Tonight I cried in class, in front of my students.
I was facilitating a discussion about ethics in the NICU and was sharing about how our book encouraged physicians to come alongside of parents and share the burden of withdrawing support for their baby. The book illustrates how when physicians help carry the weight of withdraw, parents feel less guilt and responsibility.
As I was teaching my lesson, one of my students spoke up. She had to make the decision to withdraw support from her child who was terminally ill years ago. Our conversation struck a chord within her and she was overcome with emotion and had to walk out of our class. Her response overwhelmed me and I felt so helpless. I really didn't know what to do or how to respond (we all know how horrible I am at showing emotion). As my students looked to me for what to do, I asked if we could pray for their classmate. I had no clue what else to do. They all agreed.
As I prayed, asking God to wash his peace over my student, I broke. My student had made a decisions that none of us ever want to make. As I asked God for His peace, His guidance, His comfort, I was overwhelmed with His ability to provide those things. I was overwhelmed with His presence with us in the deepest valleys and the darkest of days. When that horrible decision had to be made, He was with her. His constant presence in our lives, through the worst of the worst, it amazes me. As I struggled to find the words to pray, the words to ask for peace, the words begging for God to use us in the lives of these children and their families, my heart just broke.
As we engage with families and patients going through the worst season of their lives, He is with us. He calls us to comfort the broken heart to proclaim freedom for the prisoner. (Isaiah 61) Maybe that freedom is physical freedom from the prison of disease and pain. Maybe it is a physical freedom from the suffering of this life. He has called us to comfort those who mourn. He calls us to "bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair." I've always loved these verses, but tonight they came alive in a new way.
In the field that HE has called me to, there are times where I am literally working with children who have been burned and disfigured from fire. When there is fire, there is ash. He sees beauty in these kids who have been disfigured and whose physical body is anything but beautiful. And yet He sees their beauty and calls me to do the same. I've worked with so many families who have experienced despair and loss and grief . . . these families often feel hopeless and lost and forgotten. Still He calls me. He calls me to help restore joy and wholeness, to provide a means to navigate through situations that test their very being.
As I think about tonight's class I am reminded of the importance of being real, of allowing myself to feel deeply and to allow the Holy Spirit to work in me . . . even if that means letting myself cry. In front of my students! Once we were able to compose ourselves we had the most amazing conversation about the confidence we have in Christ. We talked about the hope of something more, the hope of heaven and wholeness. The reassurance and peace that comes from knowing that someone bigger than ourselves has a plan and is control.
