When you see me rushing off the unit in the evening, it may look like I’m running away from you … and maybe I am. In a way. At least a tiny bit.
I go home and collapse. I push it all away. I have to. It’s really not you … it’s more a cumulative thing.
Today has just been too much. They all are, really. No matter how well the days unfold, by the end of that long shift, it’s all just too much. Believe me.
I stop. Everything. It just all has to stop. I sit. I stare. For now, I just am.
My mind wanders. I let it go where it chooses. Finally … it can do what it wants. No more prioritizing. No more critical decision-making. No more multi-tasking. Not another interruption. Not tonight. My thoughts just travel everywhere and nowhere.
But somehow they find their way back to you.
I can’t help it. I think about you. I do. Your families, as well. I remember our conversations, little things you’ve allowed me to learn about you during our time together. No matter how long ago it was, you still come back to me from time to time. Really.
You’re beautiful … do you know that? Every, single one of you are beautiful to me.
Your stories … they’ve touched me. How could they not? I see your struggles. I’ve watched how they affect you. I’ve seen your hope. I’ve felt your fear, witnessed your disappointments. And I’ve seen your families as they try to bear the weight of it all. I’ve admired their devotion to you – the way they protect you.
I’ve also noticed when there’s no one there for you at all. I feel your lonely discouragement. I see you pretend like it doesn’t matter. I know it does. It always matters. As hard as we try to hide it … it just does.
Through it all, I could just give you medicine. I could just monitor your blood pressure, read your EKG’s, coordinate your complicated care, and confer with your doctors. I could just teach you, make sure you eat, and even cover your backside as I walk you to the bathroom. All of those things would be enough.
Doing just this, I could go home at night satisfied that I had done the job I was trained to do.
But you make it more than that for me.
You let me in. You open yourself up, and allow me to know you. This changes everything for me. Everything.
Instead of desperately trying to block out the stress of the day, I can sit here tonight remembering beautiful you, instead. Thank you for that. Because this, my friends, is what keeps me wanting to come back.
In His mercy, God provides this for me. He refreshes me with thoughts of you. I just want you to know that. I hope you’re doing well now, and I pray you know just how incredibly beautiful you are.
Thanks for growing with me. ❤
“Through the Lord’s mercies, we are not consumed, because His mercies fail not. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:21-23)