what Haiti and moving away from KC have in common

you know how it is when you look forward to something? you know how sitting on that plane to Haiti, instead of being anxious you're comfortable and excited at the same time because you know what to expect? and it gets even better because you have a measure to compare your happiness to, the paralyzing anxiety from last time. you are not feeling the sleep depravation from a 3am awakening, that you despised and obsessed on the unfairness of last time.

you know how there is a small part of you that is worried that the first amazing time was a fluke and you might get disappointed this time?

you know how you tell yourself in the midst of it that it was a mistake to come back, that this time is not working, not at all, that you miss your friends from last time. you know how you get tangled in tired and angry-and hungry!- details five minutes before dinner...
you know how you come back and you tell yourself that this was amazing, and suddenly it hits you that it was so different from last time, so different from what you had imagined, so far removed from anything you are able to imagine.

you want to say it was better but you know better, you know it was incomparable.

we trust our memory, our plans, the friends-or just the people we know, even our imagination, but fail to believe that God can do different and do it well. we fail to trust that it could be good. We fail to trust that He is good.
 God changes your heart. for a long time, even after I realized Jesus was Lord over my life, i didn't know where to start. i knew that i needed to start. i wanted him to be lord but i didn't know how to change how I felt and what i wanted. I still didn't want Him. i didn't know how to love God and and how to obey Him.

it (or He) clicked one day in an warm, humid, loud and non-ventilated hotel room in Haiti. a woman i barely knew was speaking of her story and her life. and the joy and trust with which she opened her heart to women she barely knew was God talking into my heart. that evening, my over-educated, over-analyzing mind learnt the simple concept of "asking God to change my heart"

He had changed my heart already and i didn't know it, but He was also empowering me.  He taught me that i did not need to carry the burden of change alone. the strength of the how-to how comes from Him.
its not about knowing how-to, it's about trusting He does.  ok I had a really lame pun instead of this one but i will spare you. reallyyy? you want to hear it? how niiiiice. and brave. it went something like trusting how-He; or Who-He I hadn't decided. sorry. i've only had one coffee so far so bear with me. 

God can change my heart without me asking Him. He can change the world without my help but the offer of participation he extends to me is an invitation to witness and be a part of His glory.

when i want something, i still stand on the ledge, but His Spirit empowers me to not block off the images that the Spirit reveals.

images of fleeting joys followed by pain, images of my wants satisfied by letting go of Jesus' hand, images of death waiting in the precipice. it is terrifying to let go of Jesus’ hand. and i do it every single day to reach for a stupid shiny thing. sometimes i imagine the sarcastic look on his face when He extends His hand again to take mine, like my dad did. but it's probably not theologically accurate. i mean Jesus is funny don't get me wrong, and in my world funny=sarcastic. but i don't think that would be His time for sarcasm. i think He takes our hands over and over and over and over again with a beaming smile because we came back. i think the sarcastic smile is the one of shame i give myself. but his forgiving embrace stomps over my sarcastic smile of shame.

He makes me listen to His will. just as a faint whisper in the midst of the beating of the drum of my desires. but He makes me listen. i yearn for the day where no sinful desires are exhausting my heart. i crave and dread the refining fire He will carry me through because i know i will emerge on the other side of the embers closer to Him.

even as i wrote these words, i am praying to get the job i want and the boy i like, and the money to buy all the purses that i think i need, to fit the bohemian style that i let myself believe defines me.
i' scared to move and loose the friends i made in KC and never go to Haiti again and loose sight of God. I am failing to believe that He is in every city, on every plane and in the heart of new friends that i have not met yet. .

i am letting go of his hand and failing to believe that if His plans are different than mine, if this second time moving does not look like the first time ( for the sake of honesty insert here: the first time when i was paralyzed with anxiety-and anger-because i was moving to KC and then it turned out to be-well a gift from Him), if the other city doesn't look like this one, God can do different and do it well.  and He will do different because He is fighting for me and providing for me.  also you think i came up with this Haiti to moving parallel on my own? hey i was just typing blue fleeting thoughts and minding my own business and He showed up and showed me.

but the minuscule and yet so encouraging change is that He has tuned my heart to listen to His voice, listen to the shout telling me to slow down, to talk to Him about the things and the stuff and the cities and the boy and to sit down and trust Him. sit down and trust Him to go get what i need. He will bring what will be a gift of sustenance and not destruction. Sustenance in Him.

what Haiti and moving from KC have in common? God led me to both and God is in control of all the next times.

where i have been

the question is really who and not where i have been. a puppet on a wild string. an unpraying untrusting believer attempting to control her future with endless to-do lists. boards were over early october and the job search was on hold for lack of mental boxes to fit it in.

and then Haiti happened.

after being indoors and in-boards all summer, unsuccessfully hiding my irritation at the excitement that was squealed and posted about Haiti-the return, i also discovered that running away on a gateway-to-the-west weekend instead of resetting my brain at home is less than therapeutic at my age.

with less than 24 hours to pack, thankfully with much less debilitating anxiety than last year about now-familiar Haiti mechanics, i questioned the wisdom of booking this trip on a whim. (not that much had been weighed and measured and artfully planned in my life till now). my world was probably going to collapse during these five days, and i was too tired to care. so i just got on that plane.

and then Haiti happened.

flying into Haiti i was struck by how big, how powerful, how mighty the creator of all this is.



