Archive for Romans

A Better Version Of Me

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on February 26, 2012 by Her Broken Wing

I believe in the small talk, in 2nd, 3rd and 4th chances, forgiving those in my past and missing the cracks in the pavement (or “you break your mother’s back,” I sang as a kid). I strive for obedience when it does not make sense — denoting a sense of submission.

And when the world of good and evil collide, I might smile that crooked smile revealing my fragile life. I realize how easily my broken and shattered place of being has come to. I sense the vulnerably delicate existence of my heart.

I daydream of a better time, where my soul whispers truth and dedication of Someone’s love. Be still my beating heart and listen. (Psalm 46:10) Once again, conformity and submission take their place in my life calling out my name. I hear her. But I don’t always answer. Shame. Guilt. Even so, my mind takes a stand. But God…you gave me this desire, did you not? And the raging internal war goes on. Why can’t I be more like Jesus? Why can’t I overcome each time? Satan makes out a new buffet of sin every day.

I can choose to order off the menu or the buffet. Some days the buffet looks inviting. Satan is smart and cunning. He is powerful. (Sounds like the disease of addiction)

I bite.

Then there is the long conviction of worthlessness that builds her walls around my heart.  The very thing I desire, I fight back against. Does my world of panic-stricken emotions and uncertainty mask this lonely spirit? Or tear down the very walls built to coddle my wounds.

Easy to forgive others. Not so easy to forgive myself.

But…

For God went right for the jugular when He sent His own Son.” (Romans 8:3, the message) so the least I can do is work on the whole forgiveness thing…

And I pray for a better version of me.

Love,

Connie

Mirror Mirror On The Windshield

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on April 13, 2010 by Her Broken Wing

I ran into a “friend” the other day at the grand Ol’ Publix while I was listening to some Grand Ol’ Opry music playing in the background and trying to focus on my much-needed grocery shopping. Fate would have it of course as this would be the one time I chose not to wear make-up, looking my very worse. Why does this always happen? I Knew the minute I jumped into my car, I would look in the mirror to see how bad it really was!!

Anyway, I hadn’t talked to my friend since she tried to help me find a job. She must have felt bad because she tried to avoid me. Make-up or not, I was going to take her down approach her. I was curious to what had transpired since our last conversation.  Truth is I had been hurt. I would rather someone call me and tell me ‘no’, than not call me. It’s the not knowing that drives me crazy.

Today, she said she had been thinking about me and was still working on the Director of Nursing.  But as of now, the Director of Nursing was firm in her stance that she would not hire another “Impaired nurse.” When those two words rolled out of her mouth, they came with such might; it felt like an army of terrorists, they shot down every last humbled soldier in my body.

Humbled!   Humiliated! Stripped of my dignity…My identity had always been that I was a great nurse. And in a split second that changed. I became “damaged goods” because of a label, a disease—treatable if monitored like any other malady but at this point who cared.

Standing in front of my friend, speechless–“Impaired nurse”—echoed in my head!! I’m not sure I heard anything else she said. A visual before me of someone on crutches, bandaged up and quite retarded. Although I have been known to fit this description on occasions, I don’t think this is a true account of my disease …

Looking up the definition, this is what I came up with for I.N. (impaired nurse) — Impaired nurses are considered the victims of chemical substance abuse such as alcohol, narcotics, drugs or any other substances that support mood alteration. Notice the word “Victim.” Nowhere does it say moral defect, flaw in character, a criminal, or traitor to the profession.

The unspoken definition is we are fragile merchandise; tender spirits, high achievers and we are victims to a disease that just needs to be managed. Yes, some of us have committed crimes by diverting (someone who steals drugs from patients, pharmacies or other sources)drugs, or come to work intoxicated.  But guys, that is the drugs—the disease…having been clean now, I am appalled myself at things I used to do. I needed help. I need help. I will always need help.

I am learning through my experience the employer’s standpoint. They fear litigation which often makes it easier to not bother with saving a great nurse with many years of experience.

The current punitive system creates barriers to reporting and keeps impaired nurses from getting help. This is distressing. Sadly, if I knew what I know now, I would have definitely gone a different route. I have been persecuted for a crime of saying, “I need help.” The system in place is not a true “advocacy” program.

As I got back into my car and looked in the mirror (remember I had to check on my make-up situation or lack of) and it finally hit me, I was seeing where I had been and I don’t want to forget that. But it is time to move forward, shift gears, to drive and to change the course of my life, maybe I will find something even bigger.

Someday I hope to be able to change the world’s image of us—the impaired nurse, God willing.

For today, my saving grace to this new passage was and will be filtered through my Father’s hand for He is working this to His good…Romans 8:28

Today, I am a better person for it…