Ordinary things

Right now I'm reading the most hilarious book (Portuguese Irregular Verbs by Alexander McCall Smith) and I found myself sitting on our deck laughing so hard I almost cried. The most wonderful thing about that book was the simple hilarity in simple daily events. There was nothing elaborately constructed, no cleverly worded puns, just the delight of a very ordinary man doing his ordinary work and the ordinary humor and joy in just that.
I had my share of a little humor today at work. It's good to laugh. It lifts our spirits and makes us feel more loving and willing to excuse other people for their foibles.
It started when I walked to work this morning. A half-hour walk down the hill to my Dad's store. Well, I decided to zig-zag down the hill and got to the end of one unfamiliar street and discovered it was a dead-end. Drat. I would be late for work. I backtracked and went down another street, only to find that it joined up with the street I'd just been down. Oh man. I walked for an hour and ten minutes before I got to the store. The funny thing about it is that I've lived in that neighborhood for 19 years and I've walked that route so many times it's not even funny.
Later on that afternoon a customer stopped me and asked if she could go up to the second floor of the store. "Of course you can, the stairs are right there."
But she hesitated and waved towards them. I came over and discovered, curled up on the stairs, two little dark-haired boys, fast asleep.
"I thought they might be the owner's children...." She said lamely.
When I woke them up they were sleepy but not scared. They were waiting for their mom, they said. I led them over to a big chair to sit on and gave them a book to read. One of the little boys told me he'd been at Children's Hospital that day and he'd been given some medicine that made him sleepy.
Over the next hour they curled up on the chairs and I talked to them while their mother shopped. Their mother was beautiful and very distant from them. While she was paying for her purchases the little boys went outside and sat on a rock outside the store in the sun.
My heart began to break for them. I've never thought of myself as a kidsy person, but I've always wanted to mother, and it saddened me so much to see these two little boys so neglected and ignored, little waifs.
We have such an opportunity to share love and gentleness and joy with each other. Our lives are so full, so rich, so blessed. Our ordinary days have so much to laugh at and so much to share and just enough time to take care of each other.

A man entered a competition in a local paper to win a prize for the best pun. He wanted to increase his chances of winning, so he submitted ten entries. Unfortunately, competition was fierce and his entry didn't win. In fact, no pun in ten did.

Blue night

I don't know what it was last night, but it seemed that every single patient on my ward wanted to use the bedpan at least once. Not that I mind- I am a full supporter of maintaining a person's dignity when they are sick by immediately helping them. But last night I was tired, having been up the whole day before, which probably explains why I reacted the way I did.
One lady called for a bedpan and I brought it to her and helped position it under her. I returned a few minutes later to remove it. I swear, she must have peed an entire liter inside the tiny pan. It was stuck to her and as I tried to wiggle it out, it sloshed out onto her bed. Then it sloshed out onto the floor. So I changed her to make her dry and went and disposed of things, and then happened to look down at my brand new white shoes. Horror of horrors! A yellow splotch! It must have sloshed down on my shoes. I decided magnanimously to ignore it. After all, what could I do?
Later another lady called. This time I was ready. When the bedpan came out there was no sloshing. I went to dispose of it and tried to rinse it out but what was in it was stuck to it and didn't want to come out. I don't normally do this, but I started to gag. Not only that, but I forgot the cardinal rule of nursing: always always always mouth breathe. Just when I thought I was going to lose control and throw the freaking bedpan on the floor and run out of the hospital, I remembered to mouth breathe and suddenly everything was okay again.
Later it was not a bedpan, it was a catheter. The poor guy was delerious and confused and although he was nonverbal, I'm pretty sure he tried to pull the catheter out which was why he was moaning and groaning. For those of you who don't know what that would feel like, try googling a picture of an inflated catheter and you'll see. He was dehydrated and of course everything was fairly concentrated, on top of being infected, and leaning down to check things I almost gagged again. Thank God for all those times I practiced being a ventriloquist and consequently can keep my face composed.
This morning driving home I felt particularily blue. It wasn't a great night. I didn't save any lives, I didn't have any opportunities to pray with any patients or go that extra mile to show them compassion. There were no exciting procedures or dramas to deal with. What do you do with those days? The days you wonder if the rest of your life will really be like this?
Last night in the staff room at some wee hour of the morning I took a break and slept on the couch. While I was sleeping, I dreamt.... I dreamt that I was working in that hospital and a very sick young man came in. I went into his room and began to talk to him. He was dying, and suddenly I felt the urgency of the situation. I started telling him about Jesus. I told him many things, and I finished with, "Inside of every person is a hole, that only Jesus can fill. Without Jesus, we have no meaning and purpose in life. With Jesus, we have both meaning and direction."
I learned a phrase in Swahili when I was in africa: "Bila Yesu, Kila Kita Kutupu" (Without Jesus, everything is empty). And I guess that pretty much sums up my night. In a search for meaning in what we do, there is only way, and that is to do it for Jesus.
So in that sense, I suppose my night was very meaningful indeed, even if it didn't feel like it.

