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

unspoken

dear rory,

I was in the middle of writing an entirely different letter to you, when I made the mistake of looking out my window… so now you get this long, rather pointless story instead. aren't you glad I have a short attention span?

***

so there’s this neighbor of ours.

she hasn’t aged in twelve years.

she has silvery hair that falls an inch beneath her chin, her shoulders are slightly hunched, she walks in quick, short steps (yet somehow manages to move slowly), and her eyes... well… they’re distant.

I’ve only seen her a handful of times during our long encampment here in this neighborhood, but at the moment she is standing on my driveway.

I don’t even know her name.

the first time I saw her, she was watching as her son joined me on my mad-dash-bicycle race up and down and around and around the cul-de-sac. I was the fastest of the fast (not to mention the humblest of the humble)- especially when my arch-rival neighbor/best friend, Danny, wasn’t there.

but one day, with his mother watching from the corner, this new kid joined me. Chris. that was his name. and he was faster than any biker I'd ever seen.

Danny and I were typical kids. we both worshipped AND hated anyone faster or bigger or stronger than us. we thought they were cool, but they were also a threat if you know what I mean. we used to just sit out in Danny’s front yard with our bare feet stretched into the grass, licking our dripping popsicles, staring Chris down as he rode his bike in huge circles. if he looked our way, my conflicting jealousy and admiration would melt into a smile- there was something I didn’t understand about him and it made me curious. but Danny would make a face and confidently boast his own speed to me. after all, this was OUR cul-de-sac. not to mention that looking back, I’m pretty sure he considered me HIS girlfriend (even though I considered him just a dorky neighbor boy)… and he was just as jealous as any seven-year-old boy could be for his eight-year-old girlfriend.

In consequence, I don’t remember Danny ever riding bikes with Chris. but sometimes, I would overcome my shyness and join him.

I honestly don’t know how I learned his name. I can’t remember him speaking one word to me. ever. usually, I would spot him through my front window, rush out to the garage, and then casually sit on my bike at the end of the driveway studying my nails till he slowed up before me.

acting like I hadn’t even noticed him before, I would suddenly glance up and give him my cheesiest gap-toothed smile. he would smile back in his quiet way. he was tall and skinny. his eyes were almost as pale as his skin. his hair was the definition of sandy blonde… sometimes it looked so sandy, I wondered if he were a merman with real ocean sand mixed in with his hair. he was quite a few inches taller and several years older than me, but he needed a friend. a quiet friend.

I am not quiet. but around him, I somehow managed to be. in fact, I never spoke a word to him either. there was no need to. we were both kids riding bikes in circles… what could we possibly have to say about that? and besides, we were friends, and we both knew it, so we were both happy.

when we got too tired to continue, I never invited him over for ice-cream, and he never asked. his house was not actually in the cul-de-sac, but around the corner. I can still see him looking over his shoulder and giving a final faint smile, and on rare occasions a wave, as I stared my goodbye.

this mutually quiet friendship continued a few summers. sometimes the gaps between his cul-de-sac rounds were so long that Danny and I would forget he existed. and as for his mom- well, I'm pretty sure I only saw her that first day he joined me. but whenever Chris finally did show up, Danny and I would exchange glances, continue our game of basketball or superheroes, and steal looks his way whenever we could. he would smile, but say nothing. his pale eyes would look at me curiously and I felt sorry for him, but never once did that sorry-ness I felt prompt me to go speak to him. it wasn't something that even crossed my relatively friendly mind, because it wasn't something that was supposed to be done. not to Chris. I couldn't and wouldn't force him to speak.

he was a forgettable person. and one summer, I realized I hadn’t seen him in years. I doubt Danny even remembered his existence, and I probably wouldn’t have either if I hadn’t seen his mom out walking.

it was strange to see her out in the fresh air. but what was weirder was that she was parading an empty baby stroller around.

being the polite thirteen-year-old that I was, I stopped on the sidewalk and open-mouth stared. she hadn’t seen me yet, so I jumped into our pine tree and watched. she strolled along in her old-looking clothes. if she had been closer, I would feel justified in saying that she smelled like moth-balls. but that was probably my imagination. she stopped at every driveway and bent down. apparently the front page of each of our newspapers was highly fascinating to her. she continued her loop and walked back around the corner.

