Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”
Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”—John 4:10-15
This pandemic and all of its uncertainty has continually been bringing me back to the well, digging a little deeper, searching for a little more, striving to thirst no more. I struggle with who I am if I’m not… Who am I if not an Emergency Medicine provider? Who am I if not a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner. Who am I if I don’t have a job?
Lance and I have gone through umpteen iterations of what life would be like if I had decreased hours, no hours, no job and for how long of each. We have plans and rip-cords to pull in case the unthinkable happens. But who am I if I’m not working? Who am I if not an EM pediatric nurse practitioner. Everyday I worry about losing my job. The workplace is an incredibly volatile environment these days. I worry that at any moment, I could be singled out for doing or saying the wrong thing, for not toeing the line, asking the wrong question, being too bold, for demanding better. I worry about the security of our finances, our livelihood, our home, our children’s education, our life insurance, our retirement. I worry about my relationships, my friendships, the connections that I’ve made while employed over the past 6.5 years. Who will still be there for me, who will text to check in on me, stop in and say hello? Who will still invite me to hang out, to get together, to catch up? Who will have my back, stand up for me, be my voice if I no longer have one?
Personal, local, known injustice eats at me. It has always been in my nature to take on the pain and the suffering and the cause—even to my demise of those closest to me and those most vulnerable. That most certainly is why pediatric nursing was my calling and on the flip side why I know, and even more so know now, that I could never be in management.
My first long time job was as a nurse tech on a little chronic, long term rehab facility. My patients were the definition of vulnerable—chronic, abused, high needs, and most, no parents. I tried to leave to work in the NICU but my heart was with those sweet kids who so many didn’t have a voice or an advocate so I was drawn right back. I also had grown close to the little old sweet man who had a depth of knowledge corporate CEOs only pretend to possess and the somehow simple yet still managing to be eclectic nurse who had spent her life in this role at this one facility in this one department. And so as I transitioned to nurse and the department was seeing corporate cuts and corporate changes in the requirements and stipulations forced upon that doctor and all of the nurses I began to take on that pain. I whole-heartedly felt the unfairness and the disregard for staff and experience. I began to carry that load and even though I have been gone for 15 years, I still feel the weight and the depth of their suffering and struggle. When I left that job, I had promised myself to never work for a hospital system again. I wasn’t certain that ingenuity to figure out how to keep experience, quality of care and profits under one roof could exist. On my facebook boards, there is a post of fellow nurse practitioners who have been furloughed, laid off, hours reduced, wages cut due to the unexpected, unprecedented turn of events. The irony of losing your job in healthcare in the middle of a health pandemic is uncanny. With Lance in law enforcement and I in healthcare, we have always joked that we would be employed until Jesus came back and now I’m just sitting back thinking I may have missed the coming of our Savior—not truly, of course. One NP had words of wisdom, uplifting words. She was trying to intentionally spend time with God daily. She was searching for Jesus in all of this. She was hunting, searching for what it was he had for her to learn through all of this. She still was processing through all of the anger, the hurt, the fear, the unknowing and mourning, not just over lost wages but lost relationships. But time and time again, she was choosing to take it back and lay it at his feet.
At his feet, is the only place there is healing. At his feet, is the only place your burden becomes light. At his feet, is the only place the wrongs of this world can be overshadowed by the goodness of his love. At his feet, there is comfort. At his feet, there is love. At his feet, there is water. You find the water. You. Find. The. Water. You find the everlasting water of a well that doesn’t run dry. At his feet, you find that the views of the world of what they think you should be or what you think you should be die. At his feet, you find who you are. At his feet, you find who he is and you find who you are in him. He is love and goodness and all knowing and all powerful. And at his feet you find that power. You find that power that comes through the water from a well that doesn’t run dry. At his feet, you remember you are the child of the one true risen God. You are the daughter of a King. You are more than a label, more than a career, more than an address or a school system. He is more and because you are his, you are more. You. Are. More. Find his feet. Find the well. Find the water. Poor child, never thirst again. I never want to thirst again. His well does not run dry.
9 years ago, God sent this little bundle to my friend Sara. He arrived roughly one and a half months after our loss of Gideon. I remember feeling the joy and the heartache. I was fortunate to have them at that time. I was thankful for her sharing of this beautiful boy who is only 4 months younger than our son. I'm thankful God sent him and that through him I have been able to see what every age and what every stage of Gideon could have brought. In loss, there can be joy but it's only found through Christ Jesus. Seek him. Lay it down. If you pick it up, do it again. Lay it down again. Bring the shame, bring the hurt, bring the bitterness, bring the ego, bring your worry. Bring the things that run your well dry and lay it down. He will take it and he will give you water.
