your grandma ain’t my grandma.

If you recognize this line from Chance the Rapper’s song “Sunday Candy”….bravo and let’s hang out.

I’m on the return leg of a few days away from work with the Pastor. We enjoyed a good bit of rest and reprieve, but I couldn’t help to notice that people are people no matter where you go.  I saw a man spend 10 minutes complaining to the pregnant hostess at a restaurant because his waiter didn’t stay at the table long enough after bringing out their meal.  I watched a woman tell other patrons at a breakfast place that her waiter just couldn’t understand that she wanted “CRISPY bacon!” and how this was completely unacceptable. People were anxious to be the first in line to get off the plane just to stand around waiting for luggage with the rest of us.

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At work I often refer to myself as “grandma.”  While I’m not the oldest member of the faculty, each year I find new situations where a resident or medical student will ask me about how a technology or medication was used during my training to which I will reply, “um, well, that didn’t exist when I was in training.”  Then comes the look.  The one with the big eyes and the raised eyebrows indicating that my learner just realized that their attending came “before.”  Before topical hemostatic agents were commonly used or available.  Before targeted cancer therapies.  During my training the HPV vaccine was introduced and we added sub-dermal contraception to our regimen of just 2 other long acting reversible agents.  Now we have an even better HPV vaccine and our patients have more reliable contraceptive options than ever before.  Residents are now trained in robotic surgery. In the last dozen years since I started residency the number of female physicians has grown by 40%. We’ve come a long way.

Certainly being a grandma isn’t all bad.  You have the benefits of time and experience on your side. One thing I learned from my grandma is that as much as things change…things also stay the same.  Narrow the differential diagnosis. The basic principles of surgery such as sterile technique and proper tissue handling are always going to be important.  People are still people from generation to generation. No amount of technology or scientific advancements will replace careful listening to your patient’s history and learning to do a detailed physical exam.  Nothing will replace what you accomplish when you put patients first.

I was fortunate enough to know both of my grandmothers.  They cooked whatever food their grandchildren had in mind for that day or that meal. (Seriously- potatoes and chicken for me, spaghetti for my brother.  Two entirely different meals!) But more than that they were generous with their words, their love and their lives.  They put others before themselves.  They made sure those around them were cared for and had their needs met. Above all, they treated others with kindness.

Maybe if we focused a little less on “me first” we could help eliminate a lot of the “me too” and the “not for you” we see across our screens on an hourly basis.  If we could eat less crispy bacon, be a little more patient, move to the back of the line or give up our seat we just might notice our neighbors in need of help or our friends who are suffering.  The world just might change.  While we excitedly embrace new technology and advances in the world around us, may we also embrace the helpful lessons from our grandmas, like always choosing kindness and putting others first.  In those ways, may we all strive to be the “grandmas” of our professions.

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what comes next.

Near the end of the summer the Pastor and I went to Chicago to see Hamilton© the musical.  The Pastor had listened to all the songs, knew the story, listened to podcasts about Lin-Manuel Miranda and just about everything you can do to prep for seeing the musical.  Then there was me.  Did I remember that Aaron Burr shot someone?  Yes.  Did I remember it was Alexander Hamilton? Maybe.  Did I have any idea what role Hamilton played in history or who he was at all?  Nope.  So I went in blind.

The other thing you should know is that the Pastor has been known to overhype things.  Cajun restaurants, songs, TV shows, people.  Occasionally he will find something he enjoys so much he is just sure it’s going to be life transforming for me as well.  So, you can imagine that while I was thrilled to take him to see the show I wasn’t so sure that this would be the wonder that he had prepared me for.

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Score one for the Pastor.  Hamilton© is genius.  Amazing, incredible, moving.  It would be impossible to over hype this thing.  Impossible.  It is massively creative, funny, tragic, thoughtful and uses the word “afterbirth.”  What more could you ask for?

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Near the middle of the show there is a song called “What comes next?”  It’s about what will happen after the colonies have gained independence.  You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed almost everything to get where you wanted to be…and now what?  As I have (repeatedly) listened to this soundtrack these words have resonated with me.  It’s the beginning of a new year.   What now?  Where do we go from here?

What comes next?

