Random Posts of Hillary Joan Johnstone

Student Woes

2012-01-19T01:57:00.001-07:00

I am a student.

Unofficially.

It's not on my ID badge...or part of my nursing designation...but I am a student.

And tonight, I had a student nurse. Student teaching student. And I had my 1st post-op patient; a teen who had a total colectomy and ileostomy done (translation: large bowel removed, and some other stuff). Yeah. I think my timidity got in the way of my standing up for myself and suggesting that I, the junior staff nurse, should probably not have a 3rd year student with me. Ah, these boundary things are showing up everywhere!

I didn't like the feeling that this student's learning was in my hands, and I didn't know what to do. I had to consult all the teaching binders and protocols and verbally repeat out loud to myself my list of "To Dos" for this patient...all with my student nurse staring over my shoulder. Because he could. He was tall. And then I would see the student's instructor every 3 or so hours, and she'd simply ask, "how's it going"...instead of teach the student or do an assessment with him. The job was on me. Frightening. I simply replied, "Oh, alright..." as I ran past her to the med room to figure out if my gentamycin and clindamycin could be mixed.

I didn't like my student's cockiness. I don't think he asked enough questions. He just watched me. And then ~~he didn't chart very well, and I only discovered this after he'd left~~ he had a different style of charting (illegible...short...) that irked me. It messed me up. I had to allow this unknown person to come in and influence the running charting timeline I had inside my head (and hadn't yet written down). I suddenly found myself waiting on the student to chart, reminding the student to chart, double-checking to see if the student had charted...just b/c I'm so freakishly anxious about getting my charting done on time, and done in great detail, and just done. Sigh.

Didn't help that I forgot to ask the surgeon something, and the charge nurse was visibly disappointed by my forgetfulness. I hate that. I hate feeling like I'm not living up to my potential as a nurse.

At the end of the day, I'm thinking, why didn't I speak up and suggest the student go with another nurse? I'm not sure he learned anything from me. It was weird, too...he hardly got to do anything due to strict rules about IV meds...but what he did do seemed to just slow me down. Ick. I don't like not liking student nurses, because I was a student nurse not that long ago...

But I realize it's because I'm a novice nurse. I'm new. My learning curve is still increasing exponentially. I'm still fine-tuning my organization and time-management skills, and getting used to the diversity of patients on the unit. I am still a student. A student who probably shouldn't teach other students. At least for a while.

I learned a lot tonight.

Under the Influence

2012-01-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

I recently finished a stint of night shifts...and by stint, I mean 2 nights. Anyway, when I prepare for a night shift, I usually stay up really late the night beforehand watching TV shows and movies.

Thing is, I've been having a lot of difficulty finding shows to watch these days.

About a month ago I was all alone in the house, wondering what to do. I sat down in front of our TV, turned on Netflix, and picked a TV show I'd heard about and thought might be interesting. You know--normal people turned superheroes, comic relief characters, plot twists, a hot guy with an accent...all that good stuff. I started the first episode and, with the exception of a few overly gory scenes, I liked it. I went on to the second episode...man,the violence...I can deal with it for the sake of the good plot...then third...what? Does this show HAVE to make sex on the 1st date seem acceptable?...fourth...alright, starting to get creeped out by the shady eyes and special effects...

As I started the fifth episode (it was a very lazy day), one of my roomies came home. He found me curled up on the couch in fright, lights out, eyes transfixed on the TV screen. Turns out, he'd seen the show before.

"Does this show just get more violent and creepy?" I asked.
"Yep. It gets worse." he replied.

That was all I needed. I turned the show off and selected a safe, family-friendly movie to watch to help erase the trauma of the previous 3+ hours.

Last week I found a show on Netflix I really, really liked. It was a hard-core drama with a well-written script, acted out by hugely talented actors and actresses. It sucked me in, continually tempting me to watch the next episode with the click of a button, and I finished the 1st season by the time my weekend night shifts came around.

I thought, Sure, there's some stuff I disagree with...underlying messages that try to justify certain actions that in reality cause way more pain and torment than they're letting on...but it's so well-written! And different! And besides, what else can I watch?!?! I'm smart; I can rise above it all, and take the meat, throw out the filthy, rotten, stinkin' bones. Those bad dreams I had last night just mean I can't watch this show before bed.

Sometimes, I'm an idiot. It took a hugely inappropriate scene in the second season for me to call it quits with this show. I'll spare you the details...let's just say I immediately covered my eyes and shouted in shock. There goes another show that would have been amazing sans the filth. And who knows just how much my mind was subliminally influenced by the garbage of the enemy that infiltrated yet another show in mainstream media.

Yes, it' s true...I am really, really sensitive to TV shows and movies...and it frustrates me that other people, especially fellow Christians, can so easily watch these same shows and not be affected at all. You see, if I watch something with the littlest bit of violence, creepiness, sex or horror, (anything from Degrassi Junior High to a chick flick to the kid's movie Rango to some episodes of Doctor Who) I'm attacked for days with horribly unpleasant and crude thoughts, feelings and emotions. AND I find myself hanging out in doubt, arguing with myself for days, asking, Is that stuff REALLY not okay? Did Jesus REALLY mean it like THAT?!?

It's even worse with the usual primetime adult shows and movies (the show I first eluded to at the beginning of this post was the show, Heroes.). And if I didn't know better, I'd be left ignorant of the fact that my mind is a battleground, and not all thoughts are planted in my mind by me. In other words, the battle may not be against myself...but it is most certainly going on within myself. My permeable mind may be under the influence of a master deceiver through strategically planted thoughts from these shows I watch....thoughts that are toxic, triggering the bad and attacking the good.

Those feelings of doubt can and should be extinguished with one look at the unshakable God-truths posted on my Truth Board. The horribly unpleasant thoughts, feelings and emotions are a little harder to shake--I find I have to go through detox with Jesus, blasting the worship music and reading the love-filled Word before the peace comes.

With this latest show that I turned off (which, I will say, was heavier than your normal chick flick or episode of Degrassi), I feel intellectually violated. I feel stupid, deceived, and needing the safety-covering of my Papa-God. I hate that I thought I could handle it and didn't stop to check things with the Holy Spirit. I hate that the deceiver is really good at his job. I hate that I thought it was worth it for the sake of "relaxing" and "being entertained." And I know my Papa-God loves me way too much for me to be throwing my mind to the dogs.

I acknowledge that media is getting worse and worse. It sucks. It makes it really difficult for overly-sensitive people like me (and basically just people people) to find shows that entertain and engage the mind in healthy ways. I am slowly learning to turn the TV off at the first sign of danger, but it's a process of learning self-control, discipline, humbleness, and attentiveness to the Holy Spirit. I think after this last incident, I'm going to be even more cautious and have intentional "Holy Spirit checkpoints" as I introduce new media into my life. I think I'll delve into the already-seen classics and family-friendly features the next time I want to relax. I may even turn off the TV and read a good book.

I'm dreaming and believing for a time sooner rather than later when the film and TV industries are reclaimed and redeemed by Jesus and the garbage gets the hell out of my living room. And I'm praying that that redemption comes before I run out of Murder She Wrote, I Love Lucy and Extreme Makeover Home Edition episodes.That means we have until the end of the year. C'mon. With God, anything is possible... :-D

-Hillary

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Any suggestions for helping a sensitive girl like me build up my armour? Do y'all have any suggestions for good, clean shows to watch? Let me know in the comments!!!

Breakthrough.

2012-01-13T03:15:00.001-07:00

I did something today that I don't normally do. I resisted taking the familiar people pleaser path, and instead decided to break new ground and outwardly stand up for myself.

Yeah.

Let me explain (Warning: loooooong sentence ahead.). You see, instead of suppressing the stress rising inside of me and meekly submitting to a friend's request in order to maintain (an illusion of) peace, I decided to voice my honest opinion about something this friend was asking me to do that, really, would be too much of an unwelcome stress in my life.

In effect, I said no.

Truth be told, it was a really tiny exchange (like, text message small) between myself and this friend, and this friend might not have even noticed anything was out of the ordinary for me. But I knew. I made the choice. I made a boundary known. The miraculous happened. And I experienced an unfamiliar but absolutely wonderful freedom as a result.

I'm discovering that setting limits is liberating and that not setting limits is draining, time-consuming and a recipe for inner resentment and hatred of others. I'm clearly slow on the uptake on this one. Turns out the "it's selfish to say no and disappoint someone" idea is actually a sneaky ploy by the enemy to turn me into mushy structure-less glop of gloop without feelings, ideas, thoughts or opinions that matter. But my Papa God who loves me places great value on my life, my feelings, my ideas, thoughts and opinions. He also places a great value on self-control--one o'the Fruits of the Spirit. My Creator doesn't want me to be self-seeking, but He does want the unique expression of His nature in me to be carefully guarded and cultivated, not bulldozed and conformed.

I'm also discovering that I can love people without being a people pleaser. I didn't clue into this all-important piece of knowledge until just recently. At least subconsciously I didn't. You see, I suddenly realized, Jesus was the opposite of a people-pleaser. Jesus ruffled feathers. He spoke His mind and disagreed with other people. He was a hated man in the upper religious circles and had a bounty on his head. He also opened His arms to the poor, the lost, the judged. He reached out and touched the lepers, befriended the prostitutes, and cried with the broken-hearted. Jesus, of all people in history, exhibited extravagant, unprecedented, radical love. And I am called to show that same love to everyone around me...all the while keeping healthy boundaries, just like Jesus.

And so, today, I had a breakthrough. I put a stake--however small--in the ground, and Jesus and I are celebrating. I feel a shift in focus from pleasing people to working to truly steward my life well. I hear a call to stop keeping my limits hidden for fear of appearing selfish and unloving. I see the truth in letting the Word of God be a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. I expect greater things to come.

The Truth Board

2012-01-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

In light of some recently uncovered "stinkin' thinkin" (translation: unhealthy ideas about myself and God that needed changing), I decided to make a "Truth" Board (I clearly like to make visual collages of things like this. Remember my Dream Board?). My Truth Board is going above my bed to remind me of the unshakable, undeniable and non-negotiable truths that are the foundations of my faith...and if any thought or circumstance in life challenges these truths, I will choose to stick to my Truths--knowing full well it will require a LOT of faith.

Papa God is good all the time.

The battle is not against myself.

Papa God is for me, not against me. He never stops doing good for me (Jer. 32:40)

Papa God never commissions harm.

I do not need to impress God for Him to love me.

(Here is a not-so-good picture of my evolving Truth Board)

I haven't gotten all my Truths on the board...but it's a start. I also found myself writing declarations of truth earlier this week, days before I even realized how badly I needed them to help change my "stinkin' thinkin." They're a little long to put on a poster and pin to my wall, but I thought, "Why not put them on my blog?" Perhaps they'll help you as they help me.

It is not me vs. God; instead He is pursuing me--not out of anger or punishment, but out of LOVE. I am not against God, nor is He against me; God is FOR me, and sickness, death, destruction and the deceiver are our collective enemies. We join forces--I, the little but loved-and-therefore-mighty mouse, He the great roaring lion--and we disarm the enemy with the weapons of righteousness: with joy, thankfulness and love.

I am not standing in front of my God pleading and making my case for worthiness; on the contrary, I--the unworthy--sit enthroned at His side, a daughter of the King. I sit by my Papa not by my own works, but by His grace alone--His grace which never lets me go.

I boldly approach the throne of grace because He is my Papa and I am His child, not because I have to convince Him to do good. Our God is already convinced to do good in ALL things, because He IS Good; in Him there is no darkness. His Love is pure, and He is on my side--the battle is not against Him, but against sin; against darkness; against anything that keeps me from Love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pause.

2011-12-26T18:42:00.003-07:00

I am not in a hurry.

...

At least, I shouldn't be.
...
...
That's the Word on the street these days.

...
...
...
...
...

I am not in a hurry.

O Holy Night.

2011-12-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

The tree is aglow.

Expectation. Excitement. Peace. Calm.

A hush.

He's coming.

Gift.

2011-12-18T18:29:00.002-07:00

When I was a young child, I used to camp out around our Christmas tree and carefully count each and every present lying under the twinkling lights. "I have ELEVEN presents, Mommy, and Boyda only has EIGHT!" I would gleefully proclaim (I was more about quantity than quality in those days). Those presents would be organized to my liking, with the biggest ones marked, "To Hillary, from Santa" in the very front and the ones marked, "To Boyda, from Santa" in the very back. I would sit and dream about what each box contained, and correspond each present to toys found on the dog-earred pages of my Christmas Bible, The Sears WishBook.

(What would a Christmas blog post be without Hillary's Scraggly-Haired Christmas photo?)

On Christmas Eve, I tried to contain my excitement and pretend to be asleep as my mom tip-toed into my room and packed my Christmas stocking (our family tradition is to put the stocking on our bedpost, rather than the mantle). Christmas morning would come, and I would be the first out of bed. I'd trundle on over to my sister's bed with my fat stocking in hand and wake her up; together we'd see what exciting stocking stuffers my mumsy had surprised us with that year. Then, 8 o'clock would come and we'd wake our parents up and open presents. Mom would smile broadly in anticipation of our reactions, and make veiled comments like, "Oh, girls, I wonder what Santa has brought you this year...Why don't you start with THAT present, Hillary? Ooooh, Boyda, maybe save that one for later..."

I would rip open the wrapping paper in haste while my older sister would take her time with each fold, enjoying the process. I would recognize those gifts from the WishBook, and proudly pile my presents around me in a sort of "Hillary Kingdom." The only break in my self-centeredness would come when my mom or dad picked up their gift from me and opened it...I remember holding my breath and watching nervously as my mom admired my wrapping job and slowly undid the first corner of tape. Will she like it?!? I thought. Will she know I gave her this gift because I really, really love her? I asked myself. The answers to these questions, pondered in the heart of a child, became the most important things in the universe at that moment. I thought I might die if my mom didn't like my present.

And yet every single time, my mom would unwrap my present to her and gasp in astonishment and surprise. "Hillary, it's beautiful!!" she would exclaim with shining eyes and a big smile on her face. As a little girl, the wave of relief would wash over me and I'd be filled with joy. As an older child, I came to recognize that sometimes my mom's "amazed" reaction to my gifts seemed more obligatory than genuine...yet I still appreciated her effort. It didn't matter if my gift was something she had bought for herself "on Hillary's behalf" or if I had hand-crafted a less-than-fridge-worthy piece of art--she expressed her love and grace for me in those moments.

It was a glorious, magical, unique time.

Now, as an adult, I no longer pour over the Sears WishBook or count the presents under the tree. Christmas instead seems to sneak up on me, and I find I have to actively work to get my Christmas carol quota in and find time to watch all the traditional Christmas movies. The Christmas magic I knew as a child is much harder to appropriate as an adult...and this holiday could quite easily pass me by if I didn't make an effort to focus on it and stir up the holy wonder surrounding Christ's birth. But today I had a revelation...and a bit of that child-like Christmas spirit lit up in my heart.

This is what I realized. Just as a father and mother take joy in giving presents to their children at Christmas, so my Papa-God has great presents for me, His daughter this Christmas!

Papa-God has Christmas presents to give His children! Ah! They may be unseen or they may be promises of something to come, but regardless they are presents He desires to give to His kids this Christmas to celebrate the birth of His Son. We serve a God who loves to give gifts to His kids! We see this in Scripture:

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! (1 John 3:1)...Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights (James 1:17)...So don't be afraid, little flock. For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the Kingdom! (Luke 12:32)...For unto us a Child (Christ) is born; unto us a son is given (Isaiah 9:6)

If God gave His own Son to us as a gift, to what end of His Love can there be? What good and perfect gift does He desire to lavish upon me this Christmas season? Oh, how excited am I! I wait with expectancy for Christmas morning to come, that I might see the gifts He has for me!

And I wait with expectancy for Christmas morning to come, that I might know His reaction to the Christmas gift I have made for Him.

This year, I am going to give Papa-God a Christmas gift. Professionally made it may not be, yet it will be made with love and care. And I will wait with bated breath and butterflies in my stomach when He opens His gift from me...even though I know that as my mom delighted in the gift from her young child, so my God will delight in the gift from His daughter. He may even put it on His fridge.

I can't wait.

A Gingerbread Christmas.

2011-12-16T19:28:00.001-07:00

Call and Response

2011-11-26T11:00:00.000-07:00

Oftentimes (well, most of the time) I blog about things I myself need to learn about and put into practice. It's one of the joys of being an external processor--until I put a thought "out there" in writing or speech, my mind has trouble figuring out where to place it in the neuron-web of information inside my brain. Today I'm exploring a subject that I've been avoiding, largely because I know once I process it, I'm required to respond. But here goes...I want to talk about self-control and discipline.

Yeeep. Take it or leave it--I don't mind. I'm clearly not an expert on the matter...just a student. Possibly not a very good student. It doesn't really help that I'm writing this post instead of exercising self-control and finishing some work modules that need to get done. But there's a reason this subject has been on my mind. Yep, you got it. Over the past month, the Holy Spirit (HS) has been nudging me.

It started about 4 weeks ago when the HS stopped me mid-thought and whispered something spectacular and confusing. He said, "You need to train yourself in self-discipline now, while your responsibilities are few, to prepare yourself for later days when you're serving overseas and facing greater difficulties."

It was quite the download-out-of-nowhere. Here I was, minding my own business, when BAM...the words came and all of a sudden I was faced with an invitation to change. An invitation to discipline. And I've been struggling to figure out what that call to discipline means, exactly.

The words, "pain, sacrifice and suffering" come to mind when I think of discipline. Doesn't seem very fun at all. Seems downright horrible. I feel like this is a problem. Buuuuuuuut I started thinking about a time in my life when I was the most "disciplined" and intentional with my time. That would be in high school, when I was big-time into sports.

During Novembers in high school, I had volleyball and/or basketball 6 days a week. Sometimes I had basketball practice right after volleyball, which made for a very long day. It was exhausting, but I remember that I somehow thrived in the midst of it all. Seems crazy--here I was giving my all to high school sports, casting aside social events and relaxing evenings at home in order to be yelled at and run ragged. I worked my butt off in practice, but it was such a great time in my life. See, I loved what I was working towards--I loved the tournament excitement...the camaraderie with the teammates...the feeling that came with blocking a hit at the net or "packing" an opponent in the face with a well-placed spike (vicious, yes...)...scoring a 3-pointer in the last minute of a nail-biter...winning provincials as "the underdog,"...the pride I felt in our excellence...that excellence that came only with determination and our sacrifice of time, sweat, and pain. All that time spent in practice was worth it to me because I knew my hard work would pay off. I was passionate about sports, and the sacrifices made seemed small in comparison to the victories they brought in the long-run.

I find that passion and discipline run hand-in hand. My passion for sports drove my determination in practices--even when I was pushed to the max and didn't think I could run another set of lines or hit another lay-up. And without discipline, my passion would be without direction. It'd be like a boat without a rudder, lost in the Sea of Good Intentions.