A true story

The other day I went to work
to make some good hard cash
along the freeway I discovered
there had been a crash

I knew that I'd be late for work
my class was due at nine
I prayed that God would help me out
and get me there on time

Suddenly to my right,
a white car drove on past
I saw my friend Scott there
but he was going too fast

I pulled behind him in his lane
and followed on a whim
I had no idea where he was going
but thought, I'd better follow him

We wound through streets and alleys
and past the rolling fields
When I finally caught up to him
I tapped on his windshield

He was a little surprised, of course
and I found to my good cheer
he knew a shortcut to where I was going
and he would lead me there

The point of this little story here
is to prove that God is kind
even if things don't seem to make sense
he's got something on his mind

I don't understand where he is going
but I know I should follow behind
and I'm sure that it will all work out
cause I made it to work on time!

Good news and bad news

I have thought about this blog for a long time and planned to start it "I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that I got into medical school. The bad news is that I'm being sent to Prince George."
But the reality is stranger, sharper, more painful, more difficult to talk about, especially to joke about. I have been working towards becoming a doctor for the last few years, pretty sure that God's call on my life is in this direction.
Today I checked my application status and was greeted with "We regret that we are unable to offer you a position." I read it slowly, twice or three times and then walked out of the school computer lab and got into my car. I thought I should go somewhere quiet and alone to think about it but I didn't know where to go, so I just turned on my car after a while and drove away. I drove down a few streets and started to cry because I realized that the door had closed for me and I really didn't know what to do.
It's tough, you know, because everyone has been asking me about whether or not I'm going to medical school and I was so sure, everyone was so sure that I'd be successful.
There is good news, though.
These last couple of years as I have drawn close to God and learned what it means to make him my treasure, I have committed to following his leading wherever it takes me. I have chosen paths that didn't make sense and I have learned to embrace grief knowing that my hope isn't in circumstances, it is in Jesus.
I don't feel disillusioned with God; I feel confident that this is not a mistake. I told people over the last few months that my chances of getting into medical school were very small, but with God, odds are always 100%. I know that the medical school committee who rejected my application did not make a mistake. I have prayed almost every day this last year for them, and I know that this is from God! So I receive his great gift with thanks, even though it hurts and I don't know what to do now.
That was the good news, and in case you think it wasn't that good, I'm still in need of encouragement! Consoling remarks can be sent to heatheradavies@hotmail.com, and anyone who wants to buy me timbits, flowers or just large cash gifts can mail or courier them.
And if anyone has any suggestions as to what I should do for the rest of my life, or even just next year, please post your suggestions!

