Yesterday, I officially finished nursing school. There were no fireworks, no parade, no whistling or clapping or cheering. It was just...I signed all my final evaluations and turned in my last little paper, and it was all over. I pulled into my apartment complex and snapped a picture of myself, to make the announcement on social media. I had no idea, then, that it would be the most-liked and commented-on picture I have ever posted. I received comments and likes from people I haven’t heard from in YEARS. It was shocking that 300+ people cared about my nursing school journey and the fact that I made it to the end. Most of the comments were things like “way to go!” “you did it!” “you have worked so hard!” “you are a rockstar!” and I found myself wanting to curl up into a ball a little bit because the truth is this: I originally wanted the caption of the picture to be “We finished nursing school today.” Not ‘we’ as in the class of May 2016, but ‘we’ as in all the friends, family, and strangers who have helped me for the past 22 years, and me. I did not complete nursing school...or Baylor...or high school...or middle, or elementary...or my toddler years...in a vacuum. This may seem obvious, and in theory I think we all recognize its truth, but in practice we don’t always live like we believe it. We’re incredibly intent on, possibly even idolatrous of, individual achievement. But it’s only a myth...an often dangerous one, at that. When we allow ourselves, our culture, to embrace the Myth of Individual Achievement, we give ourselves FAR too much credit. In seeing ourselves as people who can accomplish things “all by ourselves,” we inherently view others that way too. “If SHE did it, why can’t I?” “He made it happen--I can too.” We simply do not give enough credence, in practice, to the ways in which we are supported, built up, helped along, given breaks, and connected to others. We also don’t give enough credence to our circumstances--the type of home in which we were raised; the financial capabilities of our parents; the color of our skin; our external appearances. ALL OF THESE THINGS are factors that help us succeed, or sometimes keep us from being able to do so. Most importantly, ALL OF THEM are OUTSIDE OF OUR INDIVIDUAL CONTROL. The other day, I learned about multi-billionaire Sean Parker, one of the founders of Facebook. Wikipedia described him as a “self-made billionaire,” and I shook my head. ZERO PEOPLE are self-made anythings. Sean was born with an incredible mind, sure. At 15 years old he was making $80,000 a year because of his technological inventions. How? Through sheer self-determination? Well, a bit. But also because his parents let him use the family computer, which they were financially cabale of purchasing. And because he had a roof over his head and a bedroom in which to sleep and a mom to cook him meals so that he could spend his time working on his inventions. He had good friends who were also smart, with whom he collaborated, and a family environment stable enough that he was not psychologically damaged as a child. Then, he happened to be at the right place in the right time, befriending Mark Zuckerberg...and on and on and on. More and more, this narrative of “pull yourself up by your boot straps and you can become whatever you want to be,” isn’t jiving. I actually am not where I am solely because of “hard work and determination”. I think that narrative is both false and destructive. We need to be more nuanced than that. For one, I am here (a woman educated, able to vote, etc.) in part because of the suffragist movement. For two, I’m here (financially stable, able to own land, with parents who own land and a house) because at one point the government gave my ancestors money to homestead and farm, up north and out west. For three, I’m here (with minimal college debt, money in my bank account, and promising job prospects) because I had the good fortune of attending a solid high school with teachers who really cared, so I received nearly half of my Baylor tuition on merit scholarships. I have money in my bank account because I have an strong support system and therefore was able to pass nursing school with honors and hold down a job at the same time; and I have promising job prospects because I happen to know “the right people” and have a vast network of friends and family (and strangers) to connect me to the right people. Yesterday, my car broke down...twice. The first time, I had to buy a new battery. The second time, my alternator went out and both my alternator and A/C belts were shot. It was a $700 day that could have been stressful and exhausting, but it was neither. Why? Because I have parents who pay for me to have an annual AAA membership (so all I have to do is make one phone call when I have a problem, and someone comes to wherever I am, within an hour, and helps me) and because all the people who helped me yesterday did HUGE favors that were 100% outside of normal operating procedures to replace my alternator and my belts before 5pm. Also because I have an “emergency family credit card” in my wallet, so I simply charged all the expenses to that and didn’t give it a second thought. I’ll reimburse my parents at some point, but it’s not like I’ll be wanting between now and then. For some people, a spontaneous $700 day of car repairs would send them into debt...or break them. When I ended up in the emergency room with heart problems last week, my mom was on a plane by 3am and by my side by 2pm the next day. How? Because we have airline miles stocked up (my dad’s job used to fly him back and forth to China so often) and money saved for “emergency flights.” I bet there are a lot of mamas whose babies end up in the emergency room who simply cannot afford a plane ticket to “get there in time.” I’d bet my life on it. For the past four years, I’ve been receiving $20 bills in the mail, and sometimes checks for more, from my grandpa in Minnesota. They’re always a surprise, and I never expect them to come...yet faithfully, they do. Most of my gas since college began has been paid for this way.
