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I knew I’d broken it before I hit the ground. I heard it snap. Breathing hard on the concrete, between cries for help, my mind moaned, “not again!”.  
 
Yes. Again. 
 
9 years ago I broke the same ankle, my right one. It was early Christmas morning and I was sleepily walking down the stairs to get baby Tylenol for my teething son. One wrong step and down I went. This time it was December 23rd. I think next year my family may cocoon me in bubble wrap and prop me up in the corner until New Year’s. 

As I write this, I am on Day 8 of a self-imposed quarantine for COVID-19. Dr. H and I managed to come down with it at almost the same time; so have several of our family members. No one seems to know just who gave it to whom, but at this point it doesn’t much matter. All of our happily vaccinated and boostered selves are doing better now, by God’s grace, and we are very thankful about it.

My middle daughter has a problem with trust. She often asks me, “Mom, are you going to take me to dance today?” or “Mom, are you going to pick me up from school?” She frets over small things like have I signed a permission slip yet, or have I made that orthodontist appointment yet. It is frustrating as a parent to feel like my precious girl doesn’t know that I am taking care of her, that I am here for her.

The dog groomer took some sort of hiatus. And while I don’t begrudge her time off, away or whatever she needed, we have three dogs in this house. Two fairly large, all fairly fluffy dogs. And furthermore, finding a good groomer in our area is like finding gold at the end of the rainbow. It eludes most and did us for a long time. Finding a replacement was impossible.

I’m in my early 60s. This means I have about 50 years of clear memories of news events, politics, fads and fashions, stemming from the early 70s. I even remember when JFK died, although I was just a little girl; the reactions of the adults around me were so remarkable that I still remember exactly where I was. In all of that time I will tell you what I have learned: God is the only One we can trust to tell us the truth and the only One who can give us peace. 

One day, a mole decided life underground wasn’t his thing. Ready for something new, he found a folded lawn chair in a driveway and thought, yes, this was his best next step. So he moved in.

I don’t drag out my MD for just any occasion. Typically, I keep it tucked away. But today I thought I would speak (indirectly) to residents, especially first-year residents or interns, so it seemed appropriate. Perhaps you ladies, who are reading this article, will pass along my remarks to the young physicians in your lives.

Behind the smile I was shouting, “Oh goodness mercy of course!” I have been the new girl showing up at the team meeting, the book club, the Bible study far, far more often than I have been the one standing with friends. It can be excruciatingly hard. It can also be invigorating.

Medical life takes grit. We wrap our minds around MCAT scores, acceptance letters, residency placements and job contracts, knowing it’s not easy. There’s risk in leaving a paying job and moving across the country. And it’s scary. Will you land on your feet? Will you live on this budget? Will you make friends? Regardless, we have hope. We see the endpoint, or the little milestones on the way—the white coat ceremony, the match and the job signing. 

I make a mean lasagna. Always have. It’s my mom’s recipe and it has never let me down. (Don’t worry. I’ll share it with you in a minute.) So, naturally, when I think of taking food over to someone’s house, I think of lasagna. It’s easy, portable, reheats well, and lasts for days. This is especially helpful if the person is sick, or in this case, recovering from surgery.

The Christmas season is upon us! I love the smells, the lights and the traditions. One tradition we have in our family is to not put any Christmas gifts under the tree until after the kids go to bed on Christmas Eve. It is a tradition born out of practicality: we had curious toddlers in our house for more than 10 years. But even now, when our youngest is 11, we still keep all the gifts safely tucked away until late Christmas Eve. It is so much fun to see the surprise on their sleepy faces Christmas morning!

It is a foggy morning at my house and I just filled my fourth garbage bag following the departure of my Christmas guests (full disclosure: my mom is still here after airline troubles delayed her flight by a week!) I am not ready to un-decorate yet as we love to savor the Christmas lights for a bit as we enter the new year. The deep sigh of tidying up is truly palpable — getting things back in their place somewhat and organized so that the new year can begin.

Kicking and screaming…most of the time. Protesting in the loudest and most ridiculous ways imaginable. Much like a disobedient child, who is being drug from a store by a parent; misbehaving just because they didn’t get what they wanted. That’s me. Why? How do you follow Jesus?

It has been said that all the world is a stage, and the people are mere players. If that is true, then sometimes I feel like a supporting character in my own life. My husband’s career has been center-stage for so long, I can’t remember a time when our life didn’t somehow revolve around it. It determined where we lived, and how long. It determined when dinner was, and when we could go on vacation. It was the reason we moved away from home, and the reason we moved again, and again, and again. And I have been the one making sure all the endless “little things” got done along the way. I am pushing the plot of our lives along—but standing outside the spotlight.

Some days when the deadline for writing my On the Side devotional is looming—or loomed last week and is now bearing down on me like a bullet train—and the words are stuck in my head, I scroll through old issues to see what topics we have covered as a team.

When I sit among the women of our local Side By Side chapter, I sit among power. Wives of physicians, some physicians themselves, some experts in other fields, some nursing stay-at-home moms. A group diverse in age and background and current employment, but always powerful.

Moving has the effect of making you take stock of what you’re carrying with you. It is important to know what baggage to keep and what to get rid of.

God knows everything He is planning to bring about in our future. He is the One who makes a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. We may look around us and see nothing of that promise, but He encourages us to look anyway and to see with the eyes of faith.

I met my best friends from high school this summer in North Carolina. It was our third annual trip together—we have been to a couple of beaches, but this year we chose the mountains.

God knows everything He is planning to bring about in our future. He is the One who makes a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. We may look around us and see nothing of that promise, but He encourages us to look anyway and to see with the eyes of faith.

As I am writing this article, it has been just a few days since hostilities erupted in the Middle East. Every morning I have to get up and see what they are doing over there. It is unquestionable that any information I have today will be obsolete by the time you read this. I don’t know what else to say except, “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: ‘May they prosper who love you’” (Psalm 122:6, NASB).