do after I graduate from medical school...like what kind of doctor I want to be.
41. I only have like 5 months to try and decide.
42. I will probably put it off until the last minute.
43. I was trying to figure out today if you have to file taxes even if you didn't technically make any money all last year.
44. Money is sort of a foreign concept to me.
45. Luckily, I don't have too much of it right now.
46. One day I will have money, and then I will be put in the position if people like me because I'm me or because I can pay for dinner.
47. I think I will be a generous person and pay for dinner anyway.
48. I want to live outside of Louisiana for my residency.
49. There is a good possibility that I will not return to Louisiana if I move away.
50. I want to cheat and say that I'm halfway done, but...
50. Here's my real #50 - I think I want to live in Texas when I grow up.
51. Everything is bigger in Texas.
52. Especially Dallas. Dallas is huge.
53. The Bowling for Soup song about coming back to Texas is actually named "Ohio."
54. My brother-in-law is from Ohio, so it is one of the few states in the north that I have been to.
55. We did not get Mexican food up there, so I don't know if it "sux" or not. (Quote from the Bowling for Soup song, if you are not familiar with it.)
56. It might be an ominous sign when you have to explain a joke in your "100 Things..." blog.
57. I like the word "ominous." It just sounds, um...ominous.
58. I just used MSWord to look up a synonym for ominous.
59. "Ominous" can be used synonymously with "threatening," "warning," "worrying," "gloomy," "portentous," "menacing," "boding evil," "ill-omened," or "unpromising."
60. I'm hoping that this blog is not unpromising.
61. I really am a Nerd.
62. I like the song "Such Great Heights" by Iron & Wine.
63. I have a freckle in my left eye.
64. This would mean that a guy with a freckle in his right eye would be "perfectly aligned." (Again, a quote from the song. Sorry for feeling the need to explain.)
65. I failed an assessment for low back pain test because I forgot to check for perfect alignment of the spine.
66. It was pass/fail, must pass, so I got to take it again.
67. I passed the second time.
68. I wish all tests were like that.
69. I'm scared of missing a big, obvious, life-threatening diagnosis in a patient when I have an M.D. behind my name and am actually responsible for that patient's health and well-being.
70. I feel that this is a legitimate fear.
71. I started having anxiety dreams about this kind of stuff happening...where I have like 40 patients and all of them are really sick and dying on me.
72. I wake up in cold sweats afterwards.
73. I still have anxiety dreams about waiting tables.
74. These dreams are not as intense.
75. Mainly, my waitressing anxiety dreams consist of me waiting on everyone in a crowded restaurant, and I have to cook all the food because the chef quit, and I am what the restaurant business calls "in the weeds." Which means really, really, busy.
76. I wake up thinking, "I forgot to get them their guacamole." Or marinara sauce, depending on which restaurant I was working at in my dream.
77. A lot of times, I feel like I didn't get any sleep all night because I was working in my dreams.
78. My friend, the aforementioned Eric, says he doesn't dream. Ever.
79. A lack of dream activity can mean a protein deficiency or a personality disorder, according to one website.
80. See #22 and #61 for explanations as to why I actually googled "lack of dream activity."
81. Sometimes I wish I had just become a teacher, since I found out that I really enjoy teaching people.
82. I was a TA in anatomy lab the summer after my first year in med school, and I loved it.
83. I could have saved a lot of money had I figured this out BEFORE I went to med school.
84. But maybe it's all for the best...now I can stay in academic medicine and teach future doctors. I think this will be rewarding.
85. One of the things I pray for is to be a more "graceful" and "gracious" person.
86. This does not mean that I pray that I wouldn't be clumsy.
87. It means that I wish to extend the grace I have received to those around me.
88. It is often easy for me to get aggravated or frustrated with people who don't think like I do.
89. This is because I generally think that I am the most important person in my world.
90. I am trying to change my view on this and be more conscious that there are other people around me who are, in fact, as important as I am.
91. One day, I tried another experiment where I vowed to only see the beauty and good in people that day, and to try not to pass judgment about anything else.
92. I didn't make it past 10:00 that morning.
93. This is mainly because everytime I looked at someone, I realized how beautiful they were, and I spent most of the morning close to tears.
94. I didn't feel guilty about not finishing the experiment.
95. I think that God let me see people how He sees them that day.
96. It was one of the most powerful experiences in my life.
97. I still get frustrated and aggravated with people sometimes. And I'm sure I'm not real easy to get along with all day, every day.
98. But I love that I'm in this process of learning how to just be in this world and relate to people and serve others and know Him. I love it.
99. Sometimes I wish I was talented or beautiful enough to be a rock star.
100. But then I might have ended up like Ryan Adams. And you already know what I think about him.