Yesterday was my 33rd birthday. I woke up early in the morning
feeling empowered and filled with great expectation, ready to welcome in a new
year with all of the adventures it will bring. I felt hopeful, joyful, and in a
mood of celebration. Until I saw the
news headlines, that is…
I was jolted out of my elated mood when I read the breaking news about the tragedy in Las Vegas. A feeling of sickness washed over me as I learned of the early details that surrounded the largest mass shooting in modern U.S. history. How could I possibly celebrate this day, when it will forever go down in history as the worst day of so many people's lives?
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Two months ago, I had a very special little patient who I'd gotten to know over the many weeks he was in the hospital. This little guy was extra special to me because he was exactly one week older than my own toddler. I bonded with his mother over laughter about life with a two year old, and I constantly tried to wrap my mind around what it would be like if I were the one whose child was critically ill; it was all too close to home. We talked Paw Patrol, and when I would leave his room, he sometimes would say, "No, don't goooooo!" He reminded me of my own toddler's pleas at bedtime each night, when she would say, "No, don't go Momma! Look, I made a spot for you... " [patting the pillow next to her].
It was the week of this little boy's birthday - the week before my own toddler's - and I was in birthday party planning mode. Then, suddenly things took a turn for the worse medically, and this sweet little boy passed away...the day before his third birthday.
I completely checked out from the world that weekend. I couldn't bear to imagine the pain this mother and family were feeling. Paralyzed by grief, I couldn't bring myself to even think about my daughter's upcoming birthday. How could I plan her third birthday party, when this mother was planning a funeral for her three year old?
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Only a few weeks later, I went into work one morning to learn that another of my sweet patients had passed away suddenly overnight. As I stood in the ICU that morning with tears stinging my eyes, hugging her sobbing mother, the whole world stood still. This mother, who had so faithfully been by her baby's bedside day in and day out, was now going home without her.
And yet, even as my mind was still in that place of grief for this family, my day had to move forward. There was more work to do, more patients to take care of. Even though time stood still, the world kept moving on and I had to keep up.
The same day that had begun in brokenness for one family ended in celebration for another. Another little girl who had been hospitalized for many months was finally being discharged home after a successful course of therapy. Her family also shed many tears, but these were tears of relief, thankfulness, and sheer joy as their daughter had been healed on this side of Heaven. They were taking her home with anticipation of a lifetime of memories to be made with her.
It was a surreal feeling to be singing, clapping, and celebrating this joyful occasion, for one patient when only a few doors down, there was another patient's room that sat empty, void of the life that had recently filled it.
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In each of these situations, my heart struggled to reconcile the battle between joy and grief. It seemed almost wrong to celebrate these rightfully joyous occasions when there was so much sadness and tragedy surrounding another. It almost felt selfish to allow any feelings of happiness to rise up. It felt like betrayal to those who suffered greatly. The contradiction between the simultaneous circumstances played tug of war with my heart and my mind.
Too often, my natural reactions to circumstances around me are like that of a boat, rocked by the waves one moment, and sailing smooth the next...depending on the wind and the water. But, as I've continued to dig deeper, I've begun to experience that true peace is not based on circumstance. Peace is a person; Jesus. Despite the circumstances of this world, God's character never changes. "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the father of the Heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." -James 1:17 He is always good, always faithful, always true. In His love he created us, in His love he sustains us, and in His love he comforts us. He has made a way for us to be forgiven through his son Jesus and spend eternity in His presence. If I can keep my eyes on Him and not on the waves below or the wind around me, I can remain in that place of stillness, even if the storm is swirling all around.
So, when I come to the realization that I don't have to choose between joy OR sadness, celebration OR grief-- but rather, I can "rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn" [Romans 12:15] simultaneously, it's a total game changer for me.
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Now when I overhear colleagues saying things like, "It really makes me just not want to go anywhere these days, after what happened in Vegas. This world is getting scarier every day..." I will choose to rise above and hold a higher perspective. While I will grieve the tragic loss of so many lives, I will not shrink back in fear. In fact, I will simultaneously live my life even more intentionally, focusing on what matters most. I will plan that trip I've been wanting to take and make that leap of faith to pursue the opportunity that's been whispering my name. I will make the most of each day and stand against fear of the future.
And when I finally pulled out of my paralyzing grief over the loss of my 3 year old patient, I determined that the best way to honor his life was to celebrate the life of my own daughter on her 3rd birthday and not take for granted the time I had with her. So, I planned a last minute Birthday Parade for my daughter, where every party guest was part of the entourage; with balloons and streamers adorning wagons, strollers, and bi/tri-cycles, 30 people paraded to the snow-cone stand from our front yard and back again. We stopped traffic as we corralled our Parade of Life through our neighborhood. And the funny thing? Not one driver honked in frustration or rolled their eyes as they slowed to a halt for the extra slow toddler crossing; every one of them had a smile on their face. For a moment, their world was a better place.
For my patients' families who grieve their lost little ones, I decided to send them an old fashioned card in the mail, a few weeks after their child's passing. It's only a small gesture and one that may not even make a ripple in their ocean of grief, but I want to let them know that even as the world of healthcare has moved on, their child is not forgotten --- and that their life has changed the world...for sure, they've changed mine. And for those who celebrate a home-going from the hospital, I will celebrate all the more. For these are the ones who have been given another chance at this life, and they will live it out as overcomers. These kids will also change the world with their story.
Friends, we can choose to be tossed by the constant waves and the wind of this world, or we can rise above find the calm in the storm, even when it feels impossible. I pray that you also may land in a place of deeper Peace, knowing that you don't have to choose between joy OR sadness. Give yourself permission to grieve and to rejoice in each situation, but don't let yourself be redefined with every passing circumstance.
"I have told you these things so in me, you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble; but take heart! I have overcome the world." -John 16:33
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| Photo by Leigh Peek: Santorini, Greece, 2011 |
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