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It has been said that all the world is a stage, and the people are mere players. If that is true, then sometimes I feel like a supporting character in my own life. My husband’s career has been center-stage for so long, I can’t remember a time when our life didn’t somehow revolve around it. It determined where we lived, and how long. It determined when dinner was, and when we could go on vacation. It was the reason we moved away from home, and the reason we moved again, and again, and again. And I have been the one making sure all the endless “little things” got done along the way. I am pushing the plot of our lives along—but standing outside the spotlight.

Kicking and screaming…most of the time. Protesting in the loudest and most ridiculous ways imaginable. Much like a disobedient child, who is being drug from a store by a parent; misbehaving just because they didn’t get what they wanted. That’s me. Why? How do you follow Jesus?

It is a foggy morning at my house and I just filled my fourth garbage bag following the departure of my Christmas guests (full disclosure: my mom is still here after airline troubles delayed her flight by a week!) I am not ready to un-decorate yet as we love to savor the Christmas lights for a bit as we enter the new year. The deep sigh of tidying up is truly palpable — getting things back in their place somewhat and organized so that the new year can begin.

The Christmas season is upon us! I love the smells, the lights and the traditions. One tradition we have in our family is to not put any Christmas gifts under the tree until after the kids go to bed on Christmas Eve. It is a tradition born out of practicality: we had curious toddlers in our house for more than 10 years. But even now, when our youngest is 11, we still keep all the gifts safely tucked away until late Christmas Eve. It is so much fun to see the surprise on their sleepy faces Christmas morning!

I make a mean lasagna. Always have. It’s my mom’s recipe and it has never let me down. (Don’t worry. I’ll share it with you in a minute.) So, naturally, when I think of taking food over to someone’s house, I think of lasagna. It’s easy, portable, reheats well, and lasts for days. This is especially helpful if the person is sick, or in this case, recovering from surgery.

Medical life takes grit. We wrap our minds around MCAT scores, acceptance letters, residency placements and job contracts, knowing it’s not easy. There’s risk in leaving a paying job and moving across the country. And it’s scary. Will you land on your feet? Will you live on this budget? Will you make friends? Regardless, we have hope. We see the endpoint, or the little milestones on the way—the white coat ceremony, the match and the job signing. 

Behind the smile I was shouting, “Oh goodness mercy of course!” I have been the new girl showing up at the team meeting, the book club, the Bible study far, far more often than I have been the one standing with friends. It can be excruciatingly hard. It can also be invigorating.

I don’t drag out my MD for just any occasion. Typically, I keep it tucked away. But today I thought I would speak (indirectly) to residents, especially first-year residents or interns, so it seemed appropriate. Perhaps you ladies, who are reading this article, will pass along my remarks to the young physicians in your lives.

We were doing a residency rotation in Florida when the triplets were four. One dreary overcast Saturday we were enjoying family time even though Wade was on call. We didn’t understand that in Florida rain can turn to sun in less than a minute. That day it did just that. And three four-year-olds began to wail. I couldn’t understand why the sun was making them cry. As I attempted to console them, I was asking why they were sobbing: “Daddy will have to go to work now.”

One day, a mole decided life underground wasn’t his thing. Ready for something new, he found a folded lawn chair in a driveway and thought, yes, this was his best next step. So he moved in.

I’m in my early 60s. This means I have about 50 years of clear memories of news events, politics, fads and fashions, stemming from the early 70s. I even remember when JFK died, although I was just a little girl; the reactions of the adults around me were so remarkable that I still remember exactly where I was. In all of that time I will tell you what I have learned: God is the only One we can trust to tell us the truth and the only One who can give us peace. 

The dog groomer took some sort of hiatus. And while I don’t begrudge her time off, away or whatever she needed, we have three dogs in this house. Two fairly large, all fairly fluffy dogs. And furthermore, finding a good groomer in our area is like finding gold at the end of the rainbow. It eludes most and did us for a long time. Finding a replacement was impossible.

My middle daughter has a problem with trust. She often asks me, “Mom, are you going to take me to dance today?” or “Mom, are you going to pick me up from school?” She frets over small things like have I signed a permission slip yet, or have I made that orthodontist appointment yet. It is frustrating as a parent to feel like my precious girl doesn’t know that I am taking care of her, that I am here for her.

As I write this, I am on Day 8 of a self-imposed quarantine for COVID-19. Dr. H and I managed to come down with it at almost the same time; so have several of our family members. No one seems to know just who gave it to whom, but at this point it doesn’t much matter. All of our happily vaccinated and boostered selves are doing better now, by God’s grace, and we are very thankful about it.

I knew I’d broken it before I hit the ground. I heard it snap. Breathing hard on the concrete, between cries for help, my mind moaned, “not again!”.  
 
Yes. Again. 
 
9 years ago I broke the same ankle, my right one. It was early Christmas morning and I was sleepily walking down the stairs to get baby Tylenol for my teething son. One wrong step and down I went. This time it was December 23rd. I think next year my family may cocoon me in bubble wrap and prop me up in the corner until New Year’s. 

The joke in our house is that Tigger married Eeyore. I bounce from idea to idea with romantic notions of how perfectly photographic and memorable things will turn out. My husband does the actual research to determine if the event/location/idea is actually something we can do, achieve, make happen. I want to jump at the idea and be spontaneous, and he wants to research the idea and be prepared for every contingency. My girls and I took a road trip this summer with only a tenuous sketch of a plan. More than once, one or three of us commented on how we wish Dad was with us and had planned the trip. My Tigger needs his Eeyore.

Sometimes we hear that Christians are the hands and feet of Jesus here on Earth.  It sounds saintly, but it’s not actually in the Bible anywhere.  I know, because I checked.  I’m not sure where the saying came from originally, and perhaps we don’t need to know.  But we do know this: As Christians we are part of the Body of Christ and it makes sense that putting Christ’s love into everyday practice with the people around us is like being the hands and feet of the Body of Christ.

I recently found a love note from a young wife to her medical student spouse. I’ll warn you; it’s mushy with ignorant glee. See for yourself:
 
“I love you. I’d love you the same if you were a park ranger. I’d love you the same if we had nothing because even then, we would have each other and God’s blessing and love for our marriage. We are so richly blessed by agape love. Everything else is details—icing on the cake. The way you’ve used the intelligence God blessed you with over the past two years of medical school is astounding. Today you are crossing into unknown territory. I feel so privileged to be sharing the experience by your side….”

The census taker arrived just as Wade was pulling in from a long stretch at the hospital. He told me to go on doing what I was doing—cooking supper with three toddlers at my ankles—and he would answer the questions. When the census taker asked Wade how many hours he had worked the week before, I stuck my head out of the kitchen to hear his answer. “All,” I wanted to scream. He worked all the hours. Wade answered 130. I watched at the gentleman looked at his form, looked at Wade and looked back at the form. “Sir, we are only given two squares. Is it ok if I just put 99?”