'Tis A Gift To Be Simple

I’m sitting on my cozy bedroom loveseat reading in soft light, when my husband  walks in, flips on the harsh overhead light and says, “You gotta help me figure out what to wear.” As my eyes adjust, so does my mind and I recall that the big boss, the big, BIG boss will be in town tomorrow.  He begins throwing an array of shirts and ties across our bed and demands a verdict with his eyes. If I approach this with confidence, I might get off easy. “That blue one with the blue checked tie," I offer assuredly. His face immediately sours, “No! I always wear that.” (Not getting off easy.)

“I thought you’d never met him?”

“What? No, I haven’t met him. But I always wear that combination to important things.”  (If it ain’t broke…) And so, as I realize this will only be painful for the both of us, I decide to punt. “Luuuuke!!! Seeean!! Come here!!”

You see, my husband and I are kind of like the Gift of the Magi story on steroids. He is an amazing husband. He’s thoughtful, courteous, dare I say tidy, romantic, nostalgic and a whole host of other things I don’t have time to talk about. When we were newly married he found the most awesome bed and breakfast all by his little self, complete with antique everything. Of course, I was relieved that there was a tv in the room because those were the days of Captain Comeback Jim Harbaugh and the Colts making the playoffs for the first time. He finds great restaurants, surprises and never forgets the important things.

I on the other hand, love football, football jerseys, MMA, boxing movies and telling gross stories about hideous wounds I encounter. Suffice to say, I would trust him to dress me in a heartbeat. He is, how shall we say it, “particular.”

Luke and Sean can agree on a shirt. But they immediately disagree on the tie. I don’t like either one so I’m no help whatsoever. But guess who they all want to make this decision? I thought I got disqualified in the opening heat? How quickly these things go all kinds of Jerry Springer!

Luke: “That tie is seems shorter and emphasizes your stomach more.”

Sean: “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Its yellow. Everyone knows that redheads look terrible in yellow.”

Paul dismisses them and then asks me again. As if the Holy Spirit has bestowed new gifts in the last 3 minutes. He says, “You know, the purpose of a tie is to stand out, right?” (If this were a John Grisham movie, someone would stand up right now and yell, “Objection!! Leading the witness.”  “Overruled. Ms. Weathersby, you may answer the question.) “Well…’ I started slowly, ‘it seems like the.. y, y, yellow one would stand out more against the blue, than the blue.

And then confetti fell from the ceiling fan, bells and lights began going off and… ok. So that is slightly stretching it. But I did participate in helping my husband pick out clothes. Next up, quadratic equations. Come at me, bro.

The Perils of Liberty Run Amuck

Procrastination takes on new meaning as does the term “stay of execution” in the context of my choice to put off writing my thoughts on Brittany Maynard and her decision to end her life today. She has since decided that November 1st is not the right time and so, it becomes the right time for me.

My best guess is that this will not be well received and that is the least of my worries. Framing my position is where it gets sticky. Most, if not all of you know I’m a follower of Jesus, so of course that takes precedence. But there’s another concern that must be addressed. Its bigger than this moment, and yet this moment epitomizes what troubles me right now as a citizen of these United States. 

We are completely, fall down, shit-faced drunk with freedom. There, I said it. (Sorry, mom.) Freedom, that word will stop a politician dead in his or her tracks. NO one, in any walk of life wants to be in any way associated with the mere suggestion that they want to limit anyone’s freedom. It gets comical when watching the news. Would be public servants would rather appear ridiculous as they choose semantical verbage and turn themselves into pretzels in order to avoid speaking their truth and drawing a line in the sand. 

We’ve seen it with gay marriage, gun control, border issues, quarantines and of course, right to life issues. Its like a strange version of Password or Taboo where a message is supposed to be received, but certain words cannot be invoked. I suppose that’s why I was so amused the other day at Chris Christie’s response to a heckler. Oh, I knew it would go over like a led balloon, such a foreign concept to us these days. We hide behind terms like “civil discourse” and cry foul. Freedom of speech, first amendment, blah, blah, blah. Please explain to me what is civil about a man seeking attention and interrupting a ceremony commemorating superstorm Sandy and its subsequent recovery. No one’s rights were violated. Someone was told to sit down and shut up, something his mother apparently forgot to do long ago.

No, I don’t support physician-assisted suicide or any other kind for that matter.  My reasons are shaped by so many influences. Naturally, God and His will for my life is at the top. Its more than that though. There is an interconnectedness to life that makes less sense to me when we choose to live it disjointedly. NO, I’m not a communist. Or a socialist. Or a facist. Or a member of a cult. I am an individual. I’m an individual that is part of the body of Christ. I’m part of the human race.  I’m an individual that is a citizen of these United States. I’m part of a community in South Alabama. (Still getting used to that one.)

