Tag: faith

Thanksgiving. . .

Kathy S. Parish1 Comment
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Thanksgiving opens the door to the time that we fondly title “The Holidays.” First Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then the beginning of a New Year. Traditionally the birth of another year is a time of self-assessment and the setting of goals, “resolutions,” to make some needed change in our lives.

A dear friend and Christian mentor shared a Thanksgiving poem with our Bible study class yesterday morning. And a particular thought in that poem stuck with me. That excerpt is….

. . .time to take inventory, keep the good, toss out the bad.

Liz Tate, “Thanksgiving,” 11/27/2002

I have been suffering with clinical depression for a long time. Treated initially with medication, I am now working with a therapist to resolve some longstanding grief issues, making this is a natural time for me to latch onto the notion of “inventorying” life.

The definition of inventory is “a complete list of” (noun) or “to make a complete list of” (verb). This post will not allow either. But perhaps it will inspire others to take a more thoughtful approach to this holiday season, as it has inspired me.

My “good” to be kept foremost in my heart and mind this Thanksgiving:

  1. God’s love, compassion, forgiveness, provision and providential plan for my life. The gift of His Son to provide redemption.
  2. My family, loving husband, daughter(s), son, grandchildren and great-grands.
  3. This house that is a home, warm and welcoming.
  4. Food to nourish our bodies and, sometimes, just provide comfort to our spirits (e.g. chocolate, ice cream, mac and cheese, etc.)
  5. Work that is rewarding spiritually, emotionally, intellectually, professionally.
  6. The opportunity to finish unfinished grief work. Because it is work! (And don’t let anyone tell you it’s not.)

My “bad” to be tossed out ASAP (with God’s help):

  1. Procrastination. For instance, failing to take (not make) the time to write. The time is there if I use it wisely.
  2. Rumination over past mistakes and “what-ifs.”
  3. Unforgiveness. Which can make me “bitter” not “better.” (Thank you, Judy, for this thought.)
  4. Lack of self-care. Which makes me exhausted and irritable and just generally leads to a bad attitude and all three of the above. (And can be especially absent during the busy-ness of the Holiday Season.)

My “plan” for how I will grow, starting now and not waiting until January 1, 2022:

  1. More time in God’s word.
  2. More time in prayer.
  3. More time with family.
  4. More time at the keyboard.

Yeah, sure, goals are supposed to be more specific than that, but you get the general idea. So, I’m giving thanks for those good things. And working to remedy those “bad” things. And (hopefully) constantly (not just at a new calendar year) re-assessing where I am spiritually, emotionally, physically and where I need to be and trying to figure out how I can get there.

I am most of all thankful that God is on my side in all of this. For I am confident that, “. . .He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6 NKJV (than means me and you, y’all!) and “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28 NKJV (Even when bad things happen in our lives, because, to use Tony Evans’ analogy, those “detours” can be used by God to mature us and prepare us for His plan down the road of life.)

Who will join me in taking inventory “early” this season? Let’s not wait until New Year’s Eve to throw together a list of resolutions to be discarded by February 1st at the latest. Can we resolve each day to work to make it better than the day before? To be kinder? More patient? To walk a little closer to God?

Heavenly Father, Grant that I may always seek your path, your plan, your purpose in all that I think, say and do. Soften my heart, sharpen my mind, strengthen my body. And I give you praise and thanksgiving. In Jesus’ holy name I pray. Amen

And here is Liz’s poem in its entirety, with thanksgiving that she gave me permission to use!

I never knew. . .

Kathy S. Parish4 Comments

I never knew how much I’d miss you. I do now. Six years gone by, past that Wednesday noontime, August 26, 2015. The missing has evolved. All the normal grief stuff has morphed into an acceptance of the reality that you won’t have me laughing uncontrollably again, the reality that my worry is over because I know you are safely in God’s hands now.

I love you so much. My middle child. Your quick mind. Your charm. Your creativity–you excelled at so much. Writing, humor, carving, woodwork, painting. I treasure the etched glasses and the precious framed prints. I treasure the story of how you took a car engine apart and rebuilt it by You-Tube! Oh, the things you could have done. That grieves me.

You loved me and your grandparents and your wife and your daughter and siblings. And the grandchildren that you must be so proud of if heaven allows you a glimpse of them. If only you were here to see them grow into little people with bright minds and beautiful smiles and loving hearts. Your daughter got your intellect and way with words, but (fortunately) those gifts are combined with a strength and discipline that you never had.

