April 16, 2022

Good Friday. It almost slipped right by me this year. I started out the morning in a rush of work-panic, going over the past few days’ clinic documents. The nurse I had worked with Wednesday noticed a confusion on the schedule and, for a harrying few minutes, I was terrified that I’d made a mistake, messing up my Spanish speaking , and giving vaccines to a child who wasn’t supposed to get them. I’d already been on edge about the weighty role I’d recently stepped into, and the prospect of error was truly terrifying, with little ones in my care. As it turned out, I’d done everything correctly. Perhaps in part due to the heightened level of awareness that this healthy stress creates? But the moments of panic were there nonetheless, so that by the end of the workday I realized I was still trembling slightly, if I slowed down enough to allow it … this, then, is Good Friday. Fitting, perhaps? I selfishly dwell today on the reality that I have been the cause of temper tantrums in 4 year olds and panicky screams in 1 year olds. I don’t blame them in the slightest, as I blubber out “Lo siento”s while plunging needles into little limbs. No wonder that other nurses I work with have spoken of Walmart sightings of patients, provoking screaming children at a glimpse of their needle-bearing devil incarnate.

And then, in order to fulfill what was written, He said “I am thirsty,”

A jar of sour wine was there, and so they dipped a sponge into it and lifted it to His lips.

Breathing His last, he uttered the words “Eloi, eloi, lama sabbachthani “ … 

“Into thy hands I commit my spirit”

Praise be for a God who gets it. A God who has felt the piercing pain of life’s ills. And who has compassion on those of us feelings it’s pain day in and day out.


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