Tuesday, February 24, 2015

New level of sacrifice

February is coming to a close and we have had a busy season of plastics patients. Many arms, legs, fingers and toes regained degrees of range of motion, faces were given eye lids, lips, noses, when they had been absent for years.

This season was so different from orthopedics.  Our patient population varied greatly.  Where as in ortho we only served kids up to the age of 15, plastics served men and women of all ages, from 7 months to 60-some years old.  This brought more of a community feel, having people and children of all ages under one roof (or belly of the ship), each of them able to interact with each other, but having something in common- a physical deformity that has played a part in their life for a period of time. 

This week has been hard.  I'm missing home like I never imagined I could. All in the span of a few days I came off night shift (which already established me as irrationally emotional), my sister moved up her wedding, bought a wedding dress- something the world tells me as big sister I should have played a larger part in, and my family had to make the decision to put our dog down.  

The span of that 24 hours or so threatened to break me, send me into a spiral of panic.  But amongst the myriad of tears and sobs, my spirit was weeping before the Lord, not in anguish as to "Why would You do this to me at a time like this," but rather, "God, I need you to show up here, my knees aren't just threatening to buckle, I'm collapsing, and I'm leaning into You to catch me."

I can't tell you how He did it, but He showed up.  I went from a very dark place, to a friend that He'd placed on my heart showing up to my door at the right time, to weeping while she held me, listening to my friend pray over me, to processing through truth and reminding myself that He who promises is faithful, to having the strength to leave my cabin and surround myself with people that love and can support me through this.

Working on the wards today sent this lesson home.  

The patient's on the wards have all been on the ship for several weeks now, I'm familiar with all of them, kids and adults alike.  We were taking lunch breaks today and so it was only me and another nurse watching the ward.  Little Tsanta had been playing nicely on the floor. I was watching her from our medication counter, she was within eye and earshot.  Out of no where, something strikes panic in her, she starts crying, doesn't run toward her bed where her mama is, but toward the med counter where I'm standing.  She wasn't even my patient, half the time she doesn't pay me any attention.  Whether she didn't realize her mama was just sleeping in bed or she didn't feel well, she ran straight at me and into me, crouched down and arms already open and waiting for her as she rounded the corner.  

I picked her up and she melted like butter in my arms.  It was one of the most tender moments I've had.  We held an intimacy for the time I kept her, her arms wrapped around my neck, head nestled into the crevice of my chest.  I took her out in the hall and we walked.  She remained dead weight, crying ceased, just needing my arms to do their job while things got better.  Gosh what a picture of our Father; and a picture I get to role reverse literally right now, today.  I'm Tsanta, and God is me.  God has me in eyesight at all times. He will hold me until my heart is content.  He will keep a watch on me when I tell Him I'm okay and I go back to playing on the floor. And He will feel full, pouring out the love He craves for me to accept.  All can be well when we just run to Him.

If I felt like I was sacrificing before, this trumps it.  I'm suffering in Christ the only way I know how; praying and fasting and immersing in Scripture.  The Lord extended me to April 24th for a reason knowing back in November, that all these emotions would be at the forefront at this time of my trip.  I'm a little over a week away from my roommate leaving, another piece of comfort departing.  But even if I'm left without a roommate that gets me, even if I'm missing wedding planning time, even if I'm not home to grieve with my family, it's not me that holds the control. God is present in the midst of my sorrows, just as He is present in the midst of my joys. It doesn't make any of this easier to endure, but it refocuses my efforts.  It reminds me I'm not here for myself, I never was.

1 comment:

  1. "It reminds me I'm not here for myself, I never was."
    Amen.

    ReplyDelete