My heart ached for you then, when you were so self-destructive and angry. My heart longs for you now. I remember kneeling by my bed and turning you over to God, for I knew your choices were out of my control. I am comforted to know that you know Jesus, knew Him then and are by His side now.

Your death changed me irreversibly. When asked how many children I have, I answer, “Two living–I lost a son.” Sometimes I volunteer that I lost you to a tragic death by suicide. Your death turned me into a passionate advocate for mental health awareness and mental illness acceptance and treatment and suicide prevention. Your death made me someone that others who have lost a loved one to suicide confide in. I even facilitate a support group for those in my “club,” the club I never wanted to belong to. The club of mothers who have lost children. The club of those who have experienced the death by suicide of loved ones.

You are loved and remembered, Son. Someday we will be together.

Romance as old as time. . .

Kathy S. Parish1 Comment
Once again, unexpected treasures, copyrights 1938 to 1944……

More treasures from our journey through Mom’s belongings. Notice that two of the above are romance novels. The paper is yellowed and the print is small, and I didn’t try to read each of them. A brief flipping through of pages revealed that fiction does indeed follow life. The struggles of women are not new. The battle to hold marriages together is not new. And hopefully the patriotism expressed in the middle book is not new, nor is it dead.

We learned a lot about Mom’s life as a teen and young adult as we struggled to sort what to keep, what to send to the historical museum, and what to discard. We learned that writing materials were scarce and treasured. She had a bit of a diary recorded in a tiny little notebook advertising Federal Fertilizer.

She and my aunt were beauties and had a multitude of suitors, evidenced by the letters from servicemen, the dates at the “Cotton Club,” and the difficulties of making and keeping dates with no telephones and no automobiles. We read of her first encounter with my dad. She sounded young and under impressed. He “stood her up several times” and she was pretty irritated. She then mentioned that his dad was in the hospital. I suspect that was when my grandpa had the stroke that left him paralyzed and aphasic (unable to speak).

You wonder where I am going with this. I guess we all have memories of those early romances, misunderstandings, and broken hearts. We have the excuse of youth and the resistance to all advice offered by the older generation. But I want to redirect to a different romance–God’s wooing of us. Because isn’t that the greatest, most perfect romance of all?

I wouldn’t sacrifice one of my children for anyone or any cause. Would you? But He gave his only and perfect Son so that I might have a relationship with him. He loved me (and you) so much that He devised this perfect plan to woo us into a personal relationship with our Creator, Savior, and the Holy Spirit who dwells within us.

And here’s what I came to say–I watched a Charles Stanley re-run this morning. He was my mother’s “pastor” when she became physically unable to attend live church (years before her death). And he was teaching about seeking God. And seeking God diligently. And it hit me–I don’t think I’m seeking anything diligently right now. Not a closer relationship with God. Not a true understanding of what he wants me to do with the remainder of my life. Not the writing which had been such a part of me.

I’ve been so distracted. Some physical ailments (hopefully, prayerfully partially “fixed” by recent surgery). But also work to be done and bills to be paid and worry and depression and anxiety and, of course, COVID. But now I see, Lord, that it’s You missing in my life. And it’s my fault. You haven’t deserted me, I have retreated into too much of this world and failed to seek your face–in a diligent, devoted and disciplined fashion.

Forgive me. And help me. I have this little prayer I often pray:

Soften my heart. Sharpen my mind. Strengthen my body.

But I want to add, “Speak to me Lord.” Tell me, show me, that marvelous plan you have in mind, for everything good comes from You and I know You love me and I love You. And give me the diligence, devotion, and discipline to persevere.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.

Jeremiah 29:11-13 (NKJV)

Pilgrimage. . .

We are all on a pilgrimage of some sort. Where is yours taking you?

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This morning I came across a verse in Psalms that made me think. Isn’t that what Scripture is supposed to do? Make us think? And it seemed very appropriate for my current season of life, because the future is a bit cloudy and uncertain at present, as far as my career goes. This is the verse:

Blessed is the man whose strength is in You, whose heart is set on pilgrimage.

Psalm 84:5 NKJV

In this instance the psalmist was referring to the Jewish pilgrimage to Zion. But the verse made me think of my life journey, my season in life, in a different way.

