- It surprised me to discover that I am apparently allergic to the adhesive glue on medical tape. The spots on my arm where the medical tape was after the blood I had drawn yesterday afternoon are an angry, irritated, bright red today. Tender and a bit raw. I have lots of allergies, but this one is new.
- It surprised me to discover that I still have the capacity to read a lot of very finely detailed information about a topic that I would not normally be interested in, because need to care about because now it's going to affect me directly, and that I had the capacity to pursue answers to some questions on that topic when they weren't clear in the information I was reading.
- It surprised me when a pharmacist actually called me back, in a short period of time, with the further information she'd promised to track down and get back to me on. I find it disturbing that it surprises me when good service is provided, but I was really grateful in this case.
- It surprised me when an "experimental" (read, "no recipe, just an inclination in my head") dinner turned out to be more than just okay, but actually really tasty. I'll definitely be cooking with ground chicken and black beans again.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Capacity for Surprise
They say that if you can be surprised, it is a sign you're still alive... I'm not sure how true it is, but a few different things have surprised me in the last 48 hours or so, and I thought I'd share.
The Aging Process
I had an unexpectedly amusing moment this morning while conferring with my eye doctor.
First, you should know that I've been seeing the same eye doctor since I first started wearing glasses at age 11. He specializes in lazy eyes (which I have in my left eye) and does a great job, so I keep going back. He was old and slightly odd when I was 11, and he's exactly the same now. Old and slightly odd. The same slight social awkwardness and stutter. The same overly bookish and intellectual nature that makes you think he'd be perfectly at home if he really didn't ever have to talk with another human being ever again. And a refusal to wear bifocals, so he's constantly tugging his own glasses on and off while trying to read the fine print on the dials of his various machines.
I was there to see him for the annual check-up, and to discuss a minor concern I'd had about the vision in my good eye. He explained to me what caused the small floating spot in the vision that had concerned me, and assured me that it was nothing to worry about. His choice of words, however, made me crack up.
"It's part of the aging process."
Oh, that made me laugh when I was free of the confines of the dim little examining room in his office!
If I'm experiencing the "aging process" at 25, what will it be like when I'm the perpetually "old" person that he seems to be?!?!
First, you should know that I've been seeing the same eye doctor since I first started wearing glasses at age 11. He specializes in lazy eyes (which I have in my left eye) and does a great job, so I keep going back. He was old and slightly odd when I was 11, and he's exactly the same now. Old and slightly odd. The same slight social awkwardness and stutter. The same overly bookish and intellectual nature that makes you think he'd be perfectly at home if he really didn't ever have to talk with another human being ever again. And a refusal to wear bifocals, so he's constantly tugging his own glasses on and off while trying to read the fine print on the dials of his various machines.
I was there to see him for the annual check-up, and to discuss a minor concern I'd had about the vision in my good eye. He explained to me what caused the small floating spot in the vision that had concerned me, and assured me that it was nothing to worry about. His choice of words, however, made me crack up.
"It's part of the aging process."
Oh, that made me laugh when I was free of the confines of the dim little examining room in his office!
If I'm experiencing the "aging process" at 25, what will it be like when I'm the perpetually "old" person that he seems to be?!?!
In the same vein...
In the same vein as the quote I just posted from Henri Nouwen, is this reminder from Clare of Assisi, which, amusingly enough, appeared in a calendar that was also a gift from the friend I visited over the weekend. Each day with a quote from a different female saint. I put the calendar on my desk at work, and was flipping through to find today's date, when Clare's name caught my eye. I have a particular affinity for Clare of Assisi, for a wide variety of reasons, and I wear a saint medallion with her image on it around my neck most days, as a reminder of some deep and hope-filled things.
This quote appeared on the calendar a few days back, and touched strongly on the theme of joy that I'd discussed at some length with my friend over the weekend, both making me chuckle at the timing, and groan as the truth of the words added to the challenges spoken by my friend to my heart:
This quote appeared on the calendar a few days back, and touched strongly on the theme of joy that I'd discussed at some length with my friend over the weekend, both making me chuckle at the timing, and groan as the truth of the words added to the challenges spoken by my friend to my heart:
"Melancholy is the poison of devotion. When one is in tribulation, it is necessary to be more happy and more joyful because one is nearer to God." (Clare of Assisi)
This one is hitting hard
This thought from Henri Nouwen arrived in my inbox several weeks ago. As I was sorting through the emails from the Henri Nouwen society that I've flagged to share on my blog at some point, this one jumped out at me.
Life has not been easy this last while, and joy has been rather hard to come by.
I flew across the country this last weekend to be with a dear friend who consistently reminds me that "crushed grapes can produce tasty wine." A friend who would offer advice in truth, even when I can't always yet feel the truth of what she says. I needed the challenges she offered, hard as they were at moments to hear.
And I'm grateful for her voice, and others, who remind me of the truths I've struggled to cling to.
Henri writes:
Friends as Reminders of Our Truth
Sometimes our sorrow overwhelms us so much that we no longer can believe in joy. Life just seems a cup filled to the brim with war, violence, rejection, loneliness, and endless disappointments.
At times like this we need our friends to remind us that crushed grapes can produce tasty wine. It might be hard for us to trust that any joy can come from our sorrow, but when we start taking steps in the direction of our friends' advice, even when we ourselves are not yet able to feel the truth of what they say, the joy that seemed to be lost may be found again and our sorrow may become livable.
Life has not been easy this last while, and joy has been rather hard to come by.
I flew across the country this last weekend to be with a dear friend who consistently reminds me that "crushed grapes can produce tasty wine." A friend who would offer advice in truth, even when I can't always yet feel the truth of what she says. I needed the challenges she offered, hard as they were at moments to hear.
And I'm grateful for her voice, and others, who remind me of the truths I've struggled to cling to.
Henri writes:
Friends as Reminders of Our Truth
Sometimes our sorrow overwhelms us so much that we no longer can believe in joy. Life just seems a cup filled to the brim with war, violence, rejection, loneliness, and endless disappointments.
At times like this we need our friends to remind us that crushed grapes can produce tasty wine. It might be hard for us to trust that any joy can come from our sorrow, but when we start taking steps in the direction of our friends' advice, even when we ourselves are not yet able to feel the truth of what they say, the joy that seemed to be lost may be found again and our sorrow may become livable.
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