And so, with all this processing and reflection, I'm thinking about what discipline might mean for me, right now. I'm a single, debt-free, working girl who has been blessed beyond measure...and, consequentially, I have more time and resources on my hands than most people in this world. It is all too easy for me to procrastinate (translation: lack self-control) and cast-aside "less fun" yet important things because I can afford to "do them later." And it is all too easy for me to push aside the idea of "sacrifice" because it doesn't offer short-term gratification.

But now, in light of the HS's words to me, I'm wondering...I'm thinking...I'm pondering...am I being called to something greater than "short-term gratification"? What really is important to me? Is my time on Facebook, my new TV show or that extra two hours of surfing the net really more important than focusing on that to which God has called me? Are these things more important than my desire to make a difference in this world through my nursing and my servanthood in Christ? Could such a seemingly small decision to procrastinate cause such a great impact? It's an unnerving thing to ponder...but my passion lies in nursing and in learning to love as Jesus loves, and that passion demands discipline. Certainly things like Facebook and the internet aren't horrible in themselves...that is SO not what I am saying. What I am saying is that these things in excess threaten to stunt my growth and cause me to settle for something less than was originally planned. They act as distractions rather than tools and rewards.

I know that I will someday be in a position where I won't have such "comforts" as those I enjoy now. I've tasted and I've seen only a few of the hardships that life in developing nations brings. But I also know that my transition into servanthood in a developing country will be much easier if I am more intentional with my time here and now and choose not to take my comforts for granted. I think this means rationing my time on the internet and limiting the amount of junk food I eat. It means choosing to say no to TV marathons and instead reading that nursing book. It means exercising and enjoying creation instead of laying on the couch writing Facebook updates. It means sacrificing sleep and waking up that extra 1/2 hour before work to get in needed quiet time with Jesus. It means being intentional in everything I do. It means being thankful. It means acknowledging that discipline comes with pain, sacrifice and suffering...but also brings long-lasting joy, life and victory.

You know...the more I think about it, the more I think a life of discipline is worth it.

"Everything I do today I do with purpose, determination and courage."

~excerpt from a team banner , high school volleyball 2006

In the quiet.

2011-11-20T15:40:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, I talk too much.

Yes, I confess it. Sometimes I throw listening out the window and unconsciously twist conversation to my own agenda. Or I get carried away in excitement and just make noise and exclamations a-plenty. Or I feel the need to fill what I think is "awkward" silence with "witty" and "highly philosophical" statements that, in reality, are actually hugely awkward in themselves. Sometimes I just don't know when to be quiet.

Example: I go to a church that has a 5-minute coffee break and mingle time halfway through the service. Generally I use this time to organize myself at my seat and say hello to my small-group friends. This has recently changed, however, as last week I happened to go to a Young Adults night and attempt conversation with people my own age (scary for the girl who generally gets along better with people older than her). As a result of my excursion into Young Adult-land, this morning at Coffee Time I found myself face-to-face with a bright-eyed 23-years-old(ish) girl named Caitlin. Thus far, what I know about Caitlin is that she dresses trendily, sings really well and that she has a huge passion for Jesus.

So Caitlin and I chat a little bit about our week...she asks about my job...I share that it's going well, etc., etc...blah blah blah...and then a lightbulb turns on in my brain and I realize, Wow...we've been talking more than 30 seconds. This isn't just a courtesy conversation. She actually wants to be my friend.

Note: Let me explain. For some (probably unhealthy) reason, it comes as a shock to me that someone my age whom I admire would like to be my friend. Anyway, for the sake of the story, I'll skip the analysis of that belief and keep going...

She actually wants to be my friend.

At this point, I pause in conversation, take a half-step back, tilt my head, furrow my brow and say in a very intense voice, "Thank you for spending time with me..."

Confusion passed across her face. It was awkward. That comment was my attempt at saying I appreciated her taking notice of me.

Thankfully, Caitlin is exceedingly kind and forgiving. She stuck with the conversation and even pleaded for me to go to the next Young Adults event. I, however, still felt like an idiot. It was a reminder for me to recognize when I should talk, and when I should be quiet.

I think it's more often than I think.

-----------------------

These days, I feel like Papa-God is teaching me about the beauty in quietness. Not just the beauty in knowing when to be quiet in conversations with other people...but the beauty in being quiet in my prayer-time with Him.

He's been nudging me to turn down the noise in my prayers and just hang out with Him. He's been encouraging me to periodically stop with the requests and supplications and the Will Yous and Pleases and If You could justs. He's been inviting me to come to a place of rest in Him in my prayer times. A place of beautiful quiet.

My past attitude toward spending time with God in prayer is kind of like that of a college girl who invites her dad over "for a lovely mac-n-cheese dinner." The dad thinks his daughter's motivation was that she wanted to spend time with him and maybe watch the football game...while the daughter *actually* invited her dad over "for dinner" to take advantage of his handy-man skills and get him to do all those little fix-it carpentry-plumbing-type jobs on her To-Do list.

When I meet my Papa-God in prayer and worship time, oftentimes I've very quick to say things like, "Hey God, can you help me with this? Can you give me more patience with so-and-so? Ooooh, God, I've been meaning to get you to fix this. Could You, please? Tell me what you're doing here, with this part of my heart. Papa-God, I've been working really hard on not being self-centered. How am I doing?"

And Papa-God, in His kindness, listens to my requests and helps. He doesn't turn on His heels and walk out of the room. He's polite and shows His Love to His daughter by letting her "take advantage of His skills." Just as the dad who comes for "a lovely mac-n-cheese dinner" non-begrudgingly fixes the leaky faucet in the bathroom and the jammed door handle in the hall, my Papa-God hears all my demands and gets to work even though He really would just like to crack open a bottle of wine and stay up late watching movies with His daughter.

But in the last few days, He has been whispering to me... "Hillary...it's okay to put your "To-Do" list down. You don't have to say a word. I just want to chill with you, my daughter, and not get any "work" done today...I just want to hang out with you."

I'm getting that wake-up call that God's relationship with His beloved kids in prayer is not "business-only." On the contrary; it's a Daddy-daughter, Kindred Spirit-kindred spirit, Friend-friend relationship. He's a quality-time kinda guy. And in my prayer-time today, I found myself in that quiet place, just chillin' with Papa. No words needed. And to my great surprise, another revelation hit me--it's in these times of quiet, still rest in His Arms of Love that we are transformed, and that To-Do list fades away.

The LORD your God in your midst,

The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”

Zephaniah 3:17 (NKJV)

Canadian Nurse

2011-11-12T20:41:00.001-07:00

This week I got my 1st "Canadian Nurse" magazine in the mail. I was pretty excited, truth be told, because it's another reminder that I am, finally, a Registered Nurse. Tonight I cracked that magazine open and read updates from nurses across the provinces. I laughed, I learned, and--I'll admit--I skipped a couple articles that just didn't seem interesting. Finally, I came to the historical section: the part of the magazine where they publish old nursing commentaries written as early as 1905. In this issue, there were two articles from Canadian nurses who served in England in WWII. They were definitely the highlight of reading the magazine. I read a hilarious entry about a group of Nursing Sisters who attempted to master the art of riding the bicycle (or, the "treacherous velocipede," as the writer puts it!). The article reads, "Properly managed, one rides in a lady-like manner rather than that of a drunken sailor." The comic relief was delightful.

The second article--letter excerpts, actually-- relayed one matron's experience landing in England just as the London Air Raids began. She outlined the living conditions and the atmosphere of the city. She also wrote of living in tents and relying heavily on the Red Cross for crucial supplies. It was incredible. "We thoroughly enjoyed our camp experience, although we did feel the cold most frightfully in late October. However we just donned all the woollens we owned, and by degrees we became accustomed to the dampness."

Reading these articles, I was stricken with the realization that though I have a link to these nurses through our shared profession, our common ground is minimal. These nurses faced situations that make my current-day "struggles" pale in comparison (though the bike-riding excerpt was quite comical!). While I know competitive comparison with others is unhealthy, there is a true place for honouring and admiring these "nursing sisters." It's giving me extra incentive to do my job to my best ability and respect my title of Registered Nurse.

Yes...I still cannot believe I am a Registered Nurse. A Registered Nurse on Unit 4 at the Alberta Children's Hospital, Calgary, Alberta. A hospital that, at least in appearance, technology and wealth seems vastly different from the world of tents and mud and rubber boots that nurses in WWII experienced. This is a hospital that looks like a giant Lego block from the outside and has more funding coming into it than I can fathom. This is not a dungeon (like the Foothills)...it's a refuge. A very colourful, well-stocked refuge. Every day I walk into this outstanding facility, I'm aware of the incredible privilege it is for me to work there. I feel so blessed.

And as I arrive at the Children's Hospital and walk onto my unit, I'm acutely aware of how much I have left to learn. The nurses here are so knowledgeable, so skilled, and so smooth. Their ability demands respect and admiration, just like that of the WWII nurses of the 30s and 40s. How will I ever catch up to them? Our focus is broad: Trauma, Orthopedics (bones), General Surgery, Metabolic, Eating Disorders. There is a lot to take in. Will I be able to keep up? After my 4 years of training, am I truly qualified to change my title from "Student Nurse" to "Registered Nurse"? Will the staff accept me, or throw me to the dogs?

These questions run through my mind continually. But with each buddy shift and staff encounter, the voices of doubt and worry fade, and I realize more and more that the nurses are also friendly, welcoming and easy to approach--the biggest blessing of all. They are on my side, and share the goal of making sure the needs of the precious children on our unit are looked after. Why do I fear? God is so good!! He gave me this job, and ensured I have the resources and support necessary to do it, and do it well. I look forward to nursing and learning in this new, lively, diverse environment...this environment of babies, toddlers and adolescents; casts, pins and rods; appendectomies, pectus excavatums and spinal instrumentations and fusions; stickers, toys and popsicles. And I wonder if someday, 58 years from now, a newly-graduated Registered Nurse will open up her 1st Canadian Nursing magazine to read an article written by one "Hillary Johnstone, RN" that reflects on how us "Nursing Sisters (and Brothers)" spread healing, love and kindness to the children and families of Unit 4.

Why not? Anything is possible.

Creative Expressions: Adventure in Songwriting...

2011-11-07T13:58:00.000-07:00

Sooooo I will be the first to admit that this recording is faaaar from perfect (and the pitch ain't perfect, either!)...but just thought I'd share this song I wrote...The words honestly just came to me last night as I was lying in bed, attempting to sleep. I am pretty sure it makes a better poem than song, but it's about practicing creativity and not being afraid, isn't it??

And, by all means, just skip the song and read the words. They go:

Release Heaven in this place, O God

Saturate our lives with Your Presence

Draw us near to You, O God,

So we can feel the beating of Your Heart

Reveal Your Love and Goodness, God

In ever-increasing waves

So we might be washed afresh in you,

And walk boldly in Your grace

For we are your people,

And You are our God

Earnestly we seek you

To you, we lift our praise (x2)

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Receive our sacrifice of praise

And our heart-cries for Your Spirit

Fill our lamps with oil, God

So we can burn brighter for you

Yeahhh, Hallelujah

Hallelujah

For we are the chosen ones,

The children of the Most High

It's in our worship and our praise

That we sound our battle-cry (x2)

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

We'll rebuild the ancient ruins

We'll repair the broken walls.

We'll restore the streets with dwellings.

In this season, Lord.

In Your Love.

(Isaiah 58)

Let's try something new...

2011-11-04T19:00:00.000-06:00

I am being challenged to try new things these days. New...creative things. Things that I have secretly wished I was amazing at, and have now decided to try. It started in the summer, when I received some prophetic (encouraging, Holy Spirit-powered) words that God was "awakening my creativity" and that He was going to "develop and use it in great ways"...

Truth be told, I was honestly flabbergasted that the Holy Spirit wanted to highlight CREATIVITY in me. I mean, creativity is a beautiful word...but it is also a daunting, artsy word to me. It's a word to describe other people I know...people who write beautiful songs, design lovely outfits, dance amazing dances, quilt gorgeous quilts and paint expressive pictures...but how could it ever be used as a word to describe me?!?

It's here that Papa God has been nudging me and whispering into my ear, "Ohhhhh, Hillary. Don't you know? Haven't you heard? You are My beloved daughter. And as My daughter, you've inherited the creativity of the Creator--there is no way you don't have a unique gift of creativity inside of you!"

And so here I am, coming against these stupid lies that "I'm nuts to try new things," and that "I have nothing creative to offer Him." I've also been battling that "gotta be the best," competitive attitude I grew up with. But I'm realizing, bit-by-bit that, with my Papa God, it's not about impressing, performing or striving. Nope; nuh-uh. Instead, it's about humbling myself; it's about having courage and knowing that there is great worth simply in the trying. My Papa God takes great delight in seeing me try new things and try new ways to express my worship to Him. He's not so much interested in the grade at the end of the performance as He is in the courage, vulnerability and trust that it took for me to simply try.

I don't have to be as good as the dancer on stage or the lead guitarist of my favourite band. My song doesn't have to be written in 18-part harmony or have a cello and synthesizer. My poem doesn't have to flow perfectly, my story doesn't have to be a bestseller and my painting doesn't have to be a Monet or Van Gogh. He takes delight in that which brings me delight, and is proud of me for not limiting myself to the things I am already good at.

And so, these past two weeks, I have started trying those things that I have secretly always wanted to be good at, yet written off because I knew others who just seemed to be naturally better at such things. Things like learning lead guitar to a favourite song...choreographing a contemporary dance to a worship song...writing a song on acoustic guitar...and painting an abstract picture for Him. Time to stop limiting myself...and time to let Him help me express the creativity gift He's placed inside of His daughter.

So what's holding you back from trying something new and expressing yourself in a way you've always wanted? Is it the fear that people will laugh at you? Is someone from your past or present whispering in your ear that you're a failure; that you're ordinary; that you're "nothing special"? Is it that idea that you're too old, and that your life is already defined by the activities at which you've already become proficient (your work...a sport...an instrument...way of writing...a language)? I want to challenge you to let loose and try something new. Be brave. Know that He has placed within you a creativity that can extend across the spectrum of your life's activities.

Hillary

P.S. Speaking of learning something new...you can start small. Check out the short video I made about about what I learned today!

The Thought Train...

2011-10-21T22:26:00.001-06:00

I changed my blog template. Too much? Not enough colour. Kind of sophisticated. Classy-like. I like being associated with class, though...I secretly would like to be known as a woman with class. Real class. Not the fake kind. The kind of class that inspires and motivates and educates and encourages other people to be classy themselves in a classy sort of way. And the classy kind that dresses well. No more sweat pants. It's about sacrifice. If you wanna make it into the Real Class Club, ya gotta make sacrifices. Wait...that could be offensive. I don't meant to be offensive. Or insensitive. I am often insensitive without realizing it. Sorry.

Does that mean I have to give up my onesie? No. I will forge the way into new territory, and make a Real Class Club that allows onesies upon occasion. I like the idea of gaining new ground, making the way, forging into unforeseen territory. Like a pioneer. Pioneer woman. Yeah. Not that I only want to forge the way for others in the area of onesie-wearing and wardrobe; nope, I also want to forge the way and be a pioneer into new areas; new crazy areas of adventure and missions that no woman has previously attempted. Like a trailblazer. Yah. That's the word I've been looking for. TRAILBLAZER. Ah, I just like the way it sounds when I say it. Even if I just say it in my head. TRAILBLAZER. Who else wants to be a trailblazer? I think that means I get a machete or some cool hiking boots. Definitely need to be equipped to be a trailblazing pioneer frontier woman in the Real Class Club. Yeah.. And I get a lantern. A cool looking lantern. And an awesome hat.

Trailblazer. New territory. Like that guy. Livingstone. Or is it Livingston? I don't know. Johnstone is close to "Livingstone" and "Livingston"...but I'm not a professor. Was he a professor? "Professor Livingston(e), I presume..." He was a missionary. Kinda. I don't know. I like missionaries. Kind of want to be one. Really want to be one. Wait...I think I kind of am one. Maybe missionary is another word for "trailblazer." Missionary Trailblazer lady. Yeah. I wanna be one o'those...and go places and show people Jesus, not just tell 'em. That's possible, ya know. I've seen it. It's pretty damn cool. Sorry, but it is. It's possible even here, in Calgary.

I prayed for a lady in Walmart once. She was looking at hammers. I prayed for her knee. It was fun. I didn't know I was going to pray for a lady in Walmart looking at hammers. But the HS told me too.You never know what you're going to do when you listen to the HS. HS. That's what I call Holy Spirit. I shortened His name because it's easier to type "HS" than "Holy Spirit." I talk about HS a lot these days. Talk TO the HS too. We have conversations. He's funny sometimes. Call me crazy. That could be added to my name.

Yah. Crazy Missionary Trailblazer Pioneer Frontier Woman in the Real Class Club. Has a nice ring to it. I could be CMTPFWRCC for short.

I changed my blog template. Too much?

September 23rd, 2011

2011-09-23T20:20:00.006-06:00

The Autumn light is dancing through the leaves of the weeping birch outside my window and streaming onto the kitchen table at which I sit. My Dream Board lays out on the table before me, shining in the sunlight-- a large white poster-board with a concentrated and colourful collage of neon Post-It notes in the upper-left corner. The notes take up 1/4 of the board-- the remaining 3/4 of white remind me that there is more room to write; more room to expand; more room to dream.

Today I'm updating my Dream Board after 3 months of travelling and adventuring. I'm rejoicing because I get to "cross off" some specific dreams that were fulfilled this summer. I'm smiling because I'm adding more and more neon post-it notes to the mix as this "update" session continues. I'm laughing because most of these new dreams cannot be graded or measured, completed or crossed-off. They are life-style dreams, versus life-event dreams of mine...

"My thoughts and actions are so focused on Jesus that I have NO ROOM for self-pity, selfishness or DOUBT"

"I am a Peacemaker; I command the waves to be still."

"I only do what I see my Father doing."

I look at these new dreams, and I get excited. They don't require I live in a specific geographical location or demand I have a certain job. I may even live these dreams sans husband (!) or loaded bank account! These dreams point to the reality that life can be amazing simply because God is good and His Presence is accessible anywhere.

Being back in Canada, I find people saying to me, "Oh...it must be difficult, being back to "normal" life after such adventures!" It's a seemingly logical statement...after all, my 3 months of adventures were pretty amazing. I visited 7 States and one developing country. I travelled over 27,000 km on over 15 planes (and one very long night-bus). I attended 2 incredible conferences where people fell madly in love with Jesus.

I lived in Honduras with 13 crazy-beautiful girls, 1 crazy dog and 6 ridiculous cats. I stole a wireless signal and endured mosquitoes and rain to watch a friend's wedding online. I visited ancient Mayan ruins, got drenched in tropical rains, overloaded on fried plantains, and held and prayed over sick babies.

