To nurse.

{Sometimes, I think that I will miss Queen Creek}

Loud.

Your shrieks are hitting a higher C.

I hear you. So does everyone else who passes your door.

You are anxious, perhaps a bit confused.

You are likely in pain.

You are afraid and alone.

All alone.

It takes just one.

One person to stop and to care.

One pump of hand sanitizer as I walk into your room.

One gloved hand grasping yours.

One assurance that you are not alone. That I am here to walk this road with you.

You have made it. Weary and hurting, you are here now. Allow me to pick up your banner and stand on your behalf? To be your advocate?

To defend the weak.

What a privilege this is.

To be here. To see your smile make a comeback, your body close behind.

What a privilege this is.

To give many their first bath and some their last.

To loan these hands to laboring mothers and to lace these fingers into the hands of one who has received bad news; a poor prognosis.

To gently knock and come in when you are in your most vulnerable state.

I smile, I care, I nurse.

And while I do, my soul can't help but whisper "what about me?"

These feet are tired, these shoulders are heavy, this heart has been through the ringer and it's only 10 o'clock.

These hands have held life and ushered others to the door of the Father, knocked on their behalf.

What about me?

I am not in physical need, but what about my loneliness?

Fear?

Weariness?

What about the days when I feel like I need someone to carry the banner on my behalf?

The days when I remember that these hands were made to be held?

The days when I am too tired to stand in the gap, when I could use the assurance that I am not alone?

And He lets me know my barrenness so I can learn to lean.

He comes like a gentleman, but with authority.

He is here.

He is present.

And He has given everything for this frail soul.

He is here.

During the internal cries that turn into external leakage.

And He reminds me that I do not need to be strong to be successful.

Whole to be used.

Perfect to be loved.

He washes my dirty hands with this truth, and it reaches my soul.

Trickling in like a line of Normal Saline, reality is that He values the weak, is endeared to the broken, and woos the ones who are far from perfection.

In this beautiful exchange, He has appraised my life, my soul, as worth dying for.

Divine exchange, death to life.

Empowered now by who You are and how You love, I take You with me when I go.

Into their room, I smile because You are with me.

I pump a puddle of sanitizer into my hands and I pray...

Be with me as I enter.

Blood of Jesus, be on this doorway and cover the doorway of this soul.

Jesus, You are the LORD of life.

You really are Jehovah Rapha.

Heal us once again.

{heart}

Kel

{Dang Gina. The one that I love.}

{Phoenix One}

{Moving into my apartment yesterday... 6 ladies. In the heat. Dining room tables, recliners, beds, clothes... nbd ;) }