Waves are only Waves

Peace be still
Say the word and I will
Set my feet upon the sea, till I'm dancing in the deep

Peace be still
You are here so it is well
Even when my eyes can't see, I will trust the voice that speaks

This anthem was sung out over me at church this morning (Peace Be Still, Lauren Daigle). Jesus showed up right where I need him, with the reminder to trust him by hold out hope and not moving my line of sight—He’s right here, with us—always.

Medical school is becoming harder and harder (which yes, I anticipated). But, every day I am expected to memorize the various nerves, tubricles, muscles, tendons, bones, and whatever else can be found within a triangular section the professor draws over a given set of body parts… death by information overload? Quite possibly.  

I had much anticipated the arrival of this weekend, and it was full of really good, life giving time with people and events. Often, however, once the things we so looked forward to end, there is a sort of letdown in the aftermath.

Yesterday was no exception for me; I was tired and overwhelmed, once the dust had settled. And this lead me to debate attending church this morning. Isn’t it interesting how the place that can ground and give us that much needed eternal perspective, grace, and joy, is often the first to get thrown aside in favor of increased time, sleep, or fill in the blank?  

I'm not gonna be afraid
'Cause these waves are only waves
I'm not gonna be afraid, I'm not gonna be afraid
I'm not gonna fear the storm
You are greater than it's roar
I'm not gonna fear the storm
I'm not gonna fear at all

Peace be still. Instead of cramming my hour-long slot of Sunday morning with more anatomical vocabulary, sleep, or catching up on chores, I was reminded of good, solid, truth. The truth that my time spent studying will be met and honored, when I give first that time to the one who created it. I can trust that the investment I make in centering my mornings around the Lord and returning to Him at the end of each will not be wasted. Just as the song says, the waves will remain waves, and the anatomy just a test. Jesus surpasses all, and He is with me in this.  

Psalm 77:16

When the waters saw you, O God,
    when the waters saw you, they were afraid;
    indeed, the deep trembled.

The Lord is more powerful than whatever you may be facing. You need only to keep your eyes on him, and He will keep you afloat in the deep.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwCSEsFN1q8

Stop for a Story

I love stories, always have. When I was young my parents would reward me with books and subsequently take them away as punishment. I think this love of story is part of my draw to medicine; my career will be centered around interactions with people. I will have to learn almost all the pertinent information needed to diagnose and treat a presenting condition, directly from the stories told by people I encounter in my exam rooms.

I have recently moved across the country, in order to attend medical school, and I now find myself in a small suburb of Chicago. In my little suburb, there are always events happening. Festivals, concerts, deals on dinner to allow you to try all the restaurants—it’s a fun place.

However, my suburb also moves at a much slower pace of life than I am used to—and I have been learning about slowing down to take it all in. So, today I decided to take my reading homework outside in the community. I eventually ventured toward the public library’s lawn, which I realized was being set up for a concert. I found my bench: in the sun, close to some people but further from the music, and slowly a crowd started to form.

Enter to the scene: Bob.

Now I am not sure how, but Bob was able to figure out by just walking by me and saying hello, that I was a medical student. My bench had remained unoccupied until this point, despite the filling crowd. No less than a minute later, however, Bob sits right next to me—separate only by the water bottle I had set down when I first arrived. I don’t think too much of it, but when I glance from my reading, I know I’m in for a story.

From my initial assessment of Bob, I notice that he is well dressed, older (60s at least), and I quickly learn he knows almost every person in the park by name. Over the next 15-20 minutes, Bob’s story is told to me in small, repetitive, snippets. I assess the repetition is most likely due to the short-term memory loss he retains as one of the only, obvious symptoms secondary to his “massive cerebral vascular accident” (stroke) which brought him to Loyola School of Medicine Emergency Department as a “code blue” (unresponsive patient), 40 years ago.

As I listen to Bob, I gain significant insight into my medical school and the people who work there from a perspective that could only come from a patient. He and his neurosurgeon who was (at the time of his emergency craniotomy) chief of neurosurgery at Loyola, have since become great friends, family even.

Bob tells me that he calls this physician, who no longer is in practice, often—just to update him about his life. He reverently refers to the physician because he feels he owes him his life. He tells me about each of the neurosurgeon’s children, and he also notes all the medical people within his own nieces and nephews. And while I am listening to these snippets of story, he intermittently stops and interjects to say hi, by name, to each of the passersby.

Can you imagine, that the book I was reading for my medical school doctoring class (Patient Centered Medicine) was discussing the inherent necessity for empathy in the medical practice? That I was reading about was discussing specifically, the need for physicians who listen and discover what kind of person has the disease, not just what kind of disease the person has? And that as I read said book, into my world walked a living, breathing example of how this could be lived out? I also was able to see how well the patient could fair after a significant operation (he showed me his scar) directly due to how he was and continues to be cared for, by his physician.

Eventually, one of Bob’s many friends joined us on the bench, and I was able to finish my reading before heading home. But I think the importance of listening to a patient and being with them through the journey of healing will always be somehow connected to Bob. I had previously observed this from the physician side during my countless hours as a scribe, but understanding the impact an invested physician had on a random patient was unique.

Overall, it makes me excited to become a practicing physician—but for now I am grateful that my education will be gained at an organization who produces physicians worthy of telling stories about to strangers in the park.

Seek Him First

Today marks the beginning of my next great adventure—medical school. Today I will be “oriented” into my home for the next four years, and I will be exposed to the place where I will spend countless hours of brain power, tears, and of course, laughter. And I cannot wait for it to begin.

I have been in Oak Park, Illinois for one week now. I have learned that people here stop to say hi and wave to just about anyone walking by them on the street, stranger or not. I have learned that there is a small subset of people in the world who refer to a drinking fountain as a “bubbler.” Why, you ask… I’m still not sure. I have learned that I can still get to the “beach” in the center of the country, and a large lake can produce some mini waves! Beyond all of these lessons, (and yes in just one week there have been SO many more) one thing has remained steadfast and true: God is here in this place with me.

I have a hard time with transition, I always have. I like to remain comfortable, in a place where I have my spaces, routes, people, etc. But, I also have this restless need to explore, venture outward, and encounter new things. This dichotomy has lead me far beyond my comfort zone and enabled me to visit three new continents, speak in front of hundreds of people, and now, move to a new state. So how am I able to justify the need for new experiences despite my innate desire to avoid change? I learned to seek that which is the most (and only) stable thing in life—my relationship with God, Jesus the Lord.

Seek Him First.

For those of you following my blog through the past years, you know I often latch on to a word or phrase that then informs many of my experiences in that particular year. "Always" was the word which originally inspired this blog (see entry one). For this year, where I find myself in yet another year of transition, I have been continually reminded of my need to hold fast to another nugget of truth about my unchanging anchor.

I found my phrase in the verses following the iconic Jeremiah passage about God having a purpose for each of our lives. It is a passage that we often see plastered to walls in the bathroom of homes across the Christian world. I personally think the second, often neglected part of this passage is much more worth the attention we provide the former!

Jeremiah 29:13-14a “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord…”

Holding tight to the permanent truth that Jesus is with me always, constant through the uncertainty is made possible when I Seek Him First. My goal for this year is to create specific spaces in my daily and weekly rhythms to prioritize relying first and foremost on my God. I can trust that by giving him the firsts of my time, he will provide time enough to accomplish the rest. I can trust that releasing to him first any fears I carry, he will meet me in the midst and help me to overcome. I can give him my anxieties, casting all my cares on the rock, for Jesus is constant when all else is changing.

So, this is my plan for the year: to Seek Him First.