Because isn’t this earthly life just that–a pilgrimage–from one place, one season, one job, one event (happy or tragic) to another place, season, job, event? And, ultimately, the pilgrimage from this life on earth as a physical being with a spiritual soul to the afterlife as a fully spiritual being? I’ve lost some beloved family members and friends and have been able to soothe my grief with the acknowledgement that they had just completed that final pilgrimage.

But right now, for me, the verse speaks to my personal pilgrimage, that of passing from one season of this earthly life into another, from one phase of my career to another. And it reminds me not to be frightened of or resistant to the changes that must come as long as my strength is in God.

Lord, help me to remember that I do not face these changes, these challenges, alone. Remind me minute by minute that this life is not mine to control. I see your hand in so many opportunities you have granted. I see your hand in so many decisions that I thought I made, but that you directed. You have blessed, and I trust that you will continue to guide, direct, and strengthen me. I pray in your blessed Son’s name, Jesus. Amen

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

A new world…….

Kathy S. Parish1 Comment

April 1, 2019, the price of unleaded gasoline was two dollars and seventy cents. Look at it today. Did you ever imagine?

One year ago when we encountered family and friends in the south, we hugged. Even business aquaintances were generally met with a handshake. Some folks who were really germophobic (or carefree youths celebrating athletics or just life) might substitute a fist bump. Now we are mandated to keep a six (or ten) foot distance, and I saw today that COVID-19 can be detected in droplets twenty-seven feet away.

A year ago the economy was sound. Politics was controversial, as always. Maybe a little more so, but relatively consistent as far as party lines and liberal vs conservative lines and personalities go. The speaker of the House didn’t like the President and the aversion was mutual. Republicans thought Democrats were “out to get” President Trump, and Democrats thought Republicans were blind.

And look at us now. Gasoline almost half the price. The economy, they say, is now a “bear” market. I wasn’t sure about the derivation of this term. It made sense to think that things slow down, like a bear in hibernation. Or that personal losses in the market made people growl like a bear when they sensed their retirement money cycling down the drain. Wrong! It seems that bears attack with a downward swipe of their big bear paws, and, therefore, when the market slumps or goes down (like someone attacked by a bear–sorry, my black humor coming through) it is characterized as the aforementioned bear market.

However you look at it, the world has turned upside down and inside out. And we all are reeling with the day-to-day, hour-to-hour, almost minute-to-minute change. The novel coronavirus pandemic has caused global distress. If Rod Serling were still alive, what material he would have for more episodes of The Twilight Zone!

I’ve seen some posts that seem to ascribe the current pandemic to a deliberate act of God. It may rather be a permissive act of God, like when we do things we shouldn’t and have to suffer the consequences. I agree that God probably created the first virus, or created creation to allow the development of virus. It goes counter to my personal theology to think that God in heaven looked down on this earth, which is obviously full of sinful people and sinful acts, and said, “I will send a novel coronavirus to get their attention because I don’t like what they’re doing down there.” I have been taught that God is a God of mercy and grace. And, yes, righteous indignation and necessary judgment. But I believe that Jesus Christ is making intercession for his church as the creation which we are destroying falls apart.

Did you get that? The “creation which we are destroying” part. Gobal warming. Our constant search for more throw-away convenience. Who cares about the environmental impact of plastic bags and bottles and aluminum cans and foam? My little bit won’t make a difference. We think. Did you know that these commonly used and discarded products can take ten to a hundred years to decompose in a landfill? Even milk cartons take five years. And styrofoam does not biodegrade, meaning it is here forever.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been as lazy and complacent as anyone out there. But as I view God’s glorious creation it makes me sad to think that the polar ice caps are melting and polar bears and penguins are suffering. God is, of course, omniscient and I suppose he must have known that man would strive to be ever “smarter” and would create gas-guzzlers, aerosols, unbiodegradeble substances and anything that would make life “easier.” He knew that mankind wouldn’t be able to foresee the damage we were doing, that we were generally disrespecting God’s creation, until it was too late and we were too “set in our ways” (a good southern term) to change. Perhaps the ability of virus to transform itself genetically, becoming more virulent and deadly, and resulting in COVID-19, is a part of creation’s natural demise.

After all, the Bible does foretell not only a new heaven, but also a new earth. It looks like we’re close to needing one. I am thinking that, rather than this pandemic being a judgmental act of God, perhaps it is more of a time of testing for us. Do we really believe and follow those two greatest commandments that a Jesus shared?

