Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Who was I kidding???

2013 was too much.  By fall I was tired and was dealing with some things that were hard to deal with. I needed time to think and just pause from the race.  It was in my exhaustion I wrote this post about giving up on the move.

Who was I kidding?

I can't just give up.  I can't just stay.  This doesn't feel like home.

After I decided to just stay in Ohio, stop pursuing moving to New England, I lost all focus in life.  I fought through a horrible depression, bitterness, and frustration. I really didn't know what I wanted from life or where I was going.

 I was angry.

I was tired.

And maybe a little bit sad at what all happened.

I spent a lot of time talking with someone who knows me well.

They let me say what I felt and be honest about some things.

They let me pause for a moment.

Then came the subtle hints in some conversations.

"Have you been in contact with your contacts lately?"  "Reach out to them..see if things have changed and some positions are opening"

At first I was all "Uh..I'm giving up on that."  And then I was  "Maybe he sees something in me I don't see"  And then I thought I really, really want this!! I CAN do this!"

I took some time to think about it.  I went back through everything that happened over the past 3 years and realized that I was giving up.  Too soon.  I realized that God never told me to stop.  He clearly told me to go.  But He never told me to stop trying to go.  I had decided to stop trying because things weren't going my way.

I realized that life is short.  I have too many regrets already, why add more?  I have wanted to live in Connecticut since I was 13.  I had a chance when I was 20 and again at 22.  I regret both times not jumping at the chance.  How do I know that the doors aren't ready to be opened?  I only know one thing for sure...and the idea of not moving, simply staying, wasn't working.  

I slowly started reaching out to some contacts I had met over the past year.  I was also introduced to another person who sits in a position that will allow me to meet more people with abilities to help jump start my career.  

After a couple email conversations with this new contact and setting up some phone appointments, we finally connected.  We spoke on the phone for awhile and hit it off.  She wants to introduce me to a few more connections and has some ideas of some placements for me.

Of course they are just ideas.  Just something that she thinks would be a good fit.  Nothing certain.

This too could all fall through.

But its another connection.  Its another player in the game.

There are many facets to this idea that I can't quite spell out just yet.  I'll share as they unfold.

I'm flying to CT in the next few weeks.  I have a few meetings scheduled already with a few more to be scheduled.  

I'm nervous, but excited.  Maybe even a little scared.  I don't know what will be around the corner for me, but I'm ready to face it head-on.   

I'm going about this differently this time.  Before it felt like a race.  I had to get there and get there as quickly as I could.  This time I'm patient about it.  I'm not rushing, I'm not racing.  I'm simply moving forward with the idea that I will live there someday. 

Hopefully sooner, rather than later, of course :-)  

Thursday, January 23, 2014

I loved you first

I have a sweet little brown eyed boy who gets up (almost) every night with a good excuse.

Sometimes its a tummy ache.

Sometimes its an itchy back.

One night it was "I don't know if I'm hot or cold but I can't sleep"

What he really needs is rocked.

But at a grown up age of 8, how could he admit that?

Tonight was no different.

I snuggled him and we rocked a little.

Knowing that the morning will bring a grumpy little boy who doesn't want to get up.

But I only get a few nights each week to put him to bed so I don't care what my mornings are like.

Tonight we had our usual talk.

"You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yea, Mama.  I love you too."

"But I love you more."

"No.way.  I love you more."

"But I loved you first"

"Nope. I loved you first. When I was in your tummy."

"But I loved you right when I knew you were in my tummy...before you even had a brain to love me with."


"I loved you when I was in heaven, before you knew I was coming"

"Oh sweet little boy."

I was a bad mom then and made him a second snack.

I know its 11 pm.

I know that tomorrow morning will be hard to get him up.

I'm know all the parenting books say that I'm all wrong in allowing him to manipulate me.

Those books can go read themselves.

Because maybe its not entirely about a little boy needed snuggled.

Maybe its about the mom needing it more.

