Tuesday, August 18, 2009

resting, mourning, weeping

Yesterday evening was nothing short of interesting.

What I thought was going to be lovely evening in, turned out to be 6hrs in emerge (no worries, nothing is horribly wrong, I just hadn't been feeling so hot lately, lightheaded and faint whenever I attempted to walk long distances and wanted to get it checked out to put my mind at ease)

I felt as though each step last night was a hurdle.

I knew I needed to get this checked out, but where? I am not even in my home province, so would I even be covered?

And how would I muster up the strength to walk to the metro to get to where I needed to be?

So I did some research, thought about it, prayed about it and decided it was probably best to go and get it checked out.

My one friend was so sweet and drove me up to the ER.

As I sat there waiting to see the triage nurse, scads of people kept coming in.

One lady who refused to wait in line and demanded to be seen by a doctor (definitely kept security busy), people lying in stretchers in the waiting room because there were not enough rooms...etc.

All the while my head was pounding so many thoughts and emotions came rushing in.

I sat there feeling an overwhelming sense of compassion for the guy who couldn't stop getting sick to his stomach or the girl sitting next to me who had a rash of somesort and looked really upset, and of course the man who came in having difficulty breathing.

It hurt me so much to see people in pain, I wanted to comfort them somehow, I thought, if only I was a doctor, I would hop out of my chair and put my 10 odd years of school to use.

I know it may not seem like a big deal, but I grew up in a home where one is not allowed to rest, it is attributed with laziness and one is not allowed to be in pain because it correlates with weakness. And one is not allowed to show any kind of sad emotion, because there is always more to do in life, so we must toughen up and deal.

I have carried this mentality my whole life. I always feared days that I would be sick as I would be pushed to keep going or when I just felt the need to sob, because even though I was told these things were ok, one's actions speak louder than words.

I am slowly learning that these things are ok. I am learning that Jesus mourned with those who mourned and wept with those who wept. I am grateful that my God is a God of compassion and I pray that I would come to accept that resting, mourning and weeping are all good things from God because I am so not there yet.

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