I’m thinking this may be a time of testing for all of us. Is our faith strong enough, are we loving enough, and are we self-disciplined enough to follow these commandments during this pandemic? Are we maintaining a living, active faith that includes praise and thanksgiving as well as petition in our prayer life? Are we daily seeking to strengthen our faith-walk through opening God’s word to find the message he has for us?

Are we selflessly seeking the health and safety of all by following guidelines of social distancing? How often do we have the “it’s all about me mentality” versus the Golden Rule attitude of looking out for others first? Where does hoarding of food and supplies fit into the picture?

I don’t know about you but I see room for improvement in my life. Just something to think about…..

The Great Physician. . .

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Life can be such a whirlwind. Don’t you agree? Mine is, has been, and probably always will be. So I’ve decided to share little snapshots of my life in the hope that some of them resonate with some of you.

My great-grandson was diagnosed a couple of months ago with endocarditis. That is an inflammation/infection (itis), inside (endo), the heart (card), roughly translated. Known to have a defect (hole) between the lower chambers of his heart (ventricular septal defect or VSD), he developed a month-long “fever of unknown origin,” meaning no one knew the cause.

But his brilliant and loving and gently assertive mother, my granddaughter, her mother’s intuition prevailing, persisted in getting medical evaluation after medical evaluation until the infection was found. (I think she has a lot of me in her.)

The vegetation (clump of bacteria) seen on the echocardiogram (ultrasound picture of the heart) was very large. We thought it would not completely clear until surgical repair of the VSD was done. A PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line was placed in his right arm, and he underwent six weeks of IV antibiotics with four of those weeks in the home. Again, the devotion and mildly OCD tendencies of his Mom, contributed to the success of the process. I do not think a little OCD is bad, by the way, since I rely on it regularly.

This past week a repeat ultrasound was done. The vegetation is gone! And I must thank the medical and nursing staff of Arkansas Children’s Hospital for their expertise in this rare and unusual situation. I must also thank Sully’s parents for their devoted care. I thank the multitude of prayer warriors across many states who prayed for his healing.

But, most of all, I thank God, our Creator and the Great Physician, who designed our lungs and touched this little boy with healing. The prayers of that multitude were answered. The antibiotics chipped away at the mass. Fragments traveled to the lungs where they were safely filtered away. And our boy is healed and ready to gain strength in preparation for surgical repair of the VSD.

Praise God! He is in control, even when we fret and fear. And he is good, all the time!

When have you seen God’s hand in your life?

Hope for 2019. . .

Kathy S. Parish2 Comments
View of “Lake Donnie” here on Persimmon Ridge, our home……

The new year is almost here. It’s really a bit unsettling, you know, to view the series of celebrations from across the globe as midnight 2018 strikes and 2019 is born. Even the time zones here in the U.S. result in a wavelike stream of “newness” as the midnight hour comes and goes in the blink of an eye, the passing of a breath, a flash of awareness. So much emphasis is placed on the strike of a clock, drop of a ball or the click of a digital display. We are schooled to believe that there should be some tangible act to mark the transition from old to new.

We are showered with best and worst lists of pop culture and politics, music and sports. Weather statistics from 2018 are organized and analyzed and presented to us in charts and graphs. We are encouraged to make all kinds of positive life changes, since we must need to take better care of ourselves in some way. And thus are born New Year’s parties and kisses and toasts and resolutions. Yet what really changes? The calendar on the wall, the display on electronic devices, a legal holiday from work and life goes on as it did before.

Please don’t misunderstand. I believe the traditions of reflection on the past and anticipation of a new set of 365 days, unmarred by tragedy or life stress, are valuable. We long to make tangible the intangible. We long for new beginnings. We long for renewed hope. I remember a passage from Isaiah:

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?…”

Isaiah 43:18-19b (NIV)

I have sermon notes in the margin of my Bible. The speaker suggested that remembering successes leads to pride and remembering failures leads to guilt, both pride and guilt being bad things. Perhaps that was a good message for Isaiah’s audience. I’m not sure it speaks to me tonight.

I want to remember the good things of this year–new lives added to our family, the times I have caught my breath at the beauty of a sunrise or sunset, the satisfaction of teaching children’s Bible classes, the emotion accompanying songs of praise in worship. I want to remember the kind words spoken to me, the unexpected pleasant surprises, the gratification of seeing patients do well after I’ve been involved in their care.

