Tender Mercies Part Seven: A Letter to My Friend Ashleigh

Dear Ashleigh,
I'm not sure if I told you this, but there is a gorgeous place here in Tennessee called Cox Road. It's a long and winding road that paints a picture of a beautiful life. There are horses and cattle and cute little houses with lots of land. There are porch swings and tree swings, and miles and miles of possibilities. It's so green Ashleigh, and in the Fall, the colors look like some sort of masterpiece. It is a masterpiece actually. And God paints it all the time. I think the speed limit is something around 55mph. But we both know that everyone puts a lead foot on the pedal. I always want to drive slowly down Cox Road, but there are so many cars moving so quickly, that I can't really do that safely or without making a whole bunch of people really irritated. 
The first time I drove down it, I was on my way to my friend Andrea's house after a really long and hard week working in the ICU. One of those weeks where there are a whole lot more goodbyes than miracles. Being new to the area, I had gotten lost and ended up on this road. The road reminded me of you, because first off, it shares your last name. And second, the Coldplay song, "I Lived", came on just as I started up the road. That song automatically reminds me of you because the first time I heard it was at your memorial service when I watched the movie your friends put together of your trip to Romania. ( Oh how you love that place.) And now, every time I hear it, I can't help but think of you. So now I purposely drive out of my way down Cox Road on the way to visit Andrea, just at a speed faster than I'd like. And quite honestly, faster than the law probably allows for.
Well, with all that in mind, I want to tell you about my Ragnar Race. This past month, I ran a 200 mile relay race from Chattanooga, Tennessee to Nashville, Tennessee. Each of the twelve runners on a team run three legs. When I got to my third leg, I thought I might collapse. I waited for my teammate to finish his leg and slap the slap bracelet onto my wrist in the runner's chute. My anxiety was high like it always is before a race. And my body was so tired and so sore. I'd already run about seventeen miles and I didn't know how I was going to run another seven. So I prayed. (More like begged). I knew I couldn't finish the seven miles alone so I asked God to help me finish my race.
And then God answered almost immediately. My teammate slapped the bracelet on my wrist and I took off like a rocket out of the chute and down the hill. When I reached the bottom, my body was already telling me I had overdone it. Tears welled up in my eyes really quick. It was going to be a really long seven miles. I paused and waited for one of the volunteers to stop traffic so I could cross the road. Then I started back into my run and looked at the road signs. I was running down Cox Road. The same Cox Road that I had wished so many times before that I could slow down and enjoy. The same Cox road that reminds me of you and our friendship and all the things you taught me. And I know you were there. In that moment, at mile one, when I thought that I couldn't go any further. When I didn't know how I was going to finish another seven miles. God blessed me with your memory and your sweet spirit. I know you were there running with me, encouraging me, pushing me, pulling me, lifting me to higher heights. And then I didn't know if my tears were tears of gratitude, or pain, or exhaustion. They were most likely gratitude. Because the rest of that seven miles was a huge prayer of gratitude and just soaking in all that I could of Cox Road before I turned off of it and onto the next chapter of the leg. It was such a tender mercy to me.
It was so good to be with you again, Ashleigh. It felt so good to feel your spirit and to enjoy those sweet miles with you. I will always be grateful to a God that would bless me so graciously in a time of need. I will always be grateful to a God who blessed my life with yours. And I am so grateful that your short lifetime crossed paths with mine. Continue to watch over us. We all love and miss you.

  Love,
Jessie

PS: Happy 24th Birthday!

"The Invisible Boat" and a Tidbit on Codependency

"Picture ourselves standing on the shore. Way across the water is an island called serenity, where peace, happiness, and freedom exist from the despair of alcoholism and other problems. We really want to get to that island, but we've got to find a way to get across the water-- that huge void that stands between us and where we want to be.

We have two choices. In the water is an ocean liner, a cruise ship that looks real posh and cozy. It's called treatment, therapy. Next to it, on the beach, sits a group of odd-looking people. They appear to be rowing a boat, but we can't see a boat, and we can't see the oars. We only see these happy people sitting on a beach rowing an invisible boat with invisible oars. The invisible boat is called Al-Anon. The ocean liner honks, summoning us aboard the treatment and therapy cruise. We can see the people on board; they're happy and waving to us. Then there's these goofy people hollering at us to join them in their invisible boat. Would we choose the liner or the invisible boat? Of course, we'll get on the ocean liner, the luxury cruise. The next thing we know, we're headed towards the island of happiness.

The problem is about mid-way across the water, the ocean liner stops, turns around, and heads back to shore where we started from. Then the captain orders everyone off the ship. When we ask, "Why?" he says, "Our cruise only goes so far. The only way you can ever get to that island is by getting in the invisible boat."