I prayed for healing of hearts, minds and bodies and saw restoration. I met countless kindred spirits from around the world--including Ireland, England, South Africa, Australia, and Soddy-Daisy, USA. I tried turnip greens, pinto beans and sweet tea at the counsel of new friends and ended up laughing until I cried. I spilled hot tea down my dress at a church in Atlanta and drank red wine with dinner at a missionary's house in Texas. I sat in missionaries' homes listening to story after miraculous story, gaining invaluable wisdom and counsel from those who have gone before.

I experienced Cracker Barrel's "Chicken-Fried Chicken," Chick Fil-A's chicken biscuits, and Waffle House's waffles. I watched baseball, tolerated football and learned that snow-cones are a MUST at any 5-year-old's birthday party in "Hotlanta." I shopped at Goodwill Thrift-stores in 3 separate States. I slept in the guest-room of a mansion in Texas and on a foamie in a 6-year-old's bedroom in Georgia.

I realized it doesn't matter if a little girl lives in Honduras or The States--she still loves to dance to J-Lo's, "On the Floor."

I made Brother Bill the Baptist Preacher laugh. I belted out hymns and resisted full-out dancing at more "conservative" church services. I met "pastors" and "preachers" and more "brothers" and shared my heart for my "nieces" in Honduras. I spoke to 400 Baptists and one megachurch's intimidating Missions' Committee. I witnessed a baptism at an old-school church in the Bible Belt and a baptism in the ocean at a sunset service in Florida.

I experienced the "Terror" of the Hollywood Tower and the joy that is Disneyworld. I felt the incredible generosity and love of 5 crazy sisters from Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee... and I survived. I survived the South.

So, yes, I can definitely see why people say to me, "Oh..it must be difficult, being back to 'normal' life after such adventures!" But strangely enough, I am feeling content right where I am. The transition from "adventure" to "normal" hasn't really happened, probably because I'm realizing that there is no such thing as "normal" when Jesus is involved (and I'm pretty sure I didn't leave Jesus in The South, stranded at Disneyworld). He's got good plans for me everywhere I go.

And so the "adventure" continues, and right now I feel that Calgary is where I'm supposed to be for the time being. While I'm not in school and don't have a very demanding nursing job at the moment, I'm confident this is going to be an amazing year of learning and growth. I'm excited to invest more time into my Calgary friendships, church family and community...and I feel strongly that the wildfire God kindled in me this past year will only continue to burn and spread as I simply rest and focus on Him.

I realize this is a bit of a disjointed blog post...but I just attempted to explain where I'm at this September 23rd, 2011. The Dream Board fills up a little more, and the anticipation of joy increases. And can I do something as a writer and lover-of-dreams? I challenge you to write down some of the "crazier" dreams you have and put them somewhere where you can see them (don't worry, you don't have to use neon Post-It notes!). Write them in a comment on this blog post, if you like--I would love it!

Praying you receive in greater measure the wisdom, insight, and creativity to express yourself in new ways this season!

~Hillary

P.S. A photo album of my summer State-side adventures can be viewed HERE. Below is a pic from when I was at the Copan Ruins in Honduras, earlier this summer...my (small) Honduras album can be seen HERE.

A Yellow Tow Truck

2011-08-22T15:30:00.001-06:00

If you have seen me in person since I got back from Bethel Church, chances are you've heard me tell my "Yellow Tow Truck" story. Every time I tell it, I'm in awe of God's ability to use the seemingly meaningless to bring people into a beautiful revelation of His Love.

God is amazing. Here goes.

I went to Bethel Church in Redding, California for a conference at the end of June. As I ended up staying over the weekend after the conference ended, I decided to check out what the church does for outreach on Saturday afternoons. At 2pm I arrived at the church to be part of a "Treasure Hunt"; this is an activity that I had read about, freaked out about, and yet somehow decided I wanted to try, just to see if God really would show up. A Treasure Hunt is where you ask the Holy Spirit to give you "clues" (clothing, locations, illnesses, names) to put on a "Map" to find "Treasures" (people) in the community who need a specific love encounter with God through healing or prophetic words of encouragement. It sounds wacky, and it is.

There were about 25 of us gathered in the classroom to fill out our Treasure Maps, and the leader also encouraged us to draw a prophetic picture to take with us and use as well. A prophetic picture is a fancy way of saying: Ask the Holy Spirit to give you a picture in your head, or a word, and then you draw it out and trust God will lead you to person for whom the picture was intended to encourage.

Now, when they were passing out the colours for the prophetic pictures, I just decided to grab one pencil crayon. Yellow looked appealing to me, so I chose it. I then looked at the blank piece of paper in front of me, closed my eyes, and simply prayed, "Holy Spirit, what do you want me to draw?"

Instantly the words "tow truck" popped into my head. I thought, "Nawww, tow truck? Must be a random thought or just my mind generating something because I want to see this work so badly. Tow truck is not spiritual!"

I argued with myself for a little bit. The faith argument was, "No, just trust. You heard the other testimonies. God can use anything." Finally I just said, "Okay, whatever. Tow truck. Here goes."

I took my yellow pencil crayon and drew the ugliest, most not-to-scale tow truck known to man. I added a happy tow truck driver, a broken heart restored, and wrote the words "Joy" over the guy's head. It looked pretty much like the hard-to-see drawing below:

After I finished my masterpiece, I looked at it and thought, "Man alive, it looks like a 3 year old drew this. Who am I going to give this picture to?!?!" I kept it with me, though, as we divided into groups of 4 and went into the city of Redding to look for our "clues."

I was with 3 people I had never met until that day...but they were really nice, and we compared Treasure Maps and decided to try the Subway near the strip mall. We parked, walked into the Subway restaurant and looked for people who might fit some of our "clues." No one fit the bill. As we were walking out of the restaurant, I looked ahead of me and stopped.

Not 100 feet away from us sat a giant yellow tow truck.

"THAT'S MY TOW TRUCK!" I yelled. We watched as the tow truck driver got into the cab and backed the truck up to a nearby car. A woman was standing beside it, obviously anxious and trying to keep watch over her two children, who were running around the parking lot.

By this time, I was bursting with so much excitement that I was ready to run over and hand the prophetic picture of the yellow tow truck to the guy driving the truck...but thankfully the group I was with stopped me and said, "Actually, I think the picture might be meant for the woman whose car is getting towed."

I was happy with anything--I knew God was going to do something cool, because He was using a big yellow tow truck, for goodness' sake. We walked over to the woman, and I introduced myself. I held out the picture for her to see and said, "This may seem really weird, but today I prayed and God told me to draw this picture of a yellow tow truck and look for the person to give it to...and then we found you."

I handed her the picture, and she stared at it for a moment before looking back at our group and saying, "Are you from Bethel??" (At which point we laughed, and said yes...)

She replied, "I went to Bethel Church for the first time last night...and this (pointing to the picture) must be for me because I have been so angry with God and have no joy."

This woman was clearly our treasure. And right there in the parking lot, with the tow truck driver hooking up the car in the background and watching us with a grin, the group of us got to pray with this woman and her two kids and release blessing, strength and JOY into her family's life. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment...and we walked away so encouraged and so in awe of God's goodness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's the deal...if I could stress one thing that I really, honestly, deep-down feel God was teaching during my adventures at Bethel and the Jesus Culture Awakening conferences, it would be this: The same Holy Spirit that gives a girl a yellow pencil crayon and the random words, "tow truck" ...the same Holy Spirit that gives Bethel's Kris Vallotton prophetic messages...the same Holy Spirit that opens deaf ears and blind eyes through Heidi Baker's prayers...the same Holy Spirit that restores broken hearts and breaks addictions in an instant...the same Holy Spirit that caused those in the Upper Room to speak in tongues at Pentecost...the same Holy Spirit that raised Jesus Christ from the dead...that same spirit lives in me, and it lives in you, the born-again follower of Jesus. What is even more amazing is the revelation that that same Holy Spirit is available to us in a capacity we never dreamed imaginable. It's not just for church leaders or evangelists or Prophets or "the elite"...God is waiting to release the Holy Spirit in full measure to every follower of Jesus. He is just waiting to hear you say, "Here I am. Come, have your way with me."

And after you surrender your life over to the Holy Spirit's leading, you will find that your life gets much more interesting. It's inevitable. In this never-ending Holy Spirit Adventure School, you'll find yourself walking up to random strangers and sharing an encouraging prophetic word with them. You'll find yourself praying for a sprained ankle to heal or for a shorter leg to grow and actually seeing a miracle before your eyes. You'll find yourself reading the Bible with an unquenchable fire in your heart. You'll find yourself hearing absolutely random words like, "Tow Truck" in prayer and believing, "God is up to something amazing." And you'll find yourself talking to Jesus, face to face, and realizing He's actually the coolest friend you could ever have.

I'm so thankful the Holy Spirit used me and a goofy picture of a big yellow tow truck to bring a distraught woman and her kids the message that "He cares." God is way more fun and creative than I give Him credit for...and I can't wait to see what He has in store for me today. The Holy Spirit might give me a picture, or a word, or an impression about someone or something; or He might help me into an encounter with God where I get to climb onto Papa-God's lap for some father-daughter time. Regardless, it is good, and I am in love.

Be blessed today, wherever you are, with the knowledge that God cannot possibly love you more than He already does right now, at this moment. That's a lot of love.

Our new friend, Angie!

2011-07-29T14:35:00.001-06:00

Two weeks ago we stopped at a farm to ask if we could pet their miniature horses...We ended up befriending the workers and visiting one of their houses so I, "Nurse Hillary" (gulp!) could assess a sick little girl...

That girl ended up being 7 year old Angie, a beautiful little girl who was born blind and with an array of physical malformities. She is the tiniest 7 (almost 8) year old I have ever seen, and when she climbed into my arms and cuddled with me she melted my heart.

The grandparents looking after her were shocked that Angie was so calm with these white strangers. They themselves were wonderful people-you could tell they loved Angie and took care of her as best they could in their poverty.

The only thing we could do for Angie was pray...and I had that awesome privilege of holding her and praying (in English) for strength for this little girl and her family. Yesterday we returned to visit, and Angie walked for us! She was so funny, pretending she was on a horse in the included video...

Please pray for Angie and her family...so precious...

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Day 1- Arrival in Redding, Kingdom Culture begins

2011-06-23T01:55:00.001-06:00

The day in pictures...(sorry-I can't figure out how to rotate the pics)

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain...

2011-05-27T18:00:00.011-06:00

It's been raining in Calgary. A lot. There is a rainfall warning, and up to 80mm is expected to fall, in total.

This isn't just a sprinkle or drizzly rain, either. This is a legitimate downpour. The kind that keeps you inside with a hot beverage in your hand at all times. The kind that takes away the need for real clothes; sweatpants and sweater are standard and a bra is optional when you're under weather-imposed house arrest.

For the most part, I do love rain. Rain means jazz music, warm clothes, that wonderful rain scent, and the promise of freshness and greenness in the landscape. There are activities suited to rainy days that just aren't as appropriate on sunshiny ones. I also like looking out the window and seeing each raindrop as a specific thought my Creator has for me...or as little raindrops of joy and peace and glory just raining down over us, saturating our spirits. But after days and days of rain, good spirits can dwindle, and it's hard to remember what sunshine feels like...I have to look at my tan lines and pictures of the beach to remind myself of hot weather. The grayness can get to a person...and the rain can begin to feel dismal and dreary though it cleanses and promises refreshment. Let's face it; a cloudy gray day usually isn't as uplifting as a sunshiny one...and it's takes a bit more effort to choose a joyful attitude when the sun isn't out and the rain doesn't look like it'll be letting up any time soon.

If you know me at all, you know I love love love metaphors...and all this rain has gotten my mind going, forming metaphors and parallels between the outside creation and the things at work in my own life. (Warning: I have a tendency to a)mix metaphors in my writings; b)not make any sense in my writings; c)write about something that is completely irrelevant to anything)...as always, read the randomness at your own risk!)

Right. Rain. Right as rain. Here are my thoughts about rain...

I love the truths that can be derived from creation's workings, and right now I need to be reminded that a tree can't grow and produce fruit without both sunshine and rain. With nothing but sun, it runs the risk of drying up in drought; with nothing but rain, it runs the risk of flooding and drowning. Fruit production needs a balance of both. The rain cleanses and brings needed refreshment, the sun glorifies and brings needed light rays.

I've been thinking about spiritual rain lately...the kind that cleanses and purifies and teaches me in how to love and helps me grow in relationships with others and with my God. This week has been a spiritually rainy one in my life, paralleling the weather outside...and it isn't exactly that fun. Though rain is cleansing and purifying and such, the grayness has at times set in and the lessons the rain has brought have been tough, a little bit dreary, very challenging, and kind of discouraging.

These rainy lessons are showing me that many of my attitudes and actions towards others are....less than loving...and need to be cut out. But God the Ultimate Gardener is standing in the downpour with His pruning shears out, very gently cutting off the branches that have been producing poisonous fruit and making room for new branches to spring forth and produce healthy fruit. The rain promises to refresh and renew what is left after the pruning, and help bring forth those new branches of life.

The process is necessary for my own maturation and growth and fruit yielding...and while at times it is extremely uncomfortable, inviting discouragement, I am taking joy in the fact that this Gardener knows what He's doing, and that a tree without rain and pruning will never reach its full potential. I choose to believe He has good plans for me...plans to prosper me and not to harm me...plans to give me a hope and a future...even when the sun isn't shining.

"Listen, you heavens, and I will speak;

hear, you earth, the words of my mouth.

Let my teaching fall like rain

and my words descend like dew,

like showers on new grass,

Childhood Memories...

2011-05-08T11:00:00.004-06:00
My mother and I had an agreement when I was young: if I couldn't settle down to sleep after 10 minutes of "lights-out," she would rock me to sleep. I clearly abused the system (10 minutes is nothing!); I purposely cried so I could have precious one-on-one time with my mother. I don't remember a single instance of Boyda crying and getting similar treatment; however this only serves as a testimony of my self-absorbed-ness and the fact that I was the younger, more volatile daughter. Tantrums and fussing were my trademarks in my younger years, and my sister appeared to be "the angelic one" beside me throughout this time. I actually remember her looks of disdain as I went into a pre-meditated tantrum; her looks said, oh please...I am so over this stage; why can't you be over it too, o crying and immature sister of mine??

Believe it or not, the focus of this post is not tantrums...it's on what happened after the 10 minutes was up, and I got to spend that precious cuddle-time with my mumsy. I remember one night I was purposely screaming and crying for the required 10 minutes. The door to the bedroom opened and the light from the kitchen streamed in. My mother was silhouetted in the doorway for a moment before she approached my bedside, leaned down and scooped me up. To the tattered living-room couch we went...and she rocked me back and forth, back and forth speaking soothing and hypnotic words of love into my ear. She and I were the only ones in the world at that moment.

Thinking back, I always thought I was cheating the system and out-smarting my mom...now, I think she must not have minded. I have no memory of being spanked for not sleeping right away (at least at night...nap-time was a different story!); I only have a memory of being rocked back and forth, back and forth with hypnotic love...

About 10 months ago I was in Honduras at the Eternal Family Project Girls' home visiting my adoptive family. One night there was a mighty thunderstorm; the crashes and flashes of thunder and lightning shook the house and threatened to cut off the electricity. The little ones--Aracely, Michelle and Jenci--emerged from their bedroom frightened and unable to sleep (or so they claimed--their tears were not 100% convincing to this seasoned baby-sitter). However, the nurturer in me responded with compassion, and I herded the girls back into their bedroom, layed down on Aracely's bed, cuddled her in my arms and began to tell a story. Michelle wandered over for a cuddle of her own after my story finished; Jenci, the youngest, was the only one to be successfully lulled to sleep.

Somehow I didn't mind too much that Michelle and Ara were still awake...it was one of those moments that remains sweet despite the breaking of rules and the prospect of dealing with tired children in the morning. After a while the storm subsided, and Michelle and Ara were in enough of a sleep-stupor that I could quietly leave them to their own dreams...

That night I got a taste of what it must have been like for my mom to cuddle and lull me to sleep when I wouldn't settle. I consider those moments of one-on-one time with my mom to be some of the sweetest memory-testimonies of her unyielding love for me. Now, as adopted family to some of the most beautiful girls in the world, I hope that I have conveyed that kind of love in some small way. I hope that in 15 years Aracely, Michelle and Jenci will look back on that thunderstorming night and remember that "Tia Hillary" held them close; I hope that they will see it as a memory-testimony of my unyielding love for them. What's more, I hope they will not only look back on that one night, but--like so many of my memories and moments with my wonderful mumsy--see that unyielding love at the forefront of every encounter we ever have.

Thanks, Mom, for setting such an amazing example for your daughters. Thank you for letting me be a brat sometimes so we could have that precious one-on-one mother-daughter time. You passed on to me that nurturing heart...and I am so, so thankful for it. Love you like crazy, Mumsy, and Happy Mother's Day!

Since I last posted...

2011-04-21T12:08:00.001-06:00

I have been staring at my phone, waiting to get a call about an interview.
I added "Wombat Chasing" to my Dream Board.
I got a bigger poster board for my Dream Board. Time to upgrade.
I washed the floors by hand for the second time in....three years? Wow.
I enjoyed deep fried cheesecake at Montana's with the roommates.
I held my neighbour's baby and got an honest, "That's not gas...that's real" smile.
I attended a conference full of "holy-rollers."
I possibly lost weight due to all the dancing at aforementioned holy-roller conference.
I hugged Heidi Baker, one of my heroes.
I took the bottle stash to the Bottle Depot for the second time in three years.
I met Albert, the cute old bottle-man in our back alley, and got a toothless smile that made my day.
I lunched with a wonderful friend at Edelweiss Village, surrounded by gray-haired patrons who come for the extraordinary bratwurst and the German-esque atmosphere.
I got a new roomie...a guy from Britain who has a fabulous Bri''ish accent. I now have 2 male roomies. Never have I lived in a house with this much testosterone.
I painted my fingernails...making my hands feel abnormally heavy and weighted-down. Let's see if I last 24 hours.

I feel like I am waiting for something...I am fighting major disappointment about not getting called about a certain pediatrics job I really want...I am "considering my options"...there are a lot of options, but at the same time there are not...

This is a strange season of transition.

Dream Board

2011-04-13T17:11:00.001-06:00

Go on then...go on.
Just dream.

Motown Mania

2011-04-11T16:36:00.004-06:00

My friend Dana's "big black hubby" is a drummer in a motown/jazzband. I mean, I'm also his friend...but no joke, he's in a motown band that plays at a bar in Bowness. One Sunday a couple weeks ago, I was invited to hear and dance to Gep's band.

