The Third Day

My church recently finished a study by John Ortberg, Who is this Man?: The Unpredictable Impact of the Inescapable Jesus. The last week of the study was to talk about Saturday of Holy Week. We often talk a lot about Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday but we often spend little time considering Silent Saturday.

We are so excited about the awesome news of Sunday that we bypass the sadness and anguish of Saturday. I thought this was really poignant in my own life right now. I’m in my Saturday and have been for quite a few months, 4 I think. I got a rejection letter this past week that literally excited me. They let me know how great my experience is and how awesome my resume was but they went with someone else. I was excited to recieve news even though the answer was a resounding, “no.” I’ve had silence and no news for 4 long months, so long that sometimes it feels like 5. I’ve read 47 books in that amount of time and watched too many TV series and knitted the beginnings of a lot of blankets. My Saturday is filled with moments of silence and moments of crying out and moments of fear. My Saturday is the Silent Saturday and all the anguish that goes a long with that.

Being fired was my Friday. My Saturday has been all this time of trying to find something and I am on my knees praying that my Sunday will come, that I will be lifted from the pain and be welcomed back into the work force.

We all have these times in our lives where something happens or the absence of something is our Friday-Sunday. Don’t dismiss the importance of your Saturday because Silent Saturday makes us even more excited for Resurrection Sunday.

What are you third day stories? Did your Sunday come quick or will it be a long hard battle to see your Sunday?

Comment below if you would like to share your third day stories with me.


Haunting Images of Recently Departed

I’ve been working at the hospital as an intern for 6 weeks now and there are some faces that I cannot seem to get out of my head.

There are patients I visit that stay with me for weeks on end. I remember the face of the woman that was run over by a car, I remember her family and the conversation and the prayers we shared. I remember the face of the man who died in hospice and the love family that filled the room and the words and prayers we shared. I remember the face of the woman who had last rights.

I remember the face of man who died this week and the family that was with him. Their faces, their stories stay with me.

There are times where I wish I could get their faces out of my head. Times when the residents at the hospital say that the families they are there for remember their faces but they forget them. I’m not sure how they do that.

Even if my conversation was brief and the person lived I still remember them. It has to be the mind that God gave me. It must be the compassion that lives inside of me.

Almost everyone in my group is certain that is is the kind of work that they want to continue to do. It’s not mine. I can be there for these people, in their moments of deep pain and anguish or in times of crisis but I cannot stay with them for long.

The entire time I sit with families or talk with patients I am trying to escape, trying to leave,  trying to finish the job so that I can go back where I feel safe.

It’s hard to tell people how I am doing because most of the time I am separate from it unless it comes along and slaps me in the face.

I feel broken and bruised and I’m not. My schedule is brutal. Today was my first day off in a while. A day where I didn’t have to go anywhere. A day when the world wasn’t pressing down on me and no one was demanding anything from me. I felt free today. I felt like I got my feet under me and now that I have had this day I can go on, I can gather the strength and courage to go on.

This schedule is brutal but sometimes I am thankful for it. I don’t have time to sit and ponder the things I have done. I don’t have time to ponder the things I haven’t done.

But today I noticed that I’m not taking very good care of myself. I’m not paying attention to how I’m feeling. I’m not paying attention to my emotional health. I’m just going, going, going.

I’m letting the visuals of the people I meet in their most trying times, take over my life away from the hospital. I’m letting them into my life, into my down times and if I’m going to survive this internship with 2 months left to go I better get it together.

I’m just wondering how I can care for myself better. I know I’m not taking care of myself because I’m neglecting everything. I haven’t knitted in weeks. I love to knit, I used to do it weekly with my gals and now I don’t even manage it once a month.

If I’m going to make it I’ve got to find a way to take care of myself and in these times of going, going, going; how I take care of myself may not look like it has in the past.


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