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“I really like sunsets. Let’s go look at one now…”

“But we have to wait…”

“What for?”

“For the sun to set.”

At first you seemed quite surprised, and then you laughed at yourself.  And you said to me, “I think I’m still at home!”

Indeed.  When it’s noon in the United States, the sun, as everyone knows, is setting over France.  If you could fly to France in one minute, you could watch the sunset.  Unfortunately France is much too far.  But on your tiny planet, all you had to do was move your chair a few feet.  And you would watch the twilight whenever you wanted to….

“One day I saw the sun set forty-four times!” And a little later you added, “You know, when you’re feeling very sad, sunsets are wonderful…”

- The Little Prince by Antioine De Saint-Exupéry (translation by Richard Howard)

There is a specific nurse I have worked with many times during residency.  I cannot stand her.  She eats away at my nerves. I consider myself a reasonable person (don’t we all?) and try to keep my cool whenever I work with her.  Time after time, it takes every thread of my being to hold back from spewing out well-chosen words for her.  She treats my fellow residents like crap and always summons our superiors whenever she dislikes their decisions.  At one point, she glowered and chased me away from an important computer due to an easily fixable and known issue, never even listening to my advice.  Continually talking down to the residents, she never engages in team conversation for care of the patients.  How can someone be so venomous, always wearing a scowl on her face? What a life to live!

It was never a natural decision.  My natural urge was to talk to the nursing supervisors or my attending physicians, file an official complaint or take her aside and chide her.  I wanted to point out her flaws and make her see how incredibly wrong she was.  I wanted to get back at her.

Instead, I decided to intentionally ‘love’ her.  With her being twice my age, I was at minimal risk of my intentions being misconstrued.  I was going to show her that I am better than her.  I was going to win this battle subtly and harbor an internal pride about it.

Life never gives us what we expect.  I started to pray for her as much as I could.  It began a faint change in my attitude.  We would see each other and have reasonable conversations and I started to see a different side of her.  A month following my resolution, she shared she was having major surgery soon.  I inquired into the details and found out where and when she would be.  I schemed to visit her while she was in the hospital.

In plain clothes and on one of my days off, I went to the hospital.  It was awkward going to the same hospital facility I work at, even though in a different section, and asking the information booth what her room number was.  I went up the elevator and knocked on her door.  And there, lying alone in her room, was my enemy.  But she had transformed.  All I could see in the bare hospital room was my friend suffering in pain and loneliness.  Next to her hospital bed was a tray with medications and an IV pole holding a bag of fluids. With some difficulty sitting up and looking over to the door she said in a quiet voice, “Oh, hi Michael.”  Her body exuded discomfort, her eyes winced and her muscles searched for a comfortable position.  The conversation was only a few minutes and laced with numerous pauses.  After a few minutes, I placed the card I had brought for her on the tray, said farewell and walked away.

Every frustration, every prideful thought, every squabble I had with her melted away.  My head was swimming with thoughts and emotions.  I could not believe I ever thought differently of her.  I tried to muster any prior malignant thoughts, attempting to justify my earlier position.  Yet, all I managed was to realize how wrong I had been about her.  There was no way of going back.  I had discovered the same person whom I had spited only weeks earlier was a real person with real struggles and real feelings.  No longer an enemy, she was a friend I cared deeply about.  How did I not see it before?  Was I blind?  How could I have been so short-sighted?  I am embarrassed on my behavior and attitude beforehand.  There is so much I still need to learn about love.  There is so much improvement I aspire to.

Through the various medical organizations I am involved in, I received a letter in the mail.  It came from a medical publishing company.  Inside the envelope was a survey approximately ten pages in length.  Along with the survey was a check made out to my name in the order of $10.  There were no stipulations attached to the check.  There was no place that inferred that by signing the check I would agree to fill out the survey.  The only exception was in the notes portion on the lower left side of the check was a simple reference number that correlated with the survey reference number.  I did not want to take the time to fill out the survey.

What would you do?

Yesterday I drove over a bridge on a four-lane main road in the middle of the city.  I was three-quarters of the way over the bridge in the left lane when I noticed the car in the right lane had halted completely.  I slowed down and soon understood the reason.  Emerging in front of their car, walking straight across the road, was a mother duck and her eight ducklings.

I stopped parallel to the other vehicle and the oncoming traffic also stopped to allow this family to cross the street.  The ducklings must have been just a few days old because they were small and clumsy.  In front of my car, one of the ducklings fell over on its back and, being so very young, had no method or experience to flip itself over.  It just laid there flailing.  Before I could open my car door, a young man got out of his rusted pickup truck and went to the duckling.  As approached the duckling, the mother duck flew up and attacked him.  He had expected some resistance and guarded himself with his arms. Feathers flew and after a few beats of the mother’s wings, he gently nudged the duckling right-sided and backed off.  The mother went back to her ducklings and they continued across.  This happened a second time with another duckling just moments later.  Again the man flipped the duckling and again the mother put up a fuss.

