Interpreting Gifts 

Preface: I haven't blogged in over a year, here on the other side of that blog post, I find myself as a very different person. My last post about my grandmother marked a significant turning point in my life. I never want to stop growing and changing as a person, but this year I learned that at times certain events or situations prove to be catalysts to change and we all of a sudden make significant strides towards goals that otherwise were being obtained in a snail like fashion. I hope to blog more on this in the future once I have better clarity about how to best communicate the last year of my life in a public domain. Meanwhile, I'd love to share a story with you. Names and insignificant details have been changed or remain ambiguous to protect identity. 

A few months had passed since I last saw Katy. It is not uncommon that one of my patients reveals to me a desire to end their life. Very rarely do they actually plan to do so, but many are plagued with dark and lonely thoughts that they would be better off dead. Katy was one of those people. I walked into the room unsure of what state I would find her in. I greeted Katy with a smile and hello as I sat down on the twisty stool and signed into the Electronic Medical Record session. I stopped typing, and turned so my body faced Katy instead of the inanimate computer screen. "How are you?" I asked.

This question is often difficult to ask. The heaviness that frequently exists on the other side looms in the depths of my heart. The answers are often weighed down even more by the mere prevalence of the all too common responses drenched in hopelessness, anxiety, depression, stress, bondage, and injustices.

The beautiful thing about this world is that light and darkness coexist. Katy's answer was a ray of sunlight breaking through the darkness she often struggles to keep at bay. She smiled, "Doctora, estoy muy bien, mejor." Which translates "Doctor, I am doing a really well, better." She then pulled out a bag full of her craft. An expression of joy and pride transformed her face as she pulled one of her masterpieces out. "Esto is para ti." Which means, "This is for you." In the time that passed between our visits she had starting engaging in a craft which was a passion for her and gifting others with the work of her hands. Her joy in gifting me with this product of her creativity and skill was palpable. Light bursting through a dark struggle. Hope rising. Light illuminating. I was curious and inquired as to what had changed over the last few months. She mentioned she was praying and going to mass. Additionally, her craft helped to provide her with moments of enjoyment and pleasure.

What Katy gifted to me that day was not simply a material thing but a byproduct of her enjoyment and a reminder that hope does exist in not only the lives of our patients but in our lives as well. Darkness and light coexist in this world. Would we be a hopeful people both recognizing and shining light in the darkest areas with a persistent hope and and unwavering faith in the Light of the Word.