So we shrug our shoulders and walk over to the people in the boat. "Get in!" they holler. "We can't see any boat to get into!" we holler back. "Get in anyway," they say. So we get in, and pretty soon they say, "Pick up an oar and start rowing." "Can't see any oars," we holler back. "Pick'em up and start rowing, anyway!" they say. So we pick up invisible oars and start rowing, and pretty soon, we see the boat. Before we know it, we see the oars too. Next thing we know, we're so happy rowing the boat with the goofy people we don't care if we ever get to the other side. "

-- an excerpt from Codependent No More by Melody Beattie

We were not made to be reactionary. We were made to be revolutionary. 

I was not made to be codependent. I was made to be my own person. With my own needs, desires, and decisions. And as I learn to recognize these patterns, stop them, and place a new strategy in their void, I will become revolutionary. I may not be a revolutionary to the world, but I will be revolutionary to my world. And that's all that really matters. The view is only going to get better from here.

#Overachiever

Today I called off work in anticipation of taking the GRE. When I got there, the receptionist asked for my name and ID.

She checked the list once.

She checked the list twice.

ANXIETY.

"Do you have another last name?" She asked. 

"No."

She checked the list a third time, while I checked my confirmation email. 

I sighed. 

Don't worry everyone. It was my bad. My #overachiever self just showed up to take the GRE a month early. Didn't want to be late, you know?

Double Digit Run

I did great til mile 8. Slid into home base face first, scratched up my right side pretty well, but got up and kept on going. My legs are noodles. But I did it. 

And I'm getting stronger every day.

Tender Mercies Part 6

I lost five patients in four days.

Death was busy collecting souls.

On my fourth day, I sat in my car before work and couldn't get out. My anxiety was a nine out of ten and my body felt heavy from the emotional load of an increase in patient deaths. The week had been a roller coaster and my mind was an out of control carousel; but this was no amusement park. Some sick nightmare if you would.

I prayed in my car and ask God to please help me be less anxious. Enough to get me into work because I knew death was waiting for my patient upstairs on the 6th floor; But if I could just get to work and get started on my day, my anxiety would subside and things would work out. I also felt incredibly lonely. So I also asked Him to please find a way to show me that I'm loved. I took a deep breath, turned off KLOVE that was playing on my radio, and set on my half mile walk to work. 

The day went fast, and my anxiety was near non existent. But I still had no sign that day to remind me that I was loved. I gave my patients their last bath, prepared them to meet their Savior, and tried to comfort families that couldn't be comforted. I remind myself that I gave my patients dignified deaths, because sometimes that is all that comforts me.

And I remember thinking; Father I chose this profession so I could be an instrument in your hands, and I know your way is best-- but does it have to be this way. Does he have to die now? Could she see her family one last time? Who is going to walk Claire down the aisle? Who is going to take Alaina fishing? Who is going to be Trey's number one fan at T-ball games? What will happen to their homes and their spouses and to the plans they made? Life has been so good to them. Is this really the end of their journey here? 

When their final breath becomes only air and the family leaves after their goodbyes, I prepare their body for the morgue. There on the counter was a letter addressed to me. A simple thank you written in his daughter's shakey handwriting. She was an ICU nurse herself. She knew the prognosis long before her family could come to terms with it. I felt her love and appreciation for me. And I knew again that I had chosen the right profession. I knew this is where the Lord wanted me to be. 

God is on the move.

Hallelujah.

He is waiting and ready to bless us abundantly if only we ask. 

Life of Pi

" Faith in God is an opening up, a letting go, a deep trust, a free act of love-- but sometimes it was so hard to love... Despair was a heavy blackness that let no light in or out. It was a hell beyond expression. I thank God it always passed... The blackness would stir and eventually go away, and God would remain, a shining point of light in my heart. I would go on loving."

--Yann Martel

Runner's High

I just got back into running high mileage consistently in preparation for my Ragnar Relay in May. 

Needless to say there have been days where I've stayed in bed and told myself "just five more minutes, or ten, or sixty." And there have been days when Liz has had to give me a boost out the door with some crazy mantra to get me moving. 

And today I needed a boost. So Liz gave me a boost. Love her. 

And then I ran 7 miles instead of the 6 miles I had planned. And I shouted at every mile, "I love running! I love hills! I am responsible for loving myself!" That's when it clicked. The "runner's high". 

The truth is, after mile 3 another mile is nothing. Another mile is just around the corner. Another mile is just a couple more steps. And I'm no longer running. I'm flying. And I'm free. And I'm shouting crazy mantras into the air while all the other runners, bikers, and dog walkers stare at me like a mad woman. 

I am responsible for loving myself. 

So I run.