Theological Talks

I'm back from working my "princess shift" a four hour filler shift from 7pm to 11pm. Don't ask me why I have to work this ridiculous period of time, I just suck it up and do it. But now I have a long empty, sleepless night stretching out before me and so I thought I'd bare my soul on my blog because I don't have my journal. Yes, I know I could start a new one, but I'm still holding out hope that it will be found in the near future. Hopefully. I hope. Really, really hope. A lot. A lot of hoping. Sniff.
Last night I had a very long talk with a fellow co-worker about my Christian beliefs. It was, in fact, a three-hour conversation. (It was a slow night, what can I say?) It provided the opportunity for basically everyone in the ICU to hear about my devotion to Christ. Our debate ranged everywhere, from creation vs. evolution to the divinely inspired word of God vs. a book written by a bunch of drunk men to heaven and hell vs. ascending into another plane of existence to God's sovereignty in suffering vs. happenstance to Predestination vs. Free Will, we're talking some very heavy issues here.
The majority of instances when I have these types of conversations I am always so afraid. Afraid of what other people will think of my stance, afraid of being shunned by friends, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of not knowing what to say. Last night I was bold in my conversation, I was always able to answer his questions (not to his satisfaction of course) but it didn't matter. Scripture I had just read the other day was coming to me right when I needed it (albeit I discovered I miss-quoted once, after I rehashed the conversation out with my father.) But still, I'm not discouraged. Do I have it all together? Of course not. Can I convert someone with my own silver tongue? Of course not. But what I loved the most about this experience is that the reason I didn't care what anyone thought of me was because I was filled with an inexpressible joy for my Savior, and I wanted to tell him about it. It overflowed out of me! It was the most amazing thing... may it always be like this, that I would be forever emboldened to share the Good News of Great Joy to all who will listen, and to those who listen, Lord, help them believe!

Responsibilities

This is something I would most likely write about in my unrecovered journal which I'm still crying on the inside about, and venting on the outside about. Anyway, my parents have changed their will and made me their POA's and given me custody of any minors if they die. Even though I'm surrounded by death often, and I glory in death because it brings us face to face with our Savior, I still don't like to think about my parent's dying. And that I might have some say in that. All the time I see families torn because the person who is the POA wants to do one thing while people who don't have the final say in the decision making are trying to persuade the POA do something else. It's heart breaking for families. It's heart breaking to watch even. There are so many variables when it comes to keeping someone alive and when it's time to withdraw care. I know how my dad feels and I know how my mom feels but it's not always so cut and dry when you're faced with a real scenario. But, it is something useless to worry about, and it shows my lack of faith in Christ. I'm not saying it'll never happen, but these are choices I don't have to make on my own, Christ's strength and comfort will fortify me. I'm not being dismissive of the responsibility, or even fatalistic, but I know with great certainty that I don't need to worry about that bridge until I come to it. May "the peace of God which transcends all understanding guard my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus" Philippians 4:7.

Lost

No...not the tv show, but something very near and dear to me. My journal!! Sure blogging has it's moments, but the hand-written word can be so much more satisfying at times. Not that my handwriting is gorgeous or anything, or even legible for that matter (unless on legal documents;). But when I'm in a real rage, or despair, or any extreme mood, flying over paper with a pen is definitely more therapeutic than that tappity-tap of the keyboard. My poor, poor journal....sniff. It had so many personal stories in there, plus some of my best dreams were recorded there...it feels like I lost a little part of me. Or maybe a big part of me. I'm sure I'll get over it but for now I need to find a piece of paper to scrawl my angst across.