Limited Moments

After writing the Isaiah 43 post, I thought a lot about it.  And maybe God isn't preparing me for something to come, but assuring me for what I'm in right now.

I work a lot.  Which is fine.  I need to and I can.  But what isn't fine is the swinging from shift to shift day to day.  Like five days in a row starting with third to second to first back to third can feel a bit much.  I'm okay physically but its very hard on my kids. Maybe that's what God is telling me..that they will be okay.

I just want them to grow up and remember good times, not the times when we weren't together. Or the evenings after working the night before when I laid down for a 'quick' nap only to wake up a few hours later.  I don't want them to remember not being at home every night to sleep.  I don't want them to remember dinner being thrown together the nights we were home to eat together.  I don't want them to remember that I didn't get to read them the Bible every night.

I want them to remember that we played games together, did puzzles together while listening to Odyssey, I want them to remember that we would sit around and read the Bible and other fun books at night.  I want them to remember that I would bake them treats for their classes and sports teams, I want them to think that this happened all the time and not as something that was an occasional occurrence.  

I want them to remember that this wasn't my choice, but something I had to do.  That I would rather be home with them, but I had to provide for them.  I hope that they gain strength from this and not become bitter.

I have tonight off.  I work this morning for a few hours, but then the afternoon and evening off.  I can't wait.  I'm not sure what we will do, nothing exciting but just be home together.


I have some potential possible opportunities.  Just a hint of a whisper of something.  I'm not going to get excited or hopeful that this will work out. (Confession: I already am excited :)  I'm going to try and stay realistic.  This opportunity will change things.  Not necessarily make life easy, but a hint easier.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Isaiah 43:2

Isaiah 43:2 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

A favorite verse of mine.

Speaks to us all in so many different circumstances of life.

This verse has been in my face, shall we say, the last few days.  And I'm not completely sure why.

In my face like every where I look I see it.

In my dreams I recited this to myself when I found out someone I loved had passed.

In both novels I've been reading.

There was even a visitor of a patient who forgot to bring their Bible.  She asked if I would print something out online.  When asking the patient's scripture of choice she said "Oh, something uplifting...maybe Isaiah 43."  I almost responded..of course Isaiah 43...because what else has been in front of me.  

If I can be honest, I'm kinda scared.  What is God telling me?  What is battle is God preparing me for?

Its a strong verse.  One that gives hope in the middle of fear.

Not one that someone would read while floating through life with no troubles.

But yet, I'm not scared.  If God is preparing me, then He has already prepared the way through this.  So I can just float through life with no worries.



But what is just around the bend?

Friday, January 17, 2014

Beautiful Imperfections {what our guinea pig taught me}

I was having a conversation with a co-worker a few weeks ago about how we know each individual imperfection that we have and how it can be so easy to focus on those.  And how most often the imperfections we hate most about ourselves are either unnoticed by others or are the things they love most about us.

I was talking to the guinea pigs one night after work while I was feeding them.  (Yes, I've turned into a sap with them.  I adore them)  I realized that Nolan's ears are different.  One is black and stands up while the other one is white and flops over.  If he was a little boy, he would probably hate it.  But it is one thing I adore about him.  The other thing that is unique and darling is his hair (fur?) on his head has a flattened spot that makes his hair spread out, spraying across the top of his head.  I think it is the cutest thing ever.  But if he was a boy he would probably load it up with gel and straighten it out.  Just so he would look like everyone else.  That thought made me kinda sad.

It made me think...if what I love most about this guinea pig is his imperfections, then maybe my imperfections don't make me completely unlovable either.


When I was talking to my friend at work, I remembered a YouTube video I saw that really hit home.  I used to struggle deeply with lack of self-esteem.  Thankfully, I've started to slowly turn away from that lie. To realize that just because I'm not perfect and even though I have a lot of work to do, I am worth something.