And I want to learn from the year’s failures, from the times a more thoughtful choice might have avoided future distress, from the times I could have expressed my thoughts better in a blog or note or paragraph. I want to be more patient, kind, and, above all, more loving and remembering the times that I failed to show those qualities may help me achieve a needed adjustment of attitude!

I believe both of these exercises can help me hope. I suspect hope is what a lot of the world needs right now. I know I do. I hope for a healthy family and one particular restored relationship. I hope for peace. Many hope for food and clean water and shelter. We all hope for a government that governs for all the people with integrity and in a civil manner. What about hoping for cleaner speech in television and movies because we all really don’t talk like that? We need hope for a world where families don’t have to travel hundreds of miles to escape violence and death and poverty only to be met with a “no admission” sign.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Hebrews 11:1 (NIV)

I guess my faith is not strong enough, because I certainly cannot be sure that some of the things I expressed hope for will come about in this current climate, culture, world. But I do know who true hope and peace and joy reside in–Jesus.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6 (NIV)

May your 2019 be filled with peace of mind and heart, the joy of knowing life in Jesus, and the love of family and friends.

My story in three acts . . .

Kathy S. Parish1 Comment

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (NIV)

After a longer absence than I really planned (due to “light and momentary” issues), here goes for Act 2 of my story:

It seems to me that it corresponds in large part to my life as an advanced practice nurse, which started off rather sadly. My dad passed away in September before I completed my master’s degree in December. The passage above gave me comfort at the time of his death, for he was truly ready to go, tired of constant pain. My mom called about 3 a.m. on the day of his death (just a couple of days after Dad had told Daniel that he’d better “hurry up and get married” if he wanted his Papa to be there). He was coughing up blood. When I got there he told me, “There’s just so much a man can do.” My reply was that whatever he needed to do was fine. Six hours later he left this world to enter that unseen one, eternity with his Lord.

Jobs for nurse practitioners in small town Arkansas were not plentiful in 1997. While I was still working in administration and not yet through with my studies, a local cardiologist had asked what I planned to do with my new licensure. At that time I suggested that working as an extender in a busy medical practice appealed to me. However, after graduation I was actively recruited to work as a primary care provider in a clinic in my hometown. I was also interviewed for a position with an (at that point) unidentified physician in a multi-specialty clinic, who turned out to be the above-mentioned cardiologist. There were elements of the hometown clinic that were very appealing, including the financial aspects. But after a lot of soul searching it became apparent that the cardiology practice was where I needed to be. It was a good decision; the local clinic closed just a couple of years after its implementation. I believe that choice was a turning point in my life.

There have been many benefits to the employment choice I made. After more than 21 years in that collaborative practice, I have no regrets. Not only have I grown professionally, I have grown spiritually. Philosophical and theological discussions are not the routine in most work settings but have served as the stimulus to introspection and solidifying my beliefs. The example of true Christianity that he and his family demonstrate has influenced my walk of faith. And I needed that collegial relationship, because times were coming that seemed more than “light and momentary” troubles.

In 2004 our family was faced with the challenge of my daughter’s mental illness. It was a nightmarish year. A friend was instrumental in saving Cindy’s life, convincing her to seek care with her primary care physician. That encounter started us on the journey of a lifetime. Over the next eight months she was in and out of multiple hospitals after multiple suicide attempts. We faced a fragmented, overworked and expensive mental health system. Navigating the system would have been impossible without the support and prayers of friends and work family. I was juggling my work responsibilities with careing for her three-year-old son. I was back to single parenthood (I had not remarried at that time). A Christian friend recommended a depression workshop.  There I met the physician just finishing her psychiatric residency who would become my daughter’s lifeline and who continues to supervise her care today, fourteen years later. I think that was a “divine appointment.”

We have been blessed through Cindy’s strength and desire to be well. We involved our church family as prayer partners in our journey by openly sharing various elements of her illness and treatment. Cindy continues to demonstrate superb adherence to her medical therapy and physician visits, and she has become one of the rocks I lean on through hard times. Because more trauma would follow.

It’s no secret that August 26, 2015, changed my life as a mother. Our son’s death by suicide at the age of 41 years marked a turning point in all our lives. In my nursing career I had often encountered parents who had lost a child. I found myself frequently trying to express compassion by the comment that “that must be the worst kind of loss.” I can now attest, through my own experience, that it is a terrible grief made more terrible if that death occurs by suicide. That event led to my personal passion for increasing awareness, encouraging open conversation, and preventing suicide.

