And when it comes to our feelings, those who have been left behind discover a vast ocean. Sometimes the ocean seems calm and still, and yet the next minute, for no apparent reason, a wave comes crashing over us. At other times the loss is so intense it is like being at sea, out of the sight of land and simply tossed around; and then, sometimes there are moments of quiet and serene beauty as a new truth dawns, and sometimes the grief is so overwhelming that it’s like drowning, and there’s no one to hear our cries (Christopher Herbert).
I’ve been thinking about a baby called Iona this week.
Even though many of us had never seen Iona we got to know her through her uncle Chrisand couldn’t help but be amazed at her fight for survival. She was just weeks old. We prayed and waited for news of her progress and thanked God for the occasional glimmers of hope. But it wasn’t to be.
It’s been deeply moving and inspiring to read her uncle’s story and I’m hoping he continues for a short time at least. We won’t forget. Her funeral will be tomorrow and although she may be gone, in the short time she’s been here, little Iona has made quite an impact. And for that we give thanks.
Starting tomorrow at 9am through till 4pm. Wonder what’s in tomorrow’s timetable?
When I decided to give up my job two years ago to go back to full-time study and a nursing degree I’m sure there were those who wondered what the heck I was doing. But here we are, two years down the line, all exams and placements passed and with less than a year to go it still seems a little unreal and unnerving. It scares me sometimes when I think how quickly it’s all gone and the learning expected during that time.
A joy? Everything I’d hoped for? Wonderful people doing wonderful things? There have been moments … let’s see what tomorrow and thereafter brings before I come to any conclusion.
Since Youth Assembly I’ve been on a bit of a roll with the old blog so today I’m pondering the possibility of a post. Or maybe I’m just faffing.
I was reading about procrastination on another blog yesterday and the word seems especially fitting for me at the minute but I find that my ways of putting off the inevitable are changing, evolving to suit the latest fad.
My usual approach in avoiding essay writing in particular involves three things: housework; staring out the window looking for squirrels; spending hours on end reading material related to the most recent assignment which, at the beginning, makes me feel quite self-righteous in a conscientious kind of a way but inevitably leads to over saturation and numbness. Always good.
I’ve noticed this week a new pattern is emerging and there are now some additions to my repertoire. It appears I have developed a new and far more entertaining set of avoidance tactics that include Facebook (the word games can put you into a trance like state if you stick with them long enough), Twitter (providing your friends update regularly you can see what they’re doing at any given point in time) and of course the ultimate is mulling over other people’s interesting/not interesting thoughts in bloggers world (even the random stuff).
With the final academic session and final placements on the horizon as of Thursday I’m feeling a bit guilty that I’ve been so unproductive these last two weeks. It’s not as if I’ve had nothing to be getting on with. So in an attempt to combat this guilt I’m planning on planning my research proposal and visiting Athens. I’ll put the kettle on first and take the washing out the machine and remember to take my lemon balm herbal remedy for stress and anxiety and … oh it’s almost lunchtime and then I’m seeing someone at two.
It was my intention to use a particular story last weekend at youth assembly and I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t because it is perfect. In all the hustle and bustle and recreating it went out of my head.
Like others, I have continued to reflect on the weekend and there were times when we didn’t get it right but that happens, we learn and move on. It’s a new format and there were always going to be teething problems.
In a couple of the sessions we desperately wanted to encourage people to look beyond the labels and stereotypes to see people as they are in their particular circumstances. We wanted to explore the impact of those circumstances on their relationships but also the perceptions that people hold. We wanted to challenge and, to a degree, that’s what we did. But I’m left feeling dissatisfied. I wish we’d done so many things differently that would have allowed a flow of conversation from one session to the other. We lost sight of that when deliverances became our focus.
This story says what we may not have achieved in saying last weekend. It’s about relationships, seeing God in one another and finding God in unexpected places. It’s a beautiful story which I hope you enjoy even if you’ve heard it before.
There was once an old monastery which had lost its inspiration. The same routines were performed as they had always been, but there were no new novices and little enthusiasm for the rites of prayer.
