My delusions of grandeur, and a Savior who is grand

As a kid, like many kids, I had delusions of grandeur.

Ah, to be really great at something.

I picked up the electric guitar in middle school because I wanted to be a girl who could shred.  Maybe like this:

You have to admit, that's pretty cool.

I took lessons from a gentle, long-haired man who loved classic rock and taught me Purple Haze and some Stevie Ray Vaughan licks.  I never quite reached Orianthi's skill level.  Even today, that's about all I remember on the guitar, which makes it appear that I know more about the instrument than I actually do.

me, in 8th grade

Oh, I used to imagine what it would be like to win a gold medal in the Olympics!

A poster of Janet Evans adorned my bedroom wall
above my  proud display of swim team ribbons

Once upon a time, I was speedy, agile, and fairly athletic.

The Presidential Fitness Test in P.E.? - all. over. it.

I reveled in trying to beat some of the boys.  "Bring on the shuttle run," I'd say to myself.

Remember this?

And then I turned 13, and just like that (sigh), my glory years were behind me.

While I still played sports through high school, I experienced minimal success, having more heart than actual skill.  I played mediocrely on a mediocre basketball team.  And in track and cross-country, knowing I wouldn't come in first place, I set my sights on the lofty goal of just not being last.  I was content in the middle of the pack.  First place ribbons in swimming became increasingly rare.

Nonetheless, I still enjoyed the camaraderie of being on a team, working towards a common goal.  And I loved the challenge and the physical activity.  Coaches didn't mind me because I had a positive attitude.  But grandeur was not to be had.  I was so....AVERAGE.  Maybe I didn't work hard enough during the off seasons or maybe I just wasn't blessed with the amount of natural ability I would have liked.  Probably both.

Nonetheless, I tend to think that God protected me from myself, knowing that my pride couldn't handle any more than a modest amount of success, success that nobody cares about or will remember.

I always marveled at other kids who did experience greater successes and didn't seem to get bigheaded about it.  I imagine that, as a teenager, to be a bigger success in itself.

While I think on excellence and diligence and hard work and honed skill  - all good things that can bring God glory and that shouldn't be set aside for wishful thinking, I also think on the fact that no matter how great or not great I am considered in this world, my soul is helpless and damned without Jesus, my Savior and Redeemer.

How I depend on His strength and righteousness, because I have none of my own.

Over time, I have grown/am growing/hope to continue to grow into seeing myself less and less as an aspiring great person and more and more as a dependent person on Jesus.

To focus on who Jesus is for me, instead of who I am for Him.  This thinking transforms me and interestingly gives me great joy.

John the Baptist's words spring up in my mind:

"He must become greater and greater and I must become less and less."                                                                                                                 - John 3:30

And then I think on this story below (perhaps you know it) of a father and his son completing the Iron Man Triathlon together, after the son asked his dad if they could race it.  The race consists of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, topped off by a 26.2-mile run (a marathon).  The son has cerebral palsy.

"For in Him, we live and move and have our being." - Acts 17:28

I love watching this video each Easter or the days leading up to it and reflecting on my Savior's true grandeur and what it was that HE did and does.

My parents' 37th anniversary

The year was 1976.

The BeeGees, Chicago, and The Bay City Rollers were topping the charts.

And Rick and Laura were falling in love.

My parents circa 1976.  Cool shirt, Dad.

Today marks my parents' 37th wedding anniversary.

March 20, 1976

They are about as opposite as they come.  It's become comical in our family.

Different cultural backgrounds.
Different personalities.
Different communication styles.

But they both put their hope in Jesus, which, I think, is some pretty strong glue.

I love you, Mom and Dad!  Happy 37th Anniversary!

Formaldehyde

Formaldehyde.

Formaaaldehyde.

That's a fun word to say.

It is, however, not a pleasant smell to smell.

It's a smell that transports me back in time to my high school frog dissection.  That smell!  It sticks in your nostrils threatening never to go away.  In fact, I can smell it now just thinking about it.  I am now thinking about fresh baked cookies.  Fresh baked cookies.  (deep inhale)  Fresh baked cookies.

But it's formaldehyde's pungent odor (not cookies) that accompanies my sweet husband home from anatomy lab.

My hard working med student is currently studying the Gastrointestinal Tract.

This week he got to cut open his cadaver's bowels and examine all the inner workings.  

Yikes.

We, together, have established that he's the naturally more considerate one in our marriage relationship, and, true to this nature, he has developed the kind habit of changing immediately out of his formaldehyde-reeking scrubs when he comes home.  Scrubs which I, in turn, toss into a hot washer.