a few days later she showed up with her empty baby stroller at my neighbor’s garage sale. she brought a few things over and wondered if she could sell them. my neighbor said that would be fine. I don’t remember her coming back for the money she made.

at that time I wondered about Chris. what had happened to him? I didn’t know. if I could’ve, I would’ve asked that odd woman I assumed (but with my strong imagination, I sometimes romantically made up past histories for Chris and doubted) to be his mother, but she disappeared from our lives again, and so they both disappeared from my mind.

then, about two years ago, I had the weirdest dream: I was at camp playing on a playground. I was with a bunch of my friends and they were talking in dream language (you know what I mean... that babbling background noise that doesn't make an ounce of sense). I was in the middle of laughing when I saw him. he looked much older, and at first I didn’t recognize him. but he had the same sandy hair and pale colorless eyes, and he gave me the same faint smile and slowly walked over to me. just as always, I didn’t say anything. he stopped in front of me and held out his hands sort of helplessly.

then he spoke.

“will you do me a favor?” it was the first thing he had ever said to me. his voice was pale and forgettable like the rest of him.

“yes,” my dream self answered.

“will you please pray for me? every night?”

“yes,” I answered again. and in my dream he looked relieved, almost happy even.

“promise me,” he said suddenly desperate again.

“I promise.”

then the dream faded and he looked over his shoulder. I stared goodbye. as always.

when I woke up, I was shaken. I took a walk around the block that day and went slow-motion past Chris’s house. the windows were dark. I stopped on the driveway and looked at the garage wondering if there was a small bike inside and what had happened to it’s owner.

I still slow down when I walk past that house. where is my silent friend now? I haven’t forgotten the promise I made him in my dream. and though I don't pray for him every night, I pray for him whenever I can.

maybe I’m crazy for praying for someone I spoke to for the first time in a dream, but I figure praying for him can’t hurt him. even if I am being silly.

***
mom is inside now.

“what did she want?” I ask. our neighbor had been standing on the drive-way holding a huge window-screen for quite some time. I wonder if it was necessary to carry the whole screen over? or was it like the empty baby stroller... just something to make her feel less lonely?

before mom answers, I alter my question entirely; “wait, does she have a name?”

“yes she has a name,” mom laughs. but I can tell she’s already struggling to remember it. “her name is… Judy…” there's a question in mom's voice as if she's not quite sure, but she continues; “she wanted to ask dad a question about her window…”

“did she say anything about Chris?”

“yes, she did.” I think mom is surprised I remember him. “she said he’s at some technical institute or something studying engineering… or… I’m not sure what. I get the feeling he’s a genius though.”

“I would believe it,” I mumble to myself. “mom? do you think… do you think she’s all right?”

“all right?”

“yeah, like, mentally?”

“yes,” mom says, “but no!” she adds quickly. “I think something is missing...”

***
someday, if I ever see Chris again, I want to walk right up to him and break our silent spell. I wonder what he would say if he knew I’ve been praying for him all this time? if he knew that I try to keep an eye out for his mom? would he stay silent and thank me with his eyes?

then again, maybe I won’t say anything at all... maybe he just needed a quiet praying friend.

maybe some things are better left unspoken.

your friend,
muffin

superheroes

dear rory,

sometimes, me and a couple Mexicans team up to save the world.

working at a BBQ smokehouse restaurant… it means I show up, tie my hair in a knot, don an apron, shove my disobedient bangs into my viser, clock-in, and slap on a smile.

actually, most of the time, the smile just appears naturally. no slap needed. sometimes I wish it would disappear. it’s not recommended that us employees laugh at customers. but sometimes I can’t help it.

like the time an older gentleman slowly inched his car up to the drive thru, rolled down his window and said with a crinkly-eyed smile on his Santa Claus face, “well, hello there miss smiley! and what grade are you in?”
or the time I had a man in a purple jumpsuit struggle his way back up to the counter and stand before me mid-fake-coughing fit.

yes, it was fake. I could tell.

he stood there gasping and hacking and turning red from his efforts at pretend coughing. so I stood there and politely watched him choke. finally he pulled out some money and shoved it in my hand. “that… *fake cough*… BBQ sauce you gave me… *fake cough. cough.*… it was hot!!!” I asked him which sauce he had ordered. he paused and thought. “well… uh… hot.”

he forgot to cough.

