I always begin my shift praying for the patients here, and their families, and my husband and the children, and this city, and my town, and my brother and his family, and my husband’s sisters and their families, and my husband’s parents and also mine who are already on the other side of the veil.
I pray for provision and protection, for comfort and peace, and for help loving all people no matter their story and for wisdom in knowing how to love them well.
Sometimes that means prayer or a song or a conversation or some small act of kindness.
Sometimes that means a smile or a hug or holding their hand.
Sometimes it means rejoicing in good news from doctors, sometimes it means gently helping someone die, and sometimes it means holding an unfinished baby born too soon.
Always, though, it means we share a God who is our Father, who knows us and loves us, and I do not believe He brought us together on accident.
Almost always, my goal is to be of some service, but find that what they have done for me is far greater.
I am feeling sappy, loved and loving, appreciative of friends I never see and greatful for finally having friends at work after some lonely years. There are new friends I have never met, people I will never see again, and connections I have yet to untangle.
Oh, yeah, and today they found the Baby’s sister who has been missing all this time, so we get a four year old girl tonight. I pray for her, too.
But the air smells like spring, and I am glad to be alive to see it come. I pray about that, too. Because I really am grateful, even if I am a mess and have so much more to learn, and I want Him to know I am grateful, to know I am not taking my added time for granted, to know I will do what He asks even if I am scared or overwhelmed or not very good at it.
I pray a lot before I start wandering these halls, and it is changing me. Something is shifting in me during these silent hours, something daring me to step over the edge in faith and let it be what He promised it would be.