It holds both prospect and peril.  What awaits us on the other side of an accomplishment, an anniversary, a new dream or a new year?  Some of us are holding our breath hoping this year will be nothing like the last.  Waiting for the new year to break in and disrupt the disappointments and distress of the last. Time will only tell.  How do we embrace the hope of possibility and push away the anxiety of the unknown?  Will our efforts in the new year be enough? We will have enough? Will life be different this year? One of my favorite strategies is something I think Hamilton himself employed when he thought about the future: Never. Stop. Moving.  [the man was non-stop].  I am more than uncomfortable sitting still.  And I’ve convinced myself that if I move fast enough and never stop working, reading, thinking, doing, writing, running and more working (whew)…there will be no time to worry about what lies on the other side of the horizon.  The problem with this only comes when either you are forced to slow down or you simply run out of gas.

As we emerge over the horizon into 2018, this year holds much promise.  A year for us to eliminate some of the hate, discrimination and harassment in our world.  A year for collaboration, cooperation and tolerance. For equality and equity. A year in which we will certainly have mis-steps and failures alongside of our triumphs and treasured moments.

Maybe there is a better way.  Maybe there is a way that we; you and I, find the balance between “non-stop” and “being enough.”

In my last post I wrote about finding hope in the midst of hopelessness, peace in the midst of anxiety.  In the same sentiment, the Pastor preached last Sunday about the journey of life we are all on together.  He spoke of those moments where we carry each other when we simply cannot carry ourselves.  If we live our lives in “non-stop” mode we will move too quickly to notice those around us who need help along the journey. In the same way, when we learn to “be enough” we allow others on the journey the joy to carry us during the moments we simply cannot make it alone.

Maybe this year we can slow down, learn to be enough, and share life with one another.

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we hold these truths.

The Pastor and I don’t have many absolutes in our lives.  At our house you can count on things never being the same.  Our schedules are always changing.  One of us is likely to get called away in the middle of an event or have to rush off to work.  But there is one thing you can count on.  One thing that always remains the same. We cannot, I mean CANNOT, watch America’s Got Talent without both ending up in tears. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I mean, there is the kid that used to be blind; the girl who lost her hearing; the 9 year old who is getting a little sister and for goodness sake a sweet girl from my home state and her puppet.  On stage stands someone who is probably in one of the most vulnerable moments of their lives.  Sitting across from them are those whose job it is to pass judgement. These people muster up all the guts they can find in their body and get on stage and hope and pray that they will find success.  And then, when they are finished, the most wonderful thing happens.  The words are spoken.

If you’ve seen the show you know what I’m talking about.   It’s more than just telling these performers they were excellent.  The power of the words they speak is life changing. Because of the enormous weight with which they are delivered, the words “you are a winner” or “you have a gift” or even “you are beautiful” seem to penetrate into the very heart and soul of those on stage. You can see it in their eyes. It’s as if all the sudden they believe in the person they have always been.

And cue the tears.

Over the past few weeks the Pastor has been teaching our girls about the Sh’ma. It’s an Old Testament Scripture or prayer that contains the Greatest Commandment.  And then goes on to remind God’s people to bind the words onto their hands, their foreheads, their hearts.  To recite it morning and night. To never forget those important words.

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It is not lost on me that the lesson in all of this is that words matter. And as someone who likes to blog and helps keep both the post office and her local Hallmark® store in business, I am a big believer in the power of the written word. But a spoken word is different.  It seems to be more weighty, more full.

I hope someday I have the opportunity to speak the truth into someone’s life and change them for the better.  Even more I hope someone does the same for both my girls.   And I hope they learn the Sh’ma and I hope they know their own words matter. That in a digital world full of memes and gifs and over the top OMGs, that you and I and even they, will have the opportunity to look someone in the eye and tell them how incredible they are and how much they are loved.  I hope none of us miss the opportunity.

you’ve got a friend (in me).

As many of you know from the rest of my social media presence, my youngest graduated from PreK this week.  It was all the gloriousness you would imagine.  There were caps and gowns, diplomas, pictures, refreshments.  For part of the program her class sang the song “You’ve got a friend in me” from the movie Toy Story®.  It was, as you can imagine, adorable.  And then the big one had her first acting gig in the church musical.  She nailed it. And back to the little’s ballet recital.  Killed it.  And now we ready ourselves for the last week of school. Of course, you can’t go through this time of year, full of its transitions, without some reflection on the months that have passed.