He holds the earth in the palm of His hand and knows each of us by name.

i didn't remember seeing all this the first time we were flying in. our plane was three hours late then and it was dark outside. i had been scared and tired, and my heart was still blind to the extent of God's love.

this time, i was excited (that had kicked in as soon as we left the kcmo tarmac) and missed the people who, while I wasn't looking , had crept into my heart and weaved the colors of friendship.

 

 

oh how He can use a storm and a plane delay to hide more of His glory for a little while longer, while he prepares and refines us. He knows that our hearts will fail to see the big picture, that they need to be led step by step and cared for, and protected from themselves.

 

 

God created these mountains diving into sparkly salty waters. He was in control when the ground shook and the mud overflowed. He cares for the land and for each and every one of their souls.

 

 

 my heart, the one where He lives and where they live is broken today, by the love that i 've received and the glory that i witnessed. broken by prayers that have been answered, and answers that awaken the awe of a God who listens and pulls you closer than you can imagine.

"I have been telling you that I love you, that I listen to you, that I will answer you. that I have given you life. that I have given you the most beautiful gift ever given, that I have given you myself, your creator. I will keep blessing you and giving you better gifts than you have ever imagined. I will open you eyes so you can see the gifts that I give you and I will look at your face and smile at your surprise and delight in your thanksgiving. why are you surprised, why do you still doubt?"

 

God had happened. in Haiti. and in Kansas City. and in His world, not mine. His world did not collapse during these five days. and who i am is someone to whom He keeps showing how beautiful His world is.
.

 

 

the Gospel on shuffle, stop, repeat.

i've been struggling with anxiety. i've been struggling with anger. i've been struggling with fear. i've been struggling with worry. i've been struggling with greed. i've been struggling with idols. i've been struggling with pride. i've been struggling with memories. i've been struggling with the uncertain future. i've been struggling with God.

so many mental and handwritten posts-born out of ire and despair- have gone unpublished, yet have led to more clarity, as muddy as clarity is.

a painful chiseling of my future, a determination of longitudes and latitudes, of dollars and friendships, of big cities or small towns, of shores or plains. He has made me in a way that i want to discover it all, He has made me in a way that i dread change. He has given me friends, He has made them become close enough to reach that point where ungrateful humans become annoyed with their friends. He has given me community when i only really needed Him.

He has carried me through nights and nights of blood and death and dread. He has carried me through miles and miles of trans-atlantic travels. He has carried my brain when paralyzed with fear, He has carried my hardened heart through grief. He has sent angels to protect me from myself, when i wouldn't listened to Him. He has healed the angel's wings, that i had torn apart.

He pursues, oh! how He pursues.  

the Cross that He planned, the Cross that he ordained, the Cross where He loved, the Cross where He forgave, the Cross where blood and justice rolled. the Cross that gave me life.

and despite the Cross, and despite the Word, i keep requesting proof, and signatures and assurances and promises. i keep requesting my way. i keep requesting answers. i keep requesting my crown and my scepter and my dues. i keep requesting my reward.
and i argue about my thoughts, and i argue about my motives, and my heart changes every five minutes, like a child who has cried for a red balloon and dis-interestingly lets go of it for a blue ice cream cone. i exhaust myself with my own thoughts.

thankful that He doesn't change like my inconsistent heart does. thankful He changes my heart although i still doubt it. thankful He has it under control even when i try to grab the wheel. thankful He loves, thankful He pursues, thankful He sanctifies the brat that i am. thankful He talks to me when i wouldn't want to talk to me. thankful He hasn't given up when i'm about to, thankful He nudges and thankful He makes me listen. thankful He reminds me to believe, as i doubt over and over and over again, as i doubt and believe, as i believe but what-if, like a never ending tune on a broken piano. thankful for His endless patience and grace.




 

the hypocrisy of privacy

 

it has occurred to me multiple times to block people with "undesirable" opinions (ie not 98.3% identical to mine), mimicking what the now facebook-despising-intellectual-elite is currently practicing.
how convenient would that be in the real world to tune out all those voices that you do not agree with.

i submit to you that :

b. social media should be a 'training ground for the real world" (if we've achieved that with our sins, take cyber-bullying for example), shouldn't we at least practice holiness online as well?

a. most importantly, blocking people only goes to cultivate the twirling and twirling of the vicious circle of refusing to learn from other people. wait rewind the vicious circle of even considering for a split second that an alternate opinion might be viable, carry some worth.
has humility been obliterated so massively, that we refute ideas as they are bouncing off of one cement wall to another in our cranium, not even peeking through the fence into our synapses?

all that is not me is worthless. cant do more blunt than that, building your own kingdom.

being guilty of that, i also confess that the passive benefit that is the fruit of other people's active facebook scrolling, is pretty appealing to lazy souls.



 

 

"My family's Google searching got us a visit from counterter​rorism police" by Michele Catalano is a blog post that I recently read through a link on a friend's wall.

 

side note (at least I give warning about side notes now...) I've actually never really met this friend, but I've been assured of his highly educated, cultured, eclectic and cosmopolitan nature by our mutual acquaintance. i.e my mother. and you always believe your mother,.she is another example of sanctified opinions bouncing off of cement walls, opinions that you do not question. until that painful moment when you do, and you crucify her for being merely human. how can she be wrong?? she's mom!!! another reason to tell your kids about Jesus, folks. let them trust Him, because He, He has already been crucified and has won. don't let them make you their God. the harsh reality of you being a human mother will crush them someday.