It is hard for me to look in a mirror and not look in disgust.  I see every misplaced freckle and how they are uneven across my face, I see my uneven eyes, I see my reddish complexion, and my dirty dishwater blondish blech hair. And if I could cut off my lower half of my face and replace it with something different, I would.  But when I watched the video I realized that I need to stop focusing on the things I don't like and focus on the good things that God gave me.

This isn't a cry for attention..please, please! don't post a bunch of comments giving me sappy compliments. Its not what I'm looking for! Compliments make me feel worse.  

I'd want you look inward and see your own beauty and your own strengths. Share with a friend or a teenage daughter who is struggling with this lie Satan brings to woman to crush us. I just wanted to write the truth about my struggles in hopes that it can help someone else who feels the same about themselves. Hope that they can see that they are beautiful and they aren't isolated in their struggles.

I don't know if I'm the only one who struggles with this.  As I get older (and slightly wiser??) I realize that it is the abnormality to not struggle with some of these same issues.  And as I get older I'm learning that the weaknesses that God gave me are actually some of my strongest strengths. There are some positives about being over 30.


Here's the video.  I hope it speaks as loudly to you as it did to me.  Warning: You might need a tissue tissues.  I did.  I sobbed like a baby.

One thing I found that was so interesting to me is that when I saw each of the woman that was interviewed I wished I was as beautiful as them.  But to hear their story they probably wouldn't have thought that about themselves...


What I loved is that the image that they have of themselves is not at all what they look like.  Hardly any resemblance at all.  Yet the stranger who briefly saw them was able to give a better description of them and their sketch was more accurate.  That says a lot, doesn't it?  How different is the sketch we have in our mind different than the reality of who we are as woman?

Each one of you are so beautiful and a perfect creation of God.  Just love yourself and be all that you have to offer. 

Thursday, January 16, 2014

2nd Grade Persuasive Essay {I'm convinced}

Reagan brought home a packet of graded papers.  The top paper said "Opinion Writing Rubric". Apparently, his class had to write a letter to their parents using persuasive writing skills. He had to write a persuasive essay convincing me to help others during the Christmas season.

There is nothing more that I enjoy that getting to read an essay written by one of my children.  Maybe its because I love creative writing and love to see their skills slowly evolve, but mostly its because the younger they are the more darling cute they are.  Reagan did not fail in the darling cute department.

It went like this:

Dear mom,

I think we shold help people in need because they mite stave to deth.  Another reson is thay mite be an ice cude so we shold give them som un-used clothing to weare.  The thred reson is thay will de so un-hidrated thall die.  The last reson is thall die of no food so we shold give them food to eat.  thaws are all the resonns why we shold give the un-welthy people stuff!!  marry cristmas mom
Reagan Bauman


I adore this little brown eyed boy more every single day.  And this essay melted my heart even more. (I wasn't really against giving to the needy to begin with, but this certainly would have convinced me if I was:-)

My favorite part(s)?

They might be an ice cude and they will de so un-hidrated thall die.

That, my friends, is creative writing and persuasive.

Not cold but ice cudes.

Not thirsty but un-hidrated.


Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Night Shift

When I started working at the hospital, I would occasionally get the question "What do they need a secretary on night shift?  Don't the patients just sleep all night?"

Well, to answer your question, they need a secretary to make the teams even for when the staff plays games all night.

Because what else is there to do when all the patients are sleeping sweetly in their beds?

(My co-workers, my sister who is an incredible RN on nights, and my many friends who work those grueling hours, are all imaging me being tortured for that comment right now :-) 

They all know that the patients are never sweetly sleeping. 


Night shift is when a nurse, quiet and shy by nature, will take on a doctor on the phone and insist that a critically ill patient needs transferred. Immediately. And not taking no for an answer.   

Night shift is when an assistant will sit by a patient who has been fighting violently for days and hold both of his hands so he feels secure enough to sleep.  And will do this is a darkened room, bent over the bed for hours, forgetting the cramps in his back and his exhaustion.  Just so the patient can rest. 