There were also brighter times. In 2005 I married the wonderful man who loves and supports me every day. And an unexpected benefit of my employment was that my physician/boss/friend,  who is also a licensed preacher, performed the ceremony! Living here on “Persimmon Ridge” (the name’s origin is meat for another story) in the home my husband designed and built for us is a priceless gift. His unremitting support and encouragement has allowed me to publish two inspirational novels, and he continues to be my biggest fan and self-appointed publicity agent as I pursue the dream of being known as an author.

However, through the experiences of Cindy’s illness and ongoing recovery and Daniel’s death one thing has remained steadfast–my faith. I believe in a loving God who is in control, who has the overarching plan for my life, who allows nothing beyond my potential to withstand with God’s help, and who offers an unending supply of hope. He has placed people in my life who have supported, encouraged, and inspired me. The troubles often don’t feel “light and momentary” but, rather, heavy and endless. But hindsight reveals the brighter hilltop experiences, those divine appointments, the heavenly discernment, and the benefits of just persevering in the walk of faith whatever the struggle.

There it is, another brief part of my story. My Act 2 is not yet finished but close enough to the ending for me to reflect on where I’ve been as I try to anticipate the next act. I trust in one truth:

In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9 NIV

I’ve seen the Lord’s hand in the design of my life. Have you?

My story in three acts

What if we viewed life as a three-act play with God as the author, producer, and director?

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“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 119: 13-16

I read the most interesting thing today. It compared God’s plan for our lives to a story. And, being the story-teller that I am, I was intrigued. Imagine, God in his infinite wisdom and love, designing the story of our lives! AND, since I just returned from a writer’s conference where all the discussion was about story structure versus “organic” writing where the story just “writes itself”, well, you can imagine how my mind is reeling with the implications of that!! Seriously, I kind of get it. My Act 1 went kind of like this:

Having always felt that there was a higher power who was “in charge” of my life, it was easy to see an unseen force at work in the course of my life. Brought up in the “Bible belt”, the daughter of parents who struggled financially but loved me greatly, and somehow always wanting to be at the top of my class, I had extraordinary opportunities–(which I didn’t take full advantage of). One event that impacted my life greatly was my father’s heart attack when I was 16. In 1966 Searcy, Arkansas, there was no specialized cardiology care. I often wonder how he survived until much later in life when he had bypass surgery.

Early in life I recognized the need for a Savior, and at age 11 “walked the aisle” and was baptized. Later, as a 16-year-old, I became convicted that I hadn’t fully made the commitment required of me, and was, once again, baptized into the small Baptist church our family attended. But in no way did my faith start maturing until I had experienced a lot more of life.

You see, I dropped out of fully-scholarship-funded college to marry and have two kids (boys). The miraculous provision of an extraordinary deal on tuition at a fine Christian university a few years later allowed me to complete a bachelor’s degree in nursing (in the second nursing class to graduate from that institution). It became evident that nursing was, indeed, my calling. And divorce and single-parenting (by that time two boys and a toddler daughter) was certainly easier because I was a professional with a college degree and a reasonable income.

There were some really challenging times, though. Middle son broke his leg through the growth plate on a forbidden three-wheeler ride. He was recognized for his scholarship in sixth grade but by his high school days was selling term papers to his classmates–his fee varied according to the grade they desired (I only discovered this years later.) He broke his arm jumping from a folding chair to dunk the basketball. He didn’t finish high school–completed his GED–and presented me with my first grandchild (who is, by the way, one of God’s best gifts to my life). Older son did not neglect to cause me some worry. There was a gunshot wound (not life-threatening)–hearing that news from an ER physician as I returned home from other son’s basketball game was an experience, to say the least. I remarked to a friend that God was preparing me for something, and that, if this was prep school, I didn’t want to go to college.

Nursing became my life. Maybe too much so. Maybe it robbed my children of some of my attention. Nonetheless, I loved being at the bedside. It was what I think of as the “glory” years of nursing. There was no “nursing” a computer or struggling to meet Medicare guidelines. The registered nurse was “in charge” and knowledgeable about all the patients on the unit. Knowing that I made a difference that prolonged someone’s life, that I could start that IV when nobody else could, that I caught the clinical clue that helped the physician make a diagnosis, meant the world to me. I advanced to middle management and then taught in a junior college nursing program for a year. Returning to the hospital where I had “grown up” as a nurse, I became the nurse administrator. Oh, there were no vice president titles for nursing back then. I was a simple DON (director of nursing), but with the same responsibilities as a VP.

