When I was in gastroenterology, we spent our entire day talking about the digestive system. One of the conditions that was particularly hard to treat was diabetic gastroparesis. These patients often get full early, and stay full for a very long time because their stomachs don’t empty normally. Among other problems, they essentially end up with a lack of hunger. (Who would have ever thought that NOT having hunger would be a disease?)

The Bible talks about hungering after righteousness, after God.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” Matthew 5:6 NIV

“Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.” Luke 6:21 NIV

The trouble is that hunger is not a very comfortable situation in which to be. I’ve often thought about wanting to hunger and thirst after God as something good, something pleasant. But hunger, by its very nature, is painful.

There’s a big difference between a desire and hunger. Hunger goes beyond desire to a physical discomfort of craving. A bowl of salted caramel ice cream sounds good to me right now. One could even say that I DESIRE to have at least a spoonful. But am I hungry? No. No hunger pangs. No stomach rumbling. But if I eat the desired salted caramel ice cream, I actually shortcut hunger.

Ken Gire speaks on the subject of spiritual hunger in The Reflective Life.

“Because hunger hurts, though, we try to take the edge off it in any way we can. One of those ways is with religious activity. And that can include the activity of reading books, listening to tapes, or going to seminars. Through these things, which are often very good things, even nourishing things, we are fed by the experiences of others. But they are not our experiences. I can read a psalm about David crying out from a cave in the wilderness, and I should read that psalm, but it is not my psalm. It is not my psalm because it is not my cave, not my wilderness, and not my tears.”

My pain. My cave. My wilderness. These create a true hunger.

There’s no easy substitution for hunger. In a world of self-sufficiency, my faith can be hampered by shortcutting hunger. Do I snack on the spiritual experiences of others, rather than working through and learning from my own? Probably more often than I’d like to think.

In the same way that eating at the first desire for food without true hunger creates overweight people, feeding off of the experiences of others without allowing true hunger for God creates overfed Christians.

How do we create true hunger for righteousness rather than snacking on the experiences of others?

Many times we find ourselves in stages of life in which we tangibly feel the need for God’s healing or provision.  I think at times we have to carefully and prayerfully create vacuum of need that only God can fill, not by sinning so that “grace may abound,” but by stretching ourselves outside of what is spiritually, physically, or financially comfortable. Perhaps by supporting a ministry financially when we’re not sure how God will provide for our needs. Maybe by engaging in spiritual disciplines, like fasting, that remind us of our hunger for God. Possibly attempting something that without God’s help would be a sure failure.

So here’s what I’m contemplating: How am I continually cultivating a hunger for God?

I really dislike September 11.

I’m sure there were good things that happened on September 11, 2001.

Babies were born.
People were married.
Birthdays were celebrated.

But all these were overshadowed by commercial airlines flown by terrorists crashing into buildings containing people.
People like you and me.
People who dreaded a Monday morning.
People who enjoyed a walk on a beach and a dinner with loved ones.
People with 1.75 children.
People with two slightly mischievous dogs.
They were civilians involuntarily involved in a war they didn’t initiate.

On September 11, 2001, I was preparing to give my first quiz in my first year of teaching at IWU. Back in the day when I had a 5 minute commute, I was on my way out the door when I caught a glimpse of a building on fire. Not sure if it was current news or where the building was, I headed out the door. The day had to continue.

Even by the time I got to work across the street, the details were coming in. My tender-hearted secretary tearfully filled me in on the details. It was a commercial airliner. It was the World Trade Center. Thousands of people had just arrived to work. Hundreds if not thousands were dead already. But the day had to continue.

I taught three sections of lab that day, getting updates from the secretary in between classes.
Each report was bleaker than the one before.
A second building was hit.
One tower fell.
Then the other.
The Pentagon.
A field in Pennsylvania.

I just wanted to cancel classes for the day. How can we talk about tissues of the body when it we’ve just gone to war against a vicious enemy?

It was a terrible unforgettable day.

If there was anything good to come of that day, I believe it was that it united America against its enemies. The terrorists awoke the “sleeping giant.” We were unified in our anger and in our tears. For weeks, there was an outpouring of love for victims, and a grounding of so many normal activities. We sat huddled around our televisions and loved ones until we couldn’t bear to watch anymore. We were united in our anger, our grief, and our love.

Over time, it changed.

I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but I remember hearing the first words of dissention.
Whose fault was this?
Which President failed?
Should we really go to war?
Who are our enemies anyway?

The questions angered me.
They were not unifying.
They were divisive.
Questions meant to pull us apart and point fingers.

And for ten years, the questions have only become more heated. We no longer focus on foreign enemies seeking to attack us. We attack each other across the political aisle. The political tension in America is palpable. Much worse than pre-war days. Tough words are hurled at opponents. No one seems happy with how things are going.

What happened to the days when we were so united? We were all angry at the same people, loved the same people, and leaned on each other in our time of grief. Now it seems we want to pin each other against the wall about everything.

In a strange way, I suppose this is what we are fighting FOR. We are fighting for the right to express our opinions, our individuality. If I want others to hear my opinions, I must hear the opinions of others, even if I vehemently disagree. So while this muddled anger and finger-pointing is frustrating, it also brings a peculiar sense of victory.We are fighting against those who would take away our freedom to speak our minds. The fact that we are even allowed to dissent and disagree with each other is a privilege worth fighting for. So even in our arguing, we are fighting together to defend our First Amendment Right.

