Hurricane Harvey Guilt

This may sound odd, but I've found myself dealing with a sense of guilt the past few days as I scroll through social media and see the flooding Harvey is causing. The dramatic pictures and news headlines on webpages make me sad for a moment, but it's the pictures on Facebook of friends' homes and neighborhoods destroyed that make my heart sink into my gut and stay there for a long, long while.

Photos of the home of the Millers, some family friends (the water continued to rise to the second story)

The Millers' fence

Houston is my hometown, and I feel guilty for not being there now. As humans—and especially as a nurse—when we see something dear to our hearts hurting (a person, a family, a city, or a whole area of the state), it's our instinct to want to go to them, to help, to fix. Mainly to fix. 

I don't want to watch Harvey devastate Houston anymore. I don't want to watch people hurting anymore. I want to fix it. I want to be there.

But here I am, in Waco, Texas, within driving distance of Houston, but I'm not on the road; I'm sitting at my kitchen table typing on my computer, with air conditioning and electricity, a cup of hot coffee, and definitely no flooding outside my doors.

This is where the guilt creeps in. Guilt because I am safe and sound, and so many people are not. Guilt because I am not on my way to Houston to help, and Houston needs nurses right now. I have nursing friends who have been posting about their long haul at the hospital—two days, three, maybe more, trapped at their workplace and working insanely long shifts to care for their patients.

I've thought about going to provide relief as a nurse. I've prayed about it. I've even shed a few tears about it. In my pride, I want to go: I want to be a helper and a healer and a fixer. But I cannot go, not right now. The decision to move out of the nursing world is all too fresh, and I'm still recovering from burnout. To volunteer as a nurse to help with the devastation would only serve to devastate me. 

In the short term, it seems selfish. In the long term, it seems selfless. Because Houston is not a relief project for me; it's my hometown and always will be. I will always know and love people there, and in five years from now, when the news and media have moved on, I want to be able to be there, helping with the long-term cleanup and rebuilding—the rebuilding of homes and the rebuilding of hearts and morales and shattered dreams, for these are the things that are not so easily remade. They require tenderness and patience and a long-term relationship. They cannot be mended by nailing down roofing and flooring or even by raising up a brand-new house. I want to be in this for the long haul, and in order to be whole and able to help later, I must stay off the front lines of medical relief work today.

Will I serve with other, non-medical relief efforts? Tearing up carpet in flooded homes and clearing debris and providing food to those who have been displaced? Yes, I hope so. This, I believe, is well within my capacity at the moment. Everything within my capacity I will gladly give - because my heart is for Houston.

© John Glaser

© John Glaser

My friends Alex & Christine Nuñez welcome neighborhood boys into their home

© John Glaser

I am for Houston, and I am for the hope this disaster is bringing: hope that community will be reborn. I have witnessed it before, during tragedies and storms like Hurricane Ike, when the community pulls together and neighbors finally meet after living on the same street for years. All barriers and politics disappear, and only a concern for others' wellbeing remains. This is my heart for Houston: that we will learn a lesson from Harvey, that the unity will not fade, that old biases and divisions will not be rebuilt along with old buildings and roads; that pride—just like mine today—will die away, and hope and grace will prevail; that we will see each other not as projects to be saved, but as people whom we love. This perspective has the power to change more than the gulf coast and create bigger waves than any hurricane ever could.

Dear Houston, my heart reaches out to you. I'm not within your city limits anymore, but I'm for you, and I'm rooting for the change and the hope you are showcasing for the whole world today.

With love,
A Former Houstonian

How a Crying Child Brought Me Peace about a Career Change

I recognized the look in his eyes as soon as he turned around. The little boy started crawling toward the door, and then came the furrowed eyebrows and the crying.

Each Sunday before worship service, his parents dropped little James (name changed for privacy) off in the children's wing of the church. It was only a few weeks ago I began serving in the kids' ministry—the "crawlers" room to be exact, which of course is for children who are crawling. Every week, little James begins crying as soon as he realizes his parents are gone.

On this particular Sunday morning, I was the closest one to him, so I scooped him up and consoled him until his cries became less frequent. However, little James is one of those babies you cannot put down without the crying and tears beginning all over again. He rubbed his eyes and rested his head on my chest, clearly tired and ready for his morning nap but fighting sleep with all his might. So I held him and walked around the room with him, and we spent some good quality time together.

His cries still came periodically, the distress apparent on his face before the audible cry would come. I patted him and rocked him and told him everything was going to be okay. "It's okay. I promise," I whispered into his tiny ears when he began to whimper. Voices and crying echoed from down the hall and even from within our room, but I let it fade and simply focused on this little boy.

Stock photo from Pixabay.com

As I held little James, the Lord began to speak to me. It was the day after my last shift at the hospital, and I had woken up with a sense of panic that I had made the wrong decision.