It was a little over a year ago.  I was listening to some music on a run and for some reason I started thinking about what it meant to be merciful. I was quick to realize that I didn’t really have any idea how to describe or understand or even think about mercy. This, of course, was disconcerting to me having been married to the Pastor for almost 15 years at that point. I was at a loss.  So I decided I would spend some time trying to figure out what mercy was, where it was present, how it happened.  And turns out, mercy showed up in all sorts of places. What I discovered is that mercy might be hard to understand because it is that sneaky thing that is always around but not obvious.  But when you start looking for it, when you take the time to seek it out, you will find it’s all around. In the last year I have been enveloped in mercy.

Mercy is your best friend from long ago and also today getting up before the sun does to go to the YMCA with you.  Even though she could go later…because you can’t.  It is a new friend who came along just at the right time and always tells the truth even when it’s not nice.  And reminds you they are there to stick through the best of times and the worst of times. You can feel it when you sit for coffee with someone who has been in your shoes and nods their head in understanding.  You feel it when that call or text arrives at the exact perfect moment from someone you don’t often get to see but the friendship remains none the less.

Mercy shows up in a big blue van driven by a teensy twenty something year old who picks up kids, who look nothing like mine, after school and nourishes them with food, education and love four days a week.  It’s there when those same kids are on stage at your church next to your own reciting lines in the cheesy kids musical that makes you tear up because you know that this demonstration of inclusion and unity is what God intended. And soon those kids aren’t those kids at all.  They are just kids like mine and yours, showing up every week.

Mercy happens when that person who thought she’d never have a baby sees that face on the ultrasound, or even better, holds that person in their arms. But it is also there when you hold someone’s hand as you give them bad news or grieve with them in the losses great and small.

Mercy happens when the Pastor does a funeral for what can only be described as a tragedy and reminds us that the gospel is an unconventional story and we have an unconventional Savior.  And so is mercy.  It’s there in the loud and in the quiet.  In the wins and in the losses.  It’s wherever we show up and remind each other that there’s mercy enough for each of us.

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in plain sight

It was Holy Week.  The week of Easter. The mother of all weeks in the church. There was preparing, cleaning, cooking, shopping, eating, egg hunting and so much more.  Frankly, as fun as it is, it is exhausting.  So I won’t belabor the point today.

This Easter I cannot let go of the words from Luke 24:5.  “…why do you look for the living amongst the dead?”  I think now, more than ever, we are looking for signs of life. We are flooded with images of death and destruction from our own country and around the world.  Mothers and children in war torn countries, live streaming videos of crime or self harm, the dropping of bombs, all the way down to angry emails and rants on social media.  It’s enough to make you feel withered and dry and near dead.

Where are signs of life?  I think it’s tempting to say that we will find them in our beautiful pictures on social media of our well dressed slightly less well behaving children on Easter or in our waxing on about our job, house, or whatever new or exciting thing has come our way.  I would argue that there isn’t true life found here. Where then, will we find signs of life? For me it’s in those text messages from friends far and near who understand the daily struggle to balance all things work and church and home.  It’s sending a note to remind someone that they are loved and prayed for.  It should be obvious to those of us who have spent most of our lives wandering in and out of the church doors.  If you lose your life you gain it.  We find signs of life when we extend ourselves to another.

I sent a giving key to a fellow pastor’s wife.  One of the tribe.  If you don’t know about giving keys they are necklaces, with a key on them, and a word inscribed in the key. Someone who tak51412342510__07BB8511-CA17-4486-9560-2002B6474851.JPGes the time to remind me to breathe and relax sent me one. The word I sent was “hope.” It was a promise to hold out hope for my friend on the days where it didn’t seem like hope was possible. When the problems in life, the problems in church, the problems in the world seem too much.

So when you find yourself overwhelmed by all the death and deathly news that surrounds you, give away part of yourself. Make a phone call, write a note, sit down for coffee, send a token of care. Find signs of life and share them with those around you.

stay in your own lane people.

We’ve all done it, right?  Veered into another lane of traffic.  Oh, you haven’t?  Yeah right. Anyhoo, moving into another lane of traffic can be no big deal or a giant disaster.  And while I hope we all can agree that we should put down our phones and ignore our children in the backseat and pay attention to the road I’m not really here to discuss actual driving habits.  To stay in your own lane is to stick to what you know.

