A greater joy

My travels are often about me. Let’s be honest, during these last few years, every aspect of my life has revolved around my agenda - my study schedule, my exam schedule, my rotation schedule - until this particular adventure.

Midnight Sunday the girls were delivered to my mentor’s home. Removed from their unsafe environment by the county; accompanied only by the clothes they were wearing along with a jacket each. Nothing else. I arrived two days later with my own carefully planned and packed suitcase along with my emotional baggage and scattered thoughts – anticipating deep conversations with my dear mentor-friend around her kitchen table overlooking the rolling hills to the base of the massive mountains.

Each time I travel south to this place of restoration my time spent here never matches what I anticipate. However, it IS always what I NEED.

This time proved no different.

Each morning I arose expecting to establish my own rhythm to the day starting with my run on the trails through the ranch land; the sun on my face and mountains rising to the west. After a shower I planned to sit with my coffee, reading. Somewhere later in the day she and I would likely dig into our talks, exchanging ideas, asking questions, and identifying themes. We’ll make dinner, I’ll bake, and we’ll keep chatting. Usually I leave my time here with a mind recovered from the constant beating: ready to face the next days, weeks, and months to come.

From the first morning on my agenda was challenged. The coffee time invaded by these two girls. The quiet hours as the sun rose were shattered with the constant chirps of an energetic 6-year old. The afternoon filled not with intense conversation solving life’s problems, rather with the constant energy of two busy bodies.

Each day filled with it’s own chaos. My runs happened not at the first light of day, rather were stuffed into nooks and crannies found along the way. The time of day revolved around the meal we just ate or from which we were cleaning up or the one we were about to start preparing. I felt my anxiety rise as my carefully planned time was overpowered and washed away by the presence of these war-torn girls, rescued from the injuries of life, deposited in a safe environment while the space from which they came filled with social workers, case workers, and legal representatives.

My arrogance suffered its defeat as I sat at the breakfast bar with my half finished coffee gripped between my fingers, the young girl hovering with big brown eyes betraying the fear pressed deep into her soul. We started the chore of creating a story: character development, plot, theme. No longer able to sit still, I opened the cupboards pulling out the ingredients I needed and moved about the kitchen: whipping butter, eggs, sugar, adding the spice of vanilla, and savory salt. The 6-year old climbed the stool next to me to “help.” My once precious space dominated by little hands longing to take part and a hungry mind desperate for guidance.

With the sun streaming through the window and the Kitchen-aid whirring these two beating hearts captured mine. Where once I thought children would bring struggle and strife to my driven, achieving life I find welcoming unexpected little ones expands breath and fills life to overflowing. Their chaos breaks my carefully put-together life. Where I once counted accomplishment and success by the number of patients admitted or discharged, or the number of surgeries performed, or the pace of rounding, this Friday I found achievement in helping with homework and baking cookies.

I have spent much of this year (from March 2013 until now) attempting an attitude of thanks, hoping to cultivate joy. And while I am thankful for my life and perhaps starting to unwrap joy, these two resilient girls, plunged into the sea of foster care have redefined thanks, exposed a deeper joy, and brought forth a greater love than I have conjured up through my own experiences. I am better for this breaking, this surrender of my plans. The greatest joy is not in my scenic runs, rather in meeting a little one’s needs. The fullest life is not in the shoes I buy or the slopes I ski or the board I paddle, rather in the unplanned moments that shred my agenda; leaving me breathless and wanting more. 

Regardless of how much I think I have accomplished or achieved, being in the presence of my mentor teaches me I have a very long way to go. As she and her husband welcome these two girls into their home for an extended period of time – suspending their ability to travel or have their house to themselves - I am quickly humbled; slowly learning to surrender my agenda for something far greater.