 

 

anyway this seemingly really cool guy posts this article

 

well written, with the right amount of details, funny but not too sarcastic. i loved it. read it. also read it because i'm so proud of having discovered how to insert a link there.




i have been the leftist rebellious anti-capitalist, anti-corporate tween, i swore never to change, and i don't think i have. many things still shock me and disgust me. i've learned to swallow my zofran and pick my battles.
as a professional now (not relying on small envelopes filled with cash and blessing notes left by papi on the nightstand), i also understand that small sacrifices make institutions work. that idealist kids look at the nuances at the horizon but someone has to unclog and oil the cogwheels.

this is not cynicism but the poetry of practicality. il faut de tout pour faire un monde... personally,  i am more likely to fall in love now with the hard-working miner with calloused hands than the languishing poet testing his risk for DVTs laying in a field of daisies. (maybe God will have the miner play the violin in his spare time)




back to the post. i understand the concerns for privacy. for personal liberties. for in-a-perfect-world-theories. for whatever amendment that is, i'll memorize them when i get offered a green card.
but the world is not perfect. i travel multiple times a year and get screened. because of the drawing of a cedar tree on my passport (ironic that the cedar is actually mentioned more than 70 times in the bible, so it really shouldn't be linked to terrorist threats) but the reality we live in dictates that i don't mind, because "random" screening might have, unknowing to me, saved my life.

if that ct scanner, that caused so much ink to be spilled and blood pressures to rocket, saves my mom's life on a 24hour-3 plane trip from Lebanon, or allows me to put my teenage kids on a dream flight to Vienna without experiencing cold sweats of dread, then scan away. of note, the drastically anticlimactic yellow snowman version of me that i excitedly peaked at after that infamous scan, was the least invasion of privacy i have witnessed this summer.

as the world is willingly exposing its toned or cellulitic thighs in briefs that like to think of themselves as shorts, when more breasts are exposed at the grocery store than in haroon al rashid's harem, when the world' sexual prowess is being analyzed on every bookshelf at a four-year-old's eye level, can we please stop hypocritically complaining about the loss of privacy that we ourselves have relinquished?

they can look at all my embarrassing google searches, impulsive groupon purchases, and every single French to English translation that i've looked up for the purpose of this blog, if that might potentially avoid more families being torn to pieces and more firemen developing eosinophilic pneumonias because of criminal dust.

they can come search my house if they think the antique coal iron,
or (god forbid) the polyester pants that i bought were suspicious.

does anyone have a better idea or would you put your children on that plane if a crazy-eyed guy with a machete was boarding? just remember that crazy eyes can be hidden with inexpensive concealer and machetes are now an app on your iphone.

all that from a persistent leftist rebel at heart.
God bless America.




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i know what you're feeling

balancing two encyclopedias on its head,  realism walks ungracefully the dangerous line over the pit of fire, between objectivity and cynicism. i'm not sure i understand this self proclaimed statement myself. pin now, think later.

anyway.
just came back from Lebanon, an impromptu "vacation" that i spent helping out my mom. all dusty scraps of paper and invaluable antique items from a hoarder family inclusive. which explains the twenty day delay in writing a new post. i wonder if i'll ever run out of excuses?

a little-too-sweet taste in your soul of artificial self satisfaction when you've made someone happy.

all that was done out of love for someone who loves you back, cannot help but nudge a question of would-i-do-it-for-someone-i-care-just-slightly-less-about than my neat schedule of the day: my own personal charity, proceeds benefiting my social life, fitness goals and checklist of tv series to catch up on.
are you tired of hearing about my schedule? so am i. defaut de fabrication, deformation professionelle, obsession maladive et j'en passe! my ego always insults my id in french, its just something we do.
 
along with scheduling with a hand of steel, objectivity regarding palliative care is another feature that i thought was an attained goal of my profession (eternal medical trainee that is) 
they have really nothing to do with each other, but it makes for a nice transition, don't you think?

i've found myself drawn to, gifted at, and comfortable, at heart, with palliative care discussions with patients and families since early residency. my head somewhere is uncomfortable with this comfort and attempting to analyze its roots.

is it exposure to familial deaths so early on in life? i remember being surprised in college at a friend's unfamiliarity with death when her grandmother passed away. my bittersweet feeling of superiority, of 'death maturity'. i had all those feelings down, from the guilt, to the anger denying the grief, to where my spot in the line of condolences was.

is it the opportunity for blunt honesty that i crave (and i know they crave it too, after days of polite exchanges of hopeful uncertainties).  in discussions where most people don't want to be the ones saying these three raw words, the ones that answer all the unspoken doubts, the ones that liberate from excruciatingly unrealistic hope, three words can bring the liberation of answers, of closure, and let the light shine on comfort, on relieving pain, on bigger and everlasting hope.

i've bonded with daughters and prayed with wives and hugged mothers after the decision to relieve pain has been made. i've helped them make the right decision of selfless love in the face of certain odds. i've even answered the miracle question-nothing is impossible to God, He can still heal, what if we withdraw before He does. yes He can, and if this be His mighty plan, then no ventilator that i disconnect or no morphine that i order can ruin His healing plan. God's schedule will not be hindered by a timeline that i ordain in my icu kingdom.

