Creative Modifications

When my sister and I were little, every big occasion required a photo outside in front of these two tall, skinny evergreen trees. Someone’s wedding, our graduations, new grade, Halloween, you name it–we were shoved outside and told to smile. Of course, as kids, we groaned and rolled our eyes, just like kids do now. But here’s the funny part: now I desperately wish I could do the same thing. There’s something about those “Mom pictures” that just …. mattered.

These days, my “documentation” is either a carefully stagged, meaningful photo or the classic mirror selfie in my bedroom behind the door. Still, it lacks that special something–like the wind messing up your hair or Mom yelling, “Move closer to the bush!” Honestly, this past week, starting my 10-3 co-op at Niagara Plastic Surgery, I’ve never wanted mom (or someone) snapping awkward pictures of me on the porch in front of a bush more than now.

I’m there to learn, not to be perfect. That’s why I’ve got a notebook–to take notes, not to pretend I’m a walking encyclopedia. But it’s been hard, emotionally and mentally. Full disclosure: I took a caffeine pill every day last week just to keep myself moving (don’t worry, I’m planning to cut in half or go without this week). Even so, the first few days were rough. The kind of rough where you’re lying in bed at night, tears at the ready, feeling an intensity in your chest you can’t quite name.

It took some honest conversations with my good friend PQ–who kindly sent prayers, reasoning, and scripture–to help me realize what that burning emotion was: fear. Plain old fear. And not the “oohh, a horror movie” kind of fear. This was the “I cried out to Jesus and my mom because I didn’t feel strong enough to go back” kind of fear. At one point, I even asked Jesus if he would come back–just saying.

But of course, I did go back. I got up, packed a lunch (with careful thought to avoid anything messy), and kept showing up. It felt a lot like collapsing on the floor after a marathon, staring at the ceiling, equal parts proud and drained. Thrilled that I’d made it through another day, but aware of the exhausting act of wearing the mask of confidence when inside I was screaming, “I just wanna go home where I’m comfortable and safe!”

PQ helped me put words to it: I was scared. And fear is a familiar visitor whenever I step out of my comfort zone. After seventeen years of marriage where I thought my husband was my shield, suddenly being along meant I had to relearn (continuing process) how to trust–bothe myself to trust Jesus. That’s a process, especially when you walk into new places, don’t know what to expect, and feel like the only thing you’re good at is making sure your scrubs don’t have cat hair on it and are matching.

But Friday felt better. I woke up, surrendered the fear to Jesus, and kept moving. I asked questions about the training material, took notes to scan files, and–victory of victories–the computer system did not delete all the files. (I am honestly half-expecting it).

Here’s the truth I keep coming back to: Jesus is with me. He’s perfect, I’m not, and that’s exactly how it should be. So I’ll keep taking those little morning selfies before I go to, keep pretending I’m confident, and–very importantly–try not to talk to/back out loud to the computers.

That’s the plan going into Monday: another week of not sitting on my butt knitting (though don’t tempt me), stay engaged, and let Jesus pull me forward while the Holy Spirit nudges me and comforts me–and hopefully I’ll continue to speak clearly and not be afraid to speak up when needed.