Lord, teach me to be generous.

Teach me to spend the morning with her like we've got the whole day in front of us - luxuriously unhurried, devotedly present. Teach me to linger over first cups of milk and breakfast with baby dolls. Teach me to walk out the door with a smile on my face so that she'll only remember me as happy.

Teach me to serve you as you deserve.

Teach me to recognize you in other people's children when I wish I could be cuddling my own. Teach me to meet each patient with kindness in my voice and compassion in my heart. Teach me to listen, to question, to heal.

To give and not to count the cost.

Teach me to take it one day at a time. Teach me to cherish this breath - to live today without worrying about weekend rounds or overnight calls. Teach me to measure my days in service to you, not in moments lost with her.

To fight and not to heed the wounds.

Teach me to smile when I would rather cry, laugh when I would rather protest. Teach me to leave old hurts where they belong and to face each new challenge with courage and reliance on your grace.

To toil and not to seek for rest.

Teach me to greet her with open arms at the end of the day. Teach me to leave work at work and just be her mother 100%. Teach me to smile, laugh, tickle, and snuggle to the fullest each minute until bedtime.

To labor and not to ask for reward...

Teach me to walk through this life with humility and gratitude for all you have blessed me with. Teach me to savor bath time and story time and last-minute snuggles before bed. Teach me to whisper that I love her each night so that she'll never forget that eternal truth.

...save that of knowing that I am doing your will.

Teach me to be obedient to you. Teach me to lay at the foot of the Cross my feelings and frustrations, dreams and desires. Teach me to discern your will, Lord, and to separate it from my own ideas about happiness, purpose and fulfillment.


This first week back on rotations is hard. In some ways it is easier than when I went back the first time. G was 11 weeks old then. I was pumping and stressed about my milk supply. I still had half of my third year to finish. Now she is 18 months old, no longer dependent on me for physical nourishment. There is no need to drag my black Medela bag with me everywhere or scout out places to pump every 4 hours. I have only a handful of electives and residency interviews left before graduation.

But in other ways it is harder. I had a glimpse of life at home with her this past year (even if it was only part of the time) and it is so very hard to give that up. I am mourning the loss of our slow morning routine - breakfast and playtime, walks to the market, naps in the stroller. I am thinking of all the tiny, insignificant moments with her that I'll miss; all the chances to experience the sublime and mundane realities of her toddler years.

I am trying to take it one day at a time, to focus on this rotation and this rotation only - not my Acting Internship or interview season, not intern year or inpatient services or questions of fellowships. Just today. Just these 8, 10, 12 hours until I see her again.

It will get better, my husband reminded me gently yesterday evening. It always gets better.

And that is probably true. Transitions are the hardest for me - I don't like the feeling of being caught between two realities.

But that is how we live in this life - caught between heaven and earth. Made from dust and returning to it, but knowing that our Creator calls us to something more.