As traffic backed up in both directions, there was a sense of awe for all watching.  In the middle of a concrete industrial landscape, here was sacred, vulnerable life before our very eyes.  Looking around, I saw hispanic, white and black people all venerated with the moment.  Somewhere, deep inside, we had an unmistakable connection and revere for life and these ducklings.

Just as the duckling family reached the other side of the road, a young teenage driver zoomed up and laid on their horn.  The sacred moment snapped shut and we all got our cars moving again.  The world resumed its prior state.  Yet all who witnessed the event had their hearts softened ever so slightly.

Just under the surface of my outside layer, I have lingering questions about my beliefs.  If you were to classify me, I could easily fit into the Jesus-Believing-Protestant-Christian type.  But to classify anyone and assume you know them is always hazardous.

You see, I am a Christian because I was born into a Christian family… Uh… Well… Not exactly.  I am a Christian because I believe the tenets of Christianity.  But then I start to wonder about the rest of the world and why most people have similar beliefs as their parents.  If I had grown up in a Muslim home, would I have been just as passionate about those beliefs and their validity?

Like everyone, I believe I am correct about everything.  Yet, as I analyze some basic beliefs about my Christianity, the further I dissect them the more bizarre they sound.  I believe Jesus is God’s own son sent to the world.  But when Jesus tells us we are children of God, does that mean I have equal status with Jesus?  Can I go around pronouncing to the world that I am the son of God?  And I believe it when I state that Jesus died and came alive again.  I then say I have a personal relationship with Jesus.  But this is the weird part… If Jesus really is alive like I believe and I have a relationship with him, why have I not met him in person?  Or is it just a metaphor that he is still alive, rather like me believing death is not the end (heaven concept)?  My assertion that I have a very real and personal relationship with the very alive human of Jesus gets lost on me when my relationship with him could be equated just as easily with an imaginary friend.  In fact, this person I claim to have a relationship with probably never once was referred to as the English-ized “Jesus” while he was walking about.

What about Jews?  Did they miss the boat when Jesus came?  And what about me… Mormons believe in the revelation given by Joseph following Jesus.  And maybe there has been further revelation since Joseph.  How is a person supposed to keep up with the different revelations God sends and evaluate each for truth and authenticity?  This is complex.

Yet through all these questions, I refuse to give up the concept of a good and loving God.  I will hold onto my belief in Jesus.  I do not know which specific beliefs will last the test of time but I commit myself to being a person who, despite mistakes and inconsistency, pursues integrity, wisdom and love.  And I believe those attributes align perfectly with who Jesus is.

Leave a comment on where you are at to further growth and strength with our beliefs.

Piano used to be my favorite hobby. Yet, over the past few years I have let it slide. I would begin playing the songs with similar vigor as the past but quickly encountered difficulties. The notes no longer flowed. My fingers misbehaved frequently and fatigued easily. I would walk away from the piano because it was too frustrating. My thoughts taunted me with memories of bygone abilities.

But my heart would not and could not walk away perdurably. So last week, I sat down at the piano and started back at the basics. I played scales. I worked on Hanon’s finger exercises. I began, one hand at a time, relearning the notes. And all I could think of the first few days was how painful it was when my fingers, when they used to know better, could not hit the right notes.

And it occurred to me that one of the most difficult aspects of life is relearning what we once already knew. Nobody ever warns us of this. It is not glamorous. It cries out we are weak and prone to storm squalls we have no control over. And it is so very painful to work for that which once came so effortlessly.

We are all susceptible to it. It is learning how to walk again following an accident. Learning basic life activities when our minds become fragile and old. Learning to recover from an illness once more. Learning to relinquish a habit once again when we used to be clean of it. Learning not to be selfish once again. Learning once again to be disciplined. Learning how to trust a friend once more. Learning morals yet again, after realizing we are not above the rules. Learning how to share passion and laughter again with a spouse when marriage has become dull or strained. Learning how to love again.

But we must. To give up would be to surrender ourselves to a life of pity, selfishness, dullness and despair. There is too much hope and love available in the world to give up.

We all have awakening moments in our lives. They are watersheds in which we no longer can claim ignorance. We cannot brush health, death, stress, unemployment, strife, war, famine, homelessness or poverty aside. We cannot say, “I will deal with it another day.” Our undisturbed life gets disturbed.

Most of the time, instead of altering the future, we revert back to old habits. The jolt becomes distant as our life continues along unchanged. We grew too fond of our ignorance and change was too hard. Still, we can recount the pivotal moments which have brought us to our current situation.

Through the years of weathering enlightenment points, I have discovered the most frightening and bone-chilling revelation. I was blissful in my ignorance, staying below deck for the voyage of my life. I was under the assumption someone was on deck, piloting the vessel. On rare occasion, I would be consulted for direction. Each day, I would awake and observe the passing world around me. I would ponder whether my name would be called upon until sundown, when I would rest my head and begin the same process the following day. The vessel seemed to be holding up decently and adventures were plentiful.