Until we have children and I'm washing throw up, urine, and poopoo out of clothes, blankets, and sheets, I figure I'm getting at least a little bit of practice in with cadaver juice and formaldehyde.

I am genuinely very grateful for my washing machine.

What was it like to be married to a doctor or a coal miner or a butcher in the 1800s, before the modern washing machine existed?  Can you imagine??

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I suddenly have an urge to make cookies.

"Wanna see something gross?"

Matt takes med school seriously and is hard working and respectful of human beings.

That said, while he is studying the human body and its various ailments, he occasionally asks me this question:

"Wanna see something gross?"

To this, I always say, "No."

Followed occasionally by a curious, "What is it?"

and then sometimes an equally curious (but kind of scared) "Okay, show me."

After viewing the medical image on his computer, I usually silently vow never to say yes again.  Only to say yes again after some time.  And the cycle continues.

My eyes were most recently assaulted by an image of a "bezoar."  BE WARNED.  It is not pleasant.  If your curiosity must be satisfied, you can view one here and here. 

Definition:  A bezoar is a ball of swallowed foreign material (usually hair or fiber) that collects in the stomach and fails to pass through the intestines.

Doctors, thus, have to remove bezoars surgically.  I had no idea that there are some people 

who eat such large amounts of their hair, or the carpet.  It saddens me for them because their psychiatric disease is real and is hurting them.

After seeing that grotesque image of undigestible stuff taken into someone's body where it had no nutritional value and served no good purpose, I started to think if perhaps I may be taking in too much of something (either through television or the internet or my own thoughts), that, though not evil, has no value or benefit to me and is creating a "bezoar" of sorts in me.  Hmmm.

Matt also asked this question to me the other night when his mind had evidently hit a studying wall:

"If humans had elf ears, would you want them?"

After thinking long and hard, I determined, "No, I would not want them" for the simple reason that they may get in the way and burn easily when I was curling my hair.

Earring Holder craft

This week, I made a craft to organize my beloved cheap Target earring collection.

Behold.

It hangs in my bathroom.

This was my earring situation for a long time:

cluttered

This is the earring situation now:

neat rows

I can now see in one easy glance where this or that pair of earrings is located.

It saves me time and hopefully will better protect them from damage.

The craft itself is not complicated.  There are many similar Pinterest ideas to copy or tweak.

Here's how I did mine:

1. Spray paint unused frame a color of choice.  I found my frame at Goodwill for $0.99 and used Krylon indoor/outdoor gloss spray paint in white.
2. Leave frame outside for a day to air out so as not to develop horrific lung disease.
3. Nail (or staple gun) wire to back sides of frame.  I used tiny nails and wrapped the wire around them.
4. Hang earrings, use, and enjoy.

The doctor's visit from hell

Well, not hell.

But it sure felt like it when I left the doctor's office that day.

A few years ago, I had a doctor's appointment right around the time Matt was considering going to med school.

Matt and I were in the midst of weighing it all:  loans, our age, location, when to start a family...  The usual stuff.

So I get to the doctor's office.  My beloved doctor had moved away, so I was seeing a new doctor this day.  Just got out of medical school.

I decide that she would be a great person for me to ask some of my "What's this next stage in med school life going to look like?" questions.

So, I open up to her.

The conversation was not what I anticipated.

Let's just call her...mmm, Dr. Jaded.

It went something like this:
Me:  "Hi, I'm Liane.  My husband is thinking about going to medical school.  Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Dr. Jaded:  "What specialty is he interested in?"

Me: (I tell her)

Dr. Jaded: "All [those kinds of doctors] are #*%@#$#!@!"

Me: (after a few seconds of sitting in quiet shock) "Wwell, I hope if he goes into that field, he would help to change that perception."

Dr. Jaded: (having misheard me) "Oh, he'll change alright!  They all do.  And if he's in it for the money, he should forget about it, because doctors aren't paid like they used to!"(with eye roll and sarcastic smirk)

Me: (feeling defensive of my husband) "Well, he's NOT."
(Then I go into some unnecessary explanation about his right motivations...yada yada...until I hear Jesus whisper "It's okay, I'm your defender.  You don't have to defend."  So I stop.)

Then, I don't know what could have possessed me other than blind optimism or just reckless stupidity, but I proceeded to entrust more of myself to her with further questions (why???!)

Me:  "We're wanting to start a family.  Did you know anyone in your class who started a family during med school?  Is it do-able?  When might be the best time?"