and yet, i found myself become the patient's family, wonder if the outcome is certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, rationalize and minimize the amount of pain she was in, ask myself for a horrible second if i was deciding her fate to give myself some rest, so i could sleep again, so i would stop being terrified of what would happen and how she would die. i heard the guilty thoughts of betraying her trust, of playing god, of not searching for other solutions.
i've believed them for one brief second of "patient family" time. seconds that flipped the coin so i would truly know the fleeting thoughts in a daughter's head, after i've said my three words.

for the record i am talking about a cat. who was sick and not eating and still loving you with her (one)big green eye (under her likely heent tumor).for those of you who are or have been a pet's human, you will understand with no apologies needed.

i'm thankful for my teenage grief because i can understand theirs, i'm thankful for the years of training for giving me the ability to objectively recognize pain and certain outcomes, i'm thankful for the doubts because they convicted my intolerance of love's desperate what-ifs.
the agonizing few days' journey on a cat's palliative care blood stained couch made me a better doctor. God does really redeems everything, if you listen.
















 

"the accent is not the issue" and other changes

tonight is the big night where i mix my worlds and upload a picture to the blog. initially intended for instagram, with insta-sharing to facebook evidently.

i've recently started mixing my other worlds too.

-french world with a lebanese accent (lebanese, not arabic, and frenchie lebanese, make no mistake)
 -lebano-arabic world with a frenchie attitude rooted in an unorthodoxly deeply Lebanese family (we all think our family is unorthodox right? to avoid saying unique. intellectual people know that unique is dépassé, an ordinary unspecial desire).
-american world with a sorority wannabe accent, as my sister likes to call it {that really started when starbucks would not understand that i wanted a cup of water. wo-terr. i could've accepted the curious looks. or "unparanoid" the look for what it might have been: the tired one of an underpayed starbucks employee who couldn't care less about an accent. yet i now say waaate'. and Gad instead of God. you gotta follow the music}
.
and as many times as it has happened that a patient, or a consultant, or a nurse has appreciated me for my work, or alternatively has not appreciated bad work with no accent from another, i still can't get it into my head that the accent is not the savior, nor is it the issue. it is not the accent that pleases or turns people away.

that's all dandy, although let's leave the whole people pleasing, acceptance seeking (or really just strong opinion seeking) idol for another post. the latter might very well include how the accent has been a heart issue this whole time. eureka.

back to the picture

 

well that is not as great a picture as instagram would've made it to be. filtering away the ordinary into art.

 

but i'm keeping it since i announced a picture 

what am i going to do, delete all the above ramblings triggered by the picture announcement?

there's something you need to know about me. i don't do starting over. but i persevere. or evolve.

i wonder if starting over even exists. it's never the same bouncing ground, when you re-start something based on the lessons from your non-successes.

 

the picture says 07:55 AM.

which to some, is the time they come back from their run

some can run at 11 AM in 105 F and indulgently smile at my rookie, red, puffy and drenched face as they are expertly hopping out.

some people's warm ups are other people's half marathons.

 

some people's change of heart is the victory.

and isn't amazing how God just nudges your heart, just as little as He knows you can handle, to change what you didn't even imagine could be better differently. and He makes every change unique.

 

from idolizing sleep and despising early morning risers- if not early-rising for what the world has told us productivity entails-to what I consider uncoerced early rising for me.

i woke up willingly, no snoozing.

coffee and other addictions still require rising 45 mns prior. He will probably make me change that, and when i rebel, just change it Himself.

baby steps for big heart changes. 



 

A post that was not supposed to be about what it's about

i haven't posted in a while, busy with overthinking, overworking, overworrying, over to-do listing, over-medicining, overachieving.
i was mentally and physically exhausted by the end of two weeks of consults and two weeks of intensive ICU regimen. mixed with my first 5k run, a road trip to the symphony on the prairie, a road trip to southeastern Kansas for a lecture, and writing ever-renewing to do lists, shifting items around as if re-writing them on a new corner of a piece of paper somehow meant part of that job was done.

read between the words performance anxiety regarding the lecture, achievement anxiety regarding the to-do lists, fitness anxiety regarding finding time to run during all that, religious anxiety regarding not exploding in people's faces when I was tired- as my newfound insight had shown me i have been prone to do for the last 33 years.

oh and the women's conference. somehow in my unplanned post, the women's conference portion did not make my mental anxiety list. elyze fitzpatrick was speaking at church, over 2 days. too long, i just want to sleep! and i need to run! but i have to go. (have to is the most frequently used term in my family)
 
i had never heard of fitzpatrick. i thought attending a women's conference would be cool. (i don't know how i've evolved to this "hanging out with women is good" mentality after preferring male friendship all my young adulthood years, and avoiding overemotional, over analytical and overdramatic female friendships as much as possible. if there was to be any overdrama in my life, i'd be the one producing it. in case you're wondering, no that did not turn out well at all in any of my relationships).

i mainly attend all the events at church that i can to build deeper relationships and because i have realized how much i have to learn. speakers and conferences are an amazing teaching experience, but i have to admit that they cater well to my hunger for hearing about Jesus, mixed with a lazy reluctance to just pick up my Bible and read, or just pick up my brain and talk to Him.