For the past 3 Sundays I have awoken to the desperate need for a cinnamon roll.  Not the kind you can get at a donut shop on a Sunday morning but a warm iced homemade cinnamon roll.  Guess how many weeks I happened upon said delicious breakfast treat?  ZERO.  So this weekend I decided I would make my own cinnamon rolls.  That’s right. I can perform surgery so certainly I should be able to follow a recipe and make these rolls. With great pride I proceeded to gather all my ingredients from the grocery store along with three other food projects I decided to create for our Super Bowl party.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Not only did I decide to make cinnamon rolls from scratch I figured adding a few img_7732other new recipes in the kitchen certainly wouldn’t add to my angst.  Um, oops.  Moving on, I made those cinnamon rolls.  I mixed up the dough and let it rise and put it in the fridge ready to complete my creation.  It was only then that I noticed the recipe I was using said clearly at the top: “Makes 40-50 Cinnamon Rolls.”  You have got to be kidding me. What am I going to do with 50 cinnamon rolls?  At this point I panicked and frantically phoned one of my best church girls who also happens to whip up homemade cakes and pies and other fancies in her kitchen on a daily basis.  My exact text: “WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF IN TO?”  Clearly I had veered from my own lane. Fortunately for me cinnamon rolls can be made ahead of time, they can be frozen and they can be shared with those you are lucky enough to attend Sunday School with.

In this case moving out of my comfort zone, my lane, didn’t turn out so bad. It could have turned out worse.  Sometimes we decide to swiftly move into territory in which we have no education or experience. This has the potential to be disastrous. I won’t be trying my hand at teaching kindergarten, flying a plane or operating any heavy machinery.  Our culture too often tells us we know as much as the experts. And why not? We have access to all sorts of information through the power of the internet. Exactly.  All sorts of information.  The good, the bad, the ugly.  It’s too much. In my arena we use what we call “evidence based medicine” as best we can to direct patient care and research efforts.  We are taught to examine the evidence and decide what the full body of research has concluded, if anything, on a subject. And while I have a good deal of experience reviewing medical literature it doesn’t mean I can easily read the law, interpret scripture or solve complex math problems. At other times knowledge in one area transfers easily to another. Take surgery, for example. When we plan for a gynecologic surgery our team anticipates possible deviations from the norm we might encounter based on the patient’s problem, their medical and surgical history and the procedure being performed.  We create a plan to minimize risk and maximize benefit to the patient.  Does being a gynecologic surgeon mean I should volunteer to operate on your brain or in your nose?  Well, first of all, gross. Secondly, while some principles of surgery carry over from one specialty to another like sterile technique or attempting to minimize blood loss and restore normal anatomy, a gyn surgeon does not have the expert knowledge and experience a neurosurgeon might have. If you ask me the best treatment for say, your eye disease, I’m going to tell you to go to your ophthalmologist, ask some questions about the risks and benefits of each treatment and some others on success rates, etc and then make an informed choice on what to do with the help of your physician.  On the other hand, many more of the techniques used in general surgery would apply in gynecology and vice versa.  So, should natural disaster strike, general surgeons and gynecologists would operate side by side to save life and limb.  But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.  There are lots of other examples.  Have kids in school?  Swerve into the other lane because you must know how education works!  Voted? Swerve into the other lane because you can run the government.  Been going to church awhile?  You probably know the Bible better than most. The truth is we are all stakeholders in these issues: whether it’s our own health, education, the government or theology.

So what is the best way to change lanes?  Well, we check our blind spot, we put on our signal and then deliberately move over.  Life should be much the same. How do we improve education?  We find our best educators and the best available evidence on education and then create your best practices.  I know exactly who I would approach if I want to figure out how to make low income kids succeed in the classroom.  How about government?  Well, until about 4 months ago I didn’t actually know how the electoral college works.  Or really much else about government.  Who knew those things would matter when I was ignoring them to focus on my science and math classes way back when? So I find those whom I trust who have done their homework and who will, more importantly, discuss all sides of the issue with me. And when it comes to theology, well, I’ve been learning from the Pastor for almost 16 years.  And trust me when I say he knows what he is doing people.  So let’s check our blind spots.  Let’s figure out where we have assumed we know best and admit that we don’t know best.

