Humble.

Well, this is my life lately, you guys. And for me - detail-orientated, planning, dreaming, goal-driven me... this is unimaginably hard. 

For those of you that didn't get the news, I was waitlisted for the Doctor of Physical Therapy Program at Mercer University, and I was also waitlisted for UCF. So naturally... there's been a wrinkle in some of my carefully laid plans.

I guess I always imagined that graduate school would come, maybe not easily, but it would come, and getting accepted wasn't a matter of if, but when, and what I really had to deal with was what happened next. But it would seem that, perhaps, that isn't God's immediate plan for me. And I have been greatly humbled for having learned this. My perfect plans did not come to fruition.

So what's next? I have had to confront the possibility that Grad School isn't happening this year, and that for a year or so I will possibly be stuck in limbo, grabbing up more physical therapy experience to beef up my resume and trying to figure out how to get a "real" job (because princessing is nice, but just it alone won't pay the student loans or tolerate my love of buying clothes).  

Truth is I'm not quite sure, and that's a scary feeling. The "real world" was supposed to still be three years away, and suddenly I find myself about to be immersed in it, and kind of unprepared. Where do I look for a job? Will I get hired? Will that factor in to my ability to qualify for Medicaid? So many questions, so few answers. 

On top of that it's just hard, because I have built a life here at Wesleyan and truly love the people and places I have come to know. The crisp winter air, the yellow leaves of the gingko tree in fall, the geese walking on the quad. I savour and treasure every precious moment, realizing now what they say when they tell you that college years are some of the best years of your life. Yes, I'm stressed, pretty much all the time. Yes, I work, way more than I should. Bills come before fun purchases, and dining hall food gets a little old after a while. But the experiences.... the relationships built with people, even my love for working in the office of Admissions at Wesleyan make me realize that I hesitate to say goodbye to my cherished title of undergraduate student in just 3 months. 

But the Lord's purpose prevails, does it not? I am excited. There are so many possibilities before me, so many opportunities in which to test the waters and discover my niches and discover what is hopefully an even greater appreciation and love for life. I readily embrace the future, as scary, and uncertain, and delightful as it is. It's going to be a great adventure! And success will come... in some way, in some form: I know that it will. 

A Shift in Perspective

I rant a lot about Diabetes on here. I talk a lot about myself - fair, ok, it's my blog - but I want to share with you all something different today, that's had a big impact on my life in the last year.

I started interning at Nursing Homes with different Physical Therapists last year, and it really started to pull at my heart and change my perspective on things.

You look at all the troubles you have... and then you look at them. These tired, these weary, the sick or sad or alone. The happy ones, the bitter ones, the talkative ones. There are people from all walks of life. Rich, poor, Medicaid, Private Pay, wheelchair-bound, walker-aided. Some people are very self sufficient. Others can't even reach for the remote beside their bed. Who are you to complain?

These people built the businesses around you, the city lights, they elected famous presidents, senators, passed bills, taught your parents how to read and write in school... and yet, so many of them are here, and are forgotten. And it's a shame because it is beautiful, and they are beautiful, if you can look with the right kind of eye. Remember what beauty really means. They are too old for facades and worn out phrases and fake smiles. They tell it to you like it is, they smile with their whole heart or not at all. They show real pain or frustration or anger, or real joy that you took the time to stop and listen to their stories. Sometimes I leave the nursing home happy. Sometimes I leave wanting to cry.

An elderly man struggling to walk, aided by the parallel bars... his wife comes to visit and stands at the end, smiles and says,
"Walk to me, honey. Like you did down the aisle on our wedding day. Walk down here and kiss me like you did then."

A fluffy, white haired woman in her bed, who looks at me and says - "Young lady, no matter what you go on to do... be good to people. Always be good to people, especially us elderly - you never know when one of us will be spending our last day on Earth. Be good to people, even when they aren't good to you - because one day, all of us will answer to God."

I think of these memories and moments and my heart outpours with love for them. Most of us will grow to be old someday, and think, how would you want to be treated? Nursing homes are not always pleasant places. They aren't happy, sometimes they smell, sometimes you have to try hard not to turn away. I feel that these are things you have to look past. These people truly matter, they really do. My first day of interning at a nursing home, I asked one of the Physical Therapists if it really made a difference. I'd come from an outpatient facility where the patients often got  better and were younger, healed more easily. Many of the elderly patients couldn't even stand.

Does it matter? Truly?
He look at me and says,
Yes. Even if I can help this man do something as simple as push his wheelchair around, I have made a difference. His quality of life has gotten better, even if only by a little bit - and it's made him a little more comfortable and happy. Making someone's life better, no matter there age, is a meaningful thing to me. 

And he was right - and I have come to realize that too. If therapists can help these people to sit up, walk again, push their walker, use the rest room, brush their hair, eat by themselves - well, then that's a difference, whether they live two more weeks or two more years. If you listen to their stories, make them a card, come visit, volunteer, push their wheelchair, pay attention, get them a drink - that's meaningful, too. Your time is meaningful, and meaningful to others. It's helping others, and just because someone is old doesn't make them any less worthy of help, if anything it has made them more worthy of your help and time.
Maybe it's not the most glamorous of places, but I have found something in these homes that I have rarely found elsewhere, and that's a kind of true human love and compassion for complete strangers that I never thought I'd find. I love the stories, the raw emotion, the funny and inappropriate residents, the sweet little old ladies, the cranky cynical ones, the ones with the wise eyes, the ones that say nothing at all. People deserve love, no matter who they are or how they treat you. Love is not always contingent on someone, but it's something you give freely and openly, expecting nothing in return, no recognition, and it shapes and changes your heart in the best of ways when you do that.

When I am with these people, my own troubles fade away. I am not a diabetic with my troubles, the ones that weigh me down and make me feel older than I should. I am a young woman lucky to be alive and walking and blessed with the capability to give my time and efforts to others in need. I am lucky. I am blessed. I can spread happiness to other people, even if it's only just a smile. Emily Dickinson says it best, and it's exactly why I want to be a physical therapist and help others someday:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.