back to the conference. i was physically exhausted but spiritually refreshed. a new baptism i felt. there is something to be said about listening to a woman state repeatedly and sing of Jesus' love for her, and her need for Him, a woman who has theoretically "achieved" all that you, in a dark dusty corner of your head, still believe that you need to make everything right.

marriage, kids, a carrier, peer approval. all of the above will make everything right culture tells us. what a horrendous lie.  i realize the devastating impact it has on my friends and coworkers and random girls i meet when i hear their stories and their longings. the prison it keeps them in and it had kept me in all these years. a lie that even after not-believing-it-anymore, even after putting out trust and hope and happiness in much more powerful hands, we still occasionally lean towards,

fitzpatrick is a strong experienced lady, who has the gift of preaching the Gospel in a slightly estrogen-laden sarcastic manner. the gift of guessing crazy convoluted women doubts and reminds you, again and again -because she knows you are a woman and need to hear things twenty different times and in twenty different ways- reminds you of His love for you.

not love "but maybe he didn't like me as much today", not love "because i did good and didn't explode in anyone's face today", not love "but i still remember all these horrible things ive done and it's weighing me down and i dare not look him in the face" UNCONDITIONAL, EVERLASTING, NEVER-ENDING, ALL-ENCOMPASSING, ETERNAL LOVE.

im not trying to sound like the jesus storybook bible. okay fine, maybe i stole a word or two from there. google elyze fitzpatrick and buy her books. youtube her, amazon her or whatever new app is available since my last techno culture check. it will change your life.  and the beauty of the modern age, is that macho-men-types-what-does-a-womans-conference-speaker-have-to-do-with-me-types (don't get me wrong, pretty attractive types they are) can order books or listen to her gender-clandestinely. i'm sure you have crazy convoluted men doubts of your own too.

what is amazingly obvious is that God tells you that He will change your heart when you start following Him. You don't really believe it. maybe you hope for it, but don't believe its possible. i mean yeah yeah sure he created the heavens and the earth blablabla but this is di-ff-rent, God. I tried to change on my own and couldn't now, could i? yes yes i know You created me and all, you can do all things, but let's be realistic. it's hilarious what condescending little creatures we are to the Creator.

just to say not only He changes you, but every time, you think you've got it, the whole creation/fall/redemption/restoration business, BAM- He slams it in your face in a whole new different way that leaves you panting with excitement all over again.
He knows when you need to be reminded of heart truths that you've packed aside, because you're an intellectual and too busy considering deeper theological or to-do listal issues. He is there in your to-do lists, your failed attempts at non-explosions, your missed runs and your lecture performance.

He is also there in a blog post that was supposed to be about "overthinking" and somehow ended up being about Jesus. hmmm. funny.

 

city girl and other short confessions

the maalouf sisters have had a great two weeks. first 5k, which also happens to be a social event on every colorful-mess-loving, awesome-childhood-reminiscing, curly head's bucket list.

discovering new KC breweries and bistrots might be a daily activity for lots of people. we have always had a different approach, being submitted to two sets of numbers: calories and dollars.

the amount of motivation it took to even place an insanity video in the dvd player, the agony of required 30 hour calls to deserve your salary, the torture in repeated fittings of the new dress that simply won't zip all the way to the top, the sense of victory sliding that credit card to pay for the 80% off teal leather designer boots just made us into less frequent frequenters of the overgreased, overpriced, over-tipped for, catastrophic heartburn and guilt producing fake authentic french cuisine.

symphony in the flint hills this weekend, another bucket lister, complemented by an apple maps mishap regarding the location of fort riley. once we got to the dirt road and met with another technology trusting lost citadine, we crossed "experiencing rural living" off of our to-do lists and came back to the highway.

it's sad really, i never wanted to be a city girl. i imagine myself being able to do hard physical work. and truly connecting with nature. probably connected to a crying point once it was time to separate the baby cows from their mothers. i only know that that is done because i read it in a romance novel somewhere. here we go, city girl again. i am the cliché city girl. not so cliché in the city are we? with curly hair flying around and an exotic accent? great, solved the cliché part at least in my head.
then the intensivist nature kicks in. i panic thinking about how much time do they have to reach a hospital if they have a STEMI. there is no way they make the whole 90 mns door to cath lab. do the hospitals even have a cath lab?? does 911 even answer calls here? what about babies, deliveries, online shopping, 5000 people mega-churches, podcasts, sepsis? do they have CRRT in their hospitals? what if the preemies need ECMO?
aaaah the arrogance... the false comfort of modern medicine and the illusion of online communities.. ...
yes i realize all the false comforts i rely on and the modern lies i have believed. first step.
 as far as the whole cowboy (yes boy, not cooking cowgirl) fantasy, i will just submit to the reassuring reality that God put us where we are supposed to be. i'm sure i'll find some hay to cut, or whatever, in heaven.






 

running; from a one night stand to an engagement.

Jesus satisfies all my longings.... the hymn is stuck in my head, and popped there during today's run.. (now yesterday's run. for more information on procrastination, please refer to post #1)

now what u need to know about today's run is that it was not craved but just on the schedule. the Q 2 days run intermittent with occasional insanity abs video and various older shaun-t videos schedule.