I was quite excited at the prospect of hearing a genuine Motown band, and I thought I might dress up for the occasion. Diana Ross wore sequins and sparkles, and she was Motown...so why not dress in like her (sans afro wig)? I thought it might be fun to wear a massive green-sequin sweater (see below for a pic of this sweater when I wore it for my 21st birthday in Honduras):

At 2:30pm I proudly donned the sequin sweater and headed off (via car) to Bowness.

I thought there'd be about 30 people at this thing, tops...I walk in and there are at least 100 people, and I completely stand out in my sequins. I wavered a bit in my courage, and almost headed straight to the bathroom to change into my normal clothes.

The majority of the bar population on this Sunday afternoon were balding middle-aged men in either Wranglers and cowboy hats or cool guys with mullets wearing leather....and the women with them didn't wear the right size of clothing. I was slightly traumatized...but I was with my church smallgroup, so I felt safe.

Gep on the drums was AWESOME and the band was fabulous--unbelievable musicians. They had a guest jazz/blues keyboard player who was phenomenal. And they played songs like, "Hit the Road, Jack" and "Flip, Flop and Fly" and I couldn't believe I was there. It was hilariously fabulously fun. We even danced. And 3 women (ages varying from 25-65) came up to me at different times to seriously and sincerely compliment me on my outfit. Pretty sure I could have sold the sweater to them for a lot o'money.

We'll dismiss the fact that some old dude at the bar tried to grab me as I was leaving--my sequin sweater must have been too slippery for him, because I didn't feel it (And I ignored his yelling). So, overall, I was so glad I went in sequins to the bar in Bowness...

Dancing.

Spotlight

Amazing.

Dream Weaver.

2011-03-25T01:32:00.002-06:00
Been thinking about dreams lately. Not so much the dreams-when-you-sleep kind of dreams, but the "When I grow up, I want to..." kind of dreams.

Ask a little child what their dreams are, and they'll tell you: "I want to be a ballerina." "I want a ranch with lots and lots of ponies to call my own." "I want to live in a treehouse in the jungle." "I want to fly."

I distinctly remember a period of about three days when 8-year-old Hillary wanted nothing more than to have a mullet and be named "Billy." (As in short for Wilhelmina.)

Yes, it's true. I was a weird, weird kid. So thankful that those two dreams didn't stick. I remember dreaming I'd become a world renowned horse breeder (this became dog breeder, then skateboarder, then snowboarder... Never mind that I had never skateboarded or snowboarded at that point in my life.)

But at the same time, I remember dreaming that I would someday go to Africa to be a missionary (this after a visiting missionary let me play with a python snake-skin that was at least 10 feet long.) I remember dreaming that I'd become a world-famous short story writer. I remember dreaming that my mother would win the Reader's Digest Sweepstakes and I'd get my horse ranch for real. And I'd name a horse after every single horse-character in the bazillion Black Stallion books. Walter Farley would be proud.

Now, as an adult, I am wondering where I lost that childlike ambition and dreamy-ness...Wondering where along the road of growing up and maturing that I heard that dreaming is only for kids; that making lofty dreams is useless; that the banner above every chalkboard in my K-12 years was actually lying when it said, "Shoot for the Moon; even if you miss, you'll land among the stars"

My Grade 12 English teacher once described me as "extremely pragmatic." At the time, I didn't know what that meant. I had to look up synonyms: sensible, logical, common-sensical, realistic, sober. She may have gotten the sober part right in one respect, but right now I am more inclined to strive towards being the opposite of pragmatic; I want to be called a visionary; impractical, quixotic, radical, romantic, starry-eyed.

I want to dream big, bold, and radical dreams. I want to dream the impossible. I want to dream with childlike abandon. When people ask me what I want to do in life, I want to reply with, "I want to live in a treehouse in the jungle" or "I want to go to Africa to be a missionary" or "I want to drive a Land Rover into the mountains of Honduras and heal the deaf, the mute, the blind, the sick."

~~~~~~~~~
There's a character in my novel called The Dream Weaver. She's actually my favourite character in my book. When she first appears, the Trio of Travellers is stunned...but once The Dream Weaver begins her work, the Trio trades in Apprehension and embraces the mysteriously wonderful:

The Dream Weaver was a small and ethereal being, with huge horn-rimmed glasses, large luminous purple eyes, short, spiky silver hair, and a long, knotted and twisted walking stick in hand. Her fingers were covered in rings, and her fore-arms jingled with every move she made due to the mass of bangles and bracelets. An enormous multi-coloured scarf was draped across her shoulders, and a beaded string that was connected to her horn-rimmed glasses framed her face and enforced her appearance as a wise yet eccentric personage.
“Good Evening.” She whispered. “And who have we found here? Yes yes, who have we found here?”
The Dream Weaver was talking as if she had a companion with her…but there was no other creature in sight. She continued her whispering, “Why, it is a funny fat little dog, an ordinary-looking man, and a black housecat! What luck! We were hoping to weave some dreams tonight…”
Mister Spencer thought this being was rather insane, but did not quite know what to do about it. He found himself being charmed and soothed by this strange being’s voice, and remained silent. Fat Samuel sat quietly beside Mister Spencer, watching the new creature that had emerged from the woods with her splendid scarf and bangles and horn-rimmed glasses. Miss Trixie found her voice and said, “Good Evening, Dream Weaver. It is such a wonderful surprise to have you visit our camp tonight. We...”
The Dream Weaver cut Miss Trixie off.
“My dear little black cat, we must get started immediately for I do believe the night is almost half over! There are precious few hours of dream time left to weave!”
The Dream Weaver rummaged under her enormous scarf and produced a small silver purse which she opened and began to empty onto the ground. In the purse there were evidently hundreds and hundreds of different spools of thread, and The Dream Weaver spread them all out on her left. There were silk spools and marvelous fuzzy wool spools and denim spools (for those exist in this tale) and sparkly spools and spools of every colour under Heaven and in Heaven. With the last of the spools set out on her left, The Dream Weaver reached her bangly arm down down down into the small silk purse and pulled out a miniature loom.
How a loom could fit in that silver purse –for even a miniature loom was quite large—was a mystery. The Dream Weaver set up her loom and, making a stump in the clearing her seat, looked inquiringly at the astonished faces before her and said, in her soothing voice of loveliness, “Who would like to be first?”
As Mister Spencer did not really know what The Dream Weaver meant to do—especially involving him and a loom and the pile of spools—he gave Miss Trixie a nudge with his elbow.
Miss Trixie could hardly believe she was face-to-face with The Dream Weaver, and that she was about to get a dream weave masterpiece. She advanced toward The Dream Weaver meekly and with reverence and looked up into those great purple eyes with trembling and excitement.
“I…I shall like to go first.” She stuttered. The Dream Weaver nodded and began her work.
“Now, my dear little cat, all I ask of you is that you tell me your name, your greatest hope, and your greatest fear…I would also like you to select five spools out of my collection for your personal dream. I shall require your name in order to ensure I make the dream for the right person; I shall require your greatest hope to incorporate marvelous happenings into your dream. And I shall require your greatest fear in order that I might weave in protection against such a fear in your dream. Go on then, little cat, go on.”

Go on then... go on.
Just dream.

Spat in a Restaurant

2011-03-09T18:46:00.003-07:00
Today, rather than expending energies on schoolwork, I decided to sit in the sunshine of the living room and watch Carol Burnett and Bill Cosby clips on YouTube while searching for nursing opportunities--and rental properties-- in far off and distant lands of adventure.

Hello long and confusing run-on sentence. Run-on sentences describe my life at the moment. My mind is constantly chattering away to itself, asking, "Could I really work here? Should I move? Should I stay? What does this mean? Would people think I'm crazy if ____? Or if I moved there? How can I leave my family here...or there...? Is there a medication I can take to put the travel bug that's in me back into hibernation-mode?"

Often my mind detaches itself from the rest of my body and just carries on these conversations in the background like a couple bickering loudly in the back of an otherwise quiet restaurant. It's distracting and awkward but surrounding witnesses just try and go about their regular activities and pretend nothing is happening.

In that awkward restaurant scene, the arguing carries on for 2...3...4... minutes without intervention. Finally, some brave soul approaches the couple and politely-yet-assertively asks them to lower their voices so others can enjoy their meal. The arguing might not stop, but at least the perpetrators are kept in check so other diners won't be disturbed.

I struggle to find the balance between letting the debates in my mind carry on and standing up and quieting them down. I mean, awkward as it is in the restaurant scene, witnesses secretly want to know what will happen next...They steal glances at the arguing couple during a casual sip of wine and take bets on which person will storm out of the restaurant first. Because of this, witnesses both hate and appreciate the "brave soul" who intervenes on their behalf and quiets down the bickering couple.

Okay, so maybe the discussions in my head aren't exactly like a lover's spat in the back of a restaurant. But they're still taking up a lot of my circulating thought-time these days. They are also taking up a lot of time, in general. Lately I have had a really difficult time applying myself and getting schoolwork done. I have a terrible attitude towards my nursing seminar and assignments that makes procrastinating easy. It's ever so much more fun to surf the internet and dream about future adventures than it is to write an annotated bibliography or a critical reflection (just like it's more entertaining to listen to a lover's spat in a restaurant than to simply eat your pasta while calculating the waitress' 15% tip down to the last cent).

In the end, I know that my future is not in my hands, but in the very capable hands of my Daddy-God. But right now, March 9th, 2011, it's time for a reminder of that. It's time for me to recognize my partnership with Him for answers to the "Where? When? Why? How?" questions and receive motivation to do the "mundane." It's time to realize once again that He's the one sitting across the dinner table with me as the bickering couple in the back squawks louder and louder. Not only will He be the "brave soul" who asks the couple to quiet down, but he'll buy them dinner, buy our table an extra bottle of wine, tip the waitress 30%, and give me a box of chocolates--all in His perfect timing.

Today is Ash Wednesday, and I am seriously considering giving up Procrastination for Lent. I don't think I'll miss it, because my Daddy-God has greater plans for me. These next 40 days, I am going to start my day prayin' and reminding myself: There's grace enough today to get done everything you need to get done.

Who's with me?

This is my Father's World

2011-03-07T17:44:00.003-07:00

The hymn, "This is my Father's World" has been in my head since I heard it in the video I posted last week.  I looked up the words online and fell in love with all six verses; I just had to share them. I can't help but believe Maltbie D. Babcock was God-inspired when he wrote this hymn 110 years ago in 1901.

I have also been thinking a LOT about the concept that this is actually my Father-God's world...just what that means, exactly. I think we often entertain ideas that the world has just "gone to Hell in a hand-basket" or that it is self-destructing...forgetting that God made it and saw that it was good and gave Him glory, and that Satan, though sent here, didn't create it in the first place. I know I have a tendency to look at the world through a negative lens...and I am now praying for more of a heaven-perspective on things. I would love any input/thoughts you all have on this...from what verse is your favourite, to how you view the world (in a negative or positive way, or both).

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.

This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”
This is my Father’s world, from the shining courts above,
The Beloved One, His Only Son,
Came—a pledge of deathless love.

This is my Father’s world, should my heart be ever sad?
The Lord is King—let the heavens ring. God reigns—let the earth be glad.
This is my Father’s world. Now closer to Heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod.
No place but is holy ground.

This is my Father’s world. I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze God makes His glory known.
This is my Father’s world, a wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.
~~~~~~~~

Edit: Wow. I watched this video after blogging the above...and was SO challenged and inspired. Pertaining to creation, check out minutes 11:09-13:55...but I would encourage you to watch the whole video!

2011-02-23T23:08:00.001-07:00

This is a video follow-up to my Lies...or Love? post a few weeks ago. I encourage you to watch the whole 10 minutes 33 seconds...because I do not think you will be sorry.

It's powerful. And it left me proclaiming to the heavens, Here am I!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”
Isaiah 6:8

To the River, I am going...

2011-02-22T23:37:00.001-07:00
Ah, I love that song. Great song (yeees, it's a Christian song. Do you know it? It's so soothing.) My sister and I used to sing that song together, fighting over the harmony part (ha! "Fighting over harmony.")

This post doesn't really have much to do with that song (I could try to adapt the lyrics to fit, but I'll spare you!). It does, however, have to do with a river! Fact: The KJV has 217 references to rivers. At least that's what the internet told me. Oh, River of Life! River of Living Water! My mind thinks in metaphors...but let me tell you why my mind is on rivers in the first place!!

While I have a thought-inducing post brewing in my head, I wanted to have a happy light-hearted joy-inducing (and shortish) blog post to counteract the last couple of heavy/deep posts...This means the post will invariably involve BABIES. Particularly one very cute one, still quite fresh-from-the-womb! Yep. Baby River! Baby Rivahhhhhh.

River is the name of the baby boy my neighbours had on February 3rd! And they invited me to the birth! About 5 or so months ago my landlady (neighbour) came over to sort out some paperwork, and mentioned in conversation that she was pregnant! If you know me at all, you'll know that I pounced on this news and burst out in congratulations...and also offered to help with breastfeeding (a little far in advance to offer my lactation consulting services, I admit). We kept talking, I lent her my baby names book (don't ask), and she shocked me as she was leaving by asking if I would like to be at the birth! I was struck speechless...for about 5 seconds before exclaiming, YES!

And then 5 months flew by, and my neighbour-landlady-friend's due date passed...then...6...days...then...!

I came off a day shift, got a phone call that mom was in labour...and after getting another more frantic phone call from the husband at 12:53am, we were off to the races! Hello night spent with a woman in agonizing labour...

We did end up moving to the hospital around 5am due to a couple concerns by the midwife (transport to the hospital involved 4 (almost 5) of us squishing into a teeny car--I was basically sitting on the midwife's lap because of the carseat in the back). After MUCH labour and pain and hard work on mom's part, Baby River was born at 8:33am! 9lbs, 12oz...one big boy! Such a beautiful moment, with dad crying, baby crying, me tearing up...so much joy!

And this boy is cute! I mean, I'm not biased or anything, but he is so alert and adorable little man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was awake and staring at me for at least 30 minutes when I returned that evening to visit mom and babe in hospital...Heaven is holding a newborn baby.

And let me tell you, I am one excited friend-of-the-parents. It has been much too tempting to buy clothes for Baby River...Are baby overalls REALLY not at Winners? What's with that? Anyway, wanted to give Rivahhhh a blog post all his own, because it was such an honour to be part of his birth! AND I hope I get to see a lot of him this year...

Baby Snuggle...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome, Baby River!

Lies...or Love?

2011-01-29T18:52:00.000-07:00
Thursday during my shift in Children's Emerg, my preceptor and I were at the front at "Triage." This meant we were the first point of contact with the people who walked through the Emerg doors, and our job was to quickly assess and triage/prioritize kids to be seen. We see babes to teens come through those doors with all sorts of ailments and injuries.

I love love love Children's Emergency, but one of the things I find most challenging about it is the mental health kids who come through our doors...and yesterday we triaged a girl whom I just can't get out of my head.

This girl was beautiful. Seriously. She actually looked older than her 12 years because her long brown hair was so carefully straightened and her nails were so nicely manicured. She.Was. Beautiful. Yet the absence of light in her face and the lack of emotion in her voice evidenced that this girl didn't see her own beauty...this girl was drowning in Depression.

When my preceptor asked the girl about self-harm and suicide attempts, this 12-year-old girl replied, "I've tried...with...a scarf...and...a hanger..." and then fell silent.

My spirit cried out in sorrow for this girl. It cried out in love for this girl. It cried out in desire for her to know the Truth (with a capital T!). It cried out in rage at the evil of it all. I don't care what people think or how weird it may sound; this girl had been taken captive by a very real demonic spirit from an Enemy that was feeding her absolute lies.

You are worthless.
You are ugly.
You are useless.
No one loves you.
There is no point to you even living.
No. One. Cares.

Sometimes such obvious lies like these are recognized by the hearer and tossed out...but sometimes these lies take root--either consciously or subconsciously-- and they grow like a noxious weed and take root affecting men and women alike...even affecting children.

I only had a small window of time with this girl; my job in the nursing capacity was to let her know she was safe and we could be trusted, and to take her vital signs and triage her to the mental health team. As I bent down next to her and went about my tasks, I spoke a word of kindness to this girl; I was gentle with her as I placed the BP cuff around her arm and held her wrist for her pulse. Since that encounter I keep thinking about her; how I saw her anguish and recognized it as the complete opposite of what God wants for her...and I keep praying, Lord...shower her with Your LOVE. Shower her with your LOVE, Lord!!! May she know she isn't worthless...that she is more important than anything in this world to You...that SHE is YOUR FAVOURITE.

I can't stop thinking about her.

I have this same prayer for all people--babies, children, teens, young adults, older men and women. I have this prayer for those struggling with depression and sorrow and strife....actually, for all people, depressed or not. Scripture so overflows with the Love that God has for us, it's unbelievable.

Lately I have been experiencing a greater awareness and showering of Daddy-God's love for me...and it is just so beautiful and lovely and wonderful and REAL that I am left proclaiming the Hallelujahs left, right and center. This post would be waaaaaay too long if I told the whole story, so you'll just have to ask me about it in person... :-)

Thinking about this little girl of 12 who attempted to take her life, my heart breaks (and I'm sure your heart breaks too)...and I remember and know that God's heart breaks even more. God's heart breaks even more.

Sometimes people don't remember that; they don't get that God's heart actually breaks for all the suffering that happens in this world. They say, God can't care, or else he'd DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! ....They ask, "Why doesn't He stop it if he actually cares?!?!?" I want to challenge you with the message that God cares...that He loves...and that He loves us so much that He doesn't force us into loving Him back (that wouldn't be love; that'd be slavery). He instead gives us a freedom of choice. Our freedom of choice can be used for good...and it can be used for evil. Some of the suffering in this world comes from the consequences of bad choices others have made that affect those around them in huge, incredibly unjust ways...including innocent babies, kids, women and men. And as people make these decisions, our God weeps and his heart breaks over and over again.

I also believe God is doing something about the suffering...He's calling his followers of Christ to be the hands and feet of Jesus and spread that love to the darkest, most wretched and unjust places. Oh, that message is so stinkin' clear in the Bible...but the choice is with us!

I know I'm getting a little heavy in this post, and I am praying you won't find me grossly "preachy"....because "preachy" does waaay more harm than good. My intent is so not to preach; it is to share about my life and proclaim what I know to be true. I just want to leave you with these messages of God's great love He has for each and every one of us; believer or non-believer. These verses that proclaim truth are available to you to claim for yourselves...that's the freedom of Christ, right there. It's our choice. And I most definitely choose Him.

"And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. ³⁹ No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39 (NLT)

^"May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God." Ephesians 3:19 (NLT)

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

O Lord, you have examined my heart
   and know everything about me.
² You know when I sit down or stand up.
   You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
³ You see me when I travel
   and when I rest at home.
   You know everything I do.
⁴ You know what I am going to say
   even before I say it, Lord.
⁵ You go before me and follow me.
   You place your hand of blessing on my head.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too great for me to understand!

