I recently decided to take a hiatus from my job. Actually, it was more a passion than it was a job. I had the privilege of helping to turn victims of sexual assault into survivors.  At all hours of the day and night, they came, every age, from every walk of life, to find a way to make sense of what happened and learn how to move forward. Always, I assured them they had done the right thing to seek treatment. They could become whole again. They never asked for this heinous assault to happen, but the gift of time (and if desired, therapy) would make them stronger. Such a wondrous, yet exhausting endeavor for both victim and nurse alike.

Assault nursing can drain one's soul if you let it. I believe that in my 8 years of SANE nursing I made a difference for many. For each victim I had between 2 and 5 hours to listen to their story, examine them, gather evidence, medicate them and find a way to help them see that tomorrow would come, and they would be able to walk away from their horrid assault with their integrity and personhood relatively intact. I would always show them every bit of mercy my heart held.

We all have a story to tell. Let me clarify; this blog entry I write here is about YOUR book.

Since day one we have all been authoring a paperless memoir. Know it or not, all the decades of your life, good and bad, happy and sad have contributed to every page in every chapter of your life.

In looking back, many of us would wish many chapters could be penned by a ghost writer so we'd never have to go back and revisit times we'd really rather forget. Other chapters might need tweaking; those times you wish you could have planned differently or made alternative choices. Sadly, but in truth, if we omitted any part of our lives, we would not be who we are.

They say, "April showers bring May flowers," but I've decided the May flowers aren't the only compensation for the rain.

Have you ever gone outside just after a soaking rain and seen how new and vibrant the green grass is? All that before seemed so very ordinary, now sparkles and dances as it dries off in the sun. It's almost as if all things have come to a newness.

I guess it's all in a day's work. I feed my chickens and ducks, collect their eggs, then move along to the next chore in and around our 1830's farmhouse. But I often wonder; are these really "chores" and "work?"

In my case, no. To me, they are healing. When I feed my chickens and ducks, I feed my own soul. They are ridiculously happy to greet me as I enter their coops, and eagerly devour the treats I give them daily. The eggs are plentiful, but I could never feel okay selling them; I give them to sweet neighbors and friends as a reminder that we ALL need to pay it forward.

You and I, we walk down this road together through every season. Not even inclement weather stops us, because we are strong. We are united. We hold one another's hearts and lift them if they fear they might flail or fall. 

Both flailing and falling are temporary, like tears that roll down our faces and drip like rain down our window panes. After a while, both tears and rain come to an end. But we, we are STILL HERE