Night shift is when a nurse knows they will get chewed out by a doctor for waking him for the third time that night, but will call anyhow for the best interest of the patient. 

Night shift is when an assistant will sit with a patient who has coded, but isn't to be resuscitated, and stay with them while they pass because family hasn't made it in time and no one should go alone.  

Night shift is when some dementia patients go from sweetly confused to violent and we must do our best to keep them calm. 

Night shift is supporting each other after an unexpected death.  Only to turn around and rally together minutes later to help another patient who is close to coding. 

Night shift is seeing the weariness in the nurse's eyes while she is running from one patient to the next because the both are on the verge of coding and trying to get a doctor to take her seriously.

Night shift is when you have to work an extra hour during the falling back of the clocks.  And it always happens on the worst night of the week. 

Night shift is celebrating the New Year together and hardly noticing the clock striking midnight because you are too busy. 

Night shift is when the secretary gets to use her mean mom voice to leave firm messages for doctors to 'please call back now'.  (Yes, that was me.  And I have an excellent, well-rehearsed mean mom voice:-) 

Night shift is when I got to hold a patient's hand while he was scared of his blood draw. 

Night shift means you get to celebrate surviving another weekend together by going out to Monday morning pancakes. 

Night shift is when some of the doctors who are absolutely hysterical and fun to be with come in for rounds.  

Night shift is when I had the chance to sit with a sweet elderly gentleman who was so confused. He knew where he was, but he didn't know why.  He was scared and he couldn't rest. 

It was night shift when I got to sit by his bed and hold his hand to make him feel safe.  

It was night shift when he was so confused and I didn't know what to do.  So I looked him right in the face and smiled as big as I could and said give me a smile.  And he did, falling asleep with a peaceful smile on his face.  

Night shift is when you can do the littlest things that mean the biggest.   

This is for all my wonderful night shift co-workers.  Its been amazing to see such a wonderful group of people lay their differences aside and work like a machine.  Jumping in to help the other, knowing what to do for your co-worker before they even ask.  


I don't know what the future has for me.  I don't know how long I will be there.  But I want to thank my night-shift co-workers for making me feel like I am one of them, even though I'm not a nurse. 
(I'm even thankful for the co-workers who mock me and imitate every word I say with an Irish accent.  Because of them, I can still answer a phone somewhat professionally while busting a gut laughing) Who else can add that to a list of their skills? 

Do me a favor?  Next time you meet someone who works at a hospital on nights, don't ask them what they do all night...tell them thank-you for doing one of the hardest jobs there is.   

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Getting out of the Boat

I don't know if I ever shared this story.  It was always my intent to, so in case that I haven't, here it is:

In August of 2009 I loaded my children up and left my husband.  He was very abusive.  I had  enough and after trying everything I knew to try; the last thing was to leave him and let him see he needed to change.

I hid at a friends house for a couple days.  They were days filled with fear.  

I had been advised to call our church's crisis counseling center for some help and guidance.  He was so easy to talk to and helped me through some of the hardest days of my life.

There was one conversation in particular that sticks out in my mind.  I told him that if this was truly what God wanted me to do, why didn't I feel peace?  Why didn't I feel a calmness?  Why was I so terrified?

He responded with "During the storm when Jesus was sleeping on the boat, His disciples were filled with fear.  They were in the middle of a storm and it felt like Jesus wasn't responding. But that storm ended up strengthening them and made their faith stronger.  One day, and I don't know when, Jesus will stand up and say "Peace, be still" and it will.

During the next year or so, I opened to that passage in the Bible countless times.  It is written in Matthew and Mark.   In Matthew's account it says that Jesus stood and said "Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?"  It was that account that I opened up to every time I was scared or when I was at the point of thinking I was going to crumble.  I almost found it humorous that I could just flip open the Bible and always flip to that spot when I was at a breaking point.  