The Abbot saw all this and he grieved. At a loss as to how to change things, he paid a visit to an old hermit who lived in the woods. The hermit welcomed him in and spread the table with bread and cheese and wine. After they had eaten together the recluse addressed the Abbot.
You and your brothers have lost the fire of God. You come seeking wisdom from me. I will tell you a secret, but you can only repeat it once. After that no one must say it aloud again. The hermit then looked deep into the eyes of the Abbot and said, ‘The Messiah lives among you.’
They were both silent as the Abbot considered the import of this saying. ‘Now you must leave’ the hermit said.
Returning to the monastery, the Abbot called all the monks together and told them that he had a teaching which he had been given by God. He added that the teaching was never to be repeated out loud again. Then the Abbot looked at each of his brothers and said, ‘The Hermit says that one of us is the Messiah.’
The monks were startled. ‘What could this mean?’ they wondered silently. ‘Is John with the big nose the Messiah? Or Father Matthew who keeps falling asleep at prayer? Am I the Messiah? But puzzled as they were they never repeated the saying again
As time went by, the monks began to treat one another with a special love and reverence. There was a gentle, whole-hearted, human quality about them now which was hard to describe but easy to see. They lived with each other as those who had finally found something of significance. Their words were careful, considered and gentle. Who could tell when they might be speaking to the Messiah?
Before long, the vitality of the monastery attracted many visitors and young men began asking to join the community. The old hermit died without revealing any more and the Abbot sometimes wondered if he had understood correctly.
Monday was such a beautiful day. When we set off for camping in Keswick we were hopeful that the next day would be much the same. A good day for walking was what we wanted and I was so looking forward to returning to Cat Bells. Alas, the British weather let us down and so we packed up yesterday morning in the rain and headed for a cup of tea and a scone (resisted temptation of big fat cake!) followed by a roam around the shops. Ah the excitement of it all was almost too much! But seriously, I love Keswick, it’s one of my favourite places and even in the rain I’m never disappointed.
The only downside for me was the usual onset of insomnia around midnight, the endless trips to the toilet, someone in the next tent snoring and then to top it all a particularly bad hair day which kept getting worse!!!
Can’t wait till Saturday when we’ll be going back for more of the same! Ah the great outdoors … ye cannae beat it!
It seems comedy is the Community Psychiatric Nurse’s companion and for that I’m truly grateful otherwise the time with my mentor would have been far less entertaining! My adventure today involved chasing a patient’s dog around the street trying to get it back into the house because the dog likes adventure you see and sometimes if it gets out it stays out all night and it really needs to come in because I’m going out and what will it do if it comes back and I’m not in (the patient says). Immediately I feel sorry for (a) the elderly patient because she’s getting distressed and the dog’s too fast for her (actually the dog’s too fast for me too) and (b) the dog who’ll be left wandering around all day because no-one’s home. I was thinking this could all end in tears. Probably mine if I catch it and it bites me!
From the window I spotted the slippery menace and darted back outside … a woman with a mission! But we all know what dogs are like. They wait till you’re almost beside them then run away again. I lost count of how many times it did that. The man up the road started to chase it too and the Council refuse collectors seemed to enjoy the show.
I saw the dog was running out of steam and shouted one last time. Maybe he heard the desperation in my voice because he came bounding up to me. This dog whose name had been changed recently (long story), a friendly wee thing who realised he was in for the sharp end of his owner’s tongue. With his tail between his legs he made his way into the house and I was the heroine of the day!
Back inside we heard stories about the bingo (that made me smile), going for walks, hearing aids, dial a bus, the naughty dog eating sausages, learning to read and write at 70, her auntie (who must be about a 100) and a wee trip to the seaside. Nice lady!
Yippee! I’ve passed and second year is still almost over!