“oh, I’m sorry, sir,” I said with the money still lying there limply in my hand. mentally I added, “how could I forget to warn you that the hot sauce was hot?”

now that his fake cough was momentarily healed and I could hear his voice, I noticed that it matched his purple jumpsuit… strange. “it’s all right. it’s all right,” he said with a purple jumpsuit smile, “but I heard that dairy is good for a cough… *relapses into pretend coughing again*… so I’d like to order a brownie.”

brownie delivered and eaten in front of me. purple jumpsuit man miraculously healed of his cough. Dr. Renee had done it again.

***

but not everyone who comes into the restaurant lights up my day just because they are weird.

as strange as this sounds, I am coming to a conclusion in life: I think angels appear to humans as BBQ-eating, older, black gentlemen.
you heard me right.

no, I am not crazy. (hey, they haven’t proven it yet anyways…)

a few weeks ago, I was feeling impatient. about everything. I was feeling like I’m at a standstill in life. I don’t know about college, I don’t know about work, I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, I don’t know anything. I’m just an eighteen-year-old girl with big dreams (that sounds so Disney. yuck.) in a big world with lots of big people doing big things about their big ideas and yeah. too many big thoughts for one little person like me.

because there I was. stuck at work. sweaty. not having a particularly sparkling sort of day. I was feeling impatient because I want certain things to happen in my life, but I don’t know when they will or how they will.

basically, if we had scrubbed the makeup off my pretend mood that day, you would have seen a big ugly “I WANT WHAT I WANT NOW” pimple glaring angry red at you.

but with my mask on, I trudged out into the dining room to see if anyone needed anything. and that’s when I saw my angel.

he was sitting alone at a booth looking out the window.

“Sir,” I said like the meek little person I was pretending to be, “Can I clear your dishes for you?”

he turned and looked at me with his grave, old eyes and replied with a “thank you, yes”.

“how was everything tonight?” I asked.

as I spoke, it was as if I had dropped a light into the deep wells of his midnight eyes… I watched them sparkle brighter as my lantern of words fell from my mouth.

“young lady,” he said smiling, “have you ever seen a plate licked so clean?” I watched his face and forgot to look at the plate BEFORE I shook my head in agreement. I couldn’t look away from him. he was so interesting. the corners of his mouth turned up and created a sprinkling of wrinkles on weathered face. “I bet it’s nice working around all this delicious food,” he continued.

I mentally shook my brain awake and managed to say, “yes, but unfortunately I can’t eat as I work… so it’s sort of torturous.”

“well,” and he grabbed his hat as he spoke, “you know what they say…”

no, I didn’t know what they said. who are “they” and what do they “say” I wanted to know!? I was afraid he wouldn’t finish. he stood up slowly. I continued to stare.

“… they say that the good things in life are worth waiting for.”

and with that he left me standing there lost in thought. I had needed to hear that. to be reminded that waiting isn’t a bad thing. especially when I’m waiting on God. who is the author of good things.

when I looked up again, he was at the door. he walked out. I haven’t seen him since. kind of strange considering it was plate-licking good food…

***
but I guess I should explain now how me and my fellow Mexican co-workers save the world.

last week, I was working front cash-register. it was around three in the afternoon and the restaurant was dead. not a sign of intelligent life anywhere. because, of course, me and Reyes were not being very intelligent as we waited for the dinner rush to arrive. he’s shorter than me (as most Mexicans and, in fact, as most of the human race, are) and so we were goofing off by walking around the restaurant like midgets and giants. for once, I let him be the giant, and I got to be the midget. he likes it when I’m the midget. he stands on his tip-toes and towers over me and bosses me around.

