Faith


During my last tour of duty, one of my patients was in distress.  She was crying and shouting because she felt extreme pain in her back and head due to metastasis, and she cannot breath well.  The nurse asked me to check on her so we can institute proper intervention before we refer the patient to the resident.

I was alone in the wards.  I was the only intern watching over some 30 patients.

I walked towards the tropho ward, hurried but stalling.  I was thinking hard of what I can do so when I get there, so I could carry them out right away.  A lot of things were going on in my mind - oxygen, pain medication, intubation, code.  But none really made much sense.  None of which was the solution I was looking for, at least that which comforted me.  Then I caught myself thinking:  God, please help me.  It felt really good.

Don't we all find peace in the thought that someone out there can come to our rescue?  Sometimes, I do forget it.  I seek for solutions myself.  It was all me and what I think and what I will and can do. 

A lot of people may argue with me on this, but I still believe that this one Almighty is kind enough to allow me to be responsible for what I do, but really, things are up to Him.  But I also believe that this Being is good, and that things happen because they have to.  The Best things happen.  The seemingly bad things are for a good cause.

Here's something I got somewhere.

Faith is not being sure. It is not being sure, but betting with your last cent... Faith is not a series of gilt-edged propositions that you sit down to figure out, and if you follow all the logic and accept all the conclusions, then you have it. It is crumpling and throwing away everything, proposition by proposition, until nothing is left, and then writing a new proposition, your very own, to throw in the teeth of despair... Faith is not making religious-sounding noises in the daytime. It is asking your inmost self questions at night and then getting up and going to work... Faith is thinking thoughts and singing songs and making poems in the lap of death.

Mary Jean Irion, 1970
from "Yes, World: A Mosaic of Meditation"  

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