I find it a little strange sometimes that I can get such good results. I’m sure someone is going to contact me to say there’s been a blunder, a huge mistake, a bit of a mix-up but so far it appears not so I smile. Now those who know me know that I hate boasting and am more inclined to understate my achievements than to shout about them from the rooftops. This is my way even though I wish I was different sometimes. Maybe it’s the result of a Presbyterian upbringing and the fact that praise was always hard to come by in our household or maybe it’s just a personality thing. Who knows and it’s not important. What’s important is I felt really good about myself and am pleased that the hard work is continuing to pay off. I’m sure family and friends believe that I’m taking the phrase ‘if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well’ to the extreme. No? Thanks for your help and support anyway x
Then I had an odd afternoon when I dropped in on a drop-in group specifically for people recovering from mental ill-health. Nothing odd in that you might say, especially for a student nurse specialising in mental health and you’d be right. In essence it’s not odd at all. But when the bingo started I was transported to a certain scene in a certain film. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry quite frankly and left feeling a bit deflated by the whole experience even though the participants were very nice, staff extremely welcoming and everyone seemed to enjoy it.
Nothing wrong with bingo you might think and, again, you’d be right. What am I getting at? I’m not really sure. I spoke to my mentor about it today and questioned the appropriateness of my reaction in a conscientious reflective student kind-of-a-way. Contrary to my thinking she understood what I meant, asking if I saw it as a step backwards instead of forwards. I’m sure that’s what I saw – something from the past – a stereotypical collection of people doing a stereotypical type thing in a stark hall absent of any warmth and I guess that shocked me slightly in 2008. I wondered if this is the best we can do? I’m not sure what I think.
What I know is they enjoy it, it’s not about me is it, it’s about those that turn up week after week because it’s bingo. Good for them.
For a split second everything seemed just right. I feel quite spiritual in fact. The sun’s shining, I’m eating chocolate, I don’t feel guilty as I walk passed the gym on the way home … then I start to think back to the events of the day. I should know by now that’s never a good thing.
You know that way you begin to replay things over in your mind?
Today we had to give a presentation. It shouldn’t have worried me but it did. My group arrived to be told that we were in the ‘communication suite’ and we all knew what that meant. Recording!!! We’d been duped! I would’ve worn something different! Well I am female and I wasn’t the only one wishing she was having a better hair day! I suddenly felt under pressure. The last time I felt this nervous was when I was Best Woman at my best friend’s civil partnership, and this time I didn’t even need to be funny for goodness sake! (As we all know trying to be funny when one is not a naturally funny person isn’t good.)
I’m thinking I’m a bit stressed this week. Too many things needing my time and effort and I’m unable to focus.
I’ll just have another piece of chocolate and not think about it anymore. I’ve got an idea! I’ll think about something else instead …
I must remember to transfer the law and healthcare notes I took during this morning’s lecture. Now what was the name of that legal case and what was its significance again? Nope, can’t remember!
I’ll just wait till I get home and once I’ve read through the stuff, I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.
This afternoon’s lecture on dual diagnosis was really good – mental health & learning disabilities. Mmm tricky. I’m reminded of my second semester placement and hiding in the charge nurse’s office during the first week hoping nobody would notice. In the end it turned out to be a great learning experience … well I had to come out eventually!
The chocolate’s nearly finished! How did that happen and I’m only at the end of the road!?
I walk the same route each day … it reminds me of walking home from school (ah the olden days). I’m thinking that each time I pass these same houses I’m eating chocolate and it occurs to me that for three days this week I’ve been eating chocolate each time I pass these same houses. Is this developing into some sort of habit? . Admittedly I’ve had three varieties of chocolate: Monday was chocolate raisins, Wednesday was flake and today was a bar of whole nut (I was off Tuesday).
I’m obviously a bit behind the times in finding out that ladies can now buy size 4 (UK) clothing in Asda. I had absolutely no idea until someone mentioned it at work last week. This called for some investigation so off I went to find out if this information was reliable. Yes indeed. I found several items (including quite a nice blouse actually) all size 4. Tiny, teensy weensy tiny!
What’s the point in this post? Not sure really. It could in fact be pointless but it’s something I just needed to share. I’m kinda thinkin that of all the slim folk I know (there are a number and they’re all grown up) NONE come close to a UK size 4!
So, where are they or maybe the clothing is just very small!?
B+ 