⁷ I can never escape from your Spirit!
   I can never get away from your presence!
⁸ If I go up to heaven, you are there;
   if I go down to the grave, you are there.
⁹ If I ride the wings of the morning,
   if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   and your strength will support me.
¹¹ I could ask the darkness to hide me
   and the light around me to become night—
   ¹² but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
   To you the night shines as bright as day.
   Darkness and light are the same to you.

¹³ You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
   and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
   Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
¹⁵ You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
   as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.
¹⁶ You saw me before I was born.
   Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
   Every moment was laid out
   before a single day had passed.

¹⁷ How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
   They cannot be numbered!
¹⁸ I can’t even count them;
   they outnumber the grains of sand!
   And when I wake up,
   you are still with me!
Psalm 139: 1-18

Jumping in...

2011-01-17T22:29:00.006-07:00

A couple of weeks ago I had a friend challenge me with the words, "Don't be afraid...jump in."

Since then, I have had distinct experiences in which I was required to make the choice between staying in the safe zone or taking a jump in faith. One specific experience matched so perfectly to my friend's challenge that her words echoed in my ears and I knew with certainty: this is exactly what Michelle was talking about. Her challenge was/is a spiritual one for me; I have been encountering God in amazing new ways this past semester, and these encounters are so extraordinary and new that fear and uncertainty threaten to overtake me and hold me back...

But I took a leap on Sunday with the words, "Don't be afraid...jump in!" imprinted on my mind...

And oh, how thankful I am.

"Don't be afraid...jump in."

Beaverlodge & Back-to-School: A List

2011-01-09T23:21:00.000-07:00
I am absolutely appalled that is has been 4 weeks since I last blogged! However, my explanation for my absence is, I think, quite valid...After writing 1 novel in the month of November, 2 massive papers (yes, papers can be massive), 4 intense exams, 1 newsletter and 1 fundraising letter, I needed a break from writing to let the Creative Tank refuel.

I'm not sure if that Creative Tank has refueled even partially...but I do miss writing and blogging, and feel I owe it to my 10 blog followers to post something (however ridiculous, repetitive or generally uninteresting). Easiest way to do this? A list. I love lists.

Hillary's List about Stuff in her Life of Late
School...as in Fall Semester! Don't know if you knew, but I had a stressful Fall semester...at least the second half was stressful. With a full course load, a part-time job and a novel to write, I became low on sleep to the point of exhaustion, irresponsible with my food intake to the point of nausea and overloaded with thoughts and ideas and feelings to the point of...well...overloadedness! There was (and is) a lot of crazy amazing things happening in my non-academic life...spiritual things, revelations, teachings, lessons...relationships strengthened, encouraged, stretched and challenged...feelings of confusion, sadness, fear, guilt, joy, amazement, awe, excitement...and just some incredible things that have kept my mind and spirit occupied. And, you know, I also wrote a novel. I was reluctant to turn to schoolwork many times, and in the end I had rain-check my thought processing of non-academic things and just get 'er done (as in school). And the fantastic and miraculous thing? My semester ended up being the most successful and GPA-boosting one of my entire program to date. I think that deserves a Hallelujah!
Church...as in my new church! One of the reasons I was so distracted from schoolwork last semester was that, after a 4 year search, I have found a church to call home here in Calgary...and the things I have been learning have been stretching me spiritually and just leaving me hungry for more. Coming from a small town where everybody knows everybody (and where I had-and still have-a wonderful church family), it is extremely difficult to get into a new community of believers...While my spiritual life has not by any means been stagnant or oppressed by the churches I have attended the past 4 years, I was left craving something more intimate, vulnerable and radical (And when I say vulnerable, I mean an open, humble, and "less about me, more about Jesus in real life" type of church).   My new church and my fabulous new Small Group continues to build me up and help my spirit grow in Christ, and I have found in an exciting way the community, the encouragement and the refuge that I have been looking for here in Calgary. Ahhh, it's exciting.
School...as in Winter Semester! Tomorrow I have the first day of my last semester of my Nursing/Kinesiology Program. This is it; this semester I have my Final Clinical as a Nursing Student...and I am placed exactly where I wanted to be--in Pediatric Emergency at the Alberta Children's Hospital. How I ended up being placed there is an amazing, beautiful story...because with 200 students to place and only 12 Pediatric spots (and ONE Pediatric Emergency spot), I prayed and gave the situation over to God, trusting that He would direct it so that my exact placement would be the best one for me (whether Pediatric Emerg or not). I would accept where ever I was placed with that understanding...and then I received beautiful affirmation that He has great plans for me and He does grant me the desires of my heart (and that His will and mine are united in my nursing) when I saw my name in the Pediatric Emergency slot. I definitely danced and shouted some Hallelujahs!  Ahhhh I am ecstatic. Feeling blessed beyond comprehension! I just know that God has great things in store for me this coming year as I complete my nursing degree on the unit I love and consider what it means re: where I nurse after graduation. I will keep y'all posted!
Beaverlodge...as in my Christmas visit! For the first time in 4 years, I was in my hometown of Beaverlodge, Alberta, for Christmas. Last year I was in Honduras, the year before that enroute to Azerbaijan, and the year before that in Calgary because Boyda was getting married! Christmas 2010 was wonderful not because of the gifts, but because of the friends and family my mom and I got to spend time with. I am deeply thankful for my church family in Beaverlodge...they are welcoming, encouraging, enlightening and delightful. My 2.5 week holiday involved: carolling, caramel corn, tea, wine, movies, chocolate, books, deep conversations, cuddles with small children and babies, babysitting, skating, tobogganing, babysitting, relaxation, singing campfire songs out of context, sleeping in, and fabulous fellowship. Because this post is getting long, I will just put up a couple pics and call this post to an end:

Winter! With its, like, 7 hours of sunlight in a day.

Puzzling! I also puzzled a lot over the holidays with great friends. (Michelle looks fabulous, no matter what she says...)

Christmas Dinner at The Clarks...3 of their beautiful kids reading and...Greg squishing Katrina with his foot.

Just love this pic of my mumsy with Katrina!

A Christmas Collage...

~Hillary

A Birthday Post...

2010-12-12T00:49:00.003-07:00

In honour of my 22nd birthday, I wrote a birthday post. It begins with pictures of me on my birthday(s). It ends with pictures not of me..but about people very dear to my heart! I wrote it while very tired, so please forgive any grammar or spelling errors...and enjoy!

3 year old Hillary...

6 year old Hillary

Skipping the mushroom cut years (of which there were many)... The pics are too embarrassing to post! We'll move to my 20th birthday.

My 20th Birthday Banana...(in lieu of cake) (L) and my Happy Birthday Face (R)

Hillary's 21st Birthday in Honduras last year...When Fendi the dog got into the cake, and we had to improvise our decorating.

The above picture was actually taken on December 13th...I shared a birthday with Emily, another volunteer at Eternal Family Project, and we had a birthday weekend! December 13th was 80s-themed Party with the girls:

(Impossible to get a group photo with all the girls. Let's face it.)

December 12th, 2009, (the day itself) was actually a day that will forever be imprinted on my mind as one of the best--yet saddest--days of my life.

My 21st birthday, I handed out apples to these beautiful, beautiful children:

My 21st birthday, I visited a special needs orphanage and helped feed about 70 kids...And I met Rudi, a joyous 7-year-old with Cerebral Palsy and a wicked buzz-cut, who was confined to a wheelchair in a stale, smelly room at the orphanage...Rudi who giggled and screamed with joy when I raced his wheelchair up and down the hallway.

My 21st birthday, I met Pedro, the boy in the picture below, at the public orphanage...Pedro had hydrocephalus (fluid build-up in the brain) and was clearly in pain when I met him...My birthday last year, I cuddled Pedro and prayed for him and tried to ease his pain. We cleaned him up (he was soaked from a wet diaper, and no one had changed him) and even tried to find him a shunt for his surgery (and a surgeon) in the days that followed...

As with most things medical in Honduras, things took too long (and the doctors went on strike), and Pedro developed an infection...he died weeks after I met and cuddled him, and I am excited to see him in Heaven someday.

It is for children like Pedro that I am a nurse...and I cannot wait to see what God has in store for me as I enter my 22nd year of living (technically, 23rd, eh?) and graduate with my degrees. This past year has been one of incredible challenge and growth...and I see myself as a more mature person as a result. This coming year promises to be just as full of such challenge and maturation, and I know it is going to be a radically life-changing 365 days. How very excited I am, and I enter it with great anticipation...

Psalm 119: 105 says,

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. "

My 23rd year of living has begun...and I realize that a lamp for only my feet doesn't exactly mean I can see far ahead on my path to next month, let alone this next year...but it does mean that God is lighting my way so I can see just far enough ahead of me as is necessary...

I hope to rest in that promise--and in the many other wonderful promises of God--this coming year.

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday Hillary...

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Postscript: Stories and realities like Pedro's can be overwhelmingly sad...but then I remember we serve a great and loving God...and that I get to be part of His plan to see Heaven brought down to Earth. We have the promise that God's plan is for these children to encounter His awesome Love and Truth...and to not be left forgotten in institutionalized orphanages. God's heart breaks for these children more than my own...

I hung out with some of the most beautiful children in the world last year on my birthday; you can read more about it and my Honduras experiences in THIS post, and THIS OTHER post. You could also ask me about my 5 trips down there in the last 2.5 years...or watch my slideshow from August 2009 (clearly, outdated now that they have Ruby, and Belkis, and new Baby Addison!)...If you know me at all, you know I could talk about my Honduras family for hours...

Thanks for reading this post...I am also still tweaking the new lay-out, so I apologize if it is too hard to read on the dark background!

NaNoWriMo 2010...Reflections on my month chained to my computer writing 50,000 words in 30 days.

2010-12-01T12:06:00.005-07:00

Yes, this is what greeted me when I validated my word count of 50,000 on the NaNoWriMo site...And this is basically the only material (electronic-material) thing I get as a reward for completing the most intense and frenzied month of writing I have ever experienced in my life.

Well, I also get some "Winner's Web Badges," and a printable certificate...and, actually, one free published copy of my book (yes!)...but other than that, the 50,000+ words I committed to write this past November were largely for my own sense of accomplishment.

That's crazy. You say. Why would anyone--and especially a full-time student who is also working as a Flu Lady--attempt to write an ENTIRE NOVEL in the month of November, for nothing more than a couple pretty pictures and a "title" of NaNoWriMo Winner, 2010?

I must admit, I was not 100% committed that first day I set out to write my 1667 words. I thought, Well, I love to write...and I've never attempted a LONG story before; only a short story. I'll just try it out for fun.

I had been dreaming up novel ideas the week prior to November 1st, and had hit dead ends and snags. One idea required too much research; another would probably only require 20,000 words to complete. One idea was too organized; another too abstract.

I actually sat down at my computer on November 1st intending to write a story about a man who closes his eyes to go to sleep and wakes up in a completely different part of the world, where he spends his sleeping hours learning about different cultures and how to truly live. Instead, in my first chapter the man's housecat decided to speak...and my main character listened, and ended up leaving his house with his housecat and fat beagle in search of adventure, romance and excitement. Everything that followed was a complete surprise.

This past month, I have devoted countless hours to writing a novel that will probably never see the light of a bookseller's shelf. I have consumed at least 30 litres of often-caffeinated tea. I have wondered if I had Carpal-Tunnel Syndrome as my hand cramped up and went numb after typing. I have put aside my social life with the excuse that "I have to write my 1667 words!" I have watched less TV than I did in my first year of life. (That one may be pushing it, but you get the idea.) I have wanted to punch my computer screen and go outside (I have a muffin-top to prove my sedentary lifestyle of the past month). I have longed to relax on the couch and read a book or enjoy a good movie with my roomies... I have skipped showering, sleep, social engagements and school (shh). I have written chapters in class and at work. And each time I was tempted to return to a normal life, my novel called my name and I grudgingly sat down in front of my computer and began to type.

But I don't regret it at all.

As I continued to write and watch my word count increase, my mind began to burst with ideas...And it just kept going. I found myself dreaming up characters and adventures and lands and subplots as I travelled to school each day, as I scrubbed my hair in the shower, as I ate my oatmeal in the morning, and as I sat daydreaming in my Medical Anthropology class. I found myself looking at everything around me--my friends, people passing by, nature, objects--with a new appreciation. How could I put THAT in my novel? I'd wonder. Wouldn't it be fantastic if trees grew bottles of wine instead of leaves? I thought one day as I sipped an exquisitely wonderful glass of wine.. What if there was a land where all the lost socks in my laundry congregated and hid out? I mused one night while folding my clothes and matching socks.

I'd have friends and acquaintance ask me, "Oh, how's your book going?"...and I'd go into a 30-minute monologue about my book and not give them a word in edgewise. To those friends, I apologize. I had Writer's Mind. It's a condition that can only be resolved by a writer typing, "The End" and returning to reality.

I have learned and accomplished much more this NaNoWriMo than I ever thought possible. I discovered an online community of people out in this world who are just like me: people who love to write, who drink copious amounts of tea, who rejoice over finding that perfect character name, and who don't think it's strange to have a man, a housecat and a beagle crazy-carpet down a rainbow or encounter a talking tortoise on the road. I got to travel to imaginary lands and dream; with my characters I thwarted evil plans, conquered fears and celebrated victories. I even got to kill The Comma Splice.

I found out that a writer has incredible power in creativity. I realized that characters often have a mind of their own...but that can be an avenue of inspiration and lead to an increased word count and a better story. I learned self-control and organization in my month of writing; I sacrificed much because I had to get those words in. I became very conscious of how I use my time (and that is an invaluable lesson for me).

Now, with NaNoWriMo 2010 over, I cannot help feeling a little sad and depressed. It was a crazy, wonderful, ridiculous, ambitious, insensible thing for me to join thousands of others and write 50,000 words in one month, and I am going to miss it. I do, however, feel incredibly proud of what I accomplished these last 30 days...And I'm already thinking about what I'll write for NaNoWriMo next November. Who's with me?

I miss these girls...

2010-11-23T16:14:00.003-07:00

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My Christmas Wishlist post is overdue (2008's Post is HERE, 2009's is HERE) ...but I will return my attention to my blog after I finish my novel on November 30th. (Check out my NaNoWriMo page HERE). My novel is coming along splendidly (my characters are enjoying a party in The Wine Grove, where bottles of wine grow, ready-to-drink, on trees); however, I DO need help with A) A Title and B) A Cover. Anyone interested?

In the meantime, I just wanted to say how much I miss these girls! Especially as I'm not going to be in Honduras for Christmas this year. They've been on my mind a lot lately... I ended up making some Prayer Cards in September (the one below is updated to include Baby Addison), and I have some extra copies, so if you are interested in getting a copy for your fridge and supporting Eternal Family Project through Prayer or Financial means, let me know!

Chapter Six: The Punctuation Station

2010-11-12T22:12:00.000-07:00

I have had a few requests to post a chapter from my NaNoWriMo novel-in-progress involving Punctuation. Here it is (unedited, remember)! Please comment and let me know what you think...
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Chapter six
The Trio was continuing west toward Prism Forest with Miss Trixie in the lead. She possessed a very keen sense of direction, and knew the shortest of short-cuts through meadows and valleys and rivers and streams and forests and mountain ranges to the destination at hand. Her short-cut would have saved the Trio a sizeable amount of time in reaching Prism Forest had it not been for the many characters they happened to run into on their way. After all, one can never be too sure what one will meet on a shortcut…
The characters at this time were passing through Punctuation Station; a quaint little town on the Railroad to Nowhere
*Authoress’ Note of Historical Importance: as there simply has to be a railroad station or some other sort of transportation station near a town with “Station” as part of its name, the good inhabitants of Punctuation Station, 5 years previously, had built the Railroad to Nowhere. Punctuation Station in the pre-railroad time had caused quite a bit of confusion among foreigners, as they fully expected to find a Station of some sort in the vicinity. The Railroad to Nowhere solved this predicament.
Miss Trixie gave this speech as they entered the town: “This here Punctuation Station is a rather strange place; keep your eyes open, Master Spencer.” said Trixie. “The citizens of Punctuation are exactly that: Punctuation. Exclamation points, Ellipses, Dashes, Brackets, Slashes, Ampersands, Colons, Semicolons, Periods and Question Marks live here, not to mention Commas. The whole place is practically overrun with Commas. The Commas are led by a leader who is called the Comma Splice. All the non-comma punctuations cannot stand the Comma Splice and run campaigns against him and his common comma offspring. We’ll undoubtedly meet up with a reckless Comma on our way through, and you just watch out, Mister Spencer! You never know what might happen when you visit Punctuation Station.”
Punctuation Station seemed to be cut out of an old Western movie Mister Spencer had seen once; there was a dirt road running down the middle that was Main Street, and on this street they passed a livery stable on the right, an old two-story hotel on the left, a series of houses, a barbershop, a bank, and a saloon. Mister Spencer happened to catch a glimpse inside the livery stable on the way past, and he received the shock when he saw not horses and buggies and straw and manure, but strange creatures that seemed to be…why yes…words! There were WORDS tied up to posts inside the livery stable; long Words, short Words, descriptive Words, lovely Words, annoying Words; even four letter words. All the letters in each word seemed to be connected together like Siamese twins (and triplets and quadruplets, and…so on!) so that they were inseparable. This made each Word in the livery stable remarkably unique; Mister Spencer noticed that a certain lovely Word (Sunset) had shades of dreamy yellow, smooth orange, rosy red, and fabulous pink morphing and changing and blending together on her body as if an Artist was actively painting a beautiful picture on a canvas. A four-letter-Word (which shall remain nameless, as this is a children’s novel) was blackest black and ghoulish green and dirty brown and covered in grime, and seemed to have a foul temperament (from what Mister Spencer could gather from his glimpse into the livery stable.)
What a very strange sight! he thought.
Just as Mister Spencer was considering what sort of Words he’d like to keep around—he had already chosen the lovely Words over the four-letter Words—there was a great commotion at the saloon across the way. A moving figure that could be nothing other than a Semicolon stormed out of the swinging doors of the saloon screaming, “This is the LAST STRAW Comma Splice! THE ABSOLUTE LAST STRAW. I, the Great Semicolon, CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL.”
A rather large character surrounded by a posse of smaller figures in the shape of commas came out of the saloon in pursuit of the first figure. It was, it had to be the Comma Splice. (Punctuation for effect. The grammatically correct version of this sentence would be: It was; it had to be the Comma Splice.)
The Comma Splice was the largest and most puffed-up comma Mister Spencer had ever seen (and he had read a lot of books!). “A duel it is, Semicolon, but I warn you: lose, and the Semicolons will be banished from Punctuation Station forever. The Commas will rule Punctuation Station, and take over the jobs of Semicolons in this town. Semicolon, prepare to meet your doom.”
The Semicolon had quite the following of his own; the Periods had banded with the all the Semicolons in a marvelous act of solidarity (and the Periods were the most abundant punctuation inhabiting Punctuation Station.). A great circle was formed in the middle of Main Street, and a citizen deemed to be neutral in the situation at hand—a rather skinny-looking Question Mark—was named referee of the duel (for this duel had a referee).
Mister Spencer was expecting the referee to hand each dueler a gun and count out ten paces; instead, the referee gave the Comma Splice and the Semicolon two lengths of rope and pointed them into opposite corners. He then proceeded to direct the owner of the livery stable to select some of the choicest Words, untie them, and lead them into the dueling circle. The livery stable owner (a Period who knew just how to keep those Words in line) selected ten Word-animals and arranged them in this order, with the help of a small runt of a Comma:
MY WIFE LOVES ROSES HOWEVER (small comma) THEY MAKE ME SNEEZE.
The Words were rather restless in this order, without any punctuation to herd them and keep them in line. The referee, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the Words went wild, pointed a little start-gun in the air and shouted, “ONE. TWO. THREE. GO!” (bang).
The Comma Splice and The Semicolon shot from their respective corners and raced toward the Words. They collided in-between the Words, “ROSES” and “HOWEVER,” and started to duke it out. The Comma Splice scratched and kicked and punched; the Semicolon bit and jabbed and clawed. The band of Commas was cheering for their Comma Splice while the gathering of Periods and Semicolons encouraged their Semicolon. The Words were watching everything uneasily.
After five solid minutes of wrestling, the Comma Splice emerged from the tussle and made his move; he swung one of the ropes around ROSES and secured a hold. As he was turning toward HOWEVER to complete the punctuation connection, a battered but not-yet-defeated Semicolon grabbed the Comma Splice by the ankle and yanked with all his might. The Comma Splice fell to the ground and hit his head so violently that he died instantly upon impact. The Semicolon flung his two ropes around ROSES and HOWEVER as quickly as he could and pulled with all his might until the two Words were brought so close together that the connection was established, and the referee blew his whistle to end the duel.
“THE WINNER,” the referee shouted, “IS THE SEMICOLON!”
“Hurrah, hurrah, hurrahhhh!” chanted the Periods and the Semicolons.
The band of commas, hanging their heads in shame, dragged their great leader away in defeat. They were now stripped of their power, and the Comma Splice was dead.
The Comma Splice was dead.
Mister Spencer, Miss Trixie, and Fat Samuel had watched the events from a short distance; they now moved forward to congratulate the Semicolon on an epic victory. Miss Trixie had tears in her eyes as she shook the Semicolon’s hand vigorously.
“You have done a great thing this day!” she sobbed. “I thank you; the world thanks you!”
Fat Samuel waddled up to the Semicolon and gave him an affectionate lick, and Mister Spencer, in a moment of spontaneity, bowed low to the ground and said, “Semicolon, you will forever have my respect.”
Congratulations complete, the Trio backed away. The crowd of punctuation hoisted Semicolon up onto their shoulders and marched into the saloon for a celebratory round; they never noticed the three travelers walking away towards the end of town.