Heights

On friday I went to a great wedding. It was at a gorgeous golf course and loads of fun... Between the wedding and reception I was so delighted to see my friend Miriam and such large expanses of grass, so we took off our shoes and ran and ran and leapt over the hills. Then, wonder of wonders, guess what I saw! A metal tower with a windmill on top! And not only that, but there was a ladder going straight to the top!
I absolutely couldn't resist. I hitched up my wedding clothes and started climbing up the tower. I could see for miles, it was so beautiful. About halfway up, I suddenly began to feel queasy in my stomach. Someone asked me the other day if I was afraid of anything, and pretty much the only answer I can think of is 'heights'. So I was halfway up this thing and suddenly realized there was this oily grease on the ladder rungs that was all over my hands and my skirt was billowing out in the wind and I was feeling dizzy and scared, that dry-mouthed feeling when you start to hyperventilate and your pulse goes way up.
The tower shook with each step I took upwards and I wondered if it was just a decorative tower or if it was really meant to hold my weight.
But you know me, I can't just give up halfway through something. People who start something but then chicken out and don't finish, what good is that? I kept climbing. In life, I want to be a finisher. I want to be a winner.
So I got to the top of the tower and discovered to my disappointment that I couldn't get the windmill to turn (I think it really was decorative) and not only that, I was still feeling queasy and across the fields there were some people watching me. I wondered what would happen if a breeze suddenly picked up and the whole wedding party got a view of my skirt taking flight.
Later when I was down from the tower I wondered what causes that urge in me to explore, to climb, to search, to discover, even if I know in advance that I will be terrified, that it might be disappointing, that it might cost my dignity (or sanity!)
Perhaps it is in all of us. Proverbs 25:2 says "It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings."
As a little girl I remember being acutely disappointed that the whole world was already mapped and discovered. There was no wild west to pioneer through, there was no northern passage to discover, there was no place where man had never set foot on. It seemed as if everything was already discovered and I had to settle for a pre-planned, boring life.
But now I know that is not true. There is so much to discover, so much to learn. I just have to be willing to search. Perhaps I will just end up one day at the top of a rickety water tower with a view of a golf course. But perhaps I will find something much more glorious. Whatever the result, I know one thing: the search will have been worth it.

A very silly evening in the life of Heather

Last night I went to visit a friend in cloverdale. We'd agreed to get together for coffee, and she arranged to meet me at a particular Starbucks. I'm not usually good with directions, but I knew exactly where this Starbucks was so I didn't bother taking a map or anything. I rushed home from work and through dinner and leapt into my car, driving as fast as I could through evening traffic. All the water I'd drank for dinner was beginning to take effect, but I thought, never mind, I'll be there soon.
I arrived at the Starbucks, and she wasn't there! Suddenly I had the sneaking suspicion that I was in the wrong place. I asked the girls behind the counter if there was a second Starbucks in cloverdale on Route 10.
Yes, they said, just down the road. I hopped into my car, feeling bad about being late and rushed down Route 10. By this time my bladder was sending me very clear messages. I walked into the Starbucks, and there was Katherine! We hugged and said hi and I thought, okay, I'll just order a drink and while I'm waiting for it I'll find the bathroom.
Ha ha. Katherine had already ordered but she came to stand with me in line and chat. She's a great girl, one of those people who is always dressed nice- looks like an Italian supermodel- and totally gracious, outgoing, classy. No matter how I'm dressed I always feel a little grubby around her. So after my drink was ordered she was still talking and I couldn't exactly cut her off mid-sentence and say I needed to pee, which would have been such an un-classy thing to say.
I got my large tea and sat down on chairs with her. Now, my dear reader, that was the moment at which I should have graciously excused myself to find the bathrooms, but for some strange reason- perhaps a mix of insecurity and stupidity- I didn't. We talked and talked, which was pleasant enough, but I began to feel more and more like I was going to explode. I drank my tea, not even thinking that black tea is a diuretic (makes you pee more) and that I had a very large size cup. After a while I couldn't think of much else besides my bladder. We were deep into a serious, emotional conversation and I wanted to get up but it was too late and it would seem rude.... Ahhhhhh! I'm so ridiculously stupid! I can't believe I actually sat there and talked to Katherine for 2 hours!
After a while it was hard to breathe and I had to concentrate on not hunching up my shoulders. I wondered how it felt to be a missionary tortured for the gospel by not being allowed a toilet. If I died in my chair from a distended bladder everything would just leak out anyway and then I wouldn't have to worry what ANYONE thought of me.
Finally I discreetly pulled out my cellphone to check the time and we agreed to go. We stood up and hugged goodbye and I started towards the bathroom.
"Aren't you parked that way?" Katherine asked, pointing to the door in the opposite direction.
To continue the deception, I started to walk away from the bathroom and towards the door out to my car. (at this point I don't even know how I was able to walk).
My friends, it was at this moment when I finally opened my eyes to the ridiculousness of the whole situation. I envisioned the hour drive back home in my car with the imminent explosion of my bladder and I suddenly thought, I don't care about anything else in the world right now except going pee. I said to Katherine, "Yes, but I need to use the bathroom first." It was so simple, so direct, so forthright and courageous. And I took the first step in the right direction.
Later I replayed Katherine's puzzled last glance in my mind. I wonder what she was thinking. I wonder if she thought, well, why didn't Heather say so 2 hours ago?
As stupid as this all may sound, I learned a lesson last night. When it comes to life, attending to a full bladder is way higher on the priority list than looking good in front of an Italian supermodel.