But one morning, after a restless night in which the vessel was listing and pitching severely, I decided to inquire about the captain. I went aboard deck only to find myself alone. And I knew in a heartbeat, it had been only me all along. There were other vessels in nearby waters, God was the substance it all could function within, but I was the captain. I was the only one who could pilot my vessel.

I denied it. I went back into the cabin and pretended it was not so. But I knew without a captain, only the winds and waters determined the direction and condition of my vessel. I was not ready for this level of responsibility. How was I supposed to know which direction to bear? And by going in one direction, I was sure to miss out on all the other directions. Should I not just wait for a sign, a direction or a morse-code message to decipher before I choose my course? Can I not just continue on autopilot until revelation reaches me?

But it was too late. Revelation had already embarked. Autopilot would only take me in the direction I was already bearing. To turn on autopilot with my newfound knowledge would be a deliberate decision to go forward. By making any choice, I was forced to reconcile I was not making other choices. It was entirely up to me and I would bear the benefits and consequences of those choices, even if my choice was to hide deep in the hull.

Every morning I wake up, I no longer watch out the eyes of my vessel wondering what will happen. I choose whether to wake up to the alarm clock the first time. I choose my attitude about the day. I choose my timeliness in the bathroom. I choose whether to go to work/school. I choose whether to treat people with love and respect. I choose where I live. I choose who I want to spend my time with. I choose how to spend my time. I choose what to fill my mind with. I choose when to say, “Yes” and when to say, “No.” I choose who I love. The storms, the waters, the winds are still beyond my control but it is up to me how to navigate through.

The most intense two weeks of my life have just passed me by. I quiver when I think about it. I completed an almost continuous two weeks of night shifts at the children’s hospital. At one point in time, I was terrified to return to the hospital because the responsibility was overwhelming. I was worried I would harm a child in negligence while I dealt with the busy chaos around me. On my walk home one morning, I was on the brink of tears due to the intensity.

The hospital has been bustling, and with it, all the staff. The staff have been wonderful and my first year residents have done well, some stronger than others. As the senior pediatric resident on at night, I have been constantly putting out fires. I have made multiple families cry by telling them new diagnoses (including cancer) as well as apologizing when mistakes were made. My heart sustained elevated rates as I counseled half a dozen babies on the benefits of breathing. I was annoyed at times with an occasional parent who was an energy-draining abyss for a non-serious issue. My smile extended down to my toes when I would see a patient and now friend, playing, smiling and waving at me after they had been seriously ill.

New memories and lessons have been created which will last a lifetime. In the midst of it all, I feel inadequate and incompetent. I feel I have failed a few kids. I wish I knew so much more and had more experience. I often wonder how this level of responsibility was thrust upon me. Yet, it is a joy, honor and privilege to serve. I am invested in and my heart yearns for these kids.

I want to be special. It sounds bluntly selfish, but it is true. I want to be picked out of a crowd. I want my name to be mentioned in conversation about great and wonderful people. I want to be smarter, braver, sexier, faster and wiser. I want to be good and when I am not good, I want to be lucky. I want my prayers to count more. I want to be the movie star, the hidden sports talent, the professional photographer or the person whose ideas change the world.

I do not know from where this feeling originates. I suspect we all harbor this feeling. It seems selfish. It seems prideful. But maybe it is also intrinsic human nature.

I used to think anyone could do anything if they really wanted. I no longer believe it. We all have equal value. We are definitely not equal.

Today, as I looked online, I found myself at a bioethics fellowship training website. It piqued my interest and I read on, perusing the various alumni profiles. Every profile showcased a person who graduated valedictorian and magna cum laude of their high-powered medical school, the likes including Harvard, Johns Hopkins and more. I was just happy to graduate. Even if I desired, there was no way I would be accepted into that program. I was a nobody.

And I consoled myself, remembering I am special…

…just like everyone else.

In a way, my relationship with God finds itself in this desire to be special. Maybe it is why so many of us believe in God. We want to be special. We want someone larger than ourselves to infuse meaning and love into our lives. We want to have a personal connection with God. We want him to call out our name. But what if God doesn’t want a personal connection with us?

Then again, what if he did?

We first learn life is not fair at a very young age. We then spend the rest of our lives resisting, fighting and attempting to disprove this revelation. Despite our protests, life still is not fair.

I attended a funeral for a patient of mine today. What a beautiful blessing she was, full of grace, generosity, compassion and love. Now she is gone.

Why her? Why now? I do not know. Why should I keep believing in a loving God? Why should I still trust him? Does he know something I do not? Is there a great equalizer where the injustices I witness in this world are somehow rectified? I must believe so. I do not allow myself to believe this is the end. I am compelled to believe my perspective is the limiting factor rather than give up hope.

I grasp onto the same one whom I also blame for the injustices. I blindly continue in my faith that he has answers which are beyond my current perspective. It launches me beyond the realm of sterile objective scientific data and into the deeper questions of life, love, purpose and God. It is a field of mystery that cannot be measured. It is a hope I hold onto and refuse to give up.