it’s silly, but whatever.

as we were goofing off, a family walked into the restaurant. a husband and wife, their two kids, and a very old looking couple… probably the grandparents or great-grandparents. I stood up straight and walked casually back to the register awaiting their orders.

they took a long time looking at the menu. longer than usual. so I silently played a game called, “evaluate these total strangers as fast as I can”. my first evaluation led to several beliefs: one, they did not eat out very often. two, they weren’t very well-off. three, they were stressed. and four, the little four-year-old girl with big glasses and her five-year-old brother were the cutest little kids I had seen in a long time.

finally, they ordered. I rang up their bill. it was high. the grandparents didn’t offer to pay. they stood there stonily.

the mom reached into her purse, pulled out a card, and handed it to me. “we’ll put $25 on here and use another card for the rest.” I smiled at her tired face and nodded.

the card was declined. she looked flustered and her husband looked concerned as he took the card back from me. “here, just use this one,” she said shoving another card into my hands. the grandparents looked gloomily on. but the kids were smiling as they waited for their food. this card worked and I handed it back to the lady and tried to catch her eye as I handed her the receipt. she was too busy listening to her husband talk about the declined card.

Reyes and I got the food ready, and then he went in the back. I stayed up front and pretended to clean already clean counters as I watched this family.

after a bit, I worked up the courage to stroll out there. “how was everything today?” my voice automatically said. they all agreed it had been very good, and a bunch of empty plates blinked their assent back at me.

“look, I ate all of my food!!!!” the little girl said to me. her big eyes watched me through her strong lenses. There wasn’t a scrap of food left on her plate. the boy called my attention to his empty plate too and I saw the mom smile at her kids. I could tell this had been a special treat to them. all of them.

“I’ll be right back to clear your plates,” I said more to myself than to them as I walked away. my heart was racing and I marched straight into the office where Reyes was spinning in his chair talking to one of the dish washing guys.

“Reyes, I need a cookie.” I said it before I had even thought about it.

“a cookie, honey?”

“Yeah, one of those really big ones. I saw them in the fridge. I’ll pay for it later.”

“why do you need a cookie?”

“for those little kids,” and I gushed as much of the story to him as I could in five seconds.

“all right,” he said. he was smiling. he was curious. he probably thought I was crazy. but he was interested. and behind his smile, there was a question.

I walked back out to the table. the stony grandparents. the bubbling kids. the worn parents. I smiled at them all. bending down closer to the mom, I asked, “do you mind if I bring out a cookie for the kids to share? the cookies are really big, and I thought they might enjoy sharing one.”

she looked surprised. then her surprise metamorphosed into a grin. when she smiled like that, she lost about ten years. “what is it?” the husband asked.

“she wants to bring the kids a cookie.”

“a cookie!!!!?” the two little ones cried. “can we mom?” she laughed and said that would be fine.

so I floated back to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest cookie I could find and carried it back out to the kids as if it had been the Superbowl trophy. they all thanked me again and again. the kids. the parents. even the grandparents.

I felt a little silly again as I walked away. what was a cookie?

but it struck me.

a cookie is a smile. and that family was in need of a smile.

as I got ready to leave work, I called Reyes over. “I still need to pay for that cookie,” I explained. he smiled again with that question behind it.

“They needed that cookie.”

he gave me the total. I think he charged less than he should have. but as I dug around in my wallet, I couldn’t find any dollar bills. “I think I’m going to have to use my card.”

just then, one of the other guys I work with walked over. he had seen me give the cookie to those kids. and he had been watching me try to find the money to pay for it. he had the same questioning smile that Reyes had. he gently pushed me away from the register and pulled out his own money. “I got it,” he said to me.

I walked out to my car that day and remembered that just because there is a lot of bad in the world, doesn’t mean that there can’t be a lot of good. and sometimes, it’s the super tiny, almost embarrassingly insignificant things that can brighten someone’s day.

I think I’ll open a cookie stand. it’ll only cost you a smile.

***

well, this letter was crazy long. congrats if you made it to the end.

until next time,

muffin