Quiet Corners

Oh friends.  My job as a nurse practitioner.  What a gift it is, indeed.  It is a gift to be able to watch people heal, families celebrate that healing and live better more healthy lives.  It is such a heartache, too, to be the one.  The one who says, in those quiet corners, where there are no bright lights, there are no neon signs, there are no letters in ink...the one who says, "I am so sorry, I think we all need to prepare ourselves that this may not turn out the way we had all hoped."  The one who holds the hand of that mother, crying her eyes out in disbelief, soaking the once white lab coat with a stream of dying dreams.

That one who gets the call in the middle of life from a parent whose child is wrestling deep deep depression, begging for removal from this life.  That one who stops, sits, listens and prays.  Gives hope.  Gives direction.  Answers the call...in the midst of the merry-go-round, when taking the call means an abrupt stop, a cocked head, a wonder of what is that important to step away.

There are other ones...that one who sees the hurt in a stranger, as her child hits, screams and bites her in a public place. Everyone else looks on, shakes their heads, judges.  That one who comes along side, grabs her bags, walks her to her car with umbrella to shelter she and that child from the pouring rain.  That one who stops to pray, to allow the very presence of God and his mercy and grace to meet his children right there in a crowded, rain stricken life and parking lot.

I have wrestled with this so many times in my career.  The work of the ones whose names no one sees in the write up about the nation's best hospital. The work of the ones who cry with the heartbroken. The work of the ones who take the time to listen, to really listen, even when they themselves are so so spent. The work of the ones who go against the grain, against the pace of the rat race to the top of the political ladder. Against the rat race of success as defined by this world.

I know many of these.  I see them. I see the ones who work in quiet corners.

The ones who take time to allow God-interruptions to happen, to heal and to reap a harvest when that time is divine.  These ones work tirelessly to hear His voice, to "unhurry", to grasp at and hold tight the very presence of God.

It may seem so small, each of these divine moments, but each of them are not just drops of any kind of water in a big bucket...they are drops of living water.  Wow.  Think about that...  "But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again.  It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life." John 4:14.

I am not there yet, friends. I am thinking, I am learning, I am seeking God in his wisdom in why he has me in this career and why he gave me this heart.  It is so incredibly hard and thankless so much of the time. Oh, that I would see his living water dropping into each of the buckets that I have the opportunity to be a part of Him filling. Oh, that I would be humble enough to see Him, focusing on His work and not the work of the wheel.  Oh, that I would still be me, not changing to fit into this world of neon lights and words in ink.  Oh, that I would see that His work in and through me is what is lasting, what matters and what happens in those quiet corners of the room, behind closed doors.