Its my interconnectedness, my belonging that brought me to this conclusion. I am thinking of my friend who has had 7 electro-convulsive shock therapy sessions to curb the debilitating depression she suffers from. Another friend who is estranged from her adult daughters due to a painful divorce and does not get to be in her grandchildren’s lives. I am thinking of my friend who just buried her baby boy who died tragically in a drowning accident last month. I had lunch last Sunday with a beautiful teenage girl who was diagnosed with a brain tumor roughly three years ago with a grim prognosis, not dissimilar to Brittany Maynard’s.

I am thinking of family friends whose patriarch is walking through the nightmare of Lewy Body dementia. I am thinking of Kent Brantly receiving the death sentence of an Ebola diagnosis, late this summer. I am thinking of my close friend who found herself pregnant with a bi-racial child, single and unsupported by her family some 21 years ago.  I am thinking as a nurse, who encourages daily the  ALS patient to fight, even as the disease ascends through her body and encroaches on her very ability to breathe. Even as I rush her in a wheelchair out of the therapy room to suction her when she cannot breathe. I am thinking of my father, as he enters the final stages of Parkinson’s Disease. How so long ago, he wanted to give up. How getting out of bed is a mountainous task most days. How the disease has not spared his faculties and as a result, dementia has caused him to say some very hurtful things to those he loves the most. 

My friend who has endured the shock therapy had a baby girl not long ago after having five boys! (I’m so jealous.) My friend who is estranged from her daughters has a new grandbaby through her husband whom she adores and spoils rotten. My friend who lost her sweet baby boy last month posted pictures of her daughter in her Halloween costume last night. The girl in that costume has an amazing mother who will love her in a way most of us cannot truly appreciate. The girl I had lunch with had to learn to walk, talk and do everything all over again. She has since become a spokesperson for the Childrens Miracle Network and is such a joy to be around.  

My family friends whose patriarch is fighting LBD now cherish every moment, every good day that they have with him, even as those become fewer and farther between. They show gratitude to overworked, underpaid nursing staff that care for him and that love exponentiates. And who can forget the moment the world came together and prayed for Kent Brantly. And just as Kent asked, God was glorified in his life and  miraculous healing occurred. And as a result, science advanced. Serums were developed and released. Kent’s antibodies went on to assist in saving other lives. 

My best friend who found herself pregnant with a bi-racial child some 21 years ago, rose to the occasion, kept her baby, raised an amazing, beautiful daughter always being the room mom and girl scout leader and has become a personal hero, example and profile in courage for me. My ALS patient inspires me daily to be a better nurse and person. 

My dad will tell you he has had a great life. And a good portion of the highlight reel would include the years since he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. He watched me become a nurse and then we took a trip of a lifetime to California, covering everything from the redwoods to San Francisco, Monterey and the majestic Yosemite. His grandchildren have been accepted to grammy camp, been ranked first in their class, won state fair baking contests, lego contests, been to West Point math and science seminars, swim meets, wrestling matches, band contests, dances, first loves and he has heard more hilarious Nolin stories than he can count. And I’m praying there will be more. That he will see graduations, weddings, Sean go to the Air Force Academy and work for NASA and all of their dreams materialize. But even if that doesn’t happen, God is glorified in his choice to go on. 

The buzz phrase that is pitched to us is death with dignity. I do not agree. Brittany Maynard tells us she doesn’t want to put her family through what happens at the end. That she wants them to remember her with youth, vibrance, and happiness. This is where the choice IS. That is not death with dignity. That is death with vanity. Left to my own thinking, apart from the context of community, I might reach the same conclusion. But life is lived and purpose is found in community. She has said the time is not right for her, there are still too many good days. My question is, how can you possibly know when life has given you all it has to offer, all you are purposed to do?

People often tell me I must be a special person to work in this area of nursing and what a blessing I must be. The truth is, I am the blessed one. Families at their most vulnerable moments let me in their lives. They allow me to  be present during a sacred passage from this life to the next. When goodbyes and forgiveness burst out in sobs. When the meaning of real love is manifested - I want what’s best for you more than I want what you give to me. 

If we interfere and try to choose that holy moment, (and it is holy to be sure,  and CAN BE so incredibly beautiful and fear free), we miss out on what only God can reveal to us. But, I’ve slipped up here, gotten far too preachy, crossed the line and spoke MY truth. Even if, as an American you don’t share my belief in life beyond this body, you must know that sometimes the best surprises of a movie come during the rolling of the credits. And lest we forget, our inalienable rights were listed in the following order: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Praying for you, Brittany.

