When Sisters Visit

Thankful for these beautiful souls.

When Cabell 104 did Boston.

October 14-17.

Nemo needs a wash.

English is Hard

het·er·o·nym

ˈhedərəˌnim/

noun

LINGUISTICS

1. 1.

   each of two or more words that are spelled identically but have different sounds and meanings, such as tear meaning “rip” and tear meaning “liquid from the eye.”
2. 2.

   each of two or more words that are used to refer to the identical thing in different geographical areas of a speech community, such as submarine sandwich, hoagie, and grinder.

May I never forget the challenges and frustrations with learning a second language.

May I never forget what it felt like standing in those lines at the bakery and stumbling over my order in Paris.

May I never forget how her face flushed red when the cashier repeatedly asked her to repeat her request. 

May I never forget the embarrassment when the professor scoffed at my pronunciation of preuve.

May I always remember the deep joy of connecting to someone dans sa langue maternelle.

Forgiveness

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

No hint of judgment. No hint of pity.

Just eyes full of compassion.

My eyes welled up as I took in this stranger's words.

Oh how quickly my hurt, anger, and bitterness dissipated. 

It was a chance meeting. I simply followed a friend who wanted to see a free documentary about a hospice in Scotland that was offering a type of palliative care unlike many we see around here. I didn't think I could relate to the film until a panel took form on stage after the showing. One of the panelists was the chair of Psycho-social Oncology and Palliative Care at the Cancer Institute here. As he spoke on his area of research, which was the ways in which doctors had conversations with patients diagnosed with terminal illnesses, my ears perked up and I sat up in my seat. 

Suddenly I was back in that tiny office in Dallas with my dad. His young oncologist nonchalantly responds that dad's sickness has gone into his bones and that "of course" it was stage 4. My fingers clench the bottom of my seat and I quickly excuse myself from the office to cry silently in the parking lot. I'm angry and hurt--what does this doctor know about this magnificent man sitting before him? I grow embittered by his callous response, leaving no room for forgiveness--for the possibility of his own detachment from patients as a protective measure for his own heart in this field of oncology. 

It would be a year and a half later in Boston where I would finally be able to forgive and let go. I awkwardly stood around the refreshment table waiting for him to appear from the theater doors and grew disheartened when he was quickly approached by several guests, one clearly going on about her own stories. He spots me waiting nervously and eventually politely cuts off the lady to approach me. I had plenty of time to rehearse my questions for this very busy man, but the minute he thanks me for waiting, my words spill out into a messy puddle. My awful visit to the oncologist, my fear of switching doctors, my frustration at the callous insensitivity we received, my tears that afternoon. 

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

At that moment, I knew that God brought me to hear those words for a reason. There was a man I needed to forgive, and I was going to hear the apology from a fellow physician states away. There is no connection between the two men, This man before me had nothing to do with the hurt and frustration that I experienced back in Dallas. And yet, his words would heal me. And it would be more than enough.  

Thank you, Dr. James Tulsky.

Thank you for your research.

Thank you for your kindness. 

Thank you for seeing the hurting person in me. 

Thank you Lord for knowing the deepest depths of my heart and for freeing me each day. Thank you once again for your divine appointments. 

Crossing the Charles River

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow."

-Mary Jean Irion

Being in a 9-month graduate program is like experiencing freshman and senior year at the same time. It's my first year and it's my last year. It's my first fall and my last fall. It is almost as if I came with a set notion that I will leave soon. While this mindset has allowed me to really reflect before making every decision (where I will live, what church I will commit to, what courses I will take, etc.), I am also realizing that it has almost convinced me that I am in control of everything. That there is ONE right path, and I must choose the right one because my entire future is at stake. I've been feeling very  s t u c k  while grappling with these decisions, and I almost envy the Charles River, which I pass on a frequent basis. 

I love that it just flows. There are ripples and not all are the same. It invites the city to admire it, enjoy it, bask in it. Honestly, it's not really that special (actually quite dirty if you ask me), but what makes it beautiful is its surroundings. How the sun's last rays dance across its surface, how the city lights cast its glittering lights across it. It just is. 

Lord, you called me here. You uprooted me from a deep, loving community in Dallas and gently placed me here all the way out here in Cambridge. So during this season, help me to be present. So present. I do not want to lose what you have for me today because I am already eagerly chasing after tomorrow. 

So here's a humble reminder that tomorrow is not guaranteed.

But the Lord's goodness and faithfulness I can rely on. 

And a gentle reminder that He is with me now.

Concern for Our Neighbor

When she asked about the weather, I thought she was checking up on us.

Nope. She was concerned about the bunny that visits our backyard every morning.

Yep. 토강 is its name.

On Death

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, 
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight? 

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together with Christ. 

-Henry Scott Holland

Rain and Provision

After a series of clouds and spouts of rain, I was a bit blue this morning.

Dad was getting his annual bone scan, a sure interruption to daily life at the Kang's. 

It's a sudden-and yet sometimes necessary-jolt telling me that all is not as it appears.

That we are constantly battling the consequences of sin in this world. 

That we await a day when there is no sickness or disease ravaging our bodies.

As deep in the trenches as we may be in this season,

God nudged me to text a fellow sister who also had been battling sickness in her home.

Her update humbled me to the core. Dear sister, we know a God who is far greater.

But that was not all. He had more planned for me. 

I walk through the school doors and feel an urge to stop by the nurse's office.

My friend's eyes well up in tears at the news and a boldness betrays her thin frame.

Papa was the nicest one to me, but he kept getting cancer. It would be gone and then another would pop up. And then another one. It became so incessant that even the church members would just tell him to give up and ask God to take him now. And yet, he kept thanking God for allowing him to live another day. Whether we are healthy or sick, we are never guaranteed today. He knew that and decided to use the rest of his life to read God's word from cover to cover and journal about it. I asked Papa to leave that as a gift to my daughter. To this day, that is the most precious thing we own in the house. God will be glorified in whatever the results will be today, Cathy. You just wait and see. 

How amazing is His word. How immediately it could bind two souls together in one room.

Today in that small nurse clinic, I was reminded of eternity. I walked out with more than myself. I walked out with hope that will guide us through the darkest of places. Thank you Jesus for this. Thank you for your divine appointments.