can I see an I.D.?

dear rory,

who am I? and what am I doing here?

oh, I know who I have been. I have been everything that has led up to this moment in my history...

I was the firstborn. I was the big sister. I was born and raised in Small-suburb, Illinois. I grew up in a home where having an abundance of teasing and laughter was more important than being rich. at the age of five, I was already dreaming that I would become a missionary or a teacher in some far away country. I was the girl who couldn't help but laugh at the other girls and their silly crushes and pointless drama at public school. and for that reason, I was the girl who wasn't very "cool". I was the second-grader who wrote out a card for my teacher explaining how she could be saved from her sins and go to heaven. I was the third-grader who showed up to school crying so hard, my mom had to come pick me up on multiple occasions. I was the fourth grader who was thrilled to be home-schooled. and then not so thrilled when I realized my friends thought home-schoolers were weird. I was the one who wasn't excited about leaving the church I had grown up in. and then I was the one who was just as, if not more, excited than anyone. I was the girl who learned so much and made so many new friends and re-met so many old friends that I thought I would burst from happiness. I was the girl who experienced so many sparkling memories and endless adventures that I realized what a good, sheltered life God had given me. and in these last two years, I was the girl who lost a sibling, who spent many weeks sick in bed and then in the hospital, who began to doubt God's plan, who was reminded of how amazing our Creator is, who graduated after thirteen years of school, who has another sister on the way, who became closer to one best friend and fell in love with the other, who missed out on one missions trip but then experienced a different one that melted my heart.

that is my story. it's not very thrilling. but it's made me who I am.

and that reminds me...

who am I? and what am I doing here?

it's so easy to forget.

***

intimidating-looking stranger: "oh, you've graduated high-school? where are you going to college?"

me: "umm... well... umm..."

*why can't I just answer the question?*

me: "umm... well... I'm not going to college this year. I'm staying home and helping my family out and waiting on the Lord to see what he wants me to do."

intimidating-looking stranger staring as though I've just slapped them in the face: "Really?!"

me: "psshhh. no. I'm just kidding. I'm gonna get my business degree........... and then I'm actually planning on running away to join the circus and become an elephant rider. maybe if I'm lucky, I'll even meet a nice lion tamer with a mustache the size of Texas. we can get married, have fifty children, and raise them all to become acrobats. after that, we can retire and open a home for abused lemurs. and then we can spend the remainder of our lives teaching them how to make gourmet ratatouille."

***

it really doesn't matter what I make up as long as I say that I'm going to go to college. as long as I am going to college, I have an identity. and as long as I have an identity, my life is going well.

don't get me wrong. I am not against college in the slightest way. I just don't feel like God is calling me to college right now. and it is sad that so many people think that college is what ultimately defines a person.

but that reminds me... if I am not called to be at school right now...

who am I? and what am I doing here?

***

as a kid I read about missionaries with wide-eyes.

they risk their lives. they experience more wild adventures than anyone else. they live in the deepest jungles and on the remotest islands and share the Gospel. they help spiritually and physically sick people who would die otherwise. and then they come home and share all their awesome stories.

how much cooler could a person get?

I wanted to be one of them.

but as I grew, I realized that that dream was just *slightly* (okay, maybe *mostly*) self-centered. I mean, the idea of being a missionary is a wonderful, selfless thing. but I was kind of going in on it for the fame and glory and adventure side.

and about that time, I learned an important lesson: we can be missionaries right here in our own neighborhood. there are a lot of broken people all around us right now.

so..... BAM! I was gonna feed the hungry. I was gonna clothe the naked. I was gonna stop abortion. I was going to phone the President and give him a few ideas I had to help stop poverty. I was gonna adopt a million children. I was gonna give clean water to kids in Africa. I was gonna knit scarves and blankets until my fingers bled and then go downtown and use my bloody stump arms to distribute my work. I was gonna win the lottery and donate every last dime. I was gonna work in a soup kitchen. I was gonna be superwoman.

and this time, I was going to do it with selfless motives. my heart was ready. I didn't even care if people knew what I did. I just had to do it.

and I had to do it all.

and that's where all the juice in my energizer machine suddenly spluttered. how on earth was I supposed to do it ALL?