 

my favorites videos are when i feel my time is optimally invested, when more than two and the half muscle groups are being worked out (never mind that i am so exhausted that i end up vegging out in front of the Tudors, wasting a quintuplet of the time that i would have spent doing ten biceps curls), i am thankful for a cyber-trainer who understands my need for multitasking in a disorganizedly to-do listed life. 

 

anyway, that self inflicted workout schedule left me exhausted at the end of may, and excessive unrealistic ambition only reaped lack of  application.

it was not helping that the little clinical work i had to do at the hospital gave rise to endlessly eclectic to-do lists of studying, organizing my beloved closet, completing the shoe collection picture catalogue, updating my iTunes music collection into a multitude of playlists. all of the above currently half-done at best. the tragedy therein lying not in unfinished useful tasks, but rather the impossibility of crossing them off the to do list in brightly teal markers.

re-reading Romans that i just finished with my community group, and rewriting Romans notes mixed with a Romans study guide stolen from the laundry room in our st. louis apartment complex, started off as a to-do list and brought much joy and enjoyment, and has now got to find the time to fit into all of that.

digressing again r we? running, you're writing about running.

the whole running business started as i decided, one night with no moonlight, that i'd be doing the insanity videos one year from now. that sounded like a very maturely realistic time frame and far enough to alleviated any low self esteem ideas of i could never do that.

insight also kicking in about my poor exercise tolerance, and wanting to do the insanity videos, like all normal insane people do without pausing the video every 5 minutes. or maybe everyone does but the image in my head is the one I think I need to achieve, and not the realistic average of an experienced community. (average... i would refuse any such description on pure principle!...)

 i needed to increase my exercise tolerance and make myself breathe longer. VO2 max. i only leaned that term when it applied to me and not to my patients as a part of my education. i will treat you only of you suffer from a disease that interests me. or that i had time to read about in the midst of my life improving, God serving life. He couldn' t have possibly meant for me to serve him through absurd physics equations and boring disease concepts...

to make myself breathe better, i went for a run. low expectations and no experience made up my baseline of running for one minute .

hey at least i had overcome my worry of what people are going to think with the red face, sweat drenched, poor-form-one-minute-runner. yes i ran outside . i was already proud of that particular gutsy move

God might have been changing my heart from the time i used to make fun of 5-am-snowy-days-runners to that out-of-the-blue decision to Insanitize , to the ridiculous thought that running could be  just a bridge to that, and not a new love in itself.

changing my heart to the point of craving the next run twenty-four hours after the last run, apart from it being scheduled, (i only disobey the schedule for Jesus) or more accurately the set of one-minute-painful-slightly-faster-than-fast-walking-from-one-telephone-pole-to-the-other shows. 

to the point where i took a class, bought expensive running shoes , not on sale. i, the one whom without Jesus would be finding her identity in her elaborate outfits, and the pleasure of finding designer deals, mysterious discounts and colorful outfits.

today's run is that it was not craved but just on the schedule because my romance with running hit its first bumps on the road. but God redeems what He has created, and what he has deemed to be good.

running and i made up and are more in love than ever.
 

 

the conviction of brilliance

i'm not stupid. let's just start by stating that simple, accurate baseline truth, agree and move forward. as a corollary, we can also agree that i'm not very humble either. and as we're agreeing on character traits, i'm an incessant arguer. but i will not argue about not being humble.

its important to establish a baseline in the conversation.

now regarding my general absence of stupidity. (wait, excluding fits of anger at inopportune moments, some relationships i decided would be fruitful, and the inability to season food---salty only, i manage beautifully with sweets, coming from a long line of sweet-toothed stubborn diabetics).....
humm i wonder if i can call all of these something else and still claim intelligence, here i go again..


renaming the above: anger issues, discernment issues, extreme spontaneity, a conviction of being able to change, or better yet save people, and reluctance to put in the time to learn to cook.

but intellectually, I've had historical fits of brilliance.
of which i never actually understood the springing mechanism
acute and delicate insights one day, clueless the next
mastered my high school literature and philosophy class, unable to grasp the symbolism of a cult movie the next decade

so when i never understood the Bible, all of it, the writing style (not even noticing that "style" needed to be plural), the good news, the symbolism or lack thereof, the awe-inspiring Spirit, the punctuation, the what-i-thought-were-really-bad-bedtime-stories, the what-i-thought-was-a-lame-attempt-at-poetry, and the i-cant-tell-anyone-that-i-don't-understand-what-the-big-deal-is-all-about.

times of shame and arrogance.

in my mind, if i am brilliant, and by own doing, who else's?, and don't get this, it must be its fault

i mean, come on, look at me! i was reading great authors, had memorized exquisite poetry, was an avid cinephile of independent alternative movie-making.
i was slowly but surely on a path on intellectual and cultural eliteness.
slowly and painfully and exhaustingly and terrified of missing out on the next creative movement and be kicked out of the club.

a club where a pervasive sense of discomfort, lack-of-fulfillment, fear instead of satisfaction, were feelings that i had numbed down. and i had no time to decipher the Word of God.
i knew that was the right thing to call it, i knew the right answers because that is what an intellectual does. i was waiting for a feeling to kick in and make me magically understand this book BEFORE i open it. because i had no time to waste.