A Novel by Miss Azalia Trueheart

2010-11-02T20:40:00.001-06:00

I am attempting to write an entire novel in the month of November...It's part of NaNoWriMo

Yes, this novel will be fluff and nonsense...NaNoWriMo is about quantity, not quality...

Anyway, I thought I would let my blog followers have a sneak peek, so I have released part of Chapter One to be perused (Ch. 1 in its entirety would be too long). Remember, I haven't edited, as it's against the rules of NaNoWriMo...and it's a little long...but here is some of the 1st chapter of my nameless novel.
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A Novel.
I will start this novel off by saying that I, Azalia Trueheart, am actually NOT REAL. Well…that is to say, my NAME is not real; it’s a “nom de plume.” My REAL name is Hillary Johnstone, which is not even half as romantic or outrageous as “Azalia Trueheart.” However, since this is my novel, I shall do whatever I wish to do and simply start off y making my name “Azalia Trueheart.”
There now; it is settled. Now that you all know what my name—I beg your pardon--names are, we shall turn our attention to our main character.

Chapter One: Miss Trixie speaks.
Spencer Mackay was quite an ordinary man; at least at first glance. The word ordinary must NOT be linked with ornery simply because it rhymes; no no, Mister Spencer Mackay was not disagreeable by any means. He was 6 feet in height, 180lbs, 38 years old, and dressed ordinarily enough. His shirts were starched but not too starched, his pants were clean but not too clean, and his shoes were shined but not too shined. His hair was brown, his eyes were brown, and his one distinguishing factor that differentiated him from being confused with a department store manikin was a batch of freckles on his nose and right cheek. No freckles were to be found on Mister Spencer Mackay’s left cheek; the reason why this was so remains a mystery to this day.
Mister Spencer Mackay—whom we shall now forthwith simply call Mister Spencer—lived in a white house with white shutters and a white hammock hanging in the porch. Everything in Mister Spencer’s house was white; his colourless house reflected his colourless life. He lived alone; his sister, Rosetta Farnsby, 46, lived next door to her dear younger brother and stopped by three times a week to ensure the dishes were washed to perfection, the floors were swept clean, the laundry was washed, and that her brother wasn’t dying of starvation or locked in the bathroom or, simply, in a crisis of some sort. Rosetta was a dear soul and was in her element cooking and cleaning and doing all those domestic house-wifey things. She had been married for 28 years to Robert Farnsby, a short, fat and bald man who, some said, was all 3 of those descriptors from birth. Rosetta and Robert were very good to our Mister Spencer, never failing to invite him to their house for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day, Easter, and any holiday in-between (for Rosetta Farnsby used any excuse to cook a feast!).
At the time the writer found Mister Spencer, he was in-between jobs and had been searching the newspaper classifieds for the perfect job for 3 months. He was not in a hurry to find a job, for his father, Captain Archibald Mackay, had achieved great wealth in his days of attacking—and subsequently pillaging—pirate ships packed to the gills with loot, and had, in his death, left his extensive fortune to both his son and daughter to divide equally.
This great fortune means, of course, that Mister Spencer did not have to work at all; yet for the past 15 years he had worked at the post office, sending off letters from one person to the other, handling love letters and bills and bank statements and pen pal correspondences through his hands for 11 hours a day, 6 days a week. The post office had, 3 months previous, replaced Mister Spencer with a mechanical robot, and his letter of termination that had passed through his own letter-sorting hands the day before the robot came simply stated that he "would no longer be needed.”
On this particular evening that the writer found Mister Spencer (3 months post-firing), he was just returning from a ramble in the forest behind his house. Mister Spencer, being ordinary (but now, we know, not TOO ordinary, seeing as he’s a millionaire and sorted love letters for 15 years), had been enjoying a nostalgic retreat in thoughts back to the good old days at his beloved post office. Mister Spencer was jolted out of his reverie upon reaching the little white house with the white shutters and white hammock, and with an air of self-pity he hirpled inside his house and poured himself a large Scotch. He sat down in his armchair in front of the fire and sighed. His beagle, Fat Samuel, waddled up to him and sat down at his feet, tongue hanging and tail wagging. Fat Samuel paused his drooling and wagging and cocked his head to the side in confusion; was his master sad? Fat Samuel sighed in sadness for his master’s sake and curled up in a ball in front of the fire and went to sleep. Mister Spencer, on the other hand, was deep in thought until the wee hours of the morning. He never moved, never spoke (though people live alone, they may still talk to themselves aloud). Mister Spencer just sat in his armchair by the fire in his little white house, staring into space.
Enter Miss Trixie, the housecat. Miss Trixie’s sole purpose in Mister Spencer’s house was to keep the mouse population to a minimum. She had done her job well the past 4 years, and she had never asked for any affection from Mister Spencer in return for her mousing services, for she was indebted to him for simply giving her a place to stay. She was old—11 years old, to be exact—and had come into Mister Spencer’s household at a rather desperate time of her life (which we are sure to find out about as the story unfolds.)
To be sure, Miss Trixie was a very conscientious and clean-loving cat, and the thought of her pouncing onto Mister Spencer’s lap and shedding hair all over his clothes caused more anxiety than happiness in Miss Trixie’s little soul.
On this particular night, however, she noticed her master staring into space near the fire, looking rather distant and far-away and not at all like she was used to her master looking. Fat Samuel was curled up at his feet, obviously dreaming, as he was howling softly and his hind legs were kicking madly in his dreamy attempt to catch that rabbit or squirrel or possum. Miss Trixie’s master loved Fat Samuel, and Miss Trixie herself simply tolerated the beagle because of this master-love. In truth, Miss Trixie regarded Fat Samuel simply as an idiot animal whose idiocracy was no fault of his own. You see, Miss Trixie had known Fat Samuel’s mother, who was rather scatterbrained herself, and had since concluded after Fat Samuel came to develop a personality that the idiocracy was simply passed on through the genes to the poor fat beagle, and that he could do nothing about it.
Anyway, back to the scene at hand. Miss Trixie, upon surveying the situation of her master staring off into space, which was so very unlike him, decided to do that which she had never done before: jump on Mister Spencer’s lap.
And jump she did. Mister Spencer didn’t quite snap out of his staring-into-space episode upon the sleek tortoise-shelled cat’s arrival into his lap; he simply twitched ever so slightly and continued on in his staring and thinking and pondering while Miss Trixie dealt with the emotions of breaking one of her very solid rules about cleanliness and non-wrinkled-clothesness in her house. After much thought—about 5 minutes of thought, in fact, as Miss Trixie was not to go about making another decision as rashly as her first—Miss Trixie finally decided it was time.
It was time to speak to Mister Spencer.

Four Characters.

2010-10-23T20:45:00.009-06:00
I sit here, drinking my best tea (from Azerbaijan), reflecting on my day at the flu clinic. It is about time I told you about my job as an undergraduate nurse employee with the Influenza Program. I apologize; it IS a long post.

Interesting, I tell you, is this job. Boring at points, to be sure...REALLY boring at some points...but the thrilling parts balance things out. I am often aware that something comes over me when I am engaged with people, helping them--especially as a nurse. I feel so alive.

What is that activity that, when you do it, makes you feel the most alive? There are a great many things that make me feel that particular sense of aliveness; things such as holding a baby, biking on a lovely river pathway, scuba diving, having an exquisitely good cup of tea, laughing with friends...but I have the very fortunate reality of having a vocation in which I get to enjoy this aliveness on a standard basis. Nursing: ah, I love it.

Granted, I am just a lowly flu clinic undergrad nurse right now...but that doesn't mean I don't encounter humanity and eccentricity and loveliness. Today I had 4 client encounters/experiences that still linger on my mind after returning home:
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#1: Beautiful.

She came in around 11 o'clock, leaning on the elbow of a friend yet walking with grace and dignity. I had never vaccinated a nun before. She was 85 years old, and still performing her nun-ly duties everyday. She was very sweet and kind. As I drew up the vaccine she giggled to me, leaned in and whispered, "You know what? You see this dress?"

Her dress suit was made of polyester and white as snow without a single wrinkle or stain.

"This dress is 35 years old, and I only wear it when I go out. 35 years; can you believe it?"

I was quite taken aback at the fact that she owned a dress solely for "going out"...and 35 years old is a long time. It reminded me much of old fashioned days when people would wear their "Sunday best" for special occasions.

I cheerfully replied, "Wow! 35 years? That's incredible! And you yourself are doing very well for 85 years old, if I may say so. May you get another 35 years of wear out of that dress!"

Smoothing out some non-existent wrinkles in her dress, my 85 year old nun in white whispered, more to herself than to me,

"Oh, yes, I am doing very well...Thanks be to God."

Vaccine finished, she got up and walked over to the waiting area. I had the strangest feeling that in this small 85-year-old nun in 1970s white polyester I had witnessed something sacred...and it was very beautiful and lovely indeed.
-------------------------------------------
#2: Thankful.

I noticed a man, about 45, awkwardly wandering the aisles of the nurses' stations, glancing uneasily from nurse to nurse for someone to welcome him to her table to vaccinate. Many nurses were absorbed in books or other clients (my book was in hand), but I waved him over hoping to welcome him with confidence and reassurance.

He was very friendly and talkative and, after a few preliminary questions, I recognized him to be quite feminine. When he said he was HIV positive, I didn't flinch; instead I continued in my questioning and ensured I was objective (as a nurse; as a human being I would be completely ashamed if any judgment --or even the illusion of judgment--came up as I questioned this man.). Remembering his earlier nervous glances, I was friendly and candidly chatted with him about Calgary and life. He revealed that, as he was HIV+, in the last 5 years he had had to take over 30,000 pills and have blood test after blood test to ensure his continued health.

"I was off meds for 6 years...it was wonderful...but now I'm back on them but doing well."

There was something about his positive attitude and the way he seemed to be filled with thankfulness that he was still alive and (relatively) healthy that made me respect and admire him. He was a unique character in my day, and I found myself thinking about what it must be like to encounter the stigma associated with HIV and gayness everyday...knowing also that your life is at the mercy to such a deadly and horrifying virus. Deep, scary thoughts. As I finished giving him his flu shot and sent him on his way, I was glad that I had waved him over to my table...and I hoped that I had welcomed him and accepted him and encouraged him in our short 5-minute meeting.
-------------------------------------------
#3: Sorrowful.

She was 59 years old. Talkative. Sarcastic. Then again, when you are faced with spending the next 5 weeks enduring chemotherapy and radiation treatment for an aggressive cancer, sarcasm may be one of the only things to keep you going.

This women was the saddest case I had all day. Oh, she was in quite good--although sarcastic--spirits, but it was just so sad hearing about her diagnosis and treatment plan. Out of the blue, she found out she had cancer...and her life turned upside down. Lost in my jumble of thoughts that came with her sad story, all I could do to comfort her was say, "I just recommend you try and have a good attitude, one day at a time. The people over at the Cancer Centre are wonderful."

What do you say? This woman was, to the naked eye, very healthy. She could fade into a crowd quite easily, and no one would have the slightest idea that there was a war taking place inside her body. With chemo treatments and radiation lasting 5 weeks and then surgery...her world will be completely changed, and odds are she won't be able to fade into a crowd very easily at all.

I found myself thinking about what it would be like to be faced with a grim diagnosis of cancer...I was reminded yet again of how unsteady and unpredictable our time on Earth really is.

As the woman thanked me and we chatted about what she should do this last weekend before her treatments begin, I smiled and did my best to be encouraging. Always the advocate for food, I said, "Eat as much chocolate as you can!"

"Oh, I will do as many things as I possibly can this weekend..." she replied as she got up from her chair to leave.

"Until next year's Flu Shot!" I called out to her as she walked away...and she smiled and waved back.
-------------------------------------------
#4: Delightful

Giving a needle to children can be quite the ordeal...but I found this next case to be quite an amusing encounter. I was greeting a grandma, grandpa, and their 8 year old granddaughter to my nurse's station. The grandparents were incredibly kind, and it was evident they found their granddaughter as interesting and unique as I did.

I can't really remember my personality as an 8-year-old...I wonder if it was as extraordinary as this little girl's. Her most amusing characteristic was how candid she was as I asked her questions. As she was not too keen on needles, I distracted her by asking about school...

"8 years old....means you're in Grade 3, right? Do you like Grade 3?"

I had guessed correctly, and my little client responded, "No, I don't like school as much because of my teacher."

Her answer sparked my curiosity.

"Oh, no! Why don't you like your teacher?" I asked, giving her grandparents a sideways glance.

This 8 year old looked right up at me and said in the most exasperating of exasperated voices, "My teacher is just too...caring. Yes, she's too caring. Even more than my parents."

I unsuccessfully stifled a giggle, but the girl took no notice. Confused and bemused, I looked to the grandparents for clarification. The grandma's eyes were twinkling, and she explained, "Her teacher has a lot of rules and is very concerned about safety and proper behavior. For example, they are not allowed to walk on the grass, and they must not carry their shoes by the shoelaces for fear of accidentally hitting someone."

In my grown-up mind I thought a more appropriate word for this 8 year old's over-caring teacher would be paranoid, but I was so much more entertained by the granddaughter's take on things that I laughed and said, "Well, I hope you can still enjoy school, despite your caring teacher!"

She didn't even cry for the shot, but simply said, "I just won't look because watching the needle going in makes me nauseous."

After the needle was said and done, she looked at me with a look of amazement and respect and said, "That wasn't that bad at all!"

Ah, this 8-year-old was amusing and unique, I must say.
-------------------------------------------

There are some wonderful, gracious, good, afflicted, amusing, sad, admirable, interesting people out there, and being a nurse I encounter them every single day. Today I was reminded once again of how human we all are. It's incredible, because in our human-ness we are all unique. Our humanity connects us, with all our differences, and every time I am reminded of this connection I am filled with that sense of aliveness.

I am so thankful for the opportunity to meet so many characters each day. And I am curious and ask again: what gives you that certain sense of being alive?

Dreamy Nature Boy.

2010-10-15T16:40:00.008-06:00
I'm taking this class called "Natural Environments, Health & Wellness." Yes. I call it my Nature class. It could also be renamed, "Nature and the Inner YOU" or "Being ONE with the Earth: Taking care of yourself and the Planet." However New Age-y or Un-Academic-y (?) or Fluffy my Nature class sounds, at least it is interesting.

Perhaps the class is interesting to me because I grew up with an environmentalist for a father (yes, he was more concerned with certain unique environmental topics than the mainstream ones, but still...). It could also be interesting because it's a breath of fresh nature-filled air after my 2 hard-core classes on aging and physical activity and death and populations. However, I think a contributing factor to my Nature class' interestingness is the fact that my prof is...how shall we say this...rather eccentric.

I actually owe my eccentric prof a favour, as her strange Nature-oriented ways led me to an unusual-yet-enjoyable encounter with a rather handsome young Business student in the class. Let me elaborate....

A couple weeks ago we were having gorgeous weather. We were sitting in class day-dreaming when my prof said, "We're going to do a Nature Exercise..."

We all looked at each other; the last "Nature Exercise" we had done involved picking up garbage in the rain while admiring the aspen trees.

"Everyone file out the doors and follow me; as soon as you are outside, do not speak. Let Nature do the talking; pay attention to the sights and sounds of Fall."

We obeyed. 40 students silently marched outside into the sunshine, single file behind their instructor (did I mention I'm in university?). After picking up spruce cones, crunching around in the leaves, and looking up at the sky, we all got in a circle.

Our prof asked us to "mill around, simply acknowledging people as you pass them, but not saying a word."

We obeyed, and continued to obey for another quiet exercise. Then came the strange part...

"Alright...now I want you to find a partner and face them. I'm going to ask 3 questions, and one person will answer them while his/her partner simply listens; he or she is not allowed to talk. The partner can only look and listen intently. We will switch roles, and the partner will have a chance to answer the 3 questions. GO."