 ***
rewind two years from today.

it was dark and I watched the headlights play on the street ahead of us. your mom was driving. we had just finished watching "Slumdog Millionaire" and my heart was still hurting as I thought about what a terrible life kids have in the slums of India. it's filthy dirty. it's empty and lonely. they're sold into sex-trafficking if they're girls. they become part of Mafia-type gangs if they're boys.

quietly I said, "I wish there was some way I could help everyone at once."

your mom smiled at me through the rear-view mirror. "dear," she said, "God calls different people to help in different ways. if you get depressed over not being able to help everyone, you are going to feel as though the whole world is on your shoulders, and it's not. it's on God's shoulders. you only have to do what God is calling you to do."

"I know," I sighed. "I just feel like there are so many options. and all I know is, I don't want to just live my life for myself. I want to help others."

then your mom said something that shook me:

"be what He has called you to be TODAY, and leave the rest to Him. He knows what He is doing."

***

right now, I am looking at that conversation in my journal. as soon as I got home that night two years ago, I wrote it all down so that I would never forget her words.

but I have amnesia.

so once again, I have been asking myself...

who am I? what am I doing here?

and by "here" I mean "now".

I know what I should be doing. I know who I should be.

I am a daughter of the King and I should be striving to be more like my Father every single minute of every single day.

okay, but time out.

is it really too much to ask that I be something AWESOMELY INCREDIBLE in the world's eyes AND be more like Christ? I mean... come on.

Colossians 3:1 "If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth."

okay... well, can I at least have a detailed road-map of my entire life? that would make spending these slower, harder days of trying to be more like Christ and waiting for His direction easier.

Proverbs 3:5-6 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your path straight."

so... who am I?
Galatians 2:20 "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me."

what am I doing here?

I am learning (very slowly and painfully) to say good-bye to the old self. I am learning that who I truly am is not what I have done or wanted to become or what I still want to do. who I am isn't what the world says or doesn't say I am. my identity is in Christ alone. my calling is to be more like Him.

obviously, I still have a personality. the things I like to do and eat, and even my hopes and dreams make me unique. just like yours make you unique. as one friend put it "I am unique, just like everyone else."

and being unique is good...we're not called to be robots. but as Christians, we should be striving to be more like God. and we should find our identity in Him. because the things of this world will pass away. yes, we can enjoy them and I believe God wants us to. but ultimately, the success we have or don't have will disappear. the money we make will be spent. the degrees we earn will rot, the houses we build will fall, and the fame we gather will be forgotten.

even though it may sound childish, I want to be like Jesus.

and the last time I checked, being like Jesus was a lot harder than going to the jungle or going to college or even saving the world.

it's not something easy. it's not something that I always *like* telling other people. sometimes, I would rather have a list of accomplishments and goals and successes.

but then I ask myself...

who am I without my Savior? what would I do without Him?

and that's when I truly have an identity crisis.

love,
muffin

ps- please forgive me for rambling. and please don't think I am being preachy. I still have so much more to learn. and re-learn. and re-learn. and re-learn. and re-learn...

ER

hello, muffin.

I missed two IV starts today. they should have been fine: the first was a 36-year-old man with veins you could see from across the room. he looked me straight in the eye & gave me a big, relaxed smile when I asked to start his IV; somehow, that unnerved me more than anything. the other patient was experiencing a possible heart attack. his face was bunched up in pain as I set up my supplies. I couldn't feel his vein, but I could see it faintly traced beneath his olive skin. both times I slipped the needle in & felt my heart drop when the little red flash didn't appear. the nurse silently took over, giving no further indication of my failure. but I felt it.

in post-conference, the other students eagerly asked what I did in the ER. I gave a brief report & admitted that I missed two IVs. "Both of them?" their eyes said incredulously. but they were quick to reassure me. everyone has to learn somehow. it's okay. it's no big deal. let it roll off. 