I never opened to Mark's writings of this story.  I started to notice this.  Mark is where it says 'Peace, be still' and unless I purposely went there.  It never just opened to that place like it did in Matthew. (This wasn't because of creased pages, or a softening of the binding.  It happened in a multitude of Bibles)  I told God that when it was the right time, He needed to show me that place.

That was in August of 2009.

I told a few people, not many, of the story.  Mostly just my closest friends.

In December of 2012, reality was starting to hit.  I was at a fairly low point in life and just struggling to see through some dark times.

A friend stopped over one evening with a Christmas gift.  That evening I was particularly struggling with how I was going to make it.  I think I was worried about things in the future.  Things I shouldn't have been worrying about but was.

I opened the gift and in it was a little wood block with the verse "And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and He said unto the sea, Peace, be still."

This was the verse that I had been wanting to read, but always seemed hidden from me.

Trust me, I cried.  And it takes a lot to make me cry.

But inside, I knew that I still needed to wait until the time when I opened to it in God's word.

A short time later, I was sitting in church with my niece.  We like to play hangman (I call it smiley man...we build a smiley face instead of playing hangman...I just can't bring myself to play it that way).

I try and do short Bible verses and was at a mental block.  I flipped open the Bible and there it was. Mark 4:39.

Peace, be still.

I almost fell of the bench.


I'll be honest.  I thought that because I opened up to that verse that I thought my struggle was over. I thought that meant my storm was passed and that I would have a time of smooth sailing.

I've never been more wrong in my life.

This morning I opened to Matthew 8: 23-27.  The place where I have opened up to so many times over the past 4.5 years.  It brought back the memory of the story and I decided to flip to Mark.  I always note in my Bible dates and why something was profound to me.  The date written was 12/12.

I had to laugh.

I thought in December of 2012 that my storm was over????

Little did I know what was right around the corner in 2013.

But God knew what was up ahead.  He knew that my storm would be a bigger storm.  A more violent storm.  But a different storm.

The disciples went through a natural storm in that boat with Jesus.  But their faith was strengthened for the bigger life storm up ahead.

In December 2012, God wasn't telling me that storms was over.  He was telling me that particular storm of fear of Randy was over. It was in the next few weeks all of the court stuff would be over and the kids' names would be legally changed.  I would be getting out of the boat and would start walking towards something better.

Sometimes I go back to that storm.  I walk back to the boat and get in and row back to the middle of the sea.  I remember the storm.  And that's okay.  To remember how far we came.

But sometimes I will try and recreate the storm. I try and stir up the clouds, wind and waves.  I'll imagine again the lightening and thunder and the fear comes back.  I need to stop that.  I don't need to revisit that.  I don't need to remember Randy's abusive words. I remember the lies people believed about me, the things they used against me.  I don't need to remember and then feel worthless again.  I need to remember that I've beaten that storm.  I made it to shore and walked away.  I'm not in that storm anymore.


I wish I could remember the name of the man who counseled me.  I wish he knew how much he helped.  I wish he could know how far my children and I have come.  I wish I could tell him that I've beaten that storm.


Thursday, January 9, 2014


They say life is a race.

Sometimes life feels like a sprint.  Or better yet, a relay.  Running as fast as you can so you can meet the deadline to hand-off for the next sprint.

Then sometimes life feels like a marathon.

Exhaustion sits in.  You can't stop.  You are stuck in the race.  You can only keep plodding along.

Sometimes people will come along side you and hand you a cup of water, or better yet Gatorade, to help keep you moving slowly forward.  I have a couple people who are that.  They run beside me every step of the way.

Then sometimes there are those who shove you from behind.

Good intentions, of course.

They are only trying to push you closer to the finish line.  Push you towards your goal.

But sometimes those shove from behinds aren't what you need.

They don't realize:

your feet are weighted down from lack of sleep.

your legs are numb from working too many hours.

your side aches from the responsibility of raising kids alone.
(one with raging hormones)

your head is pounding with each step you take from the aggravation that you aren't moving along faster.

They don't realize that a shove from behind will only make you fall flat on your face.