The right place at the right time

I've been thinking.... (No, that's not unusual)
Sometimes the right place at the wrong time is the wrong thing. Or, the wrong place at the right time is the wrong thing. So how do you know if you're in the right place at the right time, which would be the right thing?
This is not a silly tongue twister, it is actually a serious topic. I have been in the right place at the wrong time, like being on a dark street in the middle of the night. Or I have been in the wrong place at the right time, like when I got lost last week and ended up in Pitt Meadows instead of Coquitlam when I was supposed to be at church.
On a spiritual level, sometimes I tend to run ahead of God and think I know where he is leading me and end up in the wrong place at the right time, or the right place at the wrong time- both of those being the wrong thing.
This weekend I was praying about a particular place I was going, not sure if it was the right place at the right time, and a song came to my mind as I drove. Later when I arrived at my destination I was shocked to hear that same song being sung! I felt God saying to me, Heather, you are in the right place at the right time. Very comforting, of course.
So I've thought of a couple of ways to know if you are in the right place at the right time. Number one, the witness of the Holy Spirit. I think it is definately true that God gives us a special peace when we are walking in his will. Secondly, the scriptures, which can often give general directions about specific things (like should I be in the theater watching this sketchy movie or not). Thirdly, the counsel of other Christians. Sometimes when I am in the throes of things I can't see clearly, but those around me can. They are able to evaluate the situation from a godly perspective and say, Heather, you really shouldn't go there, or, just wait a bit.
But seriously, even when one is completely sincere, it is easy to be in the wrong place or at the wrong time. For example, yesterday at the 'right' time I went out to pray and sat down on a large tree stump. The wrong place, I discovered, after getting sap all over the back of my skirt. Also when I tried to play soccer with some friends I volunteered to be the goalie and managed to be in the right place (in the goal) at all the wrong times. I also managed to kick the wrong place at the right time (The ball was right there but I hit Len's legs out from under him instead. The wrong place, and since a foul was called it made the whole episode the entirely wrong thing.)
So you see it can be a little difficult.

Ah, the life of the free

So for those of you who were wondering what happened with the kiss.... It was better and worse than expected, depending on your perspective. My grad was very exciting and I felt my heart swell with the magnitude of all our acheivements, with the splendour of academia, with praise to God who sustained me these last few years.... but also a nervous anticipation as I stood to walk up on stage and receive my (fake) diploma. They called out my name and I was smiling and the crowd was a blur and the lights were so bright. I felt myself being propelled towards the president. I shook his hand and he grabbed hold of me to take a picture and then I shook hands with the provost and then the head of my department, and then the dean of my faculty was there! He draped a cord around my neck and I threw my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek and he made a little surprised sound and then I was off the stage and down and out the doors! (The only minor mishap was my absolute inability to walk in my new 6 inch heels which was kind of embarrassing. I think I'd better go back to flip-flops)
Later we congregated in the gym to congratulate each other and eat and drink and take pictures. Suddenly the dean was there with my group of chemistry friends and he was laughing so hard he could hardly stand up.
"That is the first time," he wheezed, "that I have ever been kissed by a student on stage."
My other professor was staring at me and silence fell in the group of people. I felt my face turn a million shades of crimson and I fished for words.
"Yeah, well, I did make ten bucks doing it."
He roared with laughter even more. "Oh, I know! Benson already told me!"
Benson, that vermin. I looked for him to shoot flaming arrows into his liver but he was discretely standing behind someone else. The heat in the room was becoming unbearable. I tried to mumble some excuses but they were all laughing too hard to hear and anyway, it was kind of funny to me too.
As for the ten bucks, I still have to collect, but if I have to kill Benson for it, mark my words, I'm going to get it.
And that was not a bet, by the way. I'm finished with bets and wagers and gambling and anything like that. Absolutely finished.
In terms of other things, I am enjoying being graduated. It's hard to believe that it's all over. I've been working this week at my Dad's store, doing all sorts of mindless labor that I spent four years trying to avoid, like mopping floors and hanging up shirts and sticking price tags on shampoo bottles. You know what? It's actually quite enjoyable, and quite a nice mental break. I have lots of time to think about things and plan the next chapter in my book and pray about the future.