We are united by our divisiveness, and it’s a privilege I’m thankful to have.

As a Physician Assistant Professor, there is a constant tension that I feel. I love what I’m doing, but  I’m not doing what I’m teaching. I don’t teach clinical courses, but foundational courses. I do practice some in the clinic on campus, but the vast majority of my job is away from patient contact.

Once every six years, Physician Assistants have to retake a certification exam, which is based on clinical information. This is on top of the 100 hours of continuing medical education we must complete every 2 years. It is required for certification, which is required for my job — or any job as a PA.

This is my sixth year.

I had actually intended to take my boards last summer, but then I got a unique opportunity to have a part-time clinical job, which took up any study time. Following that, we started foster parent training. I went about six months without a single day off.

I scheduled my boards for the day after Easter this year, but disaster struck, then rescheduled them for June 30th, because I thought I was going to have a lighter academic and administrative load this summer.  I was wrong. I had to reschedule them for next to the last day possible for me to take them: August 29th. School started August 30th.

So, as I finished the summer semester, I had a week to study the equivalent of about 80 hours of continuing medical education. And that was just to get through the material thoroughly one time. I felt like I had to get through it at least ONCE, but that was pretty much going to have to be it. I was out of time.

I finally took my recertification exam on Monday. But then they have to grade it.

The rest of my week has been spent trying to unbury myself from the stacks that were created while I was studying for and taking my boards, which are required for my job. I finally got my score Friday morning.

I scored an 800, which is 80 points higher than the 99th percentile. Higher than my original board scores, in fact. It feels good to know that I’ve not lost touch with the vast amount knowledge that I must maintain. It feels better to know that I can keep my job.

But boy, am I tired.

“We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next door neighbor.” — Gilbert K. Chesterton

When I tried to find an inspiring quote about good neighbors, I was shocked at how many sarcastic and negative quotes exist about neighbors. It is apparent that most people in the world don’t like their neighbors, or at best, just tolerate them. I feel quite the opposite.

We have been blessed to live in a great neighborhood, but even more so to be immediately surrounded by some wonderful neighbors — generous, kind, forgiving, loving neighbors. Neighbors who pray for us, and with us. Neighbors who share extra produce. Neighbors who keep an eye on our dogs if we are out-of-town. Neighbors who read our blog and comment. 🙂 Neighbors who knew our devastating circumstances in the spring, and surrounded us with a hedge of prayer on every side, and a refrigerator full of food.

We are so blessed to have wonderful neighbors. They inspire us, encourage us, and make not only our house, but our neighborhood, a great place to come home to.

Over recent years, I’ve come to realize that I have a fairly good sense of intuition. (Obviously not about everything.)  Sometimes the sense of intuition is about odd things — for several years I had a bizarre sense about who would win in the Stanley Cup playoffs, before I ever knew anything about hockey. One time, I even dreamed about what exactly would happen in a playoff series, and over the next week, it came true. Unfortunately, it was about Ken’s favorite team being swept in the first round of the playoffs. It took him a while for him to forgive me for that. Regrettably, the more I know about hockey, the worse my intuition becomes.

Sometimes intuition comes into play about quite serious things. For instance, when I was working in dermatology, I did hospital rounds every day. (Yes. Dermatologists do hospital rounds). And there were times when I knew that my patients were not expected to live much longer, and there was nothing we could do to intervene. In every case in which my patients passed away, I knew it the instant when it happened, even though I was away from the hospital. Sometimes I would be driving down the road, or at home, or in the clinic, and I would get an overwhelming sense that I needed to pray for that patient. I would pray fervently, until I felt a sense of peace and relief. When I would eventually go to the hospital, often not until the next day, sure enough, the patient would have passed away — at the very time I had the overwhelming sense to pray for them. It happened each time one of my patients passed away.

I’ve realized that whenever God brings someone to mind, my best course of action is to pray for them. I’ve realized that the sense of intuition is often the Holy Spirit (although not always, unless He has a keen interest in hockey), and is worth paying attention to.

On the morning of Maundy Thursday, I had another deep sense of the Holy Spirit speaking to me when I heard this song as I was driving to work. I had heard it before, but this time the song resounded in my soul. I knew that the Holy Spirit was speaking and needed me to hear the words and remember them. I also sensed that the song was about to become very important to me. I hated that — it meant that something bad was about to happen. And I would find out only hours later that I was right.

Sure enough, after the events of the day, the song continued to play loudly in my mind. I would wake to its sound in the morning, and fall asleep to the same. I needed the reminder that in some strange way, the events that made my world crumble were adding strength to my relationship with the One who made my world to begin with. I was challenged to reach the point at which whatever difficulties God leads me through are welcome blessings, even if they are disguised in cloaks of pain and darkness.

I’m thankful that the Holy Spirit began to speak to me before I even knew I needed Him to. I’m thankful for songwriters who understand that God’s blessings aren’t always what we ask for or want. Most of all, I’m thankful for Blessings in Disguise.