Dr. Jaded:  Oh, don't expect to have your husband around.  He'll sleep many nights at the hospital.  If you don't live by family, you'll be raising those kids on your own.  It'll be really stressful."

Knowing we likely would not be living near any of our family or anybody that we had any history with, my heart sank.

All I could think for the rest of the appointment was "Not safe.  This person is not safe.  Not safe.  Not safe.  Don't say anything else, Liane."

Now, in fairness, I have since learned that some of what she said is true.  Especially during residency, you don't see your med spouse very often at all.  There are nicknames like "med-school widow".  And raising a family in some medical marriages is said to be more or less like single-parenthood.

I'm all for honesty and setting realistic expectations.  Expectations are key.  I never want someone to shower me with fake sunshine and rainbows.  I get that sometimes there are hard truths that need to be heard and swallowed.  BUT it was the WAY she said these hard truths that seemed utterly hopeless and horrible.  There was not a hint of encouragement.

Having just gone through the med-school/residency ringer for something like 12 years, she seemed to come out of it with a giant chip on her shoulder and proceeded for the rest of the appointment to talk above my head to apparently make me feel small and to display her brilliance.  None of what she said was helpful.

After the appointment, I got into my car and teared up.

And I said out loud, "What was that?"

Then the Holy Spirit reminded me that my fight is not with this doctor.  That my fight is not against people (or situations) at all but against the one very real Enemy who is constantly trying to discourage my soul and feed me lies to breed hopelessness and resentment.

And I said, "Her voice is not your voice, Lord.  What do You have to say about this?"

And immediately, He brought to my mind these words:

"Liane, med school IS going to be hard.  You WILL have to make sacrifices.  BUT TAKE HEART!  I AM GOING WITH YOU!  GREATER IS HE WHO IS IN YOU THAN HE WHO IS IN THE WORLD." - I John 4:4

Yes, Jesus.

And that's all I needed to hear.  When He speaks, all other voices fade.

Then my tears again, as they so often seem to do when He speaks, turned from sad, hopeless tears to glad, hopeful tears.  I held onto this promise all the way home, repeating it back to myself, nodding in agreement.  And by the time I got home, my heart wasn't afraid anymore.

Fast forward to today - And He HAS been with us this first year of medical school:

• He has shown us ways to stay connected with each other.  For instance, Matt studies at home, so I do get to see him.
• He has even made a way for us to go on dates, which is a joy.
• He has given us community and Christian fellowship that points us to the Gospel, which is a huge encouragement to me.
• He has led us to a church where I have grown more deeply in the last 8 months of understanding what His grace and redemption are than I have ever learned before.
• He has rescued me from days when I lose sight of His promises, always drawing me back to the truth so that I can experience his joy and peace.

I remember that day in the doctor's office parking lot when I start to feel concern about the future.  How He quieted me then with the promise of Himself.  How He quiets me now with Himself.

At the Symphony

Matt and I have wanted to go see something at the Kauffman Center ever since we moved to Kansas City and were made aware of its existence.

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Kauffman Center, performance home of the Kansas City Ballet, Symphony, and Opera 

Looks-wise, it reminds me of that other little opera house located in the southern hemisphere.

Here's another angle.  Love the architecture.

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Inside one of the halls:

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I casually mentioned once to some friends my desire to go there.

What a treat when my friend Liz GAVE us free tickets to see a symphony there last night, complete with parking pass!

Thank you, Liz!

gettin our culture on

I really enjoyed the view of the city out the big windows.

There was a virtuoso classical pianist there named Peng-Peng Gong.  He was like a modern day Mozart.  Phenomenal.

Our seats were situated perfectly behind him as he played, so that we could see his fingers hit every note.  Well, kind of see his fingers.  They were moving so fast, they looked more like a blur.  And he didn't miss a note!  No sheet music either.  Just played by ear, from memory, for about 30 minutes.

I regret not getting my own picture of him playing.  But photography was prohibited.  By the time I worked up the courage to break that rule (with my flash off), he was done and the piano had been wheeled offstage.  Shucks.

Better yet, here's a taste of his talents I found on youtube. 

Here are some pictures that I did get last night of the experience through our eyes.

 

"The aim and final end of all music should be none other than the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul."

- Johann Sebastian Bach

I love this quote.

If I'm honest, then I admit that we listened to Pearl Jam on the way home.

But nonetheless, last night's music of Tchaikovsky and Beethoven sticks with me.  I did feel refreshed.  There's nothing like hearing it live and watching it performed by a group of professionals.

Bravo!, China National Symphony Orchestra.  Bravo!