A letter to myself

Dear Jeremy,

It has probably been 5 or 6 years since you wrote this.  You're probably in the middle of a rough internship.  You haven't had a chance to update this blog for quite some time.  Your closest friends are your fellow interns you round with every morning.  Who knows when the last time you had the opportunity to go to church and when you did you fell asleep in the middle of it from exhaustion.  You're probably asking yourself "why did I ever choose this profession?" or saying "I never expected it to be this way."

I want to remind you of some things you said to yourself the night Springfest 2008 was canceled.  You said you had to go to bed, but then the wheels of inspiration started.  So I want to ask yourself some questions.  Remember back in the day when you were that immature 1st year medical student?  What has changed?

Do you still wake up in the morning and ask yourself "If today were the last day of my life would I do what I'm about to do today?"  How many times has the answer been "yes"?  What do you need to change to make it "yes"?

Do you still challenge yourself?  "Hey, listen up!  This is what matters most:  You're forgiven! You have hope! Your hope is based on the sacrifice of Jesus.  So let's not view this day any other way.  Let today be governed by this one defining truth."

Does this truth govern you when your senior resident is yelling at you?  Does it still govern you when you can't answer that question your attending asked you on rounds?

What did God tell you in His word today?  What does that look like today?  When your pager goes off as you're just about to fall asleep does His word still govern your response?

Have you gotten beyond the cross?  When was the last time you stood next to it, clung to it, promised you would never let it leave your side?  You've been here so many times before, you've stayed here for months and years at a time.  Jeremy, are you still at the top of Calvary with your eyes fixed on the cross?  If not, please come back.

Remember New Years 2008?  Remember when you took a walk through the crowds by yourself, made some decisions and sealed them in the heart of God?  You wanted to encourage others more.  Remember how it was so hard for the first few weeks and months after that decision?  Is it still hard?  Are you still trying?  Who did you encourage today?

Who did you pray with today?  Patients?  Remember when you prayed with Bob that lonely Monday evening in the hospital?  You had no idea what to say but God gave the words.  Do you love your patients with ways more than medicine?  Or are you too concerned with your own pursuits and getting enough sleep to show the love God so graciously showed to such a corrupted person as you?

I want to remind you of some reasons you chose to do this for the rest of your life.  You knew that a 9-5 job sitting in front of a computer would make you self-centered, materialistic, half-hearted 'Christian.'  

You knew that for you life to count, you would have to try to do something difficult and challenging because using your mind to the best of its abilities would glorify the God who meticulously arranges the nervous system.

You knew from experience that the times you were closest to the cross were when you felt the weight of so many hearts and lives on your shoulders.  

You knew that, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies it bears much fruit."  - Jesus.  Remember, martyrs are not made, they are revealed.

As I close maybe you're dealing with a situation that is totally out of your control.  You wanted to take charge but you failed again and again or you weren't allowed.  Maybe your patient keeps spiraling downward even though you're throwing everything at him?  Maybe those family members don't like you?  You're disappointed.  But God is in control.

Sometimes you have to keep trying.  Keep throwing everything you have at your patient and pray.

Sometimes you have to let go.  Yes, when your patient dies on the OR table,  in the trauma room, in the ICU, or in their comfortable bed at home it's over...they're never coming back in this life.  It's a good thing to remember and learn from, but it's over, there's nothing else you can do.

Other times when you have no idea what to do, you cling to that cross even harder.  He is there, even in the midst of uncertainty.  He made the world, he holds every atom in the place he ordains, he can place the universe easily into the palm of His hand.  And he still loves you.  Yes Jeremy, the creator of the universe in whose eyes you're are smaller than a speck of dusk, loves you.

Jeremy whatever you do never never stop showing love.  You have an infinite source of it from your Savior.  Give it all away, don't hold back some for yourself, it's not yours to hold on to.  I hope Jesus has grown your heart significantly in the past few years.  Don't be afraid to clip off pieces of it and give them away.  There's plenty more of God's heart at the cross for you.  He gave His heart freely so follow His example.

There are so many things I want to see in your life, but most of all I want to see that you've grown in your love for God.  The tangible way you can measure that is by seeing how you love others.  Go do it.

It's getting late and you probably need to get some sleep also.  May God bless you and keep you and make His face shine upon you and give you peace...the perfect peace of a life hidden in Christ.

By Grace,

Jeremy

Silence

It has happened to me more times than is worth remembering.  A sea of people clad in blue and green and white surrounding a stretcher.  Often some shouting and running around the room is involved.  There are all these machines up at the head of the stretcher.  They're flashing red and yellow and making all kinds of strange loud noises. There's someone who looks like they're jumping up and down on top of the person on the stretcher--sometimes I'm that person.  Everyone and everything is making noise--it's so loud.  A machine gets wheeled into the room, the jumping stops and a black and white image appears on the machine.  Someone says "I see no movement."  There's agreement among the sea of people.  Sometimes the jumping starts again for a while before it stops and they look at the screen again.  "No movement."  "Ok, any objections?"  "What's the time?"

Someone just died.

Suddenly the squawking ventilators and monitors are turned off.  The hissing of the suction and the oxygen cease.  The crowd of doctors, nurses, and technicians leave the room quietly.

And I'm left with another nurse, a white shroud, a closed door, and....silence.

But there is always one particular verse that has come to mind during those times.  Those times when I just want to do my job, wrap up the deceased, clean up the room, and move on to the next patient.

It's the same verse that came to Sydney Carton as he walked about the streets of Paris the night before he was to take Charles Darnay's place under the guillotine.

It's the same verse that came to me as I was moved to speak the gospel to an old and dying man not long ago.

I am thankful that I don't just hear this verse at funerals or when I get to the chapter in my Bible reading.  When all the sights and sounds fade away and all I'm left with is a dead body, a shroud, and someone to help, I'm often at a loss for words to say.  It seems that my theology goes down the drain while I ask "why?"  It's in the silence when the mind is grappling with reality that Jesus speaks the last word.

Jesus said..."I am the resurrection and the life.  He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.  And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.  Do you believe this?"

What is He saying to you in the silence?