When my family lived in Texas, they let me take “whatever I needed” from the house every time I came home. I don’t think I’ve had to buy toilet paper, paper towels, almond milk, coffee, flour, or sugar in four years. My Nana bought my bed and couch from an auction one Easter...and my down comforter, too. My printer is Dad’s old one, and Jake gave me the dresser from his bedroom. When school was overwhelming, Trent and Bree would encourage me to the nth degree. When I needed to verbally process with someone who could reply immediately, Paige was on the other end of Voxer. My Baylor friends Skyped and called and kept the Family Group Text going, for comic relief, and faithful pen pals from high school and college continue to write. Vanessa sent me a box of love that arrived on a horrible day, in the rain; Suzanne still leaves me voicemails telling me she loves me; Nicole gives me permission to let my hair down; Sydnie leaves the kindest comments on my instagram. Mentors from home (too numerous to list, honestly) have been cheering me on since I was a little girl. Aunnie, Uncle Greg, Jennie, and Stephen love me like none other, and Grandma bought me rainboots. Alli keeps me grounded and will forever be my Roomie--our memories together are unending. I have a dozen “second families,” and my second moms take care of me like I’m their own. The Starnes let me sleep at their house and fed me for over half the weekends of my nursing school career; the Falcones let me keep 33 boxes stacked in their family room; Elizabeth and Jimmy taught me about Jesus. The Ecclesia staff let the church become my “home away from home,” and my introverted self spent countless hours down on the couches around the church offices, doing school work and reading. Luke and Phil helped me stay sane by forcing study breaks (“wanna grab a beer after we get off work?”), and my PaperCo coworkers provided an incredibly fun environment in which to work and make tips. Aunt Michelle & Uncle Rex, Laura & Justin have been just a phone call away. Truthfully, this list is only the tip of the iceburg. So what I want to say is: Thank You. It’s easy to believe that I’m pretty darn great and smart and hardworking and put together, until I stop and think about it for half a second. If I am working toward becoming any of those things, it is only because I am loved so well by you all. We did it. We finished nursing school. Let’s keep doing life together--we make a good team.
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Four years ago today, I opened the doors to my castle-home. To this day, on the 15th of every month, I change my contacts. Because on the 15th of September, 2011, I flew across the world and landed in London--and on that day, I began to see my entire life in a new light. And so, still, I mark the 15th of each month with new contacts--new Sight. And I mark the 24th with remembrance and nostalgia. Three years ago, I sat in a dull library at Baylor and wrote this reflection. At that time, I yet to make a single Baylor-friend. There's a pattern here--it takes me a very. long. time. to make friends in new places. And now here I am, at nursing school in Houston, and I can add "Baylor friends" to the list of "bible school friends" and "childhood friends" who will grace my wedding. Time is a beautiful thing. Friends are, too. One year ago today, I walked through that massive old English door with the much-too-heavy iron latch, and I had absolutely no idea what I was stepping into. My grandmother was there; that dear, sweet lady who had trekked through London with me for ten days–never complaining of swollen feet, never skipping a beat. Sure, she needed her nightly glass of wine, but I didn’t mind. We had walked and walked and walked. Seen every sight there was to see. Shopped til’ we dropped. Prettied ourselves up for musicals like Wicked and Mama Mia. Ate expensive granola from our favourite corner store and had too-much-pub-food-to-properly-stomach. We did London proud. And then there we were. Together, in my castle. In my new home. My. New. Home. Wow. She and others helped carry my suitcases (yes, there were four) up the grand staircase where the chandellier glowed overhead. I was the first to arrive in my room. Number 12. I’ll never forget it. Grandma hung my clothes and settled me in. I remember feeling so overwhelmed. Thinking “what have I gotten myself into?” Kind sonnets of “goodbyes” from home rang through my head. Things like: “You are going to have the time of your life!” Excited, I was. But nervous too. Nervous because I wasn’t really sure I wanted to make friends. I had planned on it just being me and God, ya know? Six months of quiet time with Him. Six months by myself…to read, write, pray, and learn. Six months without getting hurt; without putting my heart out there to risk getting broken; without relationships. Yes, that was the plan. Just me and God. No one was going to get in the way. This little heart of mine was bound up, closed-off, and boarded to the top. The brick wall was going to stand. Simple as that. …and then Amy arrived. The first of the roommates. I think I said a few words to her. Wasn’t really interested in becoming friends. I had better things to do. Remember that “me and God” stuff? Yeah, that. But my grandma was much kinder. She talked to Amy. (Gram loves to