Reflectin' Back on Two Years Did.

Two years of life.

I feel like I just moved to Alaska -- like I just boarded that plane in Long Beach with tears still lingering from saying "nos vemos" to my beloved college roommates.
Exchanging palm trees and a suntan for mosquitoes and snowflakes. For Jesus?

So much anticipation, so much excitement in striking out just after graduation -- in the kickoff of my nursing career, in mission to serve and love the rural population of Copper River Valley -- to prepare my naive booty for the hope of international nursing...



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I remember the first Alaskan snow as if it were yesterday. Pulling on my brand new winter boots and plodding up and down the Glenn highway with a new found friend who equally shared my delight in our booted trail & in the delicate white flakes.

I remember the awkward moose-burger dinner Tim and I shared at midnight in the cluttered Cross Road clinic kitchen.  Never guessing that less than a year later we would be married.  Never guessing that less than a year later after that, that we'd be wide-eyed and expecting a baby human -- molded from the intertwining of our DNA.

The dark Alaskan memories --
Memories of fighting sleep and tears at the nurses' desk. Of the war waged emotionally, spiritually.
The endless pile of dishes, of coming up short in domestic excellence. Of crashing my lil' white truck and yelling profanities afterward. Of making another loan payment. And another loan payment.
The being so exhausted -- that getting out of bed seems a triumph big enough to justify staying in pajamas for the rest of the still mostly dark day. Of trying to "get happy" with a borrowed SAD light? Of fearing - to the point of panic - that my fingers and nose were actually going to fall off. The hormonal wretchedness of birth control pills. Of dead mosquitoes smudged up against my forehead, my arms, my legs. Headaches after riding in the jerking snow plow in the middle of the night.  Of huddling under heavy, fat blankets and sitting as close as possible to a blazing space heater. Conflict at work. Feeling like a failure. Devastated expectations -- torn between the "is & what was supposed to be" in Alaska. Anger. Disappointment. Loneliness. Apathy. Boredom. Of so many misunderstood tears. Of feeling scrutinized, unappreciated and non- contributory. Of missing Sunday services. Missing my husband on too many months of week days.

The picturesque Alaskan memories --
 Memories of trying to catch fish. Of skiing in the Narnia of my backyard. Of road trips and first discovery of beautiful mountain after mountain -- of trying to capture those mountains with picture after inadequate picture. Of trudging through snow to find the perfect Charlie Brown Christmas spruce tree. Of campfires & potlucks with co-workers.  Of staying up too late to watch the sky dance that is the northern lights. Of walking the little trail down the hill to check the post office box. Of throwing lil' helicopters for my crazy kitty to jump after -- over and over again.  Of an intensified fondness for hot cocoa, banana bread and six months of Christmas music - as the fluffy snow falls down. Of watching dog races while Tim's goatee crystallizes. Of playing twister and a dozen other ridiculous games with Awana and Gulkana youth. Of teaching simple Sunday school lessons in Chistochina. Of flying over glaciers and majestic snowy peaks. Of building a snowman on the helicopter pad. Praying with patients and seeing a physical change. The scramble of preparing for a medevac.  Of falling in love with a fisherman named Tim. Our wedding ceremony.

The good, bad, & the ugly. It has been a roller coaster. And I'm tired.

More than anything right now I just want to give up my rolling, coasting, topsy-turvy seat. Just so that I can catch my breath and maybe a take a sip of water. For probably the first time in my lifetime, I crave stability over adventure. I really don't want it forever -- yet I'm more than hungry for rest after two years of chaotic unpredictability.

But I fear - I know - it's not coming anytime soon. We're in the middle of a move, we will be striving to redevelop community, figuring out new jobs -- and soon delving into the mystery of baby diapers, breast pumps, spit up and midnight crying...

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I'm tired. I feel like Jesus brought me to Alaska with an eager heart for serving and growing. And two years later, I feel like a steamrolled pancake. Empty.

I feel like our moving to Palmer is a surrender move.
A move to recover from the emotional and spiritual bankruptcy that has taken root in my life. A move to refuel, to rebuild. To establish and fellowship regularly with a church community.

I shake my head and tears bud in my eye balls when I ask myself, "was it worth it?"
"Did I do anything helpful, anything good for the valley, for this strange clinic?"

I don't know?

I covered some nursing shifts - filled in a gap. But it wasn't glamorous. It wasn't fun. It demanded humble servanthood. And it was hard -- in the most unexpected ways.

Will I be remembered? Probably, but not by many. I still get asked almost every day if I'm a new nurse at the clinic. If remembered, likely it will not be for anything all too significant.  But what does Jesus care about "Christian" achievements anyway?

I will likely be remembered as one who struggled, as one who was restless, discontent.
As one who got caught in a whirlwind of transition and stress, so that gears were somewhere switched -- from good intentioned ministry to survival.

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What have I learned?

**Life sometimes overtakes & interrupts our hope for "ministry" to others.  Sometimes we need to minister to ourselves first. By getting back on our knees and reacquainting ourselves with the Savior who knows us -- by confessing yet again our need for Him. Fruit trees die without the sun.

**Jesus doesn't need us.

**Expectations are usually trash.

**Helping people is a complicated mess. Sometimes "helping" is a misnomer for enabling.  Sometimes business that is "necessary" for sustainability of "ministry" builds ugly walls with the very people you want to care for... And the American health care system is disgusting.

**Truth: the hardest part of working in a Christian organization or ministry really is cooperating with -- and more-than-just-tolerating those like-minded people. Cultivating genuine grace for idiosyncrasies and imperfections is an obstacle and a half to the one hundredth power.

**I miss girl friends.

**I'm yet to see how alcohol has ever done anyone any good. Ever.

**God is crazy into details -- and He continues to baffle, confuse, frustrate, thrill & awe my little self.

**I am dust and God is the Greatest. It's not about my feeble frame or name.

**There are good fits and not so good fits when it comes to employing our hearts and hands as disciples. Cross Road was a not so good fit for me -- but that doesn't mean the pain and strain weren't valuable.

**People will misunderstand. And they'll say thoughtless things. But it really shouldn't be held against them -- cuz I sputter stupid well-meaning babble too. People are beautiful, but we are rotten fools.

**Anger will rot your heart out.

**When you are aching for encouragement, someone else probably is too. Try and pay it forward.

**If a man sees you in your raw, true colors and still sees something good to encourage... and helps you to laugh and pray.... Marry him.

**Don't make plans. Ever. Don't even think you have a clue. Cuz you don't. Just dance and go with it; baulking at life's crazy is not worth the Kleenex.

The list could continue of course. It will take years to process and digest these last two years - two of the most stressful and teary years of my life book so far. I will probably have to write a novel about it once I stop spinning and piece a few more things together...fifty some years from now?....

My last day at Cross Road is next Friday. I have an exit interview and papers to sign this next week. The end is really drawing near. My apartment has exploded in beginning stages of moving. In a few short weeks, I will be starting a new nurse role & the learning curve shall begin again...

If you think on it, pray for a weary Tim and Erin...