I hate to admit, that I stopped writing at this point to Google 'people falling down while running'.

I wanted to post something funny, to make me laugh through this, even though I'm kinda struggling with it.  That's what I do when I'm fighting life.  I find something to laugh at.

I went to YouTube and typed in 'people falling down while running'.

Yea.  I'm that shallow.

But even God can speak to us when we are shallow.

This video is what came up first.  Please watch it.  All of it.

It wasn't laughter I found while watching.

It was tears.

Streaming down my face.

Exactly what I needed tonight.

I might have fallen down.

But only for a moment.

I'll pick myself up.

Run harder.

Even though each fall hurts.  Even though each disappointment feels like a setback.  I'm not going to give up.  I have my goals and no matter what happens, even if I fall, I'll keep picking myself back up and keep on running.

(Seriously, how awesome is the song that is played through this? what I expected to find when I opened this video for the first time!)

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Guinea Pig Emergency

Last night the kids had the guinea pigs out and playing together in the basement.

All of a sudden, they came running upstairs yelling "TIMBER BIT NOLAN".

They showed me the spot where Nolan was bit and I about spazed.

There was a white chunk of something that appeared slightly wet and possibly foamy.

Not up to date on my guinea pig anatomy and physiology, I wasn't 100% sure what it could be.

I was just absolutely certain that it shouldn't be like that.

I asked the kids if Nolan yelped or cried or anything.  They said he hadn't.

My mind raced forward and I knew immediately that he was dying.

And of course it slipped out of my mouth, with no restraint, making the kids cry.

How else could a guinea pig get bit so hard that his bowels were perforating through the skin and he not cry?   Of course he was so weakened from the injury that he was dying.

I told them to put him in his cage and let him die in his house.

K. I realize how absolutely cruel this sounds.  But I didn't know what to do.

It was about midnight at this point, a windchill of a bazillion below, and I'm broke.

A trip to the vet emergency room (does that exist?) didn't sound like a reasonable possibility at the moment.

Reagan ran to the couch, curled in the corner, and cried.

I felt like the worst mom ever.

I was stewing around, thinking of Google-ing Animal Emergency Rooms.

I kept checking on Nolan.

He seemed fine.  Running around his cage, playing like normal.

I inwardly groaned.

This  was not going to be a quick death.


Another thought crossed my mind.  What was I going to do with the other guinea pig?  How could we continue to look at him, spoil him, and cuddle him after he attacked another guinea pig with such brutality that he ripped his bowels out of him?


I decided I could at least try to do something for him.  To see if it was something that I could fix.

Don't laugh at me... :-)

I grabbed one of his toy sticks he chews on and poked his side.

Seems like a legit treatment plan, right?

Maybe I could poke everything back in to place?

It was hard.  Not at all squishy like intestines would be.

So it wasn't his bowels poking through his stomach.

Not to mention Nolan didn't flinch, squeak, or anything.

Either this piggie was seriously knocking at death's door or he was tough as nails.

Because if the thing I poked was hard then it had to be a bone, right?

Which could only mean Timber bit Nolan so hard his hip because dislocated and was poking through his fur.

This had to be his greater trochanter popping though the skin.

While I'm not up to date on my guinea pig anatomy, I still remember my human anatomy from college.

And that was definitely his hip joint poking through the fur.

No, I don't ever think the worst.


(For my co-workers:  It was at this point the thought of 'consult Dr. Mayors for possible protruding intestines and consult Dr. Kase for hip dislocation and destruction' crossed my mind. Hahaha)

I was still amazed that Nolan could run around like he was while his hip was poking through.

I wanted to see this phenomenon up closely.

I had one of the kids hold Nolan so I could keep poking and see what bone this was exactly.

As I examined the 'bone' closer, I realized (to my delight) that it was a mint that one of the kids had been eating and must have spit out.

