my worst self

Yesterday started out good. Met with church friends in one of my favorite cafes. Shared about encounters and promptings with God this past week. I biked home, grabbed groceries, blessed by the warmth and sun.

Shortly after walking in the door, glancing through my email, my heart sinks, another email from the nursing council. It's happened at so many different times. I send something, they send something back. No matter my current state when I receive it, whether good, bad, strong or ugly day, my mood instantly drops, pretty low.

No, there isn't a final decision, but a date with the committee to make their final decision. I felt/feel so discouraged.

I hate it. I can rationalize in my head, understand the perspective of the council, remind myself the difficulty international nurses experience fighting for a US license, but in those first moments, none of this helps. I read through their concerns, feeling attacked in every way. My emotions multiply, wanting to scream "It's not fair!" and cry and be critical. My head and heart find my worst self. Questioning the hard work I spent to become a nurse, desperately misunderstood, nothing feels enough. I find in the moment completely controlled by the circumstance.

Stop, Emilie, just stop.

Lift your voice and worship. Find your strength in the shadow of my wings. Call upon my name. Keep your eyes above the waves. Your soul rests in my embrace. For I am yours, you are mine.

And I respond, reminded of this song my friend shared with me last week, I cry out to a God that hears and knows me.

So we wait, a few more weeks, maybe I'll be a NZ nurse and maybe I won't. But my God hasn't changed, I'm less concerned about what this means for my calling. The only thing that counts is that He and I continue to walk through whatever comes next.

(excerpts from Your Love Oh Lord by Third Day & Oceans by Hillsong)

together

This morning was spent with good friends. Hard questions and conversation. It's cloudy and gray outside, almost reflecting our feelings. Hurt and grief, waiting and unknown, wrestling with what has happened or is happening. We spent our time together trying to describe and understand. I'm glad for moments like these where we can share, not that it immediately makes everything better, but at least we are together.

As we asked each other, "What do you need right now? How can we be there for you?" I liked how my friend responded something like this, "People ask me how I'm doing today. I'm not sure I know in this moment. I know this season is hard. I think in a year I'll look back and know how I was feeling. Maybe ask me how I was yesterday. "

Time. Healing takes time. Joy and pain coexist. It's important to experience it, to not hide from hardship. That in itself doesn't necessarily make it easier. It's still hard. I've spent the rest of my morning thinking about my friends and our conversation. I certainly do not have immediate answers. Only promises.

To my two friends, I promise to be there for you, to ask you what you need. When you need to talk, I will listen.  When you need silence, I will be quiet. When you need to talk but don't know what to talk about, I will ask questions. When you need distractions, we will get ice cream or watch movies and crochet or take a walk. When you need hope, I will encourage. I promise to pray for you. I am praying for strength to face this season. For comfort and peace when it doesn't make sense. For hope and healing in the midst of hurting. I love you when life is good and hard. If you let me, I will be there for you. If you don't let me, I'll probably keep calling and texting, knocking on your door. Trying to love you with food. Hope that's okay. Love you, friends.

"I remember that the answers aren't necessarily as important as the questions and the company, and that if we do find answers, we'll find them together." (Shauna Niequist from her book Bittersweet)