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

Satisfaction in a "Just Enough" Culture

Satisfied. This word has been on my mind for the past several weeks. It's what I've longed for on the daily for months. It's what I've craved when I've been anxious.

I've found a lot of things that have brought temporary satisfaction—just enough to get me to the next hour, day, or week. TV shows, peanut butter M&Ms, songs and books and random events. 

Stock photo from Pixabay.com

I'm reminded of this pair of red headphones I have on right now (listening to "Unchanging" by Antioch Live—check it out!). I bought these headphones for $15 in Cambodia, and they're knock-offs of a famous brand. The sound quality is still stellar—much better than the cheap ear buds I usually buy at Target. They're not the real thing, but they're good enough for my needs. Plus, I feel super cool when I have them on because no one else knows they're knock-offs!

When I think of the activities (and foods) I've found satisfaction in over the past few months, I deemed them all "good enough for my needs" at the time. And perhaps they were, for a season, as I transitioned back to life in the US and struggled through a dark wave of depression. But now, I crave something more.

I crave the real thing. Not a knock-off. Not something that's good enough for now. Something that will fill me up, from the soul outward, not just filling my stomach or my five senses. All around me, marketing schemes pitch ideas of why a product or experience is the greatest "for now" satisfaction—just enough to tide me over. I could live my whole life like this, going on the next adventure, viewing the new movie, or binge-watching the newest Netflix sensation. I could live like this, and I wouldn't be unhappy. I could hop from one distraction to the next, and I could even feel like I was bettering myself and my community with "the next big thing:" online classes, community projects, and more.

These offers for satisfaction are delightful—at least for the moment, hour, day that they last. This is the message of our culture: "If it meets my needs right now, it's enough, even if it's not the real deal."

These days, I'm craving something deeper. I'm craving what only the Lord can give to satisfy my soul, my being. I'm learning, so far, satisfied only comes in abundance in His presence. 

I'm still a fan of my headphones, even if they're fake. They help me come into the presence of the One who brings me to the place of being deeply satisfied. I'm choosing to invest more time and energy into this deep, lasting, authentic satisfaction, the kind that starts in my soul and creeps into my bones and changes the essence of who I am. This is the real deal, and it's more than enough.

The Truth About Anxiety: I'm Faking It

This is a full confession. I've never told anyone this before.

Years ago, before I personally experienced depression or anxiety, I thought people with anxiety were dramatic. With my limited frame of reference, I believed they just needed to "chill out." I thought anxiety levels were completely under conscious control.

After experiencing anxiety firsthand, I've realized a hard truth: I am indeed faking it. 

Photo from pixabay.com

However, it's not my symptoms I'm faking. It's everything else. When I'm with friends, I fake a smile even though my heart is pounding inside my chest. I fake interest in conversation. I nod and pretend I heard exactly what they said, even when their voices sound far away and I start to feel nauseous from anxiety.

I make up excuses for why I cannot attend events or go out for coffee. I'm good at faking it, too. I alternate excuses of busyness and appointments and family obligations so they'll never suspect I'm at home, counting as I breathe to calm my brain and my body. 

I fake it when I'm receiving shift report at the hospital or in a meeting for work. I sit down and say I'm tired, when I'm really so anxious about the day I'm getting dizzy. I fake being tired so I can avoid going to that restaurant—the one where last time I ate, I had a well-masked anxiety attack that made me throw up all my food later at home.

I used to think people with anxiety were faking their symptoms, exaggerating their stories and dramatizing emotions. Now I know for sure, most of us with anxiety are faking it. But we are faking it in exactly the opposite way: by diminishing and hiding the ways anxiety affects our lives. We are faking smiles and conversations and laughter in an effort to maintain relationships and reputations. We are faking it so you're not freaked out and don't feel awkward. We are faking it for you.

Somehow, with all the stigma around anxiety, we came up with the idea faking it would improve our relationships and make our lives easier. Yet from personal experience, it does just the opposite. When I'm truthful and humble and transparent about anxiety, I feel relief and find freedom to just be me—no faking involved—around you. I no longer have anxiety about people knowing I have anxiety (that's simply too complicated for this girl to handle!).

How I want to appear to others (photo from pixabay.com)

What I feel like inside! (Photo from pixabay.com)

In a way, aren't we all faking it? We try to hide our weaknesses, faking confidence or knowledge or personality traits. We put up a front so we will be more likable, but isn't authenticity what people find truly attractive and valuable?

I believe we can grow in this area together. As a society, we can encourage and accept one another with our strengths and our weaknesses. We can stop faking it and find genuine community and lasting relationships. 

So today, here's my full confession. I struggle with anxiety, and I've been faking it. Yet today, I'm going to do my best to stop. I want to be real with you, and I want you to be real with me. Will you join me?

*For those experiencing anxiety, here are some links you may find helpful:
Tips to help get through an anxiety attack (written by yours truly)
How to manage anxiety (by Calm Clinic)
Living with anxiety (by the Anxiety and Depression Association of America)

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.