“No going back”

Oops.
I so wanted off this ledge. I thought I could make it, but in mid-step, I slipped. And now, I’m hanging here for dear life. (A rabbit clinging to a small shelf with its out-stretched front paws, near falling. A small rabbit, yet too big for the smaller shelf.)
I long for freedom from this small space, this small story I’ve found myself trapped in. But when it comes to jumping free, at the very moment of potential release, I try to turn back, and in my maneuvering, I fall and find myself clinging to the very thing I have so long loathed. Is it not better to let go and risk the consequences of the fall than stay in this small, restricted space? (Later. . .) Now that I have been hanging on so long, it’s almost become comfortable. Maybe I could stay here, if I just stop struggling.

What a waste! What are you doing, rabbit? Let go! You are so much more, can be so much more. Where do you think you will fall? Don’t you see? Don’t you know? He has been trying to get your attention for years. He can be trusted. His heart is good. To let go is to fall into the center of love. Can you imagine what that would be like? Just let go!

Lord, you have written a story so much larger for me. Give me the courage to release, let go of this known and risk the unknown with the confident assurance of your character to depend on.

(These thoughts came while interacting with a similar rabbit in an exhibit by Beth Cavener Stichter at the Renwick Gallery.)

One step beyond the threshold (June30)

I now stand one step past the threshold – the door has slammed shut behind me, even startling me the way it closed so fast and so firmly. With this closing, I spin about to face the door again realizing that the way is closed and closed for good. There is no need to even try opening it again. I’m thankful that the door is made of glass so I can see through to where I’ve been. And so as I look – what do I see? What do I feel? So many scenes, and people, and experiences. So impacting – I am changed because of all of these. – but I know that standing gazing too long backwards serves no purpose. The door is here, it is closed, and I am on the other side.

As I slowly turn, there is a touch of fear, of caution, of anxiety. What do I expect to see? Will it be bright or dark? expansive or small? warm or cold?

As I consider my new world, this unknown place, I find it somehow familiar.
A clearing of grass, nicely trimmed, soft, inviting.
A gravel path leading off to the left winding into the surrounding trees and undergrowth and disappearing beyond my sight.
The sun’s brightness beginning to fill this space almost as if rising to meet me from above the trees, burning away the clouds of morning, now illuminating this place.
Gazing through the surrounding “wall” of trees, rays of sunlight can be seen passing through the canopy above bringing out the various shades of green from the leaves of the trees and shrubs.
A soft, cool breeze brushes my face as I turn toward it closing my eyes and listening to its affects on the leaves around me. I hear the call of birds and their flitting about along with the movement of squirrels and other life in the undergrowth – yet, their movements are distant and are unseen from where I stand.
The fear fades, my heart settles.
Your presence surrounds me.
I sense Your love.
I am a peace.

No call to press on, no pressure, only rest. I move away from the door with a backward glance and then a leaving behind, walking into the soft grass. Slipping off my shoes to see if it feels as good as it looks. It does. The feel of St. Augustine beneath my feet and between my toes, there’s nothing like it to this Texas girl! The grass is cool, but the air is warm and comfortable.

I notice a rolled blanket against the wall near the door – it spreads easily and softly out onto a section of open grass – lying down and looking up, I see the clear, brilliant blue of the sky – the previous misty clouds are gone – I settle – I rest – and soon I sleep.

And so I do.

(I could add explanations for what I’ve written, but nothing seems as well to convey my feelings on that day. Be in this place with me, adding your experience to mine, and I think you will understand what a gift from God this was to my heart after so long a journey and on the verge of such an amazing future.)

Written the last day of residency (June 29)

And so, here it is – the last day of my medical training. After all of the time, energy, effort, sacrifice, victories, successes, failures, and losses of these eleven years. What does it mean to come to the end of something like this – it feels like reaching the end of my life because for at least thirty years this is the direction I have been heading – to say I’m done seems so ethereal.

I know life’s not over – far from it! Yet, to close a door that for so long has remained opened. . . To walk through this door today and out into an unknown as vast and broad as being an attending physician. Wow! If I were walking alone, and if I had not grown to accept the goodness of my Companion’s heart (as demonstrated by how he has shaped me to this point), I would probably have found a way to stay in the safety of this educational experience – but I know that such a choice is not for me. I may return to the residency setting but not out of fear but out of calling.

The view through this door appears broad and the path turns sharply and quickly out of my view, obscured by the shadows of the unknown. It’s like a thick undergrowth beneath the woods just beyond this small clearing surrounding my exit? Or is it an entrance, a way into a world to be explored? Why do my thoughts take this turn? Is there a lesson here greater than a transition in life? Could this be what it will be like to exit (or enter) through the door of death one day?

Leaving the familiar behind, the formerly comfortable to enter a world I’ve only heard about from those who have gone before – a world Jesus knows well – one that He has shaped for me, unique to me – common to others who have walked this way before but not the same – a future experience shaped by and through my previous experiences – my interpretation, appreciation, and awareness of my new world is a direct result of my journey to this point. Could this be what Heaven is like?

Prior to this, through the years I have caught an occasional whiff of what it might be like to be done with my training, to be a REAL physician. Those times encouraged me in my journey but also served to enhance a growing dissatisfaction with my current state of being still in the process of residency. But it was this dissatisfaction that compelled me on to complete the journey. Is it not the same with Heaven? Don’t I catch a whiff of the fragrance in the experiences here on earth? The brilliance of colors in the sunset last evening, the words of a friend spoken at the right time, the presence of something (Someone) with me as I settle into a new understanding of how I am made. Each of these, an encouragement in the process while also intensifying my longings for more.

And so, I pass through the door . . .