Those were some painful times. The me-too movement was not alive and well, and I ended up navigating a somewhat awkward work environment which became downright hostile. I didn’t like firing people. I wanted to be back at the bedside and burned the candle at both ends in order to have some clinical time. I discovered that I was not called to be an administrator, I was called to be a nurse.

Good things happened, too. A spiritual retreat called an “Emmaus Walk” reinforced my faith. I began to teach Sunday School and sing in the choir at church. The Bible and Christian studies and keeping a journal, which often contained written prayers, became more of a habit. I wonder what my kids will think of, do with, all those books after I’m gone? Some really good pastors came and went at my church, and a couple made a huge impact on my life.

You wonder why I reveal so much of my past? Because throughout every valley, every crisis, every challenge, I knew God was real. I may have questioned and argued and pleaded and resisted, but I was certain that I was in good hands. At this point in my life, I find my self looking back and evaluating where I came from and the paths I’ve traveled. It’s only natural to wonder what comes next. But Act 2 remains to be told, and Act 3 is waiting to be lived.

It’s time for intermission. But I wonder, what is the Act 1 of your story?

 

Ambushed. . .

Kathy S. Parish4 Comments

ambush2

Recently I visited the subject of grief with a description of being “ambushed” by the emotion. The terminology did not originate with me, but was adopted by Daniel’s dear widow, now my true daughter in spirit, as she has dealt with his death. A friend then commented on the post with the observation that, although she had never heard the term used as a descriptor of grief attacks, she thought it could apply to attacks of anxiety. And I began to think. . .

There are many emotional “ambushes” that occur in our lives. The attacks come from a concealed position and strike with surprise (see definition number 3 above), usually, but not always, from an enemy of our emotional equilibrium. Some examples:

  • Grief.  The most benign memory, the most ordinary event, can precipitate the sudden recollection of loss. A photograph, the sight and sound of an ambulance, the smell of a hospital corridor, the sight of the loved one’s handwriting or craft–all can be the stimulus that brings a wave of fresh grief to our awareness. And we feel truly “ambushed” by the surprise attack which often comes from the “concealed position” of a truly innocent occurrence.
  • Anxiety. My friend’s observation regarding anxiety led me to think that a fresh definition of panic attack might be an “ambush” of anxiety, accompanied by the physiological components of the stress response. Performance anxiety can “ambush” us when taking a test or speaking in public. It can be especially problematic when being evaluated in the performance of a physical skill. (I am remembering nursing skill labs!) A good friend says that stress is a reminder that we are still alive. But sometimes I become so stressed with worry about the outcome of a situation or even imagined or dreaded future events that anxiety almost overwhelms me. What about you?
  • Depression. I think one can be “ambushed” by full-fledged depression when vague emotions of sadness or discouragement or futility or fatigue suddenly morph into the overwhelming dark hopelessness of depression. We wonder where it came from, how it got there, and what to do. In the best case scenarios, we have a support network of family, friends, and, if needed, professionals who can rescue us from the enemy that has taken us by surprise.
  • Anger. It may be a sense of righteous indignation. Or it may come from a real or perceived personal attack, insult, or oversight. If anger truly ambushes me, it is the most frustrating of situations, because attempts to express it often result in tears, and I lose all ability to communicate in a logical and articulate way. So then I am angry with myself!

But what about more positive emotions that surprise us from some concealed place within our hearts? Like—

  • Faith. My walk of faith can wax and wane. The times when it grows weak can “ambush” me with any or all of the above negative emotions. Then, through the invisible cord of God’s love and mercy, I am somehow drawn back into closer communion with my Creator, Savior, and Lord. I begin to once again feel a stabilizing presence in my heart and the certainty that I am here for a purpose, for a higher calling. And this results in an ambush of–
  • Joy. Yes, I think we can be “ambushed” by joy. It, too, can be lying in wait for us. It can come at the most unexpected times, times when we are reminded that a higher power is in control and that we are loved. The birth of a child, precious moments spent with family or friends, corporate worship (especially in music), and the gratification of work well done are a few examples.

I wonder. What emotion is lying in wait “from a concealed position” waiting to strike you “in surprise”? Will you be ready to counter it with the stability that faith offers? Where are you in your walk? Can you identify other emotions waiting to “ambush” us?

I would love to read your thoughts.