God gives us what we need. I needed a little humbling today. 

highlight of my day: being assigned to watch a patient's 4-year-old daughter, who spoke only Spanish. but that was alright, because we both spoke the language of Peekaboo, Fishy Faces, & Listen-To-Kristen's-Heart-With-Her-Stethoscope. she was my shy little friend: no questions asked. when it was just me & her, I didn't have to worry about looking grown-up and official. [I dislike acting like more than I am, but I stubbornly insist on trying anyway. let.it.go.]

as I did my 0945 charting, it hit me like a thunderbolt. 11 September. September 11th; 9/11. today. I looked around the ER with new eyes, wondering what it would be like to see its halls transformed by chaos and unbelievable reports from the field. trauma patients pouring in through the paramedic bay, trauma alerts sounding over the intercom, each room a scene of tragedy happening in real-time. what would it be like? what was it like? 

I can't even imagine. God help the people whose memories are forever stamped with that scene. may He bring them the comfort that can only come from His presence.

can you feel that? that's your heart beating against your ribs. it's your lungs expanding in perfect harmony. 

it's a gift. 

always,

rory

the shining city

dear muffin,

I don't have much to share today. just a thought. 

I'd like to show you a city. standing at its center, you wouldn't guess it was an important place. the streets are dusty and strewn with stones easily kicked up by passing horse carts. people shuffle by with burdens on their back, multi-colored scarves wrapping their heads against the sun's heat. street vendors line the narrow market, shouting above the hubbub. dirty children dart in and out of the crowd, knocking against elbows & laughing. women draw water & carry stones & mix mortar; men straighten their backs and squint up at the sky. a wall is being built, and everyone in the city is lending a hand. it's hot & dusty & full of hard work, but I love this place. perhaps that's because I've lived here all my life.

if you rise above the city & view it from the sky, you'll be surprised to notice how sprawling it is. small buildings cover miles in every direction; miles & years. patchwork farms, wooden houses, and the occasional stone structure stretch past the horizon. the higher you rise, the less you see the dust. instead, noise & confusion dim to a distant hum, and the sun makes the city glow like a flame. it is warm, familiar, and safe, full of friends & grapes & summer nights & happy hearts. it is home.

welcome to the city: welcome to Christendom. 

Deuteronomy 6:10-12: "so it shall be, when the Lord your God brings you into the land of which He swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give you large and beautiful cities which you did not build, houses full of all good things, which you did not fill, hewn-out wells which you did not dig, vineyards and olive trees which you did not plant—when you have eaten and are full—  then beware, lest you forget the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage."

others laid the streets & planted the gardens. the wall was in place long before I was old enough to notice it. see that bookstore, lined with the wisdom of ages? inside you'll find the labor of augustine, luther, spurgeon, ten boom, lewis, rushdooney, bahnsen, macdonald. the stone steps leading to the front door are old but steady: they were tyndale's life work. there is a museum raised by churchill near an old wooden bridge carefully constructed under washington's hand. 

I live in this beautiful city which I did not build. my house, the work of others, is full of good things which I did not gather. I have eaten & am full of joy; I benefit from the protection of the city's walls. it is easy to forget my house of bondage. truth is, I can't even remember it to begin with; I was given citizenship in this city before I was old enough to know what that meant. 

but I sure am glad to live here. see that patch of packed dirt? that's my garden. don't laugh. if you look closely, you'll see a sprout. 

maybe someday it will grow to be an apple tree.

& maybe that tree will produce my great-great-granddaughter's favorite apples in the city, the city which she did not build. maybe she will munch on an apple while she tinkers with a building design. maybe her little brother will shoot the core from a catapult he built. 

yep. this city is an exciting place to be. now if you'll excuse me... my dirt-patch needs weeding. 

always,

rory