talk) And Amy would tell me later that my grandmother said more to her in those first few minutes than I did in the first few days. Silly me. The other roommates slowly trickled in. One, then two, then four; until there were seven of us in all. Seven. Seven Strangers who, over the course of 6 months, would become Seven Sisters. Seven Soul Sisters. Yes, I like that. The first days were like a blur. So many people. And oh, the names! Name after name after name. A new table every meal. New faces everywhere. New food. New, new, new. Two weeks went by. Then three. And soon, a month. I had made some acquaintances, but found myself quite often in my little corner of the room. Just me and God. Remember that? And then the story gets interesting… It seemed as quickly as I blinked, those seven strangers had become my friends. Oh, the joy! The movie nights and late-night talks of politics. The testimony-sharing and cake-in-a-bowl eating and peanut-butter-making. The hair-doing and clothes-wearing and back-rubbing. Seven Soul Sisters. That’s what we were. Christmas break found us leaving our sweet room 12 and embarking on new journeys. Upon our return, new rooms were assigned, and we didn’t see as much of each other as before. But our time in #12 was special, significant, heart-searing. Soul-worthy. Other friends came along and dragged me out of my cave. Annie and Jared and Grayson. Justin and Nathan and Eliana. Elyssa and Courtney and Kent. There were ten. And then came dancing and movie nights in the freezing ping-pong room and speaker-borrowing and canal-walking and tea-shopping. And movie-making, and adventure-taking, and river-crossing and cab-getting. We had our table…in the back corner. Yes, that table…it was special. Holding hands before each meal as we thanked our Heavenly Father for blessed friendships. Eating fat-making food together and strange desserts with glitter. Chasing sheep and wearing wellies. This was the life! Spring arrived, and goodbyes happened. They were hard, yes, but our spirits are entwined. The friendships go on… I travelled another three months and then went home. Well, went to a home; I have two now. But something had changed within me. All those well-wishers who sent me off with phrases of well-wishing were right. I had made friends. Real, true, Jesus-centred friends. I didn’t have to hole myself up in my cave so I could have six months of “Me-and-God time;” every day I interacted with God on a new and different level…. because those friends showed me more of the character of God than anyone ever had So it was me and God every day. All day. Me and God and me and God-in-them. As close to Heaven as I’ve ever been. Maybe this is what Heaven is. The Jesus-in-them freed me. Freed me to live, to truly live. Freed me from the pressures of disappointed expectations. Freed me to love with abandon. Freed me to be filled with the Holy Spirit. You know, when I left home, people had said, “taking a break between high school and college is a bad idea. Many kids end up never actually going back.” I had disregarded all the nay-sayers. I thought, “of course I’m going to college. What difference is a short break going to make?” But I am realizing they were right. After living a real-life fairy-tale for a year, college does not come easily. I feel almost as if that castle was it and now it’s time to be done. And then again, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t have to be 6,000 miles across the ocean to find out what it means to truly live. Maybe it wasn’t so much the Jesus around as the Jesus inside. That Jesus is still here. Right here. In my soul. And with His strength, studying here will be life-changing in other ways. Different, but still changing. My growing isn’t done; and I think I thought it was. I thought I figured it all out in the castle; the secret to life and love and joy and peace and fullness. But the secret wasn’t the place. The secret was the person. And where Jesus Christ is, that is where I find life in abundance. So today, I am nostalgic. Remembering an adventure that once-was and is no longer. From that, I have left only memories. Precious, timeless memories. A new adventure awaits. A new adventure has already begun. Yes, it’s a sleep-deprived, library-ridden, textbook-reading, flashcard-making, lecture-listening adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. When I think about my wedding (which is more often than I should,) I smile because there, my worlds will collide for the first time. The castle-people will be there, and these college-people will be there, and the childhood-people will be there, and everyone in-between will be there. Well, that’s the dream. And while it might not become a reality at mine, it will become a reality at His. One day, the Bridegroom and the Bride will walk hand-in-hand. And we’ll all be there. Together, again. In the most beautiful reunion since the dawn of Creation. I can only imagine. {original post found here} ...and here's a little compilation of our six months of nightly post-dinner dancing in the gym--some of my life's fondest memories. Dancing is one of the "places" I feel most loved. Around a campfire...or on a friend's couch...are others. <3 |
hey, i'm jordan.wife to one, mama to four, bible-believing christian. Archives
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