We giggled nervously. We milled. We matched. I found myself paired up with one of the more interesting subjects of my class: a twenty-something-year-old dreamboat with blue eyes, brown hair, and sharp, business-wear clothes (he's in Business). Not only did I find myself paired up with him; I was being ordered to stare at him intently without saying a word.

And stare I did.

I tried not to blush while he answered the questions; how could I listen intently when I was too busy admiring? The questions were things like, "What is one thing about the Earth and conservation that you are most concerned about?" and "What can you do to change things?" When it came time for my responses I became quite animated, flailing my arms around trying to distract myself from the loveliness of Dreamy Nature Boy's blue-eyed gaze so I could actually get through my answers. It is impossible for me to answer ANY question with a short answer (or at least a superficial answer--remember my Co-op interview?!?)...I just delved right in and poured out my little conservation-focused and passionate heart to Dreamboat Guy while he listened.

At the end, our prof said, "You can now say those things you were dying to say but couldn't because you weren't allowed to speak; just tie up the loose ends of your conversations if you need to! You can even hug if you want."

I looked at Dreamboat Business Light-Coloured-Eye Guy and nervously said, "Uhhh, I didn't think we had that kind of connection!"....nervous giggle.

Hopefully he didn't hear that remark. I'm never going to get a man unless I learn to keep thoughts like that inside my head.

We had eye contact for a few more seconds before our class was brought back together and we all filed back inside. Despite my "joke" and nervous giggle episode, I was high-as-a-kite thinking about how I got to stare into Dreamboat Nature Boy's beautiful eyes for such a prolonged and uninterrupted period of time.

Like I said, my Nature class is interesting.

Thanksgiving in the Kingdom of Light

2010-10-10T14:16:00.002-06:00
I know I posted recently (and, as far as I know, only one person has read it besides me! I love comments!), but I just have been bursting with thoughts and goodness and questions and joy...and I just want to share them with you, however silent my audience of readers may be ;) I will get back to Hillary stories of fun and humour and such; I have an anecdotal tale in my head that shall have to wait for a later post...and I of COURSE have to do a "baby" post, but I will wait until I have full details on the birth and baby girl! BUT I also love reflective posts...
---------------------------------------------------

A quick pre-amble: The passage I am posting here was read in a church gathering this morning...It was my first time at this particular church, and I was filled with joy and excitement because as I walked in to the community-centre-room-turned-worship house, I felt the sense of community and real-ness in the people around me as they offered themselves up in vulnerable worship. I have been longing for a small, unified group of believers to join in community on Sundays; after 4 years in Calgary, I still feel disconnected and "on the fringe"... My Thanksgiving Sunday service was down-to-earth and intimate, and I am very excited at the prospect of possibly having found a church I can really connect to here in Calgary.

Back to the passage...hopefully you're not overrun with Thanksgiving thoughts and messages this weekend, and can take some time to sit and really let the power of the passage below wash over you, as it did me...particularly the weight, intensity and meaning of the last half of the paragraph. From Colossians 1:9-14, this is Paul writing to the brothers and sisters in Colosse after hearing of their "love in the Spirit."

"For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding. And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God,being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins."

...the Father... has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of LIGHT.

Quote.

2010-10-08T12:58:00.001-06:00

"Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea."
   ~C.S. Lewis

"...it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak."

Saturday night in Calgary

2010-10-03T10:24:00.000-06:00

Anecdotal Tale time: last night Trish, Taylor, Miriah and I went to the Calgary International Film Fest.

We ended up seeing this Irish movie called "Zonad" about a guy who escapes from a secure alcohol rehab centre during the "welcome to rehab" costume party...he then, in an effort to lay low and not get caught, convinces an entire Irish hamlet that he comes from space. Yeah. The fact that everyone had Irish lilts made it that much more amazing. I had tears rolling down my face, I was laughing so hard.

Photo from the Calgary International Film Fest website...2010...Zonad

The movie got out at about 11pm, and on the train home some very inebriated guys saw our little roomie party and tried to get our attention. How did they do this? By trying to guess my name (I guess I was closest?). Next thing I know, they're yelling HILLARY! HILLLLARYYYY! HILLARY!

First name they pick. No joke.

I had never seen these guys before in my life, so I just avoided eye contact and sat all prim and proper with my purse perched on my lap while Trish, Miriah and Taylor all attempted to contain their laughter (they were unsuccessful). The drunk guys didn't stop...HILLARYYYYYY! HILLARYYYY! turned into HILLARY SWANNNNNNNK. YEAH, HILLARY SWANK!!!

They invited us to their party, but we politely declined.

That was my Saturday night in Calgary. How was your night?

Showcase

2010-10-01T22:12:00.001-06:00

Of stamps, that is...

I have collected stamps since I was a child...as it stands, I have about a billion and one. Today I decided to FINALLY tend to my collection after months and months of neglection...

I generally go through phases like this a couple times a year, where instead of doing homework or reading or eating, I break out my stamps and immerse myself in their colours, their history, their meaning, their loveliness.  Each and every one of them. Stamps are SO lovely that I decided to write a little poem about them. Well. It's actually a list. So we shall name it a POE-LIST.

Poe-list: An Ode to Hillary's Stamp Collection
I have stamps from WWI,
from pre-WWI,
from pre-1900 (only a few),
from Christmas (I have a whole album dedicated to Christmas stamps),
from Azerbaijan (even before my mumsy lived there),
from every continent except Antarctica (I'm not friends with any penguins, I'm sorry to say),
from Dubai,
from Magyar Posta,
from Deutschland,
from Nederlands,
from Malaysia,
from the U.S.S.R
Romania,
Tanzania,
India,
Peru...
I have quadrilateral stamps,
small rectangle stamps,
big rectangle stamps,
my all time favourite, TRIANGLE stamps,
oval stamps,
parallelogram stamps...
stamps of paintings,
stamps of presidents,
stamps of prime ministers,
stamps of modes of transportation,
stamps of Olympic heroes,
stamps of animals,
stamps of dinosaurs
stamps of insects,
stamps of States,
stamps of nature, in general...
stamps issued on days of presidents' funerals,
stamps for Chinese New Years
stamps for, or and about...you guessed it... EVERYTHING.
Stamps.
-Hillary Johnstone, October 1st, 2010

I can't do stamps justice. But I just wanted you all to know how amazing they are.

Tell me...what do YOU collect?

Out-of-sorts

2010-09-17T21:27:00.006-06:00
I had a bad day...One of those days where you have things to do, but you just can't do them because your mind is preoccupied on other things, other places, other problems. An out-of-sorts day. An I-don't-really-want-to-talk-to-anybody-but-at-the-same-time-I-do day. Ever have one of those days?

My mind was preoccupied on one specific disappointment I had today, truth-be-told. I had some rather devastating news this morning about my education funds (or lack there-of) that I was counting on for this year, and the world seems to be shifting under my feet. I'm still trying to wrap my head around things and get my bearings.

I went for a walk because the sun was out after a week of gloom, and I needed some fresh air and a good environment in which to meditate. I also went for a walk as part of a reflection assignment I have for my Natural Environments and Wellness course, so I killed two birds with one stone (as the saying goes).

I took my camera, as I figured I could express my "feelings about nature" with pictures much easier and faster than if I expressed them with words (thus creating less work for my assignment). One of the results was the picture below (right from the camera)...

Let's bring out the colours a bit more....

Let's bring out the colours even MORE, just to see what happens...

I'd recommend clicking on the picture to make it bigger...so you can really see those colours!

I'm always in awe of the colours of grass and leaves in Fall. I find it a bit strange that the colours are so beautiful all around us during the season of death and decay and preparing for Winter. Seems like God was sending a message when he engineered this entire season where all the leaves change and fall and decompose to be one of the most colourful and vibrant (that's not exactly an original Hillary "stop-and-think" point, but it's worth mentioning, even though I'm not going to elaborate on it!)

The picture above of all the grass of many colours going in every direction is chaotic. Kind of like how my life feels right now. But then I look more closely, and I see the rich greens slowly moving into vibrant yellows, which then sliiiide into subtle oranges and finish with those warm inviting reds; those reds that seem to proclaim, "I'm okay; bring it on."

I'm having an out-of-sorts day.

The differences between America and Canada: Part One

2010-09-04T17:17:00.006-06:00
Today we realized some crazy differences between America and Canada (note: based on NYC experience. This title could also read "differences between New Yorkers and Canadians)

1) America: you have to fill out forms at the bank just to deposit something...you can't deposit things at the ATM. How ridiculous is that?!?!?! What is the teller's job, then, when you do all the work? AND their ATMs don't keep the card in during your transaction; you just swipe it. This means you have to sign out before leaving the ATM; otherwise someone could steal your money. Again: ridiculous. And don't get me started on how confusing it is to deposit "checks" instead of "cheques."

2) America (based on NYC experience): You just can't ask in-depth questions to employees. You will only get a snappy, one-sentence answer that isn't helpful at all. Example: The sign said, "If your items fit in the blue bag, you can take the water-taxi." We had some blue bags and some items we could just carry that wouldn't fit...so Boyda asked the cashier if it was possible to still go on the water taxi even though our stuff wasn't in the blue bag, but we could still carry it. She gave us a cold glare and repeated with inpatience, "The rule is, it has to fit in the blue bag." Nothing else. How helpful. We've run into this issue in the Subway as well...our card wouldn't let us in and the guy in the booth pretty much yelled at Boyda, saying, "Lady, just swipe it like your friend did!" even though I had no idea how to swipe it, so I had just swiped it both ways...GONG SHOW. Label your machines, NYC Subway. And then the booth-guy gave us a death-stare as we made our way through the Subway entrance.

Those stories didn't make sense, did they.

3) America: the drug stores carry a crazy variety of drugs, including Oxygen cannisters "for recreational use only" and various at-home-drug tests for Marijuana, Cocaine, and Methamphetamines.

4) There are some serious communication issues between Americans and Canadians. We seriously can't understand each other's English. Example: buying a hot dog.

Hot Dog Vendor: Would you like mustard?
Hillary: Yes, I'd like mustard please.

Hot Dog Vendor puts ketchup and onions on hot dog and hands it to Hillary

Hot Dog Vendor: Anything else?
Hillary (confused look on face): No, thank you.

Hillary walks away, feeling like she's missed something.

For the record, for all the hype about New York Hot Dogs, they're actually not that spectacular. The pastrami sandwiches, on the other hand.....mmmmmm...

5) America: the drinking age is a whoppin' 21!!!!! Can you imagine?!?!? This means university students CANNOT LEGALLY DRINK ALCOHOL UNTIL THEIR 3rd OR 4th YEAR. Now THAT is ridiculous.

6) America has weird no-name cereal boxes. Example: "Frosted Flakes of Corn"

7) America: What's up with $1 bills? They just trick you into thinking you're loaded, so you go and splurge on something, only to realize as you're counting out bills for the cashier that you are, in fact, only a poser-rich girl. Humiliating. $1 bills just set people up for humiliation.

And THEN I found out that $1 coins actually exist in the States. Who knew? They are much handier, but harder to come by...unless you buy a Subway ticket with a $20 bill, and get 17 dollar coins back in change...

Aight. End o'part one: I feel better now that I have ranted and made a list. How about you? Do you know of any more obvious differences between Americans and Canadians?!?!

Brooklyn Bridge, Downtown, Statue of Liberty and Ikea on a Water Taxi!

2010-09-04T16:48:00.000-06:00

We took the free water taxi to Ikea today. It was brilliant. The American Flag got in the way of the nice view of the NYC Skyline, though...

And again...

The Ikea security guy doesn't look too happy to be there...

Basking in the glow of the American Flag...

The American flag with the Statue of Liberty in the background. Almost makes you tear up, eh?

Destination reached :)

Speaks for itself...

2010-09-02T23:28:00.000-06:00

US Open: Roddick versus Tipsarevic. A sneak peek.

2010-09-02T23:25:00.000-06:00

Breakfast at Tiffany's

2010-09-02T23:23:00.001-06:00

BeachHouse Slideshow!!! Woot woot!

2010-08-27T17:22:00.000-06:00

The In-between Post...or, I should say, the In-between Honduras Trips Post. About, mostly, the BEACH.

2010-07-23T01:06:00.002-06:00
It's official: Hillary Joan Johnstone has been a horrible blogger the last month. For that, she apologizes. Profusely, in fact. She apologizes profusely for keeping her dedicated bloggees (word?) in the dark as to what she's been up to, and what she WILL be up to very soon!

I recently returned from one of my favourite places on Earth: Honduras, Central America. Specifically, the Eternal Family Project home in Puerto Cortes. But of course y'all knew that (notice I said y'all...that's because I spent the last month with Allison. Allison is from Tennessee, where they talk all southern.).

Last time I blogged was pre-beach trip to Tela....I can now say that TELA WAS AMAZING. Amazing amazing. Pictures will come in a while--unfortunately my SD card decided to have a seizure and erase my pics. Thankfully I copied them in Honduras...but I won't get them posted for another month. Anyway, we packed up 5 extra mattresses, food, clothing, 1 wheelchair, and 18 people into the van and drove the 2.5 hours to Tela...For the record, we left ON SCHEDULE, which is a miracle....and NO ONE had to have a bathroom break (an even bigger miracle!). The beach house was kind of hard to find....seeing as our directions were "turn right when you hit the mountain, and take your 1st left after the soccer field. The cabana is the 4th on the right with a mango tree."

Honduras is mountainous.
Every field can be a soccer field to Hondurans.
Every house has a mango tree.

BUT we found it, and survived the bumpy roads in...and we discovered a BEAUTIFUL house with a huge deck and big pool and 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms and air conditioning! It was way bigger and more amazing than the pictures revealed...so we were excited!!!

Our 10 days at the beach in a nutshell:

I climbed about 20 feet up the mango tree and shook out about 40 mangoes...and then scraped myself up pretty badly climbing down. I also fell on the rocks at the beach and sliced my finger; I kind of hope it'll leave a scar.
Some local kids loitered around us for much of the week, and one night they performed and danced the "Punta" for us...which is a specific rhythm/dance in Honduras that is really difficult (especially for this white girl, right here!). The kids got most of the girls to try, and we all cheered each girl on as they "punta-ed"...I had my turn, and I'm pretty sure there's a video out there of me making a complete fool of myself, but having the time of my life!
We had a dance party with all the girls...and played Shakira's Haka Waka Africa song about 7000 times.
Aracely busted out her moves pool-side, in her hot pink swimsuit...and we all killed ourselves laughing. That girl can DANCE.
I'd usually wake up when the first little one got up...and I'd tiptoe outside with her (usually Sarai) and read in the early morning sunlight, pool-side, while she coloured or whispered to me. Early meditation was one of my favourite parts of the beach.
Allison, Yuri and I would walk the beach at sunset...amazing.
In the morning we'd take the girls to the beach before the waves got too big...We'd suit 'em up in lifejackets and wade out past the waves and swim around. The girls really improved in their swimming--by the end of the week, they were paddling into the waves and loving it!
Afternoons: for lazing in the pool and working on our tan...while listening to music...Ruthie and Belkis would even serve me and Allison at the side of the pool! Ahhhhhhh, relaxin' at the beach....
We were ready to return home after 10 days at the beach...and when we got home I tackled the MASSIVE mountain o'laundry from the vacation.

The beach was a highlight of my trip...but I'm certain to have more experiences to blog about in this next month, when I return to Honduras!!! I was very close to prolonging my trip and missing my roomie's wedding...but after much thought and a talk with my mom, I decided to come to Canada for a week and a half to settle some things and see my family before returning for Honduras: Round Two, 2010.

What's in store for Trip 2? A trip to the Lake, to meet the ministries connected to the area and see where Allison plans to move ...a visit to a children's home of a new friend in Siguatepeque, a town in Central Honduras...and a tour/possible week long volunteering stint as a nurse at the hospital/mobile clinic in Siguatepeque where a few of our friends work. This trip looks to be unique and challenging (especially if I volunteer as a nurse in a Spanish-speaking hospital!!!!)...and I'm praying I will learn and grow just as much spiritually as I did my last month in Honduras!

I leave on Tuesday, July 27th for San Pedro Sula, Honduras...and in Honduras I will be until I fly to New York August 30th to visit Boyda and David in their new home for a week. September 6th I return to the Spa Country of Canada to start my 5th (and final) year of my program...

In light of everything that's happening to me, I think a mighty Hallelujah is in store!!!!

Added Pictures of Honduras :)

2010-06-24T15:13:00.001-06:00

Croquet with Hanny, from Germany...

Aracely had a good shot, so she did a little dance...

Gary getting a manicure from Ruthie...

The older girls made bannock with the little ones...

Welcom Belkise, the newest addition to the EFP family!

Hillary in Honduras...Trip #4

2010-06-23T20:31:00.000-06:00
Hey all! Sooooooo I clearly haven't been blogging up a storm at ALL. Internet access has been minimal, what with the desktop's wireless and such cutting in and out...but HEY! I'm ALIVE and WELL in Honduras! Here are a few things I've experienced thus far:
Went to the waterpark in the city with the girls...we were, like, the only ones there for the majority of the day. Don't know how the place stays open. Anyway, I almost had to do CPR on a 4 year old boy. I saw him floating face down in the water just as his grandpa realized he'd fallen in and started screaming and grabbing for him. He hoisted him up to the concrete pad, and was panicking so much that he wasn't doing any good...he even puffed in 2 frantic adult breaths into the poor kid. I came by the child's side and got him sitting up and rubbing his back, encouraging him to breathe--being on the back doesn't exactly facilitate breathing easily, and thankfully this kid was conscious right after being taken out of the water (praise Jesus!). So. It was crazy...but the kid survived.
mmmmm I'm sunburnt. Like a lot. Sunscreeeeeeeeen, Hillary!
Observed a game of croquet between Hanny, a volunteer from Germany, and some of the little ones...see pic below, hopefully!
Woke up at 4 to go see Kyle, Amanda, and volunteers to the airport. On the way I happened to see a 20-something man walking stark naked down the side of the road. I was the ONLY ONE who noticed. A little traumatizing.
Ended up making the decision with Allison NOT to scuba dive this trip...instead, we're spending 10 days with all the little ones at a BEACHHOUSE in TELA! (Tela is a beach town in Honduras, about 3 hours away). Allison found this awesome beachhouse to rent that has AC, a small pool, a deck, and a private beach!!!!!! I don't know HOW private, but STILL. BEACH. For 10 days!!!!! So excited. I'm still disappointed about not going scuba diving...but we just felt it wasn't a good time to go.
Also visited with Gary and Sylvia, 2 of my favourite people in the world!
Ooooh, and we welcomed a new girl! Belkise is a 15 year old who is 5 months pregnant...I was so excited, because I got to go with her to her first ultrasound! We were nervous about finding out the sex of the baby, because if it was a boy, it'd be tricky, what with Allison's house being girls-only (she has good reasons for this...and the poor boy would be the ONLY one in a sea of girls)...but it was so fantastic when the doctor said, "Es una NINA!!!!" It's a GIRL! I am soooooo sad I won't be here for the birth (due date November 12th)....