My First Day Here

"It's my first day here." She says this to me, eyes twinkling, wringing her hands.
"Is that right? Well, welcome! We are are so glad to have you."

Her mouth spreads into a wide grin. She says, "Thank you," nods her head and moves on.
This exchange with one of my favorite residents (ssshhh) never fails to amuse me and usually happens a couple of times a week. She of course, has been there for years.
I tell Paul she reminds me of when we were visiting churches a few years back. We would receive the first time visitors pack of bread or cookies. Sometimes they were just yummy enough that we would joke about how we could pull off being first time visitors again just to get the free loot.

This has to be one of life's greatest mysteries for me. One of my favorite movie scenes is of 
Mr. Diggery telling Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy that he expects they will probably return to Narnia again - but not through the wardrobe. No, he himself had already tried that. This scene always produces a mixture of excitement and anxiety in me. How the heck are they going to get there? It would devastate me to find such an amazing place and not know how to get back.

The truth is we rarely, if ever, return to wonderment in the same way. There is a uniqueness in experiencing something for the first time that is undeniably intoxicating and unrepeatable. It's why so many people look back on their first love through rose colored glasses. Its unlikely that things were really all that perfect or you'd probably still be together. No, a more realistic perspective is that it was all wonderfully new to you. Feeling this level of intense regard for someone else and having it reciprocated. And you miss the thrill of discovery.

Every day around 2:30, another resident comes to the desk. Her face is wrought with worry. She wants us to call her husband immediately. He got there early that morning, just left about 30 minutes ago and will be back before supper to eat with her and put her to bed. Exactly what he does 7 days a week without fail. He is not well, exhausted with the kind of fatigue that can only be understood by a caregiver and we are all worried about him. The next 2 hours become an exercise in patience. Her anxiety heightens, she accuses him of not caring about her. She cries and sometimes screams terrible things.  We try everything to redirect, explain, comfort, alleviate fears, and walk with her through this perceived crisis. She cannot trust, cannot wait. We hold our ground. When he returns, he is always so gentle, responding to her anger with love and kindness. 

I know all too well that this is a result of the disease process. This is not a judgement of her character. The truth is, I love her too. But its different. She does not trust the relationship.  She does not let me meet her needs as I see them. It saddens me as a nurse that she won't let me care for her. I hate to see her anguish, so unnecessary. What troubles me most is how much I'm like her. 

We recently learned that the renter of  our house for two years has decided to move on. He has been a great tenant. The circumstances that led him to rent our house in the first place are both comical and completely providential. Not my plan. It happened in the very last days before we moved, with no idea how we would pay rent and mortgage since I had not yet secured a job. To this day, I have no idea what we were thinking. God handled the matter seamlessly and we never lost a cent. 

Fast forward two years. We both have great, secure jobs and love where we live. So guess what happened when I learned our renter was moving out? Sheer panic. Certain doom. We may have to eat out less. How could God step out like this? I told him that I wanted our renter to buy our house and it looked like that was going to happen for awhile. Why would He do this to me? Why would he change the plans? I had it all worked out. We would have saved money on realtor fees. I have a bad back. I have two teenagers.  Why am I being persecuted?

And so I asked people to pray (aka I demanded that someone call God and tell Him to get back here stat.) I did my research, got a realtor, made the calls, planned, planned, planned and worried without ceasing. And guess what? He did show up. With a completely different plan. The moment my husband was beginning to fax our signed contract to the realtor, he got a call from an old neighbor. A colleague of his called, was moving back to Indy and needed immediate housing. He wanted to rent a house for a year in our school district. Ours was perfect. After some fast and furious texting, we have new renters. Again, with the seamless thing. Again, not my plan. 

It occurs to me that being lost, clueless or needy doesn't bother God in the least. He longs to meet our needs where we are. He doesn't care if we come to the throne without a business plan. He actually prefers that. "Come just as you are," he said. We are His beloved. And He positively loves it when we realize its our first day here. We have never been in this moment before. How do we presume to know what is best?

 I'm not sure I know how to let go of this. I'm the girl with a plan. Flying feels an awful lot like falling and I have no intention of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. The truth of course is that airplane is fated to crash, I just don't know it yet. After all the ways He has provided and made our paths straight, how can worry still be my knee-jerk instinct? I don't know. I'm still working on this. I am so very grateful that His mercies are new every morning.  I do know that I want to please God. I want Him to smile when He sees me coming. And I want to go back to Narnia.