not that i was praying to understand it.
prayer was another right answer, a didactic accompanying an empathetic facial expression at funerals, or sessions of comforting friends breaking up, or neighbors experiencing health issues, etc, you get the picture...
prayer wasn't for me or by me. it was a word, a good sentence closure, a visit-ender, i'm praying for u, good luck with everything, bye! and a lie i recognized uttering every time i promised it to someone.

the shock that followed understanding the Good News still lingers.lingers in my head. my heart is at peace and at joy and at awe, and the journey keeps springing amazement at who God is. i dont know how He managed to pierce my hard stubborn, arrogant know-it-all heart, but that's what He does. He is amazing.

the shock lingers in my head still. the fact that with all my brilliance, intellect, years of church going, i had not comprehended a tiny, plain, simple sentence. Jesus died for your sins. what does that even mean?

that was a while back, and we've had a bumpy journey. where i was still kicking and screaming, and pouting in a corner and crossing my arms in refusal when He would hand me my Bible to read, and laughing at him when He would say the word discipline, and pressing play on a cult movie on Netflix when He would call me to talk to Him.

but i have learned discipline and i'm still learning. when i don't run away and actually sit and read my Bible, i am in awe and in beautiful shock and in adoration at what i'm learning.


see, working for an intellectual eliteness reputation is the biggest obstacle of all for asking questions.  because you cannot afford to look stupid when you are building your own kingdom. what does this crazy story have to do with jesus? you only ask the questions that will confuse others, and to which you have invented the answers to assert your intellectual superiority. and soon you will stop asking even yourself these questions, wait, why did jesus come to die again? because if you don't believe in your kingdom, then who else will?


The great lethal irony of misdirecting the occasional fits of greatness that He gave, and using them to judge His world, His word, and Him, building up from there to where you don't understand anything at all. what kind of Love digs into that, uninvited, to make all things new?











 

Musical envy

importing old country music cds borrowed from a friend, you know, one of those people whose dark living rooms, dusty kitchen counters, and torn down trucks carry a treasure of music legends and brilliant unknown artists, all of which you've never heard of.

maybe because you're a foreigner, and you were busy with your people's music legends. (to my Lebanese friends I will now admit, I have seen maybe two Fairuz plays, and can only hum the well known classics). none of that "b-sides for the elect" superior attitude.

maybe because you grew up without itunes or pandora.

or with overworked parents trying to raise kids and carry a household of fourteen in war time. sharing delicate Arabian notes floating on exquisite love poetry or the musical anarchist themes of the seventies would have been Ultimate Irony.

maybe because you just learned to ask when in ignorance. maybe you just reached that magic point, not of the illusion of absolute self-assurance, but of serene security in a mixture of worldly and Christ-grounded identity, where you are not terrified of other people's opinions. asking for musical recommendations is now acceptable.

i am making up for time lost in musical education by borrowing cds, stalking people's musical tastes on social media, and most importantly learning to listen. ha! because acquired deafness is probably at the root of all ignorance.

loudly turning music on, and wandering about the house pretending to do chores, or studying, just adds a layer of noise to the roaring cerebral to-do lists engines in my head.

music was not intended as an instrument to drown your thoughts or numb your co-existing experiences. for people who need "something in the background" let's just admit that this is merely where it is: in a background where the arrogant brilliance of your musical choices doesn't matter anymore.

 hey! my thoughts are dangerously tipping to bitter jealousy..

true. i envy you, respect and admire you, sometimes don't comprehend your taste at all. i don't know how you did it, how all these names and cassettes and endless spotify lists became knowledge to you.

so i will keep borrowing. and learning to listen, trying to make up for lost time.

so i have a few tunes to introduce my children to, in an era where justin bieber will likely be the classic of the time.





 

Tornadoes and M&M's

only until recently did i understand the difference between a tornado watch and warning. this issue may be a source of confusion to a multitude of people,that confusion then translating into the topic of casual conversation and the smallest of talk.

but for us foreigners, we know the cultural areas to focus on and fight to acquire, in order to prove, mainly to ourselves, that we are not FOBs (fresh off the boat) . A few years after hitting shore, after the initial self-deluded FOB-denial phase has passed, and we acknowledge our initial condition, we vow to be born again and strive to slowly shed our persistent FOBiness as we grow in visa years.

tornadoes and the weather are not covered by the doctrine of fitting in.

Acceptable initial steps after cross-cultural baptism:
acquiring an acceptable accent that makes the overworked and minimally tipped lady at starbucks understand you need waaaate'  instead of the phonetically correct wo-ter, taught to you devotedly in school,
acknowledging college sports as the gods of ever-changing and ever-returning seasons even if not endorsing them,
learning that no one will invite you twice for coffee, or offer you M&Ms more than once because you politely refused the first time, thinking you were visiting your mom's second cousin's great-uncle's widow (as the tradition is for the pope to refuse the conclave's decision twice before solemnly wearing - in my opinion that which would have made Simon-Peter cut the designer's both ears, and more than likely, delicate hands)

what a liberating realization. yes please, no thank you, how very few occasions to clearly express you desires and be on your way
this is a young country, and to catch up with the millennia of brother continents, has had to abandon, the triurne negation tradition. There are many facets of freedom. That was one of mine, gained after years of claustrophobic mathematics of convention.  