What was I thinking? I can't just quit my job. I made a horrible mistake.

Yet as I swayed back and forth with little James, consoling him each time he became anxious and afraid, a distinct sense descended on me that this is how the Lord wanted me to rest in Him.

He wanted me to lay my head against His chest and experience the panic and fear that would naturally come after quitting a job, but He wanted me to experience it all right there, close to Him. He wanted me to stop chastising myself for feeling doubt or for feeling dumb because there was no distinct reason for me to be afraid. He simply desired that I feel those things while allowing Him to hold me.

The same patience and love I had for little James was what the Lord felt for me. He would happily whisper, "It's going to be okay. I promise," when I felt anxious for no reason, when I furrowed my brows and fought sleep and grew restless in His arms. He was letting all the clamor and voices and expectations fade into the background, and He wanted me to do the same. He wanted to hold me. (And He wouldn't even be sore the next day like I may have been after holding children for so long!)

As I paced the room and patted little James' back, I found peace. I found peace about resigning from my job because Jesus came back into focus in my heart and in my mind. I found peace about pursuing full time writing and editing as I remembered it was a step of faith, not foolishness. For a moment, the noise of the world faded into the background, and it was just God comforting me, and me comforting little James—both of us covered by a supernatural peace, both of us being held.

Next week, I'll show up at church and probably so will little James. I'll hold him and rock him, and I'll pray he learns as much about the character of God and His tenderness as I do in that classroom.

On Rest(oration)—Part II

In Part I of this series, I wrote about the different aspects of rest and why it’s important. This post is focused on the practicals—simple tips and tools to rest and find restoration.

Take a Sabbath.

In my last post I mentioned The Mudhouse Sabbath by Lauren Winner as the inspiration for my experiment in taking a full 24-hour Sabbath from studying and working during nursing school. During this experiment, I discovered the Sabbath does not have to be the traditional midnight-to-midnight day; it could mean sundown-to-sundown in the traditional Jewish sense, or it could mean noon-to-noon or whatever other 24-hour period fit the natural flow of my days. Regardless of when I took a Sabbath, setting aside 24 consecutive hours allowed my mind to unwind. Generally, it took about 3-4 hours for my mind to wind down from breakneck college-schedule speed and begin enjoying the freedom of time specifically dedicated to rest.

Photo credit: Pixabay.com

Give yourself permission.

This is a tool I initially learned from Rocky Reentry in a post giving readers permission not to have everything figured out when moving back “home” from overseas. This spoke deeply to me, and I began consciously giving myself permission for other things, as well: permission to make mistakes, permission not to be productive, and permission for many other things. In fact, I created a general list of my “Permissions for Life” and later wrote another list of “Permissions for Reentry” after I moved back from Cambodia. Consciously granting myself permission for things has possibly been one of the most powerful tools I have found to unlock a mindset of productivity and embrace rest and restoration.

Start limiting social events.

Throughout life, our capacities for obligations, working, and social events will vary. In college, I could handle one (or more!) social event every day. In times of depression, I could handle one social event a week. However, when facilitating rest, the question is not “What is the maximum number of events/hours of work I can handle?” Rather, the focus is on health—for example, “Will going to this event leave me drained and exhausted, or will it restore me?” Redefining goals and success to target health and not productivity promotes balance and inherently encourages rest.

Plan to Rest.

I have a friend who schedules blocks of time to be at home, resting, throughout the week. If someone asks to meet during one of these blocks of time, she tells them she already has something scheduled—because she does. She just doesn’t tell them the meeting is with her pillow to sleep in for that one morning out of the week! Telling people “no” is difficult—even harder for me is telling work “no” when they ask me to come in, but when I dedicate days or blocks of time in advance to allow myself to rest and recuperate, it’s easier to politely decline requests for my time. Occasionally, I even tell people “I have plans already” because I do—plans to rest!

Ultimately, rest is something to be learned.

When I first started taking a Sabbath in college, my brain simply did not know how to stop racing, analyzing, and studying. In fact, initially it increased my stress level because I worried I was wasting time. It took time and witnessing firsthand how rest increased my productivity throughout the week and paid off in the emotional and spiritual realms before I learned to relax and allow myself to take a break from working and studying. Likewise, when I first moved back from Cambodia and was working part-time and had very few friends (and therefore social events), it was uncomfortable and felt lonely. Yet with time, I began to adjust, learning to be grateful for the extra time to process experiences and emotions and utilize it accordingly.

I am still learning about rest—how to rest, when to rest, what “rest” is. In the midst of all this learning, one thing remains the same: the more I experience rest, the more confident I am that rest is nothing less than essential and healing to my soul.

What are practical way you incorporate rest into your routine? Have you noticed a difference in your week when you set aside time to rest?