Here’s another “if you know me” moment.  If you know me, you know I love being right. But I’ve learned that being loud and persistent doesn’t mean you’re right.  So now I’m learning to signal to the people around me and learn about what they have to offer.  So join me in checking our blind spots. Let’s figure out where we have assumed we know best and admit we don’t know best. Otherwise we should just stay in our own lane people.

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but that’s my seat.

It was supposed to be a giant ice storm.  That’s what the ladies and gents on TV told us.  A large amount of ice and freezing rain was heading to the metro and we’d better prepare. So schools were closed, patients were moved up, generators were readied, salt and sand was placed on the roadways. Grocery stores were emptied of bread and milk and lots of other things this week in preparation for the ice.  If you actually needed bread and milk, because you were out at home, you were out of luck.  It was being gobbled up by anxious citizens bracing for the ice apocalypse. And then we waited…and waited…and waited.

We did eventually get some ice on the trees and a bit on the roads but it came about 24 hours after everyone predicted and wasn’t nearly as bad as anticipated.  Overall a good thing.  But times like these always make me realize how much we buy into the myth of scarcity.  There will be a disaster and not enough to go around.

So what are the other myths in our lives?  I’ll try to tackle some that I see on a not so infrequent basis.

  • “I did such and such method, (cry it out, shushing baby, swaddle, feed on demand, screen-shot-2016-10-03-at-8-39-30-ametc etc) and my baby was such a good such and such (sleeper, breastfeeder, transitioner).”  Reality check:  Babies do what they want.  We can try all the tricks in the book but some kids sleep well and some don’t.  Some are good eaters and some, who shall remain nameless, just jump up and down on their chair instead of eating during dinner time.
  • That spot in that public place you’ve claimed?  Well it doesn’t actually belong to you.  This happens at all sorts of places.  Someone takes “your seat” at church.  You are “saving” that piece of gym equipment while you use something else.  This is where you “always” park.  Reality check: None of those things are yours.  The church pew doesn’t belong to you no matter how many weeks in a row you’ve sat there.  That leg lift machine you’re saving is going to be used by me now, well, because you’re not actually using it. I get it.  We find security in routine. But I’ve only got so much time at the gym in the morning and you’re wasting it leg press saving guy.
  • “Someone else will do it.”  Giving the money, cleaning up the trash, standing up for injustice, speaking out when someone is doing harm.  Reality check: If you aren’t willing to do it, then why do you think someone else will?  None of us are really braver than you.  Either do stuff or don’t do stuff but don’t let yourself off the hook by assuming someone else will do it.  That someone else thinks you are already taking care of whatever it is.
  • Just because you can post something doesn’t mean you should.  Reality check: As first conceptualized by one of the church girls and then paraphrased by yours truly…”If you won’t say it to someone’s FACE then don’t post it on FACEBOOK.” img_3945 Seriously.  You don’t like someone’s opinions or beliefs?  That’s ok.  But it doesn’t mean you need to attempt to harm or discredit them.  I am almost 100 percent certain that no one’s mind or heart has ever been radically transformed by a hastily penned angry Facebook comment.  Trust me, it’s not easy.  I have about a thousand deleted comments that I thought were not only on point but witty and sharp.  They never made it to publication.  Why?  Because it just doesn’t help.
  • And finally “that’s just the way I am.”  The Pastor knows this is my least favorite myth that people live by.  Reality check:  You are never too old to change.  The person you were in 2016 does not define who you are in 2017.  The person you are today does not control the person you can be tomorrow.  And if you change something about yourself and you don’t like it?  Guess what?  Change again.  My favorite people in life are those who have lived enough and learned enough about themselves to know what to hold on to from each phase of life and what to let go.  That bad attitude you had all last year?  Don’t drag it along to 2017, let’s try something new.  Those hateful things you said?  Do better in the coming days and months.  Living your life as “that’s just the way I am” seems utterly disappointing and fairly sad to me.

There was no massive ice storm.  So maybe take that extra bread and milk and those extra hours at home and see if you can debunk any myths in your own life!  Here’s to living in reality and realizing you can make change in your own life in 2017!