Okeeee pictures. We'll try uploading: Wait. Not gonna happen now. I'll work on that. Love and miss you ALL, and would LOVE to get an update from you (hint hint)!!

Fernando Torres

2010-05-30T18:55:00.000-06:00
One avid blog reader mentioned that I haven't blogged about my new (old) bike yet. I promptly walked out the door with my camera and took some pictures of Fernando! I am now dreaming up ambitious plans to cycle around the world (or part of it) in August, or whenever....all with Fernando Torres (I wish the real Fernando T. could come along, but he'll be busy recovering after the World Cup. Mmmm, Fernando Torres, I love your freckles. Was that too much information? Okay, back to the bike.)

Introducing: Fernando Renaldo Torres
$50 replacement bike for Martha

I am excited.

Ninja Ruca

2010-05-30T18:40:00.002-06:00

Jolene didn't know what hit her.

And I am fiiiiiiiiinally starting to feel like a real nurse...

2010-05-27T22:17:00.000-06:00
Today (wait....YESTERDAY. It's been a day.), Hillary Joan Johnstone made one small step for nursing-kind. Ish. Well, she (I....) made one giant step in my confidence, anyway! I completed the last remaining "big" skill on the list of "Skills Nurses need before they can be actual Nurses." Here's a sample of that list:

making a bed (including mitre-ing the corner. I never mitre. But I kind of know how. So I pass.)
making a bed with a patient in it. (tough one.)
Dressing changes. LOVE dressing changes. Like the one I did on the motorcycle-accident guy.
injections: Subcutaneous (like Insulin) and Intramuscular (think Hep B shot). I once gave a guy a shot for pain in his *ahem* buttocks right before I cleaned the infected wound that developed after he injected his foot with a mixture of cocaine and vinegar (ouch).
Oh, oral medications, too. And through feeding tubes and such. (remember the stool-softener-on-the-ceiling incident?)
mmmmmm what else. Um. CATHETERS. You know, those tubes that zip into the bladder to collect urine. I once did one on a woman very much in labour, who gave birth about an hour later to a beautiful baby girl.
Naso-gastric tubes for suction or feeding.....(I once did one on an orphan in Honduras because I accidentally pulled it out. ooooops!)
oral/nasal suctioning (had a 4 year old girl, super cute, but who had a genetic disorder that meant she probably wouldn't make it to adulthood....anyway, she couldn't clear her secretions)
IV medications/fluids (ummmmmm I transfused blood once)
there are more, but 10 is a good number...DRUMROLL....I INITIATED MY FIRST IV! Huzzah! I poked a needle with a plastic straw on it into the vein of a 16-year-old boy who had broken his wrist rollerblading. And I got it FIRST TRY. And I WASN'T SHAKING. This poor kid didn't like needles, and was shaking and swearing while I tourniquet-ed and cleansed and poked at a 15 degree angle and flushed and taped and labelled and AHHHHHH. I can hardly believe it; it was textbook. I mean, he was still pretty compliant, despite the swearing, but he wasn't no screaming, kicking 2 year old :) Once I get an IV on a younger kid, I'll be CRAZY excited :) I want to be an IV Queen, but that may take awhile.
Today I drew blood with a butterfly needle on a 3 year old who ingested Tylenol...and I got it first try :) And this little girl was so brave! And she had the BIGGEST blue eyes; oh my goodness. As someone told me earlier today, I'm a sucker for eyes. And there was this ADORABLE 4 month old girl with circulation problems...and a lot of query-appendicitis cases...and a LOT of fevers and diarrhea/vomiting cases.

I love Pediatrics. And I feel like a real nurse. Almost.

Almost.

Part II: Love and The Prodigal Son...and the Prodigal Son's Brother

2010-05-19T20:15:00.001-06:00
Part II: Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen (1994)

2 words to describe this book: Incredibly challenging. Man alive. This excerpt is from a section about the Brother of the Prodigal Son...and the stuff I'm learning about the brother's spiritual attitude is just as revelational as that of the Prodigal Son ;) The Scripture that goes with the excerpt is this:

The elder son...was angry then and refused to go in, and his father came out and began to urge him to come in...The father said, "My son, you are with me always, and all I have is yours. But it was only right we should celebrate and rejoice, because your brother here was dead and has come to life; he was lost and is found."

""In the house of my father there are many places to live," Jesus says. Each child of God has there his or her unique place, all of them places of God. I have to let go of all comparison, all rivalry and competition, and surrender to the Father's love. This requires a leap of faith because I have little experience of non-comparing love and do not know the healing power of such a love. As long as I stay outside in the darkness, I can only remain in the resentful complaint that results from my comparisons. Outside of the light, my younger brother seems to be more loved by the Father than I ; in fact, outside of the light, my younger brother seems to be more loved by the Father than I; in fact, outside of the light, I cannot even see him as my own brother.

God is urging me to come home, to enter into his light, and to discover there that, in God, all people are uniquely and completely loved. In the light of God I can finally see my neighbor as my brother, as the one who belongs as much to God as I do. But outside of God's house, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, lovers and friends become rivals and even enemies; each perpetually plagued by jealousies, suspicions, and resentments...

The return to the "Father from whom all fatherhood takes its name" allows me to let my heavenly Father be the God whose unlimited, unconditional love melts away all resentments and anger and makes me free to love beyond the need to please or find approval."

Rest (Part I)

2010-05-16T10:34:00.000-06:00
I am just finishing up 2 books right now--one is "Messy Spirituality" by Michael Yaconelli, and the second is "The Return of the Prodigal Son" by Henri Nouwen. Both books have been challenging...and not easy reads. They're not a kind of book you can't read right through in one sitting (though you may want to)...because each section is so challenging that you have to put the book down and let the thoughts and truths presented in the text ferment in your mind for awhile.

As I was reading each book yesterday, a specific portion of the text jumped out at me so much that I said to myself, "I want EVERYONE to hear these words!" Of course, the subjects of each portion differ quite a bit...but I still would like to share them with you (providing my blog is not shut down for copyright infringement) So, Part I is from Messy Spirituality, and is about rest (remember...Michael Yaconelli wrote this, 2007). Part II will follow soon.

"Speed damages our souls because living fast consumes every ounce of our energy. Speed has a deafening roar that drowns out the whispering voices of our souls and leaves Jesus as a diminishing speck in the rearview mirror.

Spiritual growth is not running faster, as in more meetings, more Bible studies, and more prayer meetings. Spiritual growth happens when we slow our activity down. If we want to meet Jesus, we can't do it on the run. If we want to stay on the road of faith, we have to hit the brakes, pull over to a rest area, and stop. Christianity is not about inviting Jesus to speed through life with us; it's about noticing Jesus sitting at the rest stop.

Jesus came to give us rest....The ugly truth, however, is that many of us do not know HOW to rest! Actually, we do know how to rest; we simply refuse to rest. Rest is a decision we make. Rest is choosing to do nothing when we have too much to do, slowing down when we feel pressure to go faster, stopping instead of starting. Rest is listening to our weariness and responding to our tiredness, NOT to what is making us tired. Rest is what happens when we say one simple word: "No!" Rest is the ultimate humiliation because in order to rest, we must admit we are not necessary, that the world can get along without us, that God's work does not depend on us. Once we understand how unnecessary we are, only then might we find the right reasons to say yes. Only then might we find the right reasons to decide to BE with Jesus instead of working for him. Only then might we have the courage to take a nap with Jesus."

Pictures: Ruthy's visit!

2010-05-14T08:27:00.002-06:00
If you click on Ruthy's picture, you can view the Picasa album of her trip to Canada!

Ruca made it!

2010-05-06T15:05:00.001-06:00

Ruca making her first snowball!!

Beaverlodge Beaver Photo Shoot!

Tortilla Time!

Ruca and Katrina (also labelled as: Ruca holding a white baby ;))

Anecdotal Tale: Ruca was rubbing her skin yesterday...she looked up at me and said, "I hope I don't turn white while I'm in Canada!"

Hee hee...we're having a good time in Beaverlodge. We'll be driving back to Calgary on Monday! Pray for a fantastic drive ;)

A collection of thoughts.

2010-04-30T23:17:00.001-06:00
Thought #1...
Man alive. Man aliiiiiiive. This has been one cr-A-zy week. But HEY! Ruthy is a-coming after all, and even has a host family in Toronto for Monday to welcome her to Canada before her Tuesday flight to Grande Prairie. PRAISE THE LORD. I am going to CRY when I see her step off that plane. It will be surreal. I will NEVER make the mistake of missing a Transit Visa EVAHHHH AGAIN. Sigh. Yes, I still feel somewhat like an idiot. But I am SO thankful to the team of friends who worked with me to get Ruth here, regardless of the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT'S UNFRIENDLINESS.

Thought #2...
Had a Junior High Sleepover at Alanna's. We watched "Tears of the Sun"...which was severely depressing, if not crazy intense. Wait. It was both. That's a strange figure of speech. ANYWAY. It got me thinking about the brutality of Old Testament wars that were often God-commissioned...And now I'm in a funk about it all. Can't link the God I know today with the God of the Old Testament who is linked to the massacres of men, women and children who were not the "Chosen People." Don't understand this one...don't know if I ever will. The only thing that I can think of: Jesus has something to do with it all...but God doesn't change! He's the same Yesterday, Today and Forever. Hmmm. This one might take awhile.

Thought #3...
Some people have all the luck.

Thought #4...
If it's not ONE thing, it's another.

Thought #5...
Phew. That was CLOSE. I wasn't even close to an A-; and I'm only getting a B+ because of his "rounding-up" rule. Sure doesn't make be feel like a rockstar when I realize it was a 1st-year course.

Thought #6...
I don't ever want to pay taxes.

Thought #7...
You know that solar light I bought? Yeeeeah, it took me over a week to realize it has a SWITCH on it that needs to be turned on in order for it to work.

Solid effort, Hillary. I can't believe you were Valedictorian.

My God is the God who PROVIDES.

2010-04-25T02:57:00.007-06:00

I've had a terrible day. I've spent hours on the phone, pacing my room, trying to find a way over an obstacle that seems to get bigger and bigger. Everything is an uphill battle, and it's so discouraging. Why would God clear the way for us, only to result in this?!? Today I felt like someone kicked me in the stomach...not just me in the stomach, either, but also people I care deeply about. I am so thankful to have friends to surround me with comfort and help...I'm not alone. I am also so thankful that these friends are not placing blame, but working toward a solution as a team.

One of my friends posted the lyrics to this song the other day on her blog. I thought of it today, listened to it, listened to it again, and feel much more at peace. This is my prayer, my praise, my proclamation:
I will bring praise
I will bring praise
No weapon forged against me shall remain
I will rejoice
I will declare
God is my victory and He is here

And this is my prayer in the battle
And triumph is still on its way
I am a conqueror and co-heir with Christ
So firm on His promise I’ll stand

Hillary's life, continued.

2010-04-14T10:31:00.001-06:00
In the past 7 days, I have:
left the headlights on.
locked myself out.
reacted to an eco-friendly, all natural laundry detergent so badly that even after an extra rinse, hives still covered my body for 2 days.
had my first car accident. If you can call it that. I bottomed out on a curb while parking at Rogers Video and sheared off the block-heater cord...and ripped some rubber molding loose on the bumper. Good thing it was an easy fix, 'cause it wasn't my car.
Weird thing is, I seem to have taken it all in stride--largely because of some awesome things that have happened in the past 7 days. See the last post...and the rest of THIS post!

An update on Ruca's visit: her flights are BOOKED! She's coming April 27th-June 16th! We got a very reasonable price for flights, and we've found a sponsor for her trip! AND can I get a Hallelujah--it's all working out that she can volunteer as kitchen help out at Pioneer Camps while I'm busy with my Spring clinical!

An update on my summahhhh: MY flights are booked! What, you ask? You didn't hear? You didn't know? Well, I'm going back to Honduras for a month before my roomie's wedding. I'm returning with Ruca on June 16th, and coming back to Canada July 15th! I am so excited. AND we're planning another scuba diving trip to Utila in that month!!!! As for the rest of my summer, that is still up in the air. As of now, I'm going to be in Canada...I'm rolling a few ideas around in my head, like summer camp, or VBS, or a road trip to Alaska, or simply buying a road bike (finally!) and biking around for a couple hours each day....or actually getting a job as an Undergraduate Nurse Employee, seeing as I need the experience.

Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Concerns? I LOVE COMMENTS ON MY BLOG. Not to beg, or anything.

A week of BIG NEWS.

2010-04-11T22:53:00.002-06:00

Goodness. There's that old saying that bad things come in threes....but THIS week, GOOD things have come in DROVES. I might be exaggerating, but let's go through the week:

Sunday, April 4th: Nothing stands out as Big News. OH WAIT. It was Palm Sunday! JESUS ROSE! That's BIG NEWS! My heart was bursting with joy that day.

An attempt at a group pic at our Sunrise Gathering....my puffy blue-sleeved arm is in the upper left-hand corner.

Monday: Can't remember.

Tuesday: I'm sitting in clinical (by which I mean sitting around in a conference room, doing group work on a poster. For clinical.), and I get a text message from Boyda that makes me shriek. DAVID GOT INTO SUNY. What is SUNY, you ask? It's the State University of New York. This 4 word text message translated: David got into the State University of New York to do his PhD....while Boyda accepted the offer from Fordham University in New York...so BOYDA and DAVID are BOTH doing their PhDS in NEW YORK next year, with full scholarships!!!! Hallelujah! I AM SO EXCITED FOR BOTH OF THEM.

I'm also excited to go there for Christmas.

Wednesday: I believe I watched Sister Act 2 with Alanna and Cherie and about died of happiness. Somehow Sister Act 2 is only rated a 4.7/10 on imdb.com. They obviously haven't seen it.

Thursday: My memory is fuzzy. Oh. I left the headlights on on the car I'm borrowing while I'm housesitting. That wasn't great. Instead of paying $45 for AMA to come boost me (or the car, I should say), I walked to an elderly neighbour's house and asked politely if he could help me out. Within 10 minutes, the car was running!! I'm pretty sure he thought I was a punk student...but I was sooooo grateful! I then proceeded to drive around for 30 minutes to recharge the battery. Also, I had a fun dinnah with Boyda and David in Bowness! Except I didn't do the dishes from that dinnah until Sunday. Yikes.

Friday: I locked myself out of the house. Thankfully, the sleeping neighbour had an extra key. WAIT. FRIDAY was a HUGE day! Why? Because Allison phoned and informed me that RUCA'S VISA WAS APPROVED to come visit me in Canada!!!!! Ruca is coming! Allison and I had this wild idea to have Ruca come visit me for a few weeks, and so we applied for her Visa annnnnnnnd it's approved! She'll be here around April 23rd (only 2 weeks away!) and come on a road trip up north to Beaverlodge with me. We're also looking into having her volunteer as kitchen help at Pioneer Ranch Camps, but that's still speculative...

Saturday: Continued happiness about Ruca coming and Boyda and David's news. Course Instructor sends an email about Spring Clinical Placements...but forgets to attach the file. For the next 20 hours, 3rd year nursing students are in agony, wondering where they're placed.

Sunday: Attachment about Spring Clinical is sent. Annnnnnd I'm NOT in Pediatric ER; I'm at Foothills on a unit I've already been on, with an instructor I've already had. I burst into tears. BUT WAIT. There's a glimmer of hope. I don't concede defeat without a fight. In a last ditch effort, I email someone from the Pediatric ER group, asking if she'll switch. SHE AGREES. We email the course coordinator, and it's DONE! I'm in Pediatric Emergency for my Spring Clinical!

And that is my week. Crazy, no? Can I get a HALLELUJAH?!?

This is Lhotse.

2010-04-01T11:53:00.001-06:00

This is Lhotse licking me while I try and get a group shot.

This is Lhotse wondering what I'm doing.

This is Lhotse looking at something distracting.

This is Lhotse yawning, as I'm a bit of a boring dogsitter.

This is Lhotse licking me again. She likes to lick.
I'm learning a lot about dogs. For example: they are time-consuming, and give dog-sitters like me guilt trips with their sad, pleading puppy-dog looks. They hit people with their tails. They LOVE going for walks. They demand attention. They are cuddly. Sometimes. They are freaked out by guitars. Well, at least Lhotse is.

Good times dogsitting in Bowness.

P.U.B.L.I.S.H.E.D

2010-03-26T00:29:00.000-06:00
Online first...paper to follow....the ABSTRACT to my PUBLISHED PAPER in the Journal of Family Nursing. If you're a university student, you can read the whole thing when you go to the site below through your university...otherwise, the Abstract is free!

http://jfn.sagepub.com/cgi/content/abstract/1074840710365148v1

P.U.B.L.I.S.H.E.D

ZOO

2010-03-17T16:17:00.002-06:00
I'm trying not to get discouraged at the fact that no one commented on my last post... Instead, I'm going to post MORE pictures of ANIMALS in an effort to get blog popularity up :-)

After working so hard on our Community Action Project, my clinical group decided to do some team-building at the ZOO. What a life I lead, eh? Here are a few pics of the smaller friends we found...

Mr. Chameleon

Contemplative.

Glub...glub...glub.

I want a Red Panda.

All these animals makes me think of how I get to dog-sit from March 26-April 10th! Yay! I'll be living in Bowness with "Lohtzee," a super-friendly and loving yellow lab, and I'm sooooo excited for the "vacation." At this moment I really want a dog, and I also want to live in Bowness--hopefully these 2 weeks will be enough for me. I'll be sure to take pics of Lohtzee and introduce her to y'all...

Our own small-scale version of the Olympics...

2010-02-28T17:15:00.003-07:00
WOOOO! JUST finished watching the Canadian men's hockey team win GOLD...and we now hold the record for all-time Gold medals evahhhhhh. Solid.

Anyway.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been a part of 2 epic sports events. One technically was recreational--without the competitive component...while the other was an actual tournament. Both made me think of the Olympics (because one was cross-country skiing, and the other was...competitive), and they were pretty fun...

EVENT ONE: CROSS COUNTRY SKIING in KANANASKIS...
NUMBER OF TEAM MEMBERS: 6
RESULT: AN AWESOME DAY OF SNOW, EXERCISE, SNOW, FOOD, EXHAUSTION, EXERCISE and...FRIENDS.

EVENT TWO: NURSING DODGEBALL TOURNAMENT turned VOLLEYBALL/SOCCER TOURNAMENT
NUMBER OF TEAM MEMBERS: 8 CRAZY PRIMITIVE NURSES
RESULT: A GONG SHOW. GOLD in TEAM SPIRIT and SILVER in OVERALL STANDINGS

How did your two weeks of Olympics go?