owl cake

 

and so the mechanical heart beats

The other day at work I was finishing up another lunch-over-paperwork when I was paged to complete an evaluation of a new patient. Her chart said ‘VAD’, an abbreviation unknown to me at the time. I had no idea things like this happened anywhere other than on Television drama series, and was not prepared for what I would see or experience.

She is thirteen, and calls Mexico home. She identifies herself as a dancer and a cheerleader, and smiles in excitement at the attention brought to the Highschool Musical tank top covering over the evidence of surgery. Even through her thin shirt I can see the wounds open on her abdomen– covered by gauze and tape– and I can hear her heart beating,very loudly, eerily steady. She has a fake heart, a mechanical ‘muscle’ that is outside of her body, pumping blood through her veins as her own is meant to do, but is unable.

Through a series of minimally documented events, she woke up in an American hospital….with her heart beating outside her body. It was reported to me that she was ‘angry’ and I wonder even now why this is a surprise. She is now undocumented, in a hospital where her mother is at her bedside but cannot communicate with her daughters’ medical providers outside of an awkward telephone which leaves little room for emotional reaction or understanding.

crazy, isn’t it? We have come so far in certain medical advances, hand-held communication devices, and research of what makes us tick. And yet we sit in a pool of blood that looks so familiar and still has nowhere to go.

We communicate words but true understanding and intimacy is left for a third-party to interpret. We come to those who promise healing, and yet even with the greatest of all inventions are left with our hearts outside of our true selves. On our best days we get the bare essentials. We have oxygen, we have blood, we can even stand on our own two feet with help; should someone be willing.

But what was meant to be connected is disconnected. And this will never feel normal– no matter how pretty the band-aid. We have learned too well how to cover our wounds without figuring out the initial cut that started the entire hemorrhage.

She is angry– rightfully so. Not knowing her surroundings, far from home, with someone who tells her it will be alright that her heart is no longer inside her chest.  I want to scream right along with her– just because this is typical to some–does not make it ok.  Certainly this is a final resort, but can she survive it?  Can we?

You may argue that this is the only way to save her life…true.  Yet, in the figurative sense of our hearts disconnecting for pure survival, I wonder what kind of life we are settling for.  A life with a heart that does not beat unless numbed by the resounding murmur of a machine seems lifeless.  Isn’t this by definition so?

I have to say for myself….and with realization of great risk…I would rather have a heart bruised but beating and alive than the alternative. And I know the bruises are only healed by the One who is familiar with my own rhythm.

In the truthful prayer of George MacDonald:

“gather my broken fragments to a whole…let mine be a merry, all receiving heart, but make it WHOLE with LIGHT in every part.”

I pray this is true.

 

gratitude

All day today I lugged around a box of Kleenex. A big, awkward box of kleenex in my purse. I remembered it when I woke up this morning and anticipated the day ahead. I brought it to my first meeting, when the tears started, and then to the funeral where the tears would not stop.

Today, I said goodbye to a co-worker, a friend, a faithful wife, a beautiful mother, and a true champion of life. I sat in a room of folding chairs filled with people who lined this simple church to honor a life well lived and a woman well loved. Her husband shared that he was married to the love of his life; and a woman who spent her moments with a grateful heart. Every time she talked about the cancer, the pain, the discomfort, the fear…she ended the realistic reports with a thankful heart. For simple things– like hot chocolate and hugs from her kids. For friends and feeling the wind in her hair. For the ability to work, to love, to laugh.

I was reminded how much time I waste on the trivial– how many words could go unsaid and bitterness could be thrown out. We spend so much time bound up in ourselves– when there is a world that needs even the simplest act of love! And you, my friends, and myself have so much love and gentleness and compassion to give! I pray we have eyes to see it and hearts soft enough to offer it. I was reminded that gratitude is available to each of us– for the simple things and the great big surprises. I was reminded that loving those around us– our families, our co-workers, the people you come in contact with at the grocery store or the coffee shop– is such an honor and a privilege.

And so, today, in honor of Heather…I am grateful. For country music that makes me feel at home, for white lights, for the smell of a Christmas tree, for coffee, for friends, for hugs, for tears, for kleenex (the kind with the lotion in it), and for another day to learn how to love and offer grace.

 

pumpkins and maple leaves

Its happening. Fall is beginning to show its face and I am so happy to welcome it back. Although I love a good Midwestern Autumn, I am convinced there are few places I would rather spend it than strolling through Denver’s ‘Capitol Hill’….with its old mansions and quirky neighbors and parks and big trees that tell stories.

Fall makes me feel contemplative, and cozy, and pumpkiny. It makes me want to bake, and smell fires and buy really great stylish sweaters with tall boots. The colors remind me of our Creator and His amazing ability to awe us forever. I love that He has blessed us with seasons in life, in work, in nature. A reminder that ‘this too shall pass’ and at the same time ‘don’t worry about tomorrow.’

Today, I am thankful for a roof over my head, friends who are truthful and loving, a comfy, funky pair of shoes, my old bike with rust and a whole lotta character, a warm bed, soy chai, and my Savior who is present and purposeful and gracious to someone such as me.

So, in a tribute to enjoy the present: Winter, You are not welcome for at least another month. Don’t blow it and show up uninvited! Fall, Thanks for coming….it is always good to see you.

With sincerity and thanks for great big yellow leaves, Amanda

 

hero

bear with me, as much of my hunger to write comes from what I do every day. Some people find process in music, or poetry or art. I find it in words. Words help for some reason, to put my thoughts in organized ideas that allow me to realize what I feel in the depth of experiences, and possibly grasp some meaning. I do hope and pray that meaning changes the way I go through days and allows me to be present…present with compassion, true empathy, and possibly a hand to hold when walking through the ups and downs of life. I have realized there are few greater honors then walking life with someone– an invitation into another’s reality. It carries deep emotion at times, deep grief, deep joy. And yet, isn’t this part of what it means to be human? To share in the experiences that make up who we are– often by crawling through the trenches of tears or dancing in another’s laughter? I am constantly humbled by this oppotunity. I have the priviledge of working with my heros every day. People whose lives have been changed within moments. Those who face lifelong hopes that are dashed in the seconds of an unexpected traumatic event. Every morning I walk into the room of a 9 year old boy and his mother at his bedside. You can tell when you look at her she sleeps little. Yet she always smiles, even in the midst of honest heartbreak. She spends most of her days bathing her son, cleaning up after him, positioning him, and advocating for his care. She has chosen the road of strength; paved with brokenness, tears, fatigue, and great hope. I realize daily I know little of true love. Little of a selfless love that gives, knowing the one loved has no capacity to return the favor. I believe the source has a Name, and although I am His, I have yet to truly understand. I am, however, thankful that I see her as an example every morning and every afternoon….she is one of my heros because she has chosen selfless love, perseverence and joy. May those of us who have the honor to share in another’s grief give courage to continue…and may Love himself continue to teach us how.

 

alistofloves

volkswagen karmann ghia’s,coconut gelato, almond filled pastries, fluffy white towels, the sound of a piano under the influence of an artist, Orla Keily, people who are not afraid of passion, kind words, spanish tile, the stickiness of my skin post hours in salty waves, 50/50 long sleeve shirts, laughter, excitement, hidden meaningful definitions in everyday language, my dad’s smile, running, watching little girls play soccer in the park, baking, inspiring conversation, the memory of my grandma…

 

thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
wich is natural which is infinite which is yes

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

-excerpt from e.e.cummings…my favorite poet.