If Wednesday was one of my most difficult days in a long time, Thursday turned out to be one of my best. It began with a morning and afternoon with one of my best friends since Kindergarten, crafting and catching up for hours - a rare treat on a weekday during nursing school. She's a nurse, so she completely gets what I've been going through and loves me well through it. It was so refreshing.

In the evening, we headed to my parents' house to celebrate an early birthday (it's on Saturday). I had this gut feeling that a surprise was involved - I just read them too well, I think - but it totally threw me off when I arrived and it was just the four of us. We headed upstairs to see some new furniture, and when we came back down, two of my favorite people were staring in the windows near the front door. :)

A few more arrived and we shared the most delicious gluten-free dinner. Mom made a completely gluten-free meal of chicken alfredo, vegetable pasta, gluten-free garlic bread, and salad. It may have been the first completely gluten-free meal I've ever had outside of my own home, where I didn't have to avoid one thing. It was heavenly. We even had gluten-free cake from a bakery... a first for me!

Let me just say, I love the people in these photos. Every single one. The fact that they all made time to come celebrate me is such a privilege. Whitney even drove down from Bowling Green, Kentucky just for the evening which was such a sacrifice and made me feel so loved.

When we went to bed last night, I thanked Shawn for his part in putting this all together and whispered, "My heart is so full." It is, and it's such a good feeling to know you are loved by these amazing people. I am so, so blessed.

Groundhog Day.

Today on "Groundhog Day," we got to celebrate with our very own groundhog - the one that lives in the backyard. He's lived in that giant hole on the right since we moved in, but we haven't seen him for months. It's no coincidence he came out at such an appropriate time, right? :)

Let me just say... Puxsutawney Phil and Groundhog Day is one of the oddest traditions ever. Men in black wearing top hats lift up this poor groundhog in the air and thousands cheer. Then they read from a scroll, "Hear ye... hear ye..." and call this clueless groundhog "the prognosticator of all prognosticators" and then when he "proclaims" that "6 more weeks of winter there must be" they all boo. And he looks more confused than ever. What a weird, weird (and funny) tradition. You've got to watch the video here.

So did our groundhog see his shadow? I'm not really sure.
But he did look kind of confused, because if his Pennsylvania cousin really thinks there's going to be 6 more weeks of winter, that's really no problem for us. This winter has been the mildest I can remember - so hey, bring it on! Or maybe he looked confused because as he emerged from his burrow he didn't really get the pomp and circumstance he was expecting.

Toooo strange. :)

Dust.

Source

I'm at the end of what has been one of my roughest days as a nursing student. It was hard. So hard that I called Shawn at lunch to say, "I don't think I'm supposed to be a nurse." (I take it back now, don't worry.)

I'm working 12-hour shifts in a trauma unit this semester. It's a very high acuity unit and we get patients from all over the state who are basically experiencing the worst day of their entire lives. They were in car accidents (most of them), or had a terrible fall, or tried to kill themselves. No matter what the cause, it's a traumatic injury from which they may or may not recover.

And there I am in the middle of all of it, trying to deal with the devastation in a healthy way without just existing in a constant state of grief and despair.

This afternoon, I sat in a sterile conference room and watched the faces of a family as a doctor told them their daughter-in-law didn't make it and their son was seriously injured. I thought to myself, "This is not for me." My heart was in my throat and I felt on the verge of a panic attack because really... how do you not put yourself in their shoes? How do you not feel just an ounce of their pain?

There are nurses who can compartmentalize and "leave it at the hospital" and I'm just not there yet. I'm realizing that while my greatest strength is compassion, it also may be my greatest weakness. And it is the reason I will not be a trauma nurse (and you can quote me on that). :)

I've been meditating on Psalm 103 recently, my favorite psalm. The first part tells of how incredible our God is... all of his benefits. He forgives all our sins, heals all our diseases, redeems our life from the pit, and crowns us with love and compassion. It sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?

And then there's this little verse tucked into the middle of the psalm:
"For he knows how we are formed; he remembers that we are dust."

Is there anything more fragile, more weak, more inconsequential than dust? As I looked around at bed after bed of fragile life today, I was reminded of how weak and fleeting life on earth is. I remembered how fragile I am, having such a hard time dealing with the tragedies around me. But then I remembered that He knows how we are formed... because he formed us! He knows how he made me to have more compassion in my heart than I can handle... because he gave that to me! And when I compare myself (the dust) to the strong and mighty God that I know him to be, I am comforted.
I am calmed.
I am helped.

Our little unexpected visitor.

This weekend has been a delight, especially because of some unexpected visitors we had.

On Saturday morning, I got a text from my dad asking if I could call him when I got a chance, but nothing urgent. When I called, he asked me if I might have one more spot open for sewing night, and when I said "sure," my sister (who lives in Ohio) got on the phone and said, "Can I come?" I. was. shocked. (My mom was shocked too... Dad and Kels had been scheming for a while about this surprise trip.)

So of course, she brought little Charis along and I couldn't help but take a million pictures of her. Because I love her. And because just when I thought she couldn't get any cuter, she showed up wearing overalls and a ponytail on top of her head.

And then just when she thought I couldn't get any cooler, I gave her a Ring Pop. She and that Ring Pop... buddies. Does that make me a good aunt or a bad aunt?

 

 

Oh, how I love her. I've become "that aunt" who can't help but plaster a million pictures of her niece all over the internet.

And I think my parents have become "those grandparents" who dote on every little thing she does.

She's got us all wrapped around her little finger.

Yesterday.

I woke up yesterday morning with a brilliant blogging idea (or so I thought).
It was going to be a quiet but productive day at home, working on homework, job applications, and sewing orders for Brighter Day, and I would capture pieces of it every hour or two with my camera.
What I didn't expect were the feelings that would come as I looked through these pictures at the end of the day.

I thought I'd see the beauty surrounding me.
I thought I'd be more thankful for the things I'm so blessed with.
And I did. Both of those things.

But more than that, I felt an overwhelming grief at how often I have taken this amazing place for granted. I've lived here for two years, and for most of that time, I've refused to be content. On so many days, being away from the city - the people, the diversity, the energy - felt so suffocating. I cried because I missed it so much, and I would have rather been anywhere but here. I complained about seeing goats and horses instead of people. I complained about driving 20+ minutes to get just about anywhere. I whined. A lot.

And even now, even as I write that, my eyes burn with tears.
How much have I missed?!

I told Shawn about my day when he got home (during that big time gap you see toward the end), and as soon as I did, I wept. Wept. I didn't know these feelings of remorse would be so powerful, but they came out at once and I couldn't contain it.

It hit me like a ton of bricks today... a year from now, I won't live in this little yellow house on acres of beautiful land.
I won't wake up to this kind of beauty.
I won't cook meals looking out at running water and galloping horses.
I won't run barefoot through dewy grass to pick tomatoes out of my garden.
I won't call this place home.
It's ironic that Franklin has been home for these past two years - and for most of my life - and yet it's just now feeling like home in the last few days and weeks.

Maybe you're reading and thinking, "You're being way too hard on yourself." But as hard as I've tried to point out the things I adore about living here on this blog (and there are many things that I do), my heart has not been content for so long. And I want that to change. We may not live here for much longer, who knows. But I can live differently for however long it is. So however much longer I live in this house, you can bet I'm going to soak it up. Every drop. I didn't know these silly pictures could make me want to do that, but they did. They really, really did. And I am thankful for the conviction they caused.