abysmal plans

it is 6: 47 pm and i sit on my couch with an overheated computer on my lap .who knows if that's normal, ever since the glittery stickers on my toddler Dell faded, i have lost interest in its therapeutic needs. a new computer has also not yet found its place on my to-do list or my budget. what's the point, i would not appreciate its marvelously intricate world of possibilities. really all i need is a half-clean screen, an internet connection faster than good ole dial up and a keyboard. I would still be using my nineteen ninety seven Lebanese twenty pound dead weight if it would fit on my lap and stream netflix.

well it is now 6:55, eight minutes spent on one paragraph only took my feelings of doom to abysmal dimensions. see i was supposed to be heading to the Roasterie between 4 and 5 pm, pretend to read about lung cancer while really copying Bible verses on orange glitter paper with a teal marker, that God ordained be brought back from a bookstore in Achrafieh Lebanon, probably for this specific design of my spiritual edification.

twelve minutes of reading would have made me feel really comfortable in my newfound knowledge of chemicals i had never heard of as risk factors for lung cancer. chloromethyl esters. so i am supposed to ask the sweet eighty year old in my clinic- with whom i have just flirted a little to soften the blow of a posterior speculated nodule in the apico-posterior aspect of his left upper lobe, if he has ever been exposed to that thing.

or am i supposed to, in addition to relocating to the first world to better learn to save lives, leaving my elderly cat and my one-eyed nounours (a plushed bear typical francophile name) in the master bedroom my parents let me have in the newly built house of my youth in the Lebanese mountains, where the breeze flows through each of the vast windows, encircling your soul.... (are you still following: we were at "am i supposed to":) learn the materials involved in every single welding, construction, naval, et j'en passé! job, to pinpoint what caused his cancer.

He has it. that's all they want to know. and how long does he have, can he still help his wife pickle the tomatoes this year. sweet old man with the aggressive daughter, we all comment, but hey guess what, if it were my dad in that tiny clinic examination room, you would bet i would be aggressive to the 24 year old looking curly haired foreigner doctor with the occasional blank stare (as she is trying to remember the name of that chemical so she can ask him if he was exposed to it.)

it is now 7:14. i meant for this to be a post about how my plans for the day got messed up. i guess my patient's abysmal news trumps my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) miseries.

off to the roasterie then. i seem to remember my marque-page (book mark) was stuck to a paragraph describing how most trials do not support the observed beneficial association or a role for supplemental beta-carotene in the prevention of lung cancer. 
i mean that is great news for me, i hate carrots (and claim a deadly allergy involving terrifying dimensions of tongue swelling if i cohabitate with carrots at a relative's Christmas dinner table).

my joy of living in denial and my natural tendency to laziness also cling to evidence-based medicine to avoid searching for evidence supporting nature-based medicine.

but who knows, i mean God must have had a reason for making carrots, besides me using them as ghastly entertainment at the dinner table. let the poor man eat carrots and pickle this year's batch of tomatoes.
 

at the beginning.

i've been wanting to blog for years. ok maybe not years, but i'm Lebanese, i exaggerate. its in my dna and generational legacy.

i was encouraged to actually start (blogging, are you still following?) by a group of women i met while on a baby-hugging trip in Haiti. that turned out to be a God-meeting, prayer building, identity fixing trip. but everyone has been blogging about that so i will hold off for now.
having made that decision, it probably means i will be randomly posting about Haiti as thoughts and prayers fly in my heart. im not really a decision following kind of person. but im asking God to change my heart.

first post written 2 days after being back home.... (wait, am i home, are the States home? is the hospital home? but then when i talk about my mom, i say she is back home, i.e in Lebanon, Leb for the Initiates).

donc.... 2 days after being back home, sitting in pulmonary clinic waiting for patients whose charts have been looked up yesterday to not waste time (a regular demonstration of my OCD)

Joking around with acquaintances who know nothing of the world or the God I just met (or maybe i'm judging them to be like that, i mean, do i really reflect the God of love in my life?) 

sitting in pulmonary clinic, thinking about Haiti , praying to not loose sight of the Jesus i had my first date with after a prolonged long-distance relationship.

also planning the path to the previous level of fitness i was at before leaving. kicking myself for not maintaining the resolution not to binge on the remaining cliff bars and cereal bars from the trip. (i usually don't buy cereal bars - so i wouldn't eat them- duh. )so i have to taste every single one not to miss an exceptional opportunity : prelude on my relationship with food)

 

the degree of fitness has decreased by 50% in 10 days.

no numbers (in miles or minute) since i still can't live up to full disclosure and honesty. i like to pretend Jesus doesn't know. in this case it's ok that He does since He will not be making fun of my diminished VO2max. he would tell me to press on and that He's standing by the treadmill, ready to activate the emergency response system should my historical clumsiness slide off of the treadmill.

since while running, i'm following some dumb reality tv show that i didnt know existed because i don't have cable,(the purpose being not to watch dumb  tv shows, remember?). with the advent of hulu, that resolution pretty much died off.
 

anyway, what i meant to say, is that i ignore Jesus standing by the treadmill and get mad about how people might make fun of my minute by minute running victories. (approval idol anyone??)

i believe  this flight of ideas perfectly preflects my general brain of mind. and the vision for this blog but then again, I don't know where God will take it, and take me..

ps. this paragraph was posted multiple days after la redaction.  another case of inglorious procrastination