Of course, they all denied eating a mint and then spitting it out because they knew I would get mad that they spit a candy on the floor.  I tried convincing them that this was the ONE AND ONLY time that I hoped that they did spit the said candy on the floor, but no one believed me.  (Which means they hear me when I flip out about stuff on the floor they just have yet to follow through with it...)

A mint on the fur meant Timber didn't bite Nolan, he was trying to eat the candy.  Because Timber is a PIG and eats non-stop.

Timber is just an over eater...not a barbaric cannibal.

By morning the mint/bone/protruding bowels was gone and Nolan has continued to run around and act normal.

I can only imagine loading up my kids and rushing my guinea pig to the nearest Animal Hospital in the middle of the night during the coldest Arctic freeze of the century only to find out it was a mint stuck to his fur.

All I could do was shake my head and think "Only me" and be thankful that I my imagination never gets the best of me.

*Disclaimer: To all my animal lover friends:  This all happened within minutes.  If when I poked the white thing and realized it  seriously was something serious, I would've contacted a vet.  I'm not so cruel to let an animal slowly die.  I just wasn't overly excited to pay a vet emergency bill on a guinea pig :-)

Monday, January 6, 2014

Asking God

I heard something this morning on my (icy) drive home this morning that triggered a thought.

Actually it was more like a light bulb of clarity went off.

All those verses in the Bible that talk about God giving you the desires of your heart, seek and ye shall find, etc.

(I should look them up for you, but I just had a long night at work and just can't find the energy to look them go for it :-)

Anyhow, there was a discussion on what those verses really meant.

Because God isn't a genie in a bottle.

We don't just ask and POOF, there it is.

So what does He mean by giving us our desires?

At that moment it became so clear to me.

God can't break a promise.

And He first promised to take care of all our needs.  To give us what is best for us.  Anything less would be breaking that promise.

So when we pray for things we think we need or things that could be classified as wants, if those things wouldn't be good for us (even though we can think they would be good for us) then wouldn't that cancel out the first promise of taking care of us?

I'm most likely confusing you.

I'll try again.

Its my job (promise?) to take care of my children.  To keep them healthy, well-nourished, and cared for.

So if they beg and beg for candy (desires of their heart) and if I let them have all the candy they want, the end result would be bad things for them.

I can't give them those desires of their heart because it would counteract my duty as a mom to care for them.

Just because they asked doesn't mean I have to give it.

Candy in moderation is okay.  A treat now and then is good for them.

Isn't that how it is with God?

The extra things He provides just makes everything seem so much sweeter. When He gives us something we want, and not just because we need it, but just because He wants to give us something good.

Doesn't that taste sweet to us?

And just like candy...

If we had every desire handed to us, it wouldn't be as sweet.

I'm learning that sometimes God tells me no.  Not because He doesn't want good for me, and not because He isn't listening, but because He can't break His original promise He gave to me to take care of me.  Because the end result of what I'm asking for would be bad for me.

There's something about knowing that God will not give me anything that doesn't revolve around that promise.

It makes me thankful for some of my unanswered prayers.

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Patient in Rm 3XX

God uses all kinds of people.

There is a sweet man who is a patient on our floor.

I'm not even going to post his room number (hence the X's in the title) because too many of my co-workers read this and there's all that HIPAA stuff :-)

However, considering this gentleman has touched most (if not all) of our hearts in one way or another, it won't be too hard to figure out who I'm talking about.

I'm not going to share what he told me.

I'm going to just ponder it in my heart.

I was blessed with the opportunity to hold his hand awhile last night while he was scared and lonely.

While I was doing this, he shared something with me.

I almost cried.

And I rarely cry.

But I knew, right then, that God sent him to tell me what he told me.

I know now that everything is going to be okay.

I've been excited and scared at the same time at the concept of tackling 2014.

Now I can't wait to experience all the goodness this year has to bring.

Even the good things that feel tough.

God sends all kinds of people into our lives for a reason.

Some of those people may seem helpless.

Don't pass them by